DAMAGED 2.0 PRESENTS LOUIS'S (BELATED) FAVORITE MOVIES - THEATRICAL OR OTHERWISE - OF 2010!

INCEPTION? That's just the Little Rascals putting on an elementary school production of DREAMSCAPE. THE SOCIAL NETWORK? I need an “unlike” button for that one. BLACK SWAN? It's called a sandwich, Portman. Look into it. THE KIDS ARE ALL RIGHT? Since when did Lifetime start making theatrical movies? TRUE GRIT? Yeah, you heard my two-cents on that already.

Many of my favorite movies released in 2010—nine out of twelve, to be precise—were either sent packing straight-to-DVD or, if they were given the blissful opportunity to actually show in a theater, didn't bother to play anywhere in my locale. That's fine and dandy as far as I'm concerned; I used to love going to the movies, there was a real thrill and wonderment, as CINEMA PARADISO as it sounds, to taking in fresh entertainment on an immersive silver screen. But, as people get ruder, cellphones get brighter and movies get dumber, I'd just rather wait for it on DVD, in the comfort of my EZ-Boy, with my own reasonably priced snacks and beloved dog sitting right beside me. Why bother risking it anymore? The whole world has become a 42nd Street grindhouse, except now, the movies are all CGI-animated fiascoes from Dream works. This is progress, right?

These probably aren't the “best” movies of 2010, but they are my favorites, the ones I enjoyed the most, the ones that stuck with me and the ones that, if we lived in a perfect world, I would have camped out a week before, in front of the theater, making sure that I was first in line on opening day, instead of just walking the dog up to the Redbox.

LOUIS FOWLER'S (BELATED) FAVORITE MOVIES—THEATRICAL OR OTHERWISE—OF 2010 (In alphabetical order.)

THE A-TEAM (20th Century Fox): Definitely the most fun movie of 2010. Based, as you very well know, on the 80s TV show—one that, to be honest with you, I remember more for the merchandising than the actual show—this adaption should be the blueprint, now and forever, on how to do the perfect big summer action flick. Director Joe Carnahan—a more likable Brett Ratner, if you will—brings the same restraint that he showed with SMOKIN' ACES, which is to say, absolutely none. I mean, c'mon: how can you hate a movie that uses a free-falling tank as a weapon of mass destruction?

BITCH SLAP (20th Century Fox): Looking for some utterly reprehensible, socially irresponsible, comically adolescent, balls-to-the-wall, Russ Meyer-worshiping, girl-on-girl-versus-girl action? Then BITCH SLAP will knock you on your ass in no time! This is the movie that Quentin Tarantino's DEATH PROOF should have been. Three tough, buxom, Sapphic ladies gun-fighting, cat-fighting and, um, waterhose-fighting, in the desert for 90 blissfully trashy minutes. XENA veteran Rick Jacobson directs with a witty, gratuitous lens that understands and lovingly cradles all the exploitation clichés of T&A-drenched sex and violence, without ever having to rationalize it.

EDGE OF DARKNESS (Warner Bros.): If we can forgive child-rapist Roman Polanski for his “misdeeds”, than surely we can let Mel Gibson get away with a mere slap on the wrist. Wife-beating and racial slurs? Sorry, but I'm from Oklahoma—you'll have to do better than that to get me to stop seeing your movies, Mel! Especially when they are as enthralling as EDGE OF DARKNESS. A mercilessly gritty Gibson is a Boston cop investigating the death of his liberal activist daughter and the corporate agenda behind it. It sounds rote, but between Gibson's conviction and Martin Campbell's brutally shock-worthy direction—seriously, there's two scenes in particular, that, if you don't jump ten feet out of your chair, you're already dead or being gang-raped by minorities because you were provocatively dressed—this was a movie that sadly missed too many must-see lists, simply because of the hilariously stupid behind-the-scenes drama.

THE EXPENDABLES (Lionsgate): THE EXPENDABLES is a fun guy's movie, but is it great? No, not really—the badly-shot fight scenes really hurt it—but it makes my list for what it stands for: a return to old-school mature action film movie-making, starring real men and loaded with even more testosterone than bullets. Not to mention it beating out such celluloid emasculations EAT PRAY LOVE and, even more so, SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD, in it's opening weekend. Stallone says that a re-cut special edition DVD is on the way later this year, and I'm pretty excited to see what went wrong be made so right.

EYEBORGS (Image Entertainment): If you can get past the made-for-SyFy title, EYEBORGS is actually one of the best science-fiction films of the past ten years, and I say that with zero irony. While the story of robots gaining sentience and turning on their human creators is old hat, EYEBORGS takes the idea and mixes in a truly prophetic, anti-government stance, revealing a future that could be only days away. In an effort to curb terrorism, the Department of Homeland Security institutes the all-seeing Optical Defense Intelligence Network, wherein every American is monitored at all times — for their own good, of course, by mobile cameras, nicknamed "eyeborgs" in a plot to instill fear in US citizens and help the government overthrow oil-rich countries. Sound familiar? It should—you're living in it! (Duhn-duhn-DOUHHHHN!)

HACHI: A DOG'S TALE (Sony Pictures): I like action and horror flicks just fine, but, you know, the older I get, the more at the end of the day I just want to see movies about dogs and the bonds they have with their humans. It's probably why I liked MARMADUKE more than anyone else in America. And while I did find MARMADUKE likably funny, no other movie touched my heart and soul in 2010 the way HACHI: A DOG'S TALE did. Even though it boasts a top-notch cast—Richard Gere and Joan Allen—and is directed by Lasse Hallström, for some reason it totally skipped theaters and went straight to DVD, something I still don't get. (Please, Hollywood, explain that to me in the comments section!) It's adapted from a legendary Japanese story about a lovable Akita who, after the passing of his owner, sits and waits for him everyday at the train station where they would meet after work. It moved me to uncontrollable tears numerous times—even as I write this, I am getting choked up—and makes me wish the Academy had a special Oscar for “Best Animal Performance”. I loved this movie so much. I need a moment...

HARRY BROWN (Sony Pictures): Clint Eastwood's GRAN TORINO is a fantastic movie that, sadly, crapped out in the last fifteen minutes, offering inner-city hope and forgiveness instead of bullet-riddled gang-members. HARRY BROWN beautifully rectifies that, with a stoic Michael Caine—who, even at 77, continues to be THE EFFIN' MAN—pumping round after round into the English wigger-youths terrorizing his apartment complex. It's the best case for my pro-stance on vigilantism since the first DEATH WISH. Or the second DEATH WISH. Or definitely the third DEATH WISH.

LOST BOYS: THE THIRST (Warner Home Entertainment): The best horror movie of 2010, straight-to-DVD or otherwise. As our society continues it's downward spiral into a living Jack Chick tract (they get read!), vampires, evil creatures that should be feared are continually made into too cool ironic anti-heroes and asexual panty-wetting teen icons. After a truly mediocre first outing, the makers of LOST BOYS: THE THIRST must've gotten my memo, because they get it absolutely f-cking right this time, making a horror-comedy that puts bloodsuckers back where they belong: in Hell with a big fat stake through their heart. Even more so, THE THIRST is a brutally sly commentary on the current trend of romanticized TWILIGHT-esque vamps, with star Corey Feldman going out of his way to remind us that they're not supposed to be sexy, they're supposed to be undead Satanic scumbags who rape and kill everything that gets in their path of world domination. Too bad no one is listening.

MACHETE (20th Century Fox): ¡Viva Machete! Mexploitation hits the big time, about twenty years too late, but hey, it's here now, so that's something, right? Danny Trejo—the Hispanic Charles Bronson if there ever was one—is a one-man ass-kicking ex-Federale who slices and dices anyone who gets in his way, from racist politicians to overweight drug-lords. Robert Rodriguez, as always, delivers, but even more fun than the movie itself—oh, and it is a total blast—was watching my white friends squirm when they were telling me why they didn't like it, desperately coming up with words and euphemisms as not to appear racist themselves. Whites are so adorable when they're trying to be PC. It's how Obama got elected, after all!

MY SON, MY SON, WHAT HAVE YE DONE (First Look): Werner Herzog and David Lynch? Working together on a film? The only way I know this isn't a dream is because there isn't a dancing little person whispering "garmonbozia" in my ear. A fevered Michael Shannon stars as an unstable fella who, while whitewater rafting in Peru, begins to hear voices he later believes belong to God, speaking from an oatmeal container. I've been there, brother! Not helping matters: he's already in a manic state, constantly hounded by an oppressive mother, and obsessed with a Greek tragedy where a son slays his mother with a sword. Inspired by a true story, MY SON, MY SON, WHAT HAVE YE DONE is a taunting, haunting, well-paced psychological fable that even goes so far as to cast Willem Dafoe in the most likable role of his career. Actually, maybe the only likable role of his career.

PIGHUNT (Phase 4 Films): When it comes to monster movies, I want fun, dirty, sleazy little horror flicks that can guarantee me something I've never seen before, or, if I have seen it before, makes it so G-ddamned exaggerated that it circles back and becomes wholly original again. And, if you could, please, make it from the director of JASON X. Enter PIG HUNT. Managing to rip-off every horror movie of the past few years and still be excruciatingly original, it's got everything you could ever want in a horror movie: a-hole teens with soldier complexes, inbred backwoods rednecks, three-thousand pound mutant pigs, murderous cult-leaders with samurai swords...it's all here and it's a helluva good time.

UNTHINKABLE (Sony Pictures): Do you enjoy the torture scenes in movies like SAW or HOSTEL but wish they had a point? Even better, do you wish they'd spark a heated political debate among your friends or co-workers? OK, then here's UNTHINKABLE. An Islamic extremist has placed three nuclear devices in three cities. The government captures him and has 72 hours to find the locations. Do they offer him a Coke and a smile? Hell no! They bring in master interrogator Samuel L. Jackson, who, if you know Samuel L. Jackson, will extricate the information out of this muthaf-cka by any means necessary. And boy does he ever! UNTHINKABLE offers up an intriguing moral question without ever answering it for you: if millions of people are going to die tomorrow, is it OK to torture a man to death to save them? (The answer, of course, is yes. Sweet Lord, yes.)

Honorable mentions: THE FIGHTER, THE KARATE KID, KICK-ASS, THE LAST AIRBENDER, TRASH HUMPERS

Movies that weren't the best, but I definitely enjoyed the Hell out of them: 44 INCH CHEST, CENTURION, COP OUT, CYRUS, DEVIL, DISTRICT 13: ULTIMATUM, IRON MAN 2, THE LOSERS, MARMADUKE, PREDATORS, SURVIVAL OF THE DEAD, WINNEBAGO MAN

And, finally, movies that I'm sure would have made some sort of list if they hadn't been released in G-ddamned 3D: JACKASS 3D, PIRANHA 3D, RESIDENT EVIL: AFTERLIFE, SAW 3D

DAMAGED 2.0 Presents Louis's Belated Favorite Digital Video Discs of 2010!

I hate making best of lists, especially end of the year ones. Oh, don't get me wrong: I am completely egotistical enough to think that you actually care what media I thought was top of the pops for any given year--I just hate having to go back through my collection of DVDs and DVD reviews, making huge piles of both, trying to mentally discern what was okay, what was good and what truly moved me, for better or worse.

Like last year, I was able to pair down two sets: my five favorite reissues, repackagings and reduxs, while the next five are my favorite, well, I can't say straight-to-DVD, but, more like promo screeners of independent movies that might have had a theatrical festival screening, but aren't on...I don't know how to really explain how and what I consider these movies--let's just say they’re my five favorite indie screeners I got sent that I think need to be seen by a bigger audience. Does that make sense? No? OK, well, screw it then.

LOUIS FOWLER'S FIVE FAVORITE 2010 DVD REISSUES / REPACKAGINGS / REDUXS / ETC. (In alphabetical order.)

AMERICATHON (Warner Archive): Who would have guessed that the most timely movie of 2010 would be a 30-year-old comedy starring John Ritter? Definitely not me. But thank God for Warner Archive having the wherewithal to dig the lost 1979 should-be-a-classic AMERICATHON out of the vaults. Ahead of its time and ignored when originally released, it's a brutally hilarious Nostradamus quatrain that is well worth your hope and change.

ANTICHRIST and HOUSE (HAUSU) (Both Criterion): Proof once again that nobody is the cinephile's best friend like Criterion. 1977's HOUSE is every insane, incomprehensible, indecipherable Japanese pudding commercial on YouTube rolled into one fantastically bizarre 90-minute movie, while ANTICHRIST, Lars von Trier's recent, audience-dividing masterpiece of pure animalistic hate is as soul-n-psyche eviscerating as a motion picture has ever dared to get. Is it weird I consider that a good “popcorn” movie?

STARCRASH (Shout! Factory): STAR WARS, when you get right down to it, is pretty uninspired sci-fi that coasts along purely on the arrested-development nostalgia of fanboys. On the other hand, all the rip-offs STAR WARS inspired—especially the long-time-coming and well-worth-the-wait Luigi Cozzi disasterpiece STARCRASH—now those are the flicks we should be celebrating and holding conventions for! Who wouldn't want to see a hundred fanboys dressed like Count Zarth standing in line to get a $50 autograph from Marjoe Gortner?

T.A.M.I. SHOW: COLLECTOR'S EDITION (Shout! Factory): Widely regarded as the greatest concert film of all time, 1964's T.A.M.I. SHOW is a mind-blowing collection of the most stellar talent that rock ever produced, all on one stage in a non-stop set that rivals—surpasses—Woodstock. The slick swagger of Chuck Berry, the smooth sounds of Marvin Gaye, the sweet cheater anthems of Lesley Gore, the delightful wanna-Beatles songs of Gerry and the Pacemakers, the gleeful sand-in-my-shorts tunes of the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean and, best of all, a heart-stopping, show-stealing appearance by James Brown. With talent like that, it's easy to see why America forgave him for beating his wife. Four times.

LOUIS FOWLER'S FIVE FAVORITE 2010 DVD INDIES (OR UNRELEASED SCREENERS I LOVED) FLICKS (In alphabetical order.)

HUNGRY YEARS (Last Ditch Pictures): Just as the hack-filled behind-the-scenes world of reality television was mercilessly skewered in 2006's SPECIAL NEEDS, the brother-sister duo of Isaak and Eva James are back with HUNGRY YEARS, an insanely hilarious and just as damnifying look at the empty-souled, empty-headed and empty-gestured lives of various NYC activists who are so obsessive about their causes that it does more harm than good. Following the adventures of an neurotic “restricted calorie nutritionist” as she journeys outside her numerous self-imposed comfort zones, the James' create a scathingly comical and brutally honest portrayal of people desperate to find some sort of meaning in their lives without any type of self-awareness to go with it. And, just like SPECIAL NEEDS was upon it's release, HUNGRY YEARS is the funniest movie I've seen this year and further proof that the James' are this country's greatest untapped comedy resource. And that's something I truly do believe in.

POPATOPOLIS (Imaginaut): The excruciatingly entertaining warts-and-all indie documentary POPATOPOLIS chronicles the making of legendary b-director Jim Wynorski's latest opus, THE WITCHES OF BREASTWICK. This ranks right up there with other dreamers-with-a-camera docs like AMERICAN MOVIE and AUDIENCE OF ONE, but with one main difference: Wynorski is not some deluded jerk-off trying to avoid getting a real job! He is actually mega-talented and super-driven and, if given the chance, could be one of the biggest directors working today. It's a real tragedy to see the director of such fun, entertaining movies like RETURN OF THE SWAMP THING and CHOPPING MALL wallowing in the world of these mediocre T-and-A quickies. But not tragic enough to quit watching, natch.

SATAN HATES YOU (Glass Eye Pix): I know that the whole point of James (AUTOMATONS) McKenney's SATAN HATES YOU is a parody of 60s/70s Christian scare films, but I think it works even better than that because the wit here is so razor-sharp that you could show it to a local youth group and they'd be scared straight, no questions asked. As a matter of fact, I'm willing to wager my soul that McKenney, if he ever does get tired of the low-budget grind, could churn out some of the best faith-based horror movies for reals—maybe a movie version of the famed Hell House attraction? Or an anthology based on the works of Jack Chick?

SLOW TORTURE PUKE CHAMBER (Unearthed): Speaking of Satan, here's Lucifer Valentine's latest (and, apparently, last) entry into his notorious VOMIT GORE series, SLOW TORTURE PUKE CHAMBER. Finishing up the boldly fluid bodily-fluid-drenched tale of anorexic Angela Aberdeen and the consequences of her pact with Satan, Valentine tops himself in ways that, even after two previous films that have emotionally scarred me, I never thought possible. You can go ahead and cry and spew faux vitriol over pseudo-puke poseur-pieces like THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE or A SERBIAN FILM, but while you pretend to be shocked over staged depravity, Valentine is capturing it and documenting it all with the eye of a demonically-possessed voyeur. Ever wonder what they watch for pornography in Hell? Then pop this in and pop one out.

THE TAINT (Bolson Media Alliance): Looking for this year's BLACK DEVIL DOLL? Then you gotta check out THE TAINT, a defiantly un-PC genre-comedy that wants to destroy every sense of decency and morals that a viewer might be holding onto in these Last Days. An untested penile-enlargement drug gets into the water-supply, turning normal Joes into cock-crazed violent rapists who spew strings of bloody baby-batter in-between sessions of gleefully smashing female heads in with large rocks. Is it brutal feminist-minded satire or male wish-fulfillment masturbation fantasy? I'm still trying to figure that out for myself.

TRUE GRIT: That didn't pan out, did it?

TRUE GRIT
Starring Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Hailee Steinfeld
Directed by Joel and Ethan Coen
Paramount
Review by Louis Fowler

Walking rather despondently out of TRUE GRIT, I was stopped dead in my tracks when a cold, brutal realization finally hit me: I just don't like the Coen Brothers. And, the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that I don't think I honestly ever had.

Oh, in conversations with other film-inclined friends with more assertive opinions I'd say things like “THE HUDSUCKER PROXY is a really underrated movie!” or “Hey, that guy over there didn't like BARTON FINK, let's beat the crap out of him!” or, and this I am truly ashamed of, “Yeah, I'd love to attend your BIG LEBOWSKI party! I'll bring the Kahlua!”, but it was really just a plea for pathetic acceptance from indie video-store clerks or a shortcut to impressing dumb alternative-girls who thought that I actually cared about their opinions when the whole time I was just imagining what it would be like to make-out with a girl who had tongue-ring.

I have patronized their movies out of a sense of imagined cinematic duty. With every release, I have mindlessly marched straight to the theater, laughed at all the arranged moments I was supposed to and, yet...even though there was this total sense of audience camaraderie, one where we were all on the same imagined level, I couldn't help but always be disappointed. Is this all there is to it? Why bother? But I couldn't ask those questions out loud, so I just kept it in, feeling quasi-depressed because I knew, deep down, I should like it. Everyone else likes it. Why can't I like it? After all, a million Coen Brothers fans can't be wrong, right?

FARGO? An over-acted mess. MILLER'S CROSSING? A snooze-fest. THE BIG LEBOWSKI? Tries way too hard. INTOLERABLE CRUELTY? Is that even a real movie? RAISING ARIZONA? I'll wait for the inevitable remake. THE LADYKILLERS? What's that again? O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU? Take a shower, hippie! BLOOD SIMPLE? Couldn't make it twenty minutes, flipped over to a rerun of THREE'S COMPANY, had a great time!

We only like the Coens because we feel like we “have” to, lest we be called out by that guy at the water-cooler who can spout off three or four quick key-phrases from Owen Gliberman's ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY review. The Coen Brothers makes us feel cinematically smarter than we really are, so we keep this ruse going. By seeing a Coen Brothers movie, that is more than enough proper personal penance for choosing a, say, Adam Sandler fart-movie over the latest Gaspar Noe art-house atrocity. It's accessible cinephilia for the masses! And none of those pesky subtitles either! Ain't I classy, ma?

Once you look past the incessant critical coddling and non-stop audience fellating, it becomes eerily easy to see that there is really nothing there except just really well-staged smoke and mirrors. The Coens are exceedingly talented technical directors, and can paint a mighty pretty picture to look at. But it's the type of picture you'd hang on the wall of a Ruby Tuesday's. It's a fantastic forgery of the real thing. They have a good eye, but no soul to make it matter.

TRUE GRIT is the film where not only have I proved myself internally right all along, but am at a point where I can say it out loud externally without fear of a social retribution—I've been a video store clerk and I've had a girl with a tongue-ring and both were sorely disappointing and not worth the effort.

Like every other movie the Coens have done, TRUE GRIT is visually stunning, but it's also cold and detached and unknowingly reptilian. Never once are they able to convey any type of “real” human emotion, even with the most talented of actors at their disposal. It's robotic, Aspergerian filmmaking at it's finest. They've got a steely, textbook knowledge of film history and design, but they can't put to use in a way that will ever emotionally connect. But, it looks so good that, when you're walking out, you think you've seen something that matters, something that is better than it really is.

That sums up TRUE GRIT.

A few hours before watching the remake, I sat down and took in the original 1969 John Wayne version. I probably wasn't supposed to do that, but I had never cognizantly seen it and felt like I should and...dammit, is it a good movie. A great movie. Old-school high-adventure, with a real story and real heart and, something that's lost these days, a real hero to carry it all. There was no darkness, no cynicism, no pandering to the turtleneckers—only the most pure of long-dead stoicism that needed no dime-store rationale for it's blatant masculinity.

With the weight of the original and the excitement I felt while watching it heavy on my mind, it became completely clear as I was watching the remake that the Coens' version just doesn't matter. It has no reason for it's existence other than to prove that they could do it and, cynically enough, do it better. Like I said, it all looks great, but it's not great. It's defenselessly mediocre. It could've been a Hallmark TV movie of the week and had just about the same amount of impact and at a fraction of the cost.

The only one with enough sense to try something different is Jeff Bridges' interpretation of drunken US Marshall Rooster Cogburn. Knowing that he can't live up to the Duke, Bridges is twice as grizzled and three times as drunk, too bad it's just Bad Blake all over again, a hundred or so years earlier. Which, when you think about, kinda makes the movie a bit more watchable.

Am I still, however, interested in what the Coens do next? Of course. I honestly wanted to like TRUE GRIT and, even though I was let down again, you know...maybe next time will be the time these boys finally get it right. If they do, I'll be the first to admit it. Especially if you've got a toungue-ring and want to make out.

(This review actually goes double for David Fincher's interminable THE SOCIAL NETWORK.)

DAMAGED Eating: FATSO'S DINER!

I have been to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles. Twice. I have the t-shirt to prove it. And while,yes, their food is mighty tasty, mostly they are known for their ghetto-kitsch value. They are an industry of pop-culture, as well they should be. And, because of that, when you actually go to Roscoe's, you need to mentally prepare for a nice-sized chunk of disappointment on all levels: the extreme time of waiting for your food, the comically prohibitive pricing, the chintzy portions and, worst of all, no John Cusack and Tim Robbins making a music-video to fund their Swanky Modes reunion.

But get a shirt to let everyone know you went.

You won't find shirts at Fatso's Diner in Loveland. And I'm pretty sure it will never be name-checked by a rapper. But what you will get is the best diner food that this fatso has ever had. Corned beef hash, bacon-wrapped hot dogs, Rocky Mountain oysters...it's difficult to decide exactly what you want. Then you see “chicken and waffle” and your mind is clearly made up.

These chicken and waffles put Roscoe's to shame. A big ol' deep-fried chicken breast smothered in sausage gravy, that would be good enough. But then there's the lightly-dusted-with-powdered-sugar waffle, which is amazingly delicious and especially surprising considering I honestly don't even like waffles all that much. Too much of that Eggo crap growing up. Most people enjoy lacquering syrup on their waffles, but I didn't want that gravy to go to waste and the waffle acts as the perfect utensil to sop it up with. Add a side of thick steak fries and it's a meal that will stick with you until tomorrow. It'll stick with you for life.



The décor is an unironic faux-fifties thing and the clientele is mostly old dudes. I like that, I enjoy that. It's got an old-school vibe that hasn't been polluted yet—the hipsters don't know about it and haven't stumbled in a PBR-haze to “experience” and trivialize the place. You couldn't have a place like this in Fort Collins; in a day, you'd see a hundred Twitter update proclaiming either they were the “Mayor of Fatso's” or decrying that they were having heart-attacks just looking at the food.

When I return next time, however, I might have to forgo the chicken and waffles for something even more intriguing—as I was leaving, I noticed on the specials board that they are now offering a food challenge: eat 14 of their cheeseburger patties and an order of fries and get...well, I don't know what you get. But I know I want to do it. If their fried chicken is any indicator, then their burgers are probably just as, if not more so, phenomenal. Wish me luck.

Fatso's Diner is located at 1606 W. Eisenhower Blvd. in Loveland, Colorado.