I met Rodney in a crowded Italian restaurant on Grand Avenue, a spot that he insisted on showing me as it had what was, according to him, the best pizza in the Twin Cities. “You see the way that they do the Italian sausage here, it’s the best… the Best!”
A few months back, Rodney had stopped a party and issued a formal challenge to all people of a meteorological background to fisticuffs. “The only real regret”, he says as he pours himself another grenadine coke, “was that I took away as much from the party as I did. It was the Holiday Party, after all, and I think that I overcooked the chicken by making my challenge and then sticking around for the brief question and answer period after it.”
I wanted to do this follow-up conversation with him to make sure that his intentions were still pure and that the challenge was still out there. I also wanted to see if anybody had accepted his challenge as of yet and whether he had bested them.
Bad Mother Coitus: What was the motivation for having an outstanding challenge to fight all weather people?
Rodney: Look, I could go on TV and start talking about how cold and how it will snow in January. I say no thank you. They are not only not very accurate, but not confident either, since no one has responded to my challenge.
BMC: So do you consider the weather people to be a cowardly lot?
R: As long as they have Doppler Radar, they will be hiding behind a false pretense.
BMC: Aren't you afraid of the Doppler Radar? These are all college grads and most likely have some or rudimentary skills in the art of Kung Fu?
R: I would say ballroom dancing rather than kung fu.
BMC: I'm going to get right down to the hard-hitting question, is it true that you once had a dust up with a local weatherman when you verbally chastised him with repeated accusations that, and I quote, "You are a nerd"?
R: No, no, and no....
BMC: I have the video tape surveillance camera from that night as you held the nerd down and screamed indecent things to his face, are you saying that this isn't true? Remember, you are talking about Weather people, it's not like they're human beings.
R: So what if I did?
BMC: I'm not accusing you of anything, but what was it like, to stare that sort of evil in the face and to emerge the victor. Weather people are in league with the devil, yes?
R: Correct, I mean they are bottom feeders of bottom feeder waste, if that makes sense...
BMC: So you're saying that we should drowned all Weather people? Is this some sort of final solution?
R: Oh god no, just let me challenge them to a fight.
BMC: Typically, according to Sun Tzu's Art of War, combatants will pick weapons for a duel. Would you set parameters for this or would it just be in front of the blue weather screen with a hurricane in the background: Winner takes all?
R: Winner takes all. I am going to hit their Doppler so hard, they will crap their pants with fear.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
A Fruit in the Belly of the Beast
I don't really understand Gwyneth Paltrow. She routinely does things that annoy me. Her movies aren't exactly fantastic. She married a complete douche. But then I see her in a movie and I think to myself "wow, she looks a lot better than I remember" and I notice that she makes fun of herself and plays kind of goofy roles and I think she might be levelheaded and down to earth. It's very confusing, no?
I mean, have you looked at her choice of movies on imdb? She wins an Oscar in Shakespeare in Love and then she does some Farrelly brothers goofball comedy, picks a movie in which she sings with Huey Fucking Lewis and then does Sky Captain and the Computer World of Boredom. I mean, I can see doing a movie with Huey Lewis (who wouldn't) but what about the News? It wasn't just Huey knocking out those hits you know? I think the News shouldn't have to follow Huey around like a puppy chasing a kid who is careless with his PBJ samich. That's just me. Credit where credit's due. But other than that movie what good choices has Gwyneth made?
Also, I'm not a big fan of her personal choices. She apparently jets around in a private plane and then rips on the American government for the war in Iraq. I happen to agree with some of those sentiments but I don't go around in one of the least fuel efficient vehicles on the planet while I do it. If you think the war is about oil maybe you could scale back the jetsetting? I mean, c'mon, it's not like you really want to go see another Coldplay concert anyway. I know you don't. You can't. It's not possible.
I don't really understand the whole baby being named "Apple" either. I don't hate it but it sure seems like a great way to make other kids hate your child for the rest of it's life. The only possible way that she can get herself out of this is if she names the second kid "Banana". Who doesn't want to go through life as literally the second banana? Or better yet have two more kids and name 'em both "Banana" so you can be even more literal with the second banana plan. I doubt more kids are in the offing though because she married a guy who seems to only be in love with himself and U2, thought not necessarily in that order.
Let's put aside for the moment that Coldplay is slowly becoming the most embarrassing band on the planet. Let's put aside that all of their songs are the same and the lyrics are childish and waaaaaaaay too appealing for 17 year old girls. Here's an interesting dilemma though, a real thinker. Do you think Charlie on "LOST" with all of his metro bracelets and fingernail paint and tape on his fingers with "fate" written on them is a direct mockery of Chris from Coldplay? OR do you think that Chris from Coldplay (I like that it makes him sound like Jon from Woodbury) thinks that the character is so cool that he started doing all the little metro bracelets and crap because he saw it on Charlie? I need to know the chronology of this stuff.
So Chris from Coldplay somehow impregnated Gwyneth once and, in a shocking upset, has managed to do it again. Despite his obsession with being considered cool by everyone he still takes time out of his life to knock up the little lady. I find this fascinating. It's not that I think the dude is gay I just think he really, really, really thinks he is cool and no one else even comes close. So having sex with someone for him is probably a little like shopping at the Gap for you and me. In general it's a pleasurable experience but it's not like you're getting something really nice or high quality, it's just better than Old Navy. In fact I think sex for them would go something like this.
Interior - bedroom - night
Lights are on and there are mirrors on all the walls and the ceiling.
Chris from Coldplay: Are you ready?
Gwyneth: Are you talking to me? You seem to be looking at your reflection.
CfC: No baby no. I'm talking to you.
GP: C'mere.
CfC: What do I like to hear?
GP: Seriously? Do I have to say it?
CfC: Yes.
GP: You're way more sexy and talented than the guy from that crappy band Travis.
CfC: Come and get your love baby.
They begin.
CfC: My! This is pleasant!
GP: I know lover.
CfC: This is very pleasing!
GP: Yes.
CfC: I am enjoying this!
GP: Chris?
CfC: Who?
GP: Chris from Coldplay.
CfC: Yes?
GP: Just shut up and fuck me.
CfC: Very well.
I don't know if I'm any closer to solving the mystery that is Gwyneth. She will probably still fade from my memory and then I'll see a rerun of The Royal Tenenbaums and think again "hey, what's up with her?" for the thousandth time. She's like a modern Teri Garr. Not so much career-wise but in the whole looks department. Try watching the old Young Frankenstein with Teri as a young and buxom blonde and reconcile that with your memories of her as an older woman now. It's traumatizing.
I mean, have you looked at her choice of movies on imdb? She wins an Oscar in Shakespeare in Love and then she does some Farrelly brothers goofball comedy, picks a movie in which she sings with Huey Fucking Lewis and then does Sky Captain and the Computer World of Boredom. I mean, I can see doing a movie with Huey Lewis (who wouldn't) but what about the News? It wasn't just Huey knocking out those hits you know? I think the News shouldn't have to follow Huey around like a puppy chasing a kid who is careless with his PBJ samich. That's just me. Credit where credit's due. But other than that movie what good choices has Gwyneth made?
Also, I'm not a big fan of her personal choices. She apparently jets around in a private plane and then rips on the American government for the war in Iraq. I happen to agree with some of those sentiments but I don't go around in one of the least fuel efficient vehicles on the planet while I do it. If you think the war is about oil maybe you could scale back the jetsetting? I mean, c'mon, it's not like you really want to go see another Coldplay concert anyway. I know you don't. You can't. It's not possible.
I don't really understand the whole baby being named "Apple" either. I don't hate it but it sure seems like a great way to make other kids hate your child for the rest of it's life. The only possible way that she can get herself out of this is if she names the second kid "Banana". Who doesn't want to go through life as literally the second banana? Or better yet have two more kids and name 'em both "Banana" so you can be even more literal with the second banana plan. I doubt more kids are in the offing though because she married a guy who seems to only be in love with himself and U2, thought not necessarily in that order.
Let's put aside for the moment that Coldplay is slowly becoming the most embarrassing band on the planet. Let's put aside that all of their songs are the same and the lyrics are childish and waaaaaaaay too appealing for 17 year old girls. Here's an interesting dilemma though, a real thinker. Do you think Charlie on "LOST" with all of his metro bracelets and fingernail paint and tape on his fingers with "fate" written on them is a direct mockery of Chris from Coldplay? OR do you think that Chris from Coldplay (I like that it makes him sound like Jon from Woodbury) thinks that the character is so cool that he started doing all the little metro bracelets and crap because he saw it on Charlie? I need to know the chronology of this stuff.
So Chris from Coldplay somehow impregnated Gwyneth once and, in a shocking upset, has managed to do it again. Despite his obsession with being considered cool by everyone he still takes time out of his life to knock up the little lady. I find this fascinating. It's not that I think the dude is gay I just think he really, really, really thinks he is cool and no one else even comes close. So having sex with someone for him is probably a little like shopping at the Gap for you and me. In general it's a pleasurable experience but it's not like you're getting something really nice or high quality, it's just better than Old Navy. In fact I think sex for them would go something like this.
Interior - bedroom - night
Lights are on and there are mirrors on all the walls and the ceiling.
Chris from Coldplay: Are you ready?
Gwyneth: Are you talking to me? You seem to be looking at your reflection.
CfC: No baby no. I'm talking to you.
GP: C'mere.
CfC: What do I like to hear?
GP: Seriously? Do I have to say it?
CfC: Yes.
GP: You're way more sexy and talented than the guy from that crappy band Travis.
CfC: Come and get your love baby.
They begin.
CfC: My! This is pleasant!
GP: I know lover.
CfC: This is very pleasing!
GP: Yes.
CfC: I am enjoying this!
GP: Chris?
CfC: Who?
GP: Chris from Coldplay.
CfC: Yes?
GP: Just shut up and fuck me.
CfC: Very well.
I don't know if I'm any closer to solving the mystery that is Gwyneth. She will probably still fade from my memory and then I'll see a rerun of The Royal Tenenbaums and think again "hey, what's up with her?" for the thousandth time. She's like a modern Teri Garr. Not so much career-wise but in the whole looks department. Try watching the old Young Frankenstein with Teri as a young and buxom blonde and reconcile that with your memories of her as an older woman now. It's traumatizing.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
The Way of the Rain; Paths in the Desert
With the return of the flood we were again blessed with the rain. We were singing: Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, and we had a talkin’ to the son, that we don’t like the way he got things done.
The flood crept and we kept our eyes upon it. Rain gathered up the water damaged baseboards in our homes; further and further until we hoped that it wouldn’t hit the high mark from all those memories ago.
Outside again, the disciple was trying to walk on water but really standing on His rock. He was giving thanks to the rain. Rain that left us food for our tables; food for our souls. Preaching practically, teaching us this is the way to our salvation, that we must join him, this was the way of our parents, this is what we must do; this is what we must want.
And in a mob we joined him. We lifted our arms parallel with our shoulders and fell backwards, feeling the floods washing over our faces.
I opened my eyes and looked past the white water and wondered if it worked. I wanted it to work so much. Wanted to be what everybody wanted me to be; wanted it more desperately than those that wanted it for me. But when my eyes closed I was out in the dry country, chasing after the shadows of Cain.
Words float by: is it better to burn out than to fade away? is the way of the flood better than the person praying for rain?
Then from out of the blue, a voice pushed me: You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
The flood crept and we kept our eyes upon it. Rain gathered up the water damaged baseboards in our homes; further and further until we hoped that it wouldn’t hit the high mark from all those memories ago.
Outside again, the disciple was trying to walk on water but really standing on His rock. He was giving thanks to the rain. Rain that left us food for our tables; food for our souls. Preaching practically, teaching us this is the way to our salvation, that we must join him, this was the way of our parents, this is what we must do; this is what we must want.
And in a mob we joined him. We lifted our arms parallel with our shoulders and fell backwards, feeling the floods washing over our faces.
I opened my eyes and looked past the white water and wondered if it worked. I wanted it to work so much. Wanted to be what everybody wanted me to be; wanted it more desperately than those that wanted it for me. But when my eyes closed I was out in the dry country, chasing after the shadows of Cain.
Words float by: is it better to burn out than to fade away? is the way of the flood better than the person praying for rain?
Then from out of the blue, a voice pushed me: You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
straight, no chaser
i am doing everything i can to not whine about work and january weather and everything else in my life that i'm not a fan of at the moment. i've found that all whining does is convince the ladyfolks to find someone more interesting to pay attention to. ladyfolks like action.
i don't know what kind of action i'm going to take but i can tell by the queasy feeling in my stomach that there will be some sort of action taken soon. well, either that or i got punched in the pants and didn't notice (but that seems unlikely). i am, like most dudes, kinda protective of the bathing suit area.
i've got good music coming out of the 1 and a half speakers on my desk and that's kinda nice. I say 1 and a half speakers because one of them barely puts out any sound. putting out sound, you would think, would be high on the list of things a speaker needs to do but apparently the wise and discerning gentlemen at GE weren't as focused on that particular issue as I was. There's a lesson in this. When you pay $10 for some speakers because you were killing time at Target while the Little Lady was doing some shopping you sort of deserve to only have 1 and a half of the speakers work.
i'd like to think that listening to my morning jacket while hacking this out would be more entertaining than it is. i'm still on the fence about this band. i like them but i haven't figured out why yet, and that's a little disconcerting. like noting that a certain gentleman was charming and interesting at a dinner party and then finding out later he was a serial killer. i need to know why i like something or it taints the journey a bit because i'm always holding back. maybe the reason why i like this band (but can never love it) is because they remind me of a journey or kansas song i liked when i was just a tot and didn't know any better. mind you, i'm not saying that's the case with them. i'm just sayin' you don't want to buy a bunch of albums of a band, pick up a t-shirt and see them in concert and suddenly wake up one day and think "the hit single from these guys sounds like a rip off of when the children cry by white lion." that's a horrifying thought.
a few years ago i realized that i needed to stop pretending i was idealistic and focus on being reliable. it's a lesson i think everyone must learn at their own pace. there's no definite timeline that it needs to happen, but it needs to happen. half of success is just showing up. it's amazing how many people can't do that. but i've come to the realization that i think i understand what it means to be reliable and for the most part i think i've got it covered. so now i'm going to move into the next part of my life. reliable AND idealistic. here's a short breakdown to help you understand.
Age 0-18: all idealistic. i'm gonna change the world and blah blah blah.
Age 19-25: pretend idealistic/semi-reliable. the death of childhood dreams and the awkward first intimations with adulthood.
Age 26-29: reliable. nothing special, just show up and dedicate yourself to whatever it is that needs to be done. this would be the montage sequence if there was a movie about your life.
Age 30-?: reliable AND idealistic. i've dedicated myself to something i have no interest in. now i need to find out what it's like to dedicate myself to something that i actually have interest in.
Age 65-Death: idealistic (with a brief moment or two of outright crazy). dust to dust and we all go round again. it's easy to be idealistic when you're young and stupid or old and war-worn.
people always say things like "we don't know what the future holds" like the future is a container of sorts. i don't know about that. i don't know if it's a container or if it's a good idea to look at the future as an empty space. i don't know what the future holds, but i know i'm gonna try to fill the fucker up. and that seems like a goal worth working for.
i don't know what kind of action i'm going to take but i can tell by the queasy feeling in my stomach that there will be some sort of action taken soon. well, either that or i got punched in the pants and didn't notice (but that seems unlikely). i am, like most dudes, kinda protective of the bathing suit area.
i've got good music coming out of the 1 and a half speakers on my desk and that's kinda nice. I say 1 and a half speakers because one of them barely puts out any sound. putting out sound, you would think, would be high on the list of things a speaker needs to do but apparently the wise and discerning gentlemen at GE weren't as focused on that particular issue as I was. There's a lesson in this. When you pay $10 for some speakers because you were killing time at Target while the Little Lady was doing some shopping you sort of deserve to only have 1 and a half of the speakers work.
i'd like to think that listening to my morning jacket while hacking this out would be more entertaining than it is. i'm still on the fence about this band. i like them but i haven't figured out why yet, and that's a little disconcerting. like noting that a certain gentleman was charming and interesting at a dinner party and then finding out later he was a serial killer. i need to know why i like something or it taints the journey a bit because i'm always holding back. maybe the reason why i like this band (but can never love it) is because they remind me of a journey or kansas song i liked when i was just a tot and didn't know any better. mind you, i'm not saying that's the case with them. i'm just sayin' you don't want to buy a bunch of albums of a band, pick up a t-shirt and see them in concert and suddenly wake up one day and think "the hit single from these guys sounds like a rip off of when the children cry by white lion." that's a horrifying thought.
a few years ago i realized that i needed to stop pretending i was idealistic and focus on being reliable. it's a lesson i think everyone must learn at their own pace. there's no definite timeline that it needs to happen, but it needs to happen. half of success is just showing up. it's amazing how many people can't do that. but i've come to the realization that i think i understand what it means to be reliable and for the most part i think i've got it covered. so now i'm going to move into the next part of my life. reliable AND idealistic. here's a short breakdown to help you understand.
Age 0-18: all idealistic. i'm gonna change the world and blah blah blah.
Age 19-25: pretend idealistic/semi-reliable. the death of childhood dreams and the awkward first intimations with adulthood.
Age 26-29: reliable. nothing special, just show up and dedicate yourself to whatever it is that needs to be done. this would be the montage sequence if there was a movie about your life.
Age 30-?: reliable AND idealistic. i've dedicated myself to something i have no interest in. now i need to find out what it's like to dedicate myself to something that i actually have interest in.
Age 65-Death: idealistic (with a brief moment or two of outright crazy). dust to dust and we all go round again. it's easy to be idealistic when you're young and stupid or old and war-worn.
people always say things like "we don't know what the future holds" like the future is a container of sorts. i don't know about that. i don't know if it's a container or if it's a good idea to look at the future as an empty space. i don't know what the future holds, but i know i'm gonna try to fill the fucker up. and that seems like a goal worth working for.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Versus
My friend, on her website, recently made the complaint that she is suffering from writer’s block. Not that she believes in writer’s block and nor do I for that matter, but for whatever reason that is out there, she is unable to put pen to the paper.
I have been doing a hellish self diagnosis on myself, as of late (as the quacks at Web MD have yet to recognize Writer’s Block as a disease). My discovery was that while I could think of interesting ideas for articles, stories and all the like, I have grown so sick of the voice inside of my own skull that I don’t wish to hear me say anything or at least not tell those stories.
A better writer than me would switch gears; let another part of their brain take over. I find this extremely difficult as those stories don’t belong to that part of the brain and I’m jealous enough over the stories that I don’t want to share them, even with myself.
Regardless, the following conversation happened between the lobes of my brain with a woman that looked like she should be part of the French Resistance. “Call me Calliope.” She tells me, patting my hand while blowing smoke in my face. She has ratted, long, black hair and dirt on her face that almost passes for a five o’clock shadow but only makes her fierce grey eyes stand out with more wildness. Slung over her shoulder is a semi-automatic sub machine gun, not that the gun is a threat.
“But ze truf, ze storay, it mus cum owt”, she pleaded with me.
“Seriously, sweetie, you’re really cute, but this is a story of lies, deception, beauty, love and alcohol. What the fuck do the French know about those?”
“Seir, you have jus stated our nashiunal mottO. You sthrow in a little bit of surrenduer and you have the Freanch to a fAult.”
I knew she was right, of course, but still didn’t want to give into her. So, instead, I seduced her (this was made infinitely easier as she was already in my brain). Roughly five minutes later, while cleaning up and further hating myself, I realized that I didn’t wish to write and instead passed out in my own cliché.
The work that I wished to accomplished is still safely tucked up in my brain, wrapped in some vault until I find that spark, that divinity that could loosen a Kraken. Please send home remedies or actual doctors (hint: their offices should end in the words “tavern” or “bar”) that could cure me of this horrible and horrific disease.
I have been doing a hellish self diagnosis on myself, as of late (as the quacks at Web MD have yet to recognize Writer’s Block as a disease). My discovery was that while I could think of interesting ideas for articles, stories and all the like, I have grown so sick of the voice inside of my own skull that I don’t wish to hear me say anything or at least not tell those stories.
A better writer than me would switch gears; let another part of their brain take over. I find this extremely difficult as those stories don’t belong to that part of the brain and I’m jealous enough over the stories that I don’t want to share them, even with myself.
Regardless, the following conversation happened between the lobes of my brain with a woman that looked like she should be part of the French Resistance. “Call me Calliope.” She tells me, patting my hand while blowing smoke in my face. She has ratted, long, black hair and dirt on her face that almost passes for a five o’clock shadow but only makes her fierce grey eyes stand out with more wildness. Slung over her shoulder is a semi-automatic sub machine gun, not that the gun is a threat.
“But ze truf, ze storay, it mus cum owt”, she pleaded with me.
“Seriously, sweetie, you’re really cute, but this is a story of lies, deception, beauty, love and alcohol. What the fuck do the French know about those?”
“Seir, you have jus stated our nashiunal mottO. You sthrow in a little bit of surrenduer and you have the Freanch to a fAult.”
I knew she was right, of course, but still didn’t want to give into her. So, instead, I seduced her (this was made infinitely easier as she was already in my brain). Roughly five minutes later, while cleaning up and further hating myself, I realized that I didn’t wish to write and instead passed out in my own cliché.
The work that I wished to accomplished is still safely tucked up in my brain, wrapped in some vault until I find that spark, that divinity that could loosen a Kraken. Please send home remedies or actual doctors (hint: their offices should end in the words “tavern” or “bar”) that could cure me of this horrible and horrific disease.
Monday, January 23, 2006
I need a roadie
I received a great call from Todd Dancer this weekend. It went like this.
Todd: Uh dude?
Me: Todd? Where's my money?
Todd: Not now. Um, can you have my ma call me?
Me: Why don't you have her call you herself Todd? You don't need to bring a middle man into this.
Todd: Her number's always busy and I'm only allowed one call.
Me: Are you in jail dude?
Todd: ...
Me: Todd?
Todd: NO! Don't be a buttfucker. Just have her call me at 641-***-****
Then he hung up. Now, last I heard he was supposedly at a strip club in Portland Oregon. That was a while ago, granted, but Todd doesn't really have the wherewithal to travel the country with ease. 641 area code is in Iowa. Most likely Mason City. If you've not been through Mason City lemme tell ya there is a very solid Subway in one of the gas stations and they also have a strip club or two. Now I sincerely doubt that Todd was ever outside of the state until recently. And I don't think he skipped town because he had a hankering for the steak n' cheese. The boy likes to lie. Which is why he goes to strip clubs in Mason City. It's one of the few places in the world where being from Minneapolis sounds like you just landed in your spaceship made of gold and you live on the moon. Mason City sucks. I don't say that lightly. Also, you can call someone a "buttfucker" whilst you're in jail and no one thinks it's weird.
But Todd's not really the point. Sure he's in jail (probably for having "busy hands" with the ladies) but at least he's in jail in a different state. I'm stuck here. I need a roadie and I need one tootsweet.
I'm not referring to the guy who hands you guitars and moves your stuff in case you're wondering. I'm speaking of a roadtrip, affectionately known as a roadie to the Harmon clan. But come to think of it a roadie (carrying stuff kind) would be awfully handy. I could probably use one of those two. I don't know what you would need to feed them. I'm assuming some sort of grain alcohol and an occasional gas station sandwich. I think I can swing that. I should get one.
But again, I need to stay focused here. I need a roadie (traveling the country kind) in the worst way. I need to drive south. And then west. And then more south. I need to go as far as it will take for me to stick my hand out the window and not have it freeze. Sure the cold comes in handy when you're bored with traditional masturbation and want to experiment, but that's not really what I need. Plus that seems like it would lead to a life of bizarre sex with Angelina Jolie types. Women who look at icicles hanging off the gutter of the garage and thinks it looks like a good time. I definitely don't need that.
Maybe I should hit the road and go bail Todd out of jail. But the dink wouldn't even admit that he's in jail so why should I help him? You could argue he's my friend. You'd have a point. But that hardly seems like fun does it?
Todd: Uh dude?
Me: Todd? Where's my money?
Todd: Not now. Um, can you have my ma call me?
Me: Why don't you have her call you herself Todd? You don't need to bring a middle man into this.
Todd: Her number's always busy and I'm only allowed one call.
Me: Are you in jail dude?
Todd: ...
Me: Todd?
Todd: NO! Don't be a buttfucker. Just have her call me at 641-***-****
Then he hung up. Now, last I heard he was supposedly at a strip club in Portland Oregon. That was a while ago, granted, but Todd doesn't really have the wherewithal to travel the country with ease. 641 area code is in Iowa. Most likely Mason City. If you've not been through Mason City lemme tell ya there is a very solid Subway in one of the gas stations and they also have a strip club or two. Now I sincerely doubt that Todd was ever outside of the state until recently. And I don't think he skipped town because he had a hankering for the steak n' cheese. The boy likes to lie. Which is why he goes to strip clubs in Mason City. It's one of the few places in the world where being from Minneapolis sounds like you just landed in your spaceship made of gold and you live on the moon. Mason City sucks. I don't say that lightly. Also, you can call someone a "buttfucker" whilst you're in jail and no one thinks it's weird.
But Todd's not really the point. Sure he's in jail (probably for having "busy hands" with the ladies) but at least he's in jail in a different state. I'm stuck here. I need a roadie and I need one tootsweet.
I'm not referring to the guy who hands you guitars and moves your stuff in case you're wondering. I'm speaking of a roadtrip, affectionately known as a roadie to the Harmon clan. But come to think of it a roadie (carrying stuff kind) would be awfully handy. I could probably use one of those two. I don't know what you would need to feed them. I'm assuming some sort of grain alcohol and an occasional gas station sandwich. I think I can swing that. I should get one.
But again, I need to stay focused here. I need a roadie (traveling the country kind) in the worst way. I need to drive south. And then west. And then more south. I need to go as far as it will take for me to stick my hand out the window and not have it freeze. Sure the cold comes in handy when you're bored with traditional masturbation and want to experiment, but that's not really what I need. Plus that seems like it would lead to a life of bizarre sex with Angelina Jolie types. Women who look at icicles hanging off the gutter of the garage and thinks it looks like a good time. I definitely don't need that.
Maybe I should hit the road and go bail Todd out of jail. But the dink wouldn't even admit that he's in jail so why should I help him? You could argue he's my friend. You'd have a point. But that hardly seems like fun does it?
Friday, January 20, 2006
DVDefect
DVDefect.
The Birth of a New Era?
I am now the proud owner of a computer, the first I have ever purchased. Sure I’ve had hand-me-downs and most of my work day consists of activities involving a computer, but this is the first unit I have ever purchased. So it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that I can’t type a paper on my computer, or compile a spreadsheet. I know how to type a paper (sort of) and I can collate data in any program you can name. The reason I can’t on my computer is for the simple reason that I have no programs not specifically related to movies.
It is however top of the line. Dual core processor, two DVD+-rw drives, X800 xl video card, soundblaster platinum and 1.5 terabits of hard drives. I don’t have any idea what that means, but I am assured it is all brought together for the sole purpose of allowing me to catalog and view a fair amount of my collection. I do not offer this to say “Look at me, I buy fancy things”, it is just to provide you with a piece of mind. A confidence that I will not steer you wrong, my own personal warranty, as if to say, I do love movies… maybe too much.
Like any good reviewer I will use a rating system. From 1-8 one being the letter (C) two being (Co) and so on and so forth until seven (Coolest). The eighth is reserved for few movies, but will be refereed to as (100% Awesome).
Example:
“That movie Kurt Russell was in was”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
Ok technically I didn’t buy any DVD’s this week… well three, but they weren’t new releases. I was occupied with the purchase of the aforementioned computer. Next week though I shall return once again to offer you my opinion on the latest and greatest feature length video has to offer.
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
Serenity (2005)
Rating: (Coolest) For classic Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) dialog, for keeping the cast of it’s television name sake (Firefly), and for an altogether “Cinemagic” experience.
Synopsis. Basically it is a wonderful feature length episode of the Sci-Fi channels not-so-hit show Firefly. Based in a future where the universe becomes humanities new “Old West”. This rag tag crew of ruffians (and hot chicks) has to fight for survival, truth, and their right to party.
Comments. It will re-ignite your hatred towards the Sci-Fi Channel for canceling a one of a kind TV watching experience.
The Punisher (2004)
Rating: (Coole) for being one of Hollywood’s better adaptations of a classic comic. Thomas Jane was convincing, but a bit on the pretty side, compared to his comic name sake. The comic relief provided by his misfit neighbors was too contrived. As always John Travolta should have moved to the Mud Creek Nursing Home after making Pulp Fiction. However it was fun, and worth a watching.
Synopsis. Frank Castle’s (Thomas Jane) wife and child are brutally murdered. The rest is just one mans way of saying, “I ain’t just gonna kill ya, I’m gonna to end everything you know”.
Comments. Well to reiterate, it was enjoyable with a good showing by Thomas Jane and Will Patton. It could have been darker, but then again, that wouldn’t pack the theaters, it would have however awarded them a better rating than (Coole). Something for the Hollywood brass to think about next time they remake this classic tale.
Avoid at all costs
Many of you have written asking to know what would earn the rating of (Coo) or less. This category is devoted to you.
Brothers Grimm (2005)
Rating: (C) for wasting my time, and for making me think they weren’t going to waste my time.
Synopsis. Pure and utter tripe, a dribble of cinema that ensnared the guttural urge to disembowel oneself. Begging for scripting, and longing for motivation Matt Damon (The Bourne Supremacy, Ocean’s Twelve) and Heath Ledger (The Patriot, A Knight’s Tale) are brothers who tool the country side looking for ways to piss me off.
Comments. I would step in front of a moving train for Terry Gilliam (Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 12 Monkeys) but now I have been brought to the horrible realization that I would step in front of a moving train rather than watch the Brothers Grimm again.
The Birth of a New Era?
I am now the proud owner of a computer, the first I have ever purchased. Sure I’ve had hand-me-downs and most of my work day consists of activities involving a computer, but this is the first unit I have ever purchased. So it shouldn’t surprise anyone to know that I can’t type a paper on my computer, or compile a spreadsheet. I know how to type a paper (sort of) and I can collate data in any program you can name. The reason I can’t on my computer is for the simple reason that I have no programs not specifically related to movies.
It is however top of the line. Dual core processor, two DVD+-rw drives, X800 xl video card, soundblaster platinum and 1.5 terabits of hard drives. I don’t have any idea what that means, but I am assured it is all brought together for the sole purpose of allowing me to catalog and view a fair amount of my collection. I do not offer this to say “Look at me, I buy fancy things”, it is just to provide you with a piece of mind. A confidence that I will not steer you wrong, my own personal warranty, as if to say, I do love movies… maybe too much.
Like any good reviewer I will use a rating system. From 1-8 one being the letter (C) two being (Co) and so on and so forth until seven (Coolest). The eighth is reserved for few movies, but will be refereed to as (100% Awesome).
Example:
“That movie Kurt Russell was in was”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
Ok technically I didn’t buy any DVD’s this week… well three, but they weren’t new releases. I was occupied with the purchase of the aforementioned computer. Next week though I shall return once again to offer you my opinion on the latest and greatest feature length video has to offer.
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
Serenity (2005)
Rating: (Coolest) For classic Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) dialog, for keeping the cast of it’s television name sake (Firefly), and for an altogether “Cinemagic” experience.
Synopsis. Basically it is a wonderful feature length episode of the Sci-Fi channels not-so-hit show Firefly. Based in a future where the universe becomes humanities new “Old West”. This rag tag crew of ruffians (and hot chicks) has to fight for survival, truth, and their right to party.
Comments. It will re-ignite your hatred towards the Sci-Fi Channel for canceling a one of a kind TV watching experience.
The Punisher (2004)
Rating: (Coole) for being one of Hollywood’s better adaptations of a classic comic. Thomas Jane was convincing, but a bit on the pretty side, compared to his comic name sake. The comic relief provided by his misfit neighbors was too contrived. As always John Travolta should have moved to the Mud Creek Nursing Home after making Pulp Fiction. However it was fun, and worth a watching.
Synopsis. Frank Castle’s (Thomas Jane) wife and child are brutally murdered. The rest is just one mans way of saying, “I ain’t just gonna kill ya, I’m gonna to end everything you know”.
Comments. Well to reiterate, it was enjoyable with a good showing by Thomas Jane and Will Patton. It could have been darker, but then again, that wouldn’t pack the theaters, it would have however awarded them a better rating than (Coole). Something for the Hollywood brass to think about next time they remake this classic tale.
Avoid at all costs
Many of you have written asking to know what would earn the rating of (Coo) or less. This category is devoted to you.
Brothers Grimm (2005)
Rating: (C) for wasting my time, and for making me think they weren’t going to waste my time.
Synopsis. Pure and utter tripe, a dribble of cinema that ensnared the guttural urge to disembowel oneself. Begging for scripting, and longing for motivation Matt Damon (The Bourne Supremacy, Ocean’s Twelve) and Heath Ledger (The Patriot, A Knight’s Tale) are brothers who tool the country side looking for ways to piss me off.
Comments. I would step in front of a moving train for Terry Gilliam (Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 12 Monkeys) but now I have been brought to the horrible realization that I would step in front of a moving train rather than watch the Brothers Grimm again.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Remo: an Introductory Tale
Remo is tall and scruffy looking, the sort of person that, on a typical day, relies more on his own sense of good looks than on his wit. His biggest piece of conversation is usually a big dumb grin that he flashes as a distraction when he finds himself in a coversation where he has gotten over his head. Such conversations have been:a short dissertation on the weight ratios betwixt a steel tank and that of the common African Grey Elephant, the overall merits of Kurt Russell and Remo's life goal of having 1000 things to do and not accomplish any.
But to know the man is to know how the man drinks and the written account of this here story that I'm about to unfold does little to no justice to the events that transpired on the actual night. I've tried to keep the story as truthful as possible and only changed names so that defamations by TGI Friday Corp cannot locate us and/or charge us with the crimes here to for.
On this night, young Remo had been slurping back Wild Turkey shots in the basement of our friend Dell's house. He had actually started the night by taking straight pulls off a bottle of Malibu Rum until one of the females at the party, concerned for his health removed the bottle and replaced it with the Wild Turkey. Whether this was a good call or not is for the reader to pass their own judgment.
The night moved from bar to bar, at one point young Remo had half of his body out the back window (no small feat as this was the Dodge Neon sport coupe edition and to my mind had no rear back window) flicking off a passing limo. He claimed that he was explaining that the Dodge Neon sports edition technically could beat any car off the line for the first ten feet.
Things settled down at the bar for a while and the general consensus was that he would go into quiet mode once the double long island kicked in. This, however, was not the case as I Touch Myself by The DyVinals came on. Downing the remainder of his double long island and with a loud exclamation to the rest of the gathered TGI Friday crowd "I have a carpenter's body" young Remo promptly whipped off his shirt and proceeded to step up on the table.
The folks at the Roseville TGI Friday's are often characterized as not having a good sense of humor. Back in the old days, when they were required to wear "flair" the Roseville staff chose not to wear funny buttons, only off setting ones. To this day I think I have as yet to laugh at that TGI Friday's. On this night, however, it was doubly the case. The TGI staff immediately removed young Remo and told the rest of us to leave the premises as well. As we were walking away young Remo begins screaming at us to let him go back inside and to let him fight the waiter that had kicked us out. To make his point, he struck a large light pole in the parking lot. "See that" he said to one of the party goers, indicating a small dent on the light post. "They'll always remember us now. Always." Never mind the fact his hand had puffed up like a marshmallow.
We later found out that it wasn't the actual offense of having been thrown out for his caustic gyrations sans shirt that had truly infuriated him. What he had been doing, when the rest of the party had believed him to be quietly sipping a double long island, was removing all of the goofy shit that hung on the wall behind him and had amassed quite the little collective behind his chair that he had full intentions of stealing. To this day I still don't think that he has quite forgiven TGI Friday Corp.
The party quickly disbanded and young Remo was driven back to his car where, in an act to show all that he was sober enough to drive, he elected to climb over the top of his car and dump himself into it through the sunroof. And to that end he partially succeeded, only he was literally, ass backwards. His hands were down by the pedals, his head was on the seat, his ass was looking out over the steering wheel, the only real negative, as he told me later, is that the Nissan Stanza is built more for economy than comfort and to this end his legs were still jettisoned through the sunroof.
Dell, being soberly minded decided that while the bits and pieces of Remo that made most of his life's decisions were finally in a position to drive a car that this still might not be in the best interest for all those that were on the road and so took Remo's keys. In a further act to prove his sobriety, Remo poured himself out of the car and climbed underneath it to do what any rational man would do: eat dirt.
"The dirt, " the voice from the bottom of the car, was telling Dell, in between mouthfuls, "is to stober me up." Dell pulled young Remo out from underneath the car, dumped him into the passenger side of his car and drove young Remo back to his Mom's house, where he left him to go inside and pass out.
The ensuing morning young Remo picked himself off the linoleum floor of the bathroom. A large challenge when his head had taken on the weight of one thousand planets. Stooped over he walked down the treacherous stairs into the kitchen looking for nothing more than a loaf of bread, V8 and a little hair of the dog.
His mother gasped when she saw him then started laughing uncontrollably. The world was still not making any sense to young Remo so he began to laugh along with her. "What did you do to your hair?" His mom asked, and young Remo felt for his scalp.
As the events have been re-created in many hashings over and using the forensic technology available to us from the evidence that had been left on the bathroom floor, it appears as though young Remo was still of the mind to sober up that evening and finding no other alternative around the spacious house, elicited the help of a hair clippers and the bathroom. Fighting the drunken stupor that he had thrown himself into, it is admirable that he was even able to, though in a bit of a roughshod fashion, clip half of his hair.
And now he is our man on the scene for DVD's. Please, give a warm Bad Mother Coitus welcome to our newest feature writer, my good friend, your favorite: Remo everybody!!!
But to know the man is to know how the man drinks and the written account of this here story that I'm about to unfold does little to no justice to the events that transpired on the actual night. I've tried to keep the story as truthful as possible and only changed names so that defamations by TGI Friday Corp cannot locate us and/or charge us with the crimes here to for.
On this night, young Remo had been slurping back Wild Turkey shots in the basement of our friend Dell's house. He had actually started the night by taking straight pulls off a bottle of Malibu Rum until one of the females at the party, concerned for his health removed the bottle and replaced it with the Wild Turkey. Whether this was a good call or not is for the reader to pass their own judgment.
The night moved from bar to bar, at one point young Remo had half of his body out the back window (no small feat as this was the Dodge Neon sport coupe edition and to my mind had no rear back window) flicking off a passing limo. He claimed that he was explaining that the Dodge Neon sports edition technically could beat any car off the line for the first ten feet.
Things settled down at the bar for a while and the general consensus was that he would go into quiet mode once the double long island kicked in. This, however, was not the case as I Touch Myself by The DyVinals came on. Downing the remainder of his double long island and with a loud exclamation to the rest of the gathered TGI Friday crowd "I have a carpenter's body" young Remo promptly whipped off his shirt and proceeded to step up on the table.
The folks at the Roseville TGI Friday's are often characterized as not having a good sense of humor. Back in the old days, when they were required to wear "flair" the Roseville staff chose not to wear funny buttons, only off setting ones. To this day I think I have as yet to laugh at that TGI Friday's. On this night, however, it was doubly the case. The TGI staff immediately removed young Remo and told the rest of us to leave the premises as well. As we were walking away young Remo begins screaming at us to let him go back inside and to let him fight the waiter that had kicked us out. To make his point, he struck a large light pole in the parking lot. "See that" he said to one of the party goers, indicating a small dent on the light post. "They'll always remember us now. Always." Never mind the fact his hand had puffed up like a marshmallow.
We later found out that it wasn't the actual offense of having been thrown out for his caustic gyrations sans shirt that had truly infuriated him. What he had been doing, when the rest of the party had believed him to be quietly sipping a double long island, was removing all of the goofy shit that hung on the wall behind him and had amassed quite the little collective behind his chair that he had full intentions of stealing. To this day I still don't think that he has quite forgiven TGI Friday Corp.
The party quickly disbanded and young Remo was driven back to his car where, in an act to show all that he was sober enough to drive, he elected to climb over the top of his car and dump himself into it through the sunroof. And to that end he partially succeeded, only he was literally, ass backwards. His hands were down by the pedals, his head was on the seat, his ass was looking out over the steering wheel, the only real negative, as he told me later, is that the Nissan Stanza is built more for economy than comfort and to this end his legs were still jettisoned through the sunroof.
Dell, being soberly minded decided that while the bits and pieces of Remo that made most of his life's decisions were finally in a position to drive a car that this still might not be in the best interest for all those that were on the road and so took Remo's keys. In a further act to prove his sobriety, Remo poured himself out of the car and climbed underneath it to do what any rational man would do: eat dirt.
"The dirt, " the voice from the bottom of the car, was telling Dell, in between mouthfuls, "is to stober me up." Dell pulled young Remo out from underneath the car, dumped him into the passenger side of his car and drove young Remo back to his Mom's house, where he left him to go inside and pass out.
The ensuing morning young Remo picked himself off the linoleum floor of the bathroom. A large challenge when his head had taken on the weight of one thousand planets. Stooped over he walked down the treacherous stairs into the kitchen looking for nothing more than a loaf of bread, V8 and a little hair of the dog.
His mother gasped when she saw him then started laughing uncontrollably. The world was still not making any sense to young Remo so he began to laugh along with her. "What did you do to your hair?" His mom asked, and young Remo felt for his scalp.
As the events have been re-created in many hashings over and using the forensic technology available to us from the evidence that had been left on the bathroom floor, it appears as though young Remo was still of the mind to sober up that evening and finding no other alternative around the spacious house, elicited the help of a hair clippers and the bathroom. Fighting the drunken stupor that he had thrown himself into, it is admirable that he was even able to, though in a bit of a roughshod fashion, clip half of his hair.
And now he is our man on the scene for DVD's. Please, give a warm Bad Mother Coitus welcome to our newest feature writer, my good friend, your favorite: Remo everybody!!!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
There's a Man on the Roof of the Hotel
across from the parking lot from my building. i'm just spitballing here but I'd guess he's just a shade under 6 feet and he carries a big frame. he's got a beard that can be seen easily from 100 yards and he's got a stocking cap on tight on his head. no fancy designs or stripes or colors to speak of. beige and brown and some blue jeans that are the very definitiion of windstripped. right now in new york there is a man holding a tiny puntable dog in his arms and yelling at someone on the dye team because they have failed for the 19th time this week to match this weatherworn look. i'm sure we'll see the results in a few months at the gap. i am nonplussed. the man on the roof is up there ostensibly for some maintenance work. he's not a window cleaner and he's not working on any of the many satellite dishes that rest atop the building. so, unless he's someone who just likes to spend a few hours on top of a hotel in january in minnesota i'm guessing he's working on something maintenancy that is out of my view. occasionally others stop by. they never bring tools or where a toolbelt or in any way convey tools from one location to another. there is only one access to the roof. so whatever it is that they do, they do it with their hands and their minds. i'm fascinated. i don't know anything about this guy and frankly, if i saw him at street level i wouldn't even notice him, even after writing about him like this. being on top of a hotel makes everyone seem a little cooler. i once spent a sunrise on top of one of the hiltons (the hotel not the socialites) in vegas. watching hendrixes purple haze cover the desert. i definitely feel cool when atop a hotel. so what's the maintenance guy doing up there? what's his life story? how did he get such a sweet gig working on top of hotels for a living? that's the life for me. nothing scary like those depression-era guys working for peanuts and risking life and limb going up to build the skyscrapers in new york or bridges in california. just walking around like a normal person 20 floors up. that's better than what i do for a living. that's living right there. even on the cold days you have to feel alive right? why does this guy do this sort of thing? maybe he has a troubled past. maybe he loves the sky but is afraid to fly. i dunno. that's not the point though. he's only 100 yards away and yet it seems like miles. he can sit down and lean against the ductwork and watch the planes come into the airport and feel the wind and sit up above all the exhaust smells and just be. so close and yet so far. the door's open. i could go over there and, with some timing and a little guile, make my way onto the hotel roof for a bit. i have no idea what i'd do up there but i think i'd enjoy it. maybe i could talk to the guy and find out what's interesting about him. maybe this is the coolest thing he does in his life and he thinks it's boring. maybe he went to high school with jeffrey dahmer and he gets the shakes every time he thinks about it so he works in an environment where if you're not paying attention you could fall to your death. that's what i'm going with. something strange like that. i hope he's interesting. there has been a complete and total lack of random nudity out of the hotel windows and the only thing that could make that place interesting is if the roof maintenance guy used to go to highschool with a serial killer. sad, but true. i'm an american, if i can't have nudity i would like to infer some past violence or something. call me crazy.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Dying Midwestern
At its’ heart, it was a noble adventure. It had been the brainchild of wine, then whisky then beer, then back to whisky and closing with wine, a virtual palindrome of alcohol. I had given myself the task of writing down all of the tasks that I wished to accomplish by the time that I turned 40. Actually, it had started off with by the time that I turned 30, but being a realist I scratched out 30 and replaced it with 40.
Dancing like lollipops through my head were trips that I wish to take. I want to inhale the sweet meditation of Mount Fuji and breathe in the thick air that satiates the rambler’s soul that surely resides there. To find nirvana on a crowded street in Tokyo, an individual soul lost amongst the masses with music pouring through my veins as my Zen. To fall in love, on the skyline of Manhattan while cradling a girl that is leaning out of a balcony on the top floor of a hotel overlooking Central Park. To feel the exuberance of living in England again, the benefits of not owning a car or a TV and receiving all of my culture from the pub down my row. To read 100 books then 1000. To match dreams with paper and become a writer that puts down words that would last for ever and by doing so, endeavor to become immortal in the heart of some yet unborn child.
But then Little B and I sat down and the paper stared back at me. I didn’t wish to put anything down upon this fresh page, these selfish plans that I hold for myself. This wasn’t out of fear but because the ideals that I wanted to put on it weren’t mine. These were dreams, dreams that I hope will allow me to taste the infinity that my heart so greedily churns for in every passing beat, and in the end they are only dreams and bring me no closer to that which I crave.
Instead I found myself writing ‘to live life’, to be that beautiful dreamer that could find these ideals without seeking them; to let the infinity find me. The moments that find a person at two in the morning when the ugly lights have come on at a local bar being after they’ve been wrapped too tightly with somebody in an intriguing conversation. To suck that marrow out of a life that is tasteful only to those that allow it to come to them.
I tasted what the infinity could be and looking down at the page I accepted my dream and knew that I already had written too much. In that instant the words of Polonius struck me yet again:
“This above all: To thine own self be true
Dancing like lollipops through my head were trips that I wish to take. I want to inhale the sweet meditation of Mount Fuji and breathe in the thick air that satiates the rambler’s soul that surely resides there. To find nirvana on a crowded street in Tokyo, an individual soul lost amongst the masses with music pouring through my veins as my Zen. To fall in love, on the skyline of Manhattan while cradling a girl that is leaning out of a balcony on the top floor of a hotel overlooking Central Park. To feel the exuberance of living in England again, the benefits of not owning a car or a TV and receiving all of my culture from the pub down my row. To read 100 books then 1000. To match dreams with paper and become a writer that puts down words that would last for ever and by doing so, endeavor to become immortal in the heart of some yet unborn child.
But then Little B and I sat down and the paper stared back at me. I didn’t wish to put anything down upon this fresh page, these selfish plans that I hold for myself. This wasn’t out of fear but because the ideals that I wanted to put on it weren’t mine. These were dreams, dreams that I hope will allow me to taste the infinity that my heart so greedily churns for in every passing beat, and in the end they are only dreams and bring me no closer to that which I crave.
Instead I found myself writing ‘to live life’, to be that beautiful dreamer that could find these ideals without seeking them; to let the infinity find me. The moments that find a person at two in the morning when the ugly lights have come on at a local bar being after they’ve been wrapped too tightly with somebody in an intriguing conversation. To suck that marrow out of a life that is tasteful only to those that allow it to come to them.
I tasted what the infinity could be and looking down at the page I accepted my dream and knew that I already had written too much. In that instant the words of Polonius struck me yet again:
“This above all: To thine own self be true
Monday, January 16, 2006
Old People Can Be Our Salvation...Tis True
I'm kinda fascinated by the whole bumper sticker phenomenon. I'm also fascinated by the little window cling things that people put on their cars as well. I realize that we, as a people, all drive basically the same car/truck/suv but are we really this hard up for some individuality? I only ask because I've been having some bizarre flashbacks of this sort of thing lately.
I saw a little garfield in the back seat of a Volvo station wagon the other day. And not one of the old Volvos that are all boxy and make you think the person driving it is an English Lit Professor at the little college down the road. I mean one of the new "sporty" models that makes you think that the person driving it is late for their kid's lacrosse practice (soccer is so 1989). The Garfield suction cup thing (and Garfield puts the "suck" in "suction) hasn't been seen much in the past few years has it? Did the person dust the ol' guy off as a joke or is this the 17th anniversary of some kid telling him his Garfield doll was cool and he's still trying to cash in? I get confused sometimes. I think if the guy had a "baby on board" or one of the derivative "computer geek on board/goddess on board" window things my head may have exploded just out of self defense. (I'm fully aware that my head blowing up would probably kill me and therefore not be much of a self defense but it's sort of a cop out. If the guy had both the Garfield and the "baby on board" window things then he'd probably get out of his car and say something impossibly stupid that would make me gnaw my own wrists and if you really think about it having your head blow up in an instant is much more preferable than chewing through your own skin. That's all I'm saying. In context it makes sense.)
But enough about the outdated guy. Everyone's outdated at some point in their lives. What about the people now who use the bumper sticker? And I'm not even considering the 16 year old kid with the 10 year old hatchback that has all his or her favorite bands and 12 of those little bunny pictures saying "you smell" or whatever. Those kids are just dying for some freedom. I can't hold that against them. I'm talking about the people with the 2 year old Camry who feel the need to state their political views or their military spending views or just to tell a lame joke on their bumper. It's kind of odd isn't it?
Outside of spending $25k on something and then immediately putting something on it to make it look tacky I don't see what the point is. Do these same people paint their garage in Vikings colors or put a giant Timberwolf logo on their back porch too? Cuz then I'd be okay with it. Who wouldn't want to go to a barbeque and stand on a porch that looks like center court at Target Center? Nobody. That's who.
My personal favorite bumper stickers are the ones that claim that God isn't a Republican or a Democrat. That's always entertaining. Politics isn't stupid enough, let's weigh in on how God feels about the whole ordeal. It's just another person slapping their own personal thoughts onto God and claiming it is real. Maybe God is a Republican. I doubt it but who knows? If only we had more bumper stickers maybe we could get to the bottom of this. And where does the Dahlai Lama side in this issue? How come no one's polled his opinion and slapped it on a bumper sticker. Heck at least he's a person. You could get a direct quote. Seems like less guesswork to me.
So anyway, I don't get the whole bumper sticker thing. I've had two bumper stickers in my life that actually went on a vehicle. One was a Packers sticker to cover up a bumper that was rusting away. I considered it to be beautifully designed duct tape. And the other was the Autobot insignia on the hood of a Geo Storm because I kinda wanted to pretend that my crappy car was, in fact, a robot from outerspace. Cliffjumper was his name. I don't know what it says about me that I imagine my car as a gigantic robot from outerspace but then I make the decision to call it one of the minor characters that most people only vaguely remember. We'll leave that for another day.
I will say this though, most young people actually seem to believe that others can be swayed by what's on the bumper sticker. Which is just ridiculous. Why would I trust what a 97 Stratus has to say about politics? I have only seen one bumper sticker that made me happy in the past 5-10 years. I saw it this weekend. It was parked at a gas station and I was laughing as I passed the owner of said vehicle. He was an old guy, probably pushing 80, and he had a cane. He had a trucker hat on and it wasn't even ironic. I think it said something about being waaaaay over the hill. I wanted to grab this guy and go buy him a beer as a thanks for the great bumper sticker. I knew I had enough cash to get him a beer but I wasn't sure if I could afford the hip replacement surgery that was sure to follow after a few cold ones and the inevitable fall on the icy parking lot so I passed on the chance. I regret it. The bumper sticker is as follows...
A Little Coitus couldn't Hoit Us.
I saw a little garfield in the back seat of a Volvo station wagon the other day. And not one of the old Volvos that are all boxy and make you think the person driving it is an English Lit Professor at the little college down the road. I mean one of the new "sporty" models that makes you think that the person driving it is late for their kid's lacrosse practice (soccer is so 1989). The Garfield suction cup thing (and Garfield puts the "suck" in "suction) hasn't been seen much in the past few years has it? Did the person dust the ol' guy off as a joke or is this the 17th anniversary of some kid telling him his Garfield doll was cool and he's still trying to cash in? I get confused sometimes. I think if the guy had a "baby on board" or one of the derivative "computer geek on board/goddess on board" window things my head may have exploded just out of self defense. (I'm fully aware that my head blowing up would probably kill me and therefore not be much of a self defense but it's sort of a cop out. If the guy had both the Garfield and the "baby on board" window things then he'd probably get out of his car and say something impossibly stupid that would make me gnaw my own wrists and if you really think about it having your head blow up in an instant is much more preferable than chewing through your own skin. That's all I'm saying. In context it makes sense.)
But enough about the outdated guy. Everyone's outdated at some point in their lives. What about the people now who use the bumper sticker? And I'm not even considering the 16 year old kid with the 10 year old hatchback that has all his or her favorite bands and 12 of those little bunny pictures saying "you smell" or whatever. Those kids are just dying for some freedom. I can't hold that against them. I'm talking about the people with the 2 year old Camry who feel the need to state their political views or their military spending views or just to tell a lame joke on their bumper. It's kind of odd isn't it?
Outside of spending $25k on something and then immediately putting something on it to make it look tacky I don't see what the point is. Do these same people paint their garage in Vikings colors or put a giant Timberwolf logo on their back porch too? Cuz then I'd be okay with it. Who wouldn't want to go to a barbeque and stand on a porch that looks like center court at Target Center? Nobody. That's who.
My personal favorite bumper stickers are the ones that claim that God isn't a Republican or a Democrat. That's always entertaining. Politics isn't stupid enough, let's weigh in on how God feels about the whole ordeal. It's just another person slapping their own personal thoughts onto God and claiming it is real. Maybe God is a Republican. I doubt it but who knows? If only we had more bumper stickers maybe we could get to the bottom of this. And where does the Dahlai Lama side in this issue? How come no one's polled his opinion and slapped it on a bumper sticker. Heck at least he's a person. You could get a direct quote. Seems like less guesswork to me.
So anyway, I don't get the whole bumper sticker thing. I've had two bumper stickers in my life that actually went on a vehicle. One was a Packers sticker to cover up a bumper that was rusting away. I considered it to be beautifully designed duct tape. And the other was the Autobot insignia on the hood of a Geo Storm because I kinda wanted to pretend that my crappy car was, in fact, a robot from outerspace. Cliffjumper was his name. I don't know what it says about me that I imagine my car as a gigantic robot from outerspace but then I make the decision to call it one of the minor characters that most people only vaguely remember. We'll leave that for another day.
I will say this though, most young people actually seem to believe that others can be swayed by what's on the bumper sticker. Which is just ridiculous. Why would I trust what a 97 Stratus has to say about politics? I have only seen one bumper sticker that made me happy in the past 5-10 years. I saw it this weekend. It was parked at a gas station and I was laughing as I passed the owner of said vehicle. He was an old guy, probably pushing 80, and he had a cane. He had a trucker hat on and it wasn't even ironic. I think it said something about being waaaaay over the hill. I wanted to grab this guy and go buy him a beer as a thanks for the great bumper sticker. I knew I had enough cash to get him a beer but I wasn't sure if I could afford the hip replacement surgery that was sure to follow after a few cold ones and the inevitable fall on the icy parking lot so I passed on the chance. I regret it. The bumper sticker is as follows...
A Little Coitus couldn't Hoit Us.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Baseball
Sporadic snow on the ground with some grass peaking through. The temp is hovering in the 20-30 degree range most of the time which is, sadly, not even that cold if you're a Minnesota boy. Sunny today but that's a rarity. We get lots of clouds and many, many, many shades of grey with those clouds this time of year. It'll be like this (snowy, cold and grey) for another 2 months or so. Then it'll be sporadically warm or I'll be shoveling out from a blizzard. No one knows. April's fun that way. Why do I bring this up? This crappy winter existence? Because I could accept all of it if I could be playing/watching/reading about baseball.
When my brain is otherwise not engaged I'm usually thinking about next year's softball team, whether or not Rondell White will be the second coming of Chili Davis (which, when you think about it, only is a good thing if you're a Twins fan - I don't think there are many people outside the fans of the '91 Twins who even know who Chili was or why a second coming of him would be a good thing) and whether I can figure out how to get some fans in the stands on my mvp baseball game on ps2. I was digging through the basement recently and came across my old nintendo (and by old I mean the original NES with duck hunt and whatnot). I also came across my old games and, after 5 fruitless minutes messing with bats on Castlevania I rolled the dice with RBI Baseball. The Twins tore the cover off the ball on that game.
So, long story short, I'm a baseball guy. I wasn't always like this. Like most beer drinking Americans I dialed into the ol' NFL on Sundays and got hooked. I got lucky as I decided to be a Packer fan roughly 6 weeks before the start of the '92 season and therefore I've not known a time where Favre wasn't winning and playing. That'll end soon, but I'm okay with it, I've moved on to greener pastures.
I even tried basketball for a few years. I decided to boycott the NBA two years ago after watching the Lakers "beat" the Wolves in the Western Finals and I've not regretted it. The sport of basketball is beautiful, it's too bad nobody knows how to play it anymore. Chuck Klosterman loves the nba because it's like real life, the rich kids get all the breaks and everyone basically accepts that the elite players and teams will get calls they don't deserve. That's an interesting comparison, but me, I'd just like to see a nice bounce pass y'know?
So, a baseball guy. And I'm stuck in mid-winter and it's still waaaaaaaaaay too long until pitchers and catchers report. I try not to think about it. I try to push the thoughts from my head. I try not to break down what our softball lineup will be next year (last year I hit 3rd) and who will be coming back. I pause to reflect that it may not have been a great idea to take two guys who are 6 foot 5 and have the same range of motion as the Tin Man in Oz and ask them to play our middle infield spots last year. I think about the pitcher who, despite this being slow pitch softball, is still trying to hit spots to attack any weaknesses he thinks are in my swing. I think about driving a pitch that's low and outside into left field (I'm a lefty) for a double. I have endured several minutes of Cheap Seats on ESPNClassic just hoping for the 1000th rerun of Morris in Game 7.
Mostly I just sit still and try to get through work. I check the local blogs/sites like www.aarongleeman.com and www.twinkietown.com (and yes I need to learn html) and I hope for something interesting. Some statistical analysis that I disagree with, just something to spur me on to do some research and try to prove that Joe Mauer is a top 3 catcher in the league RIGHT NOW. Stuff like that. And I try not to drive my car into a bridge abuttment every time one of the guys on KFAN says something stupid like Mauer's not great until he has 100 RBIs in a season. Which leads me to do more indepth statistical analysis which is not something I'm very good at it. But at least I'm interested. That's more than I can say for most folks who cover the sport around town.
I could go all "cool of the grass, smell of the leather" on you but I won't. This has been more wistful than I intended already. I guess I'll just have to hunker down and re-read Ball Four again and try to get through this damn month and the next damn month. And of course I just realized that I lent Ball Four to Mule, who, being a jackass, has lent it to his father and I'm sure a cousin or an old friend and by now my book is sitting on an end table at some person's cabin in Duluth who I have not and will not ever meet. It's enough to turn a fella into the biggest, homeliest version of a teenage girl ever. If you see a large man dressed like a pimply 9th grade girl in a prom dress bawling, that'll be me. But I figured it would probably end this way. There may not be crying in baseball but there certainly is crying in Minnesota when it's January and there isn't a hint of baseball on the horizon.
And I don't know how, but as God as my witness I will tivo every damn game by Santana this year. And I will record those games to DVDs so that this will be the last winter that I have to go without watching baseball for this long. And my wife will wonder why I'm watching a recorded game from May next November but she'll see the look in my eyes and she'll leave me be. Because if I don't record those games and watch 'em, and if she interrupts, well then the terrorists win.
When my brain is otherwise not engaged I'm usually thinking about next year's softball team, whether or not Rondell White will be the second coming of Chili Davis (which, when you think about it, only is a good thing if you're a Twins fan - I don't think there are many people outside the fans of the '91 Twins who even know who Chili was or why a second coming of him would be a good thing) and whether I can figure out how to get some fans in the stands on my mvp baseball game on ps2. I was digging through the basement recently and came across my old nintendo (and by old I mean the original NES with duck hunt and whatnot). I also came across my old games and, after 5 fruitless minutes messing with bats on Castlevania I rolled the dice with RBI Baseball. The Twins tore the cover off the ball on that game.
So, long story short, I'm a baseball guy. I wasn't always like this. Like most beer drinking Americans I dialed into the ol' NFL on Sundays and got hooked. I got lucky as I decided to be a Packer fan roughly 6 weeks before the start of the '92 season and therefore I've not known a time where Favre wasn't winning and playing. That'll end soon, but I'm okay with it, I've moved on to greener pastures.
I even tried basketball for a few years. I decided to boycott the NBA two years ago after watching the Lakers "beat" the Wolves in the Western Finals and I've not regretted it. The sport of basketball is beautiful, it's too bad nobody knows how to play it anymore. Chuck Klosterman loves the nba because it's like real life, the rich kids get all the breaks and everyone basically accepts that the elite players and teams will get calls they don't deserve. That's an interesting comparison, but me, I'd just like to see a nice bounce pass y'know?
So, a baseball guy. And I'm stuck in mid-winter and it's still waaaaaaaaaay too long until pitchers and catchers report. I try not to think about it. I try to push the thoughts from my head. I try not to break down what our softball lineup will be next year (last year I hit 3rd) and who will be coming back. I pause to reflect that it may not have been a great idea to take two guys who are 6 foot 5 and have the same range of motion as the Tin Man in Oz and ask them to play our middle infield spots last year. I think about the pitcher who, despite this being slow pitch softball, is still trying to hit spots to attack any weaknesses he thinks are in my swing. I think about driving a pitch that's low and outside into left field (I'm a lefty) for a double. I have endured several minutes of Cheap Seats on ESPNClassic just hoping for the 1000th rerun of Morris in Game 7.
Mostly I just sit still and try to get through work. I check the local blogs/sites like www.aarongleeman.com and www.twinkietown.com (and yes I need to learn html) and I hope for something interesting. Some statistical analysis that I disagree with, just something to spur me on to do some research and try to prove that Joe Mauer is a top 3 catcher in the league RIGHT NOW. Stuff like that. And I try not to drive my car into a bridge abuttment every time one of the guys on KFAN says something stupid like Mauer's not great until he has 100 RBIs in a season. Which leads me to do more indepth statistical analysis which is not something I'm very good at it. But at least I'm interested. That's more than I can say for most folks who cover the sport around town.
I could go all "cool of the grass, smell of the leather" on you but I won't. This has been more wistful than I intended already. I guess I'll just have to hunker down and re-read Ball Four again and try to get through this damn month and the next damn month. And of course I just realized that I lent Ball Four to Mule, who, being a jackass, has lent it to his father and I'm sure a cousin or an old friend and by now my book is sitting on an end table at some person's cabin in Duluth who I have not and will not ever meet. It's enough to turn a fella into the biggest, homeliest version of a teenage girl ever. If you see a large man dressed like a pimply 9th grade girl in a prom dress bawling, that'll be me. But I figured it would probably end this way. There may not be crying in baseball but there certainly is crying in Minnesota when it's January and there isn't a hint of baseball on the horizon.
And I don't know how, but as God as my witness I will tivo every damn game by Santana this year. And I will record those games to DVDs so that this will be the last winter that I have to go without watching baseball for this long. And my wife will wonder why I'm watching a recorded game from May next November but she'll see the look in my eyes and she'll leave me be. Because if I don't record those games and watch 'em, and if she interrupts, well then the terrorists win.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Old Friends
Saturday was a vile night weatherwise. I had settled into my couch with a warm book and a fine bottled of Macallan when someone, from a long time ago rang my doorbell. Begrudgingly, I set my book down and took him in only to have him tell me a tale that would bring a man of stronger resolve than me to their knees. Fortunately, I had taken the necessary precautions, but just to make sure, I poured myself another tall scotch.
He had recently been deployed on missionary work. For him this meant going to the heathen land, a land filled with noble savages that would welcome a man in with open arms one minute while slitting your throat the next. Something that he warmed me must be guarded against and one that you must keep your whiles about so as not to wake up dead in the middle of the night.
“Chicago is a fine part of the world”, he began, taking a sip off of the scotch, cradling it in his hands like an old friend that has been gone far too long. He continued, “I had been sent to bring the good word, but found the task was above me. I quoted from the books of Cash and Dylan and was rebuked at every turn. Thus I set myself apart from them as more of a disinterested observer than as somebody that could bring peace to that land.”
“I’ve seen many strange and wonderful things. People wearing striped shirts and haircuts that were meant to define their social status. This is a culture that does not live off of integrity that comes through words. It is a culture where ascension in their ranks is dictated by how you choose to dress yourself and regular showers.
“I was brought to one of their denizen clan gatherings, at the house of one of their local leaders. I tried speaking in a dialect they would understand, and while I did make headway with some members on the outer social circle of the clan I was turned away by others I attempted to talk with. This was most noticed when I was confronted by the alpha male of their collective.
“The alpha male is a short, well-groomed character that had dressed himself in the intellectual garb of a person of similar ilk from the 80’s. He was definitely in charge, or at least he thought so. Having been given the foreknowledge that he was interested in international talk, I attempted to communicate or even learn from him and his position. This gave way to having my words turned against me. His diatribe escalated to attacking my character and I felt my face distorting into an incredulous mask as I struggled to comprehend what was coming out of his mouth and how I had wronged him.
“Was my gesture not understood by his local custom? Had I been too forward? Did he follow some sort of Gorilla Law that dictated when I was supposed to establish eye contact with him? Was it the fact that I had been befriended into this circle by a female that he viewed as his possible alpha mate?
“I made my way back into the kitchen and blended into the conversation before taking relief in a bathroom enjoying the momentary solace that it afforded me. Upon exiting, I found the same alpha male talking to a subordinate in hushed tones. His plan was to either bring harm to my person or evict me from their social gathering.
“I then recalled a past missionary assignment one that had been in a similar setting. I had been brought as a guest of honor to watch a Nerd Dance of Death. This “Dance” is a horrific tradition unlike any other; an act where two skinny men grab one another by their shoulders, cursing in blunt, nonsensical and indecipherable phrases while attempting to knee each other in the balls.
“Wanting no part of this, I grabbed my lover and the two of us exited the party, my nuts, gratefully, still in tact.
He concluded his speech with a sigh and drained the last finger from his glass; I immediately poured him another one. He accepted this gift and eased back into the comforts of the couch, the nightmare that he had just related still hanging over the conversation.
He mulled over his fresh glass of scotch by running a finger around the top. He spoke again, a more broken voice coming out of his mouth, “They’re sending me back out; off to the Rich Coast and I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”
He left shortly there after. The light from my doorway spilled out as I watched his footprints disappear in the freshly falling snow. In that instant I knew that he would be back, in many ways he has never left and I cursed him for it.
He had recently been deployed on missionary work. For him this meant going to the heathen land, a land filled with noble savages that would welcome a man in with open arms one minute while slitting your throat the next. Something that he warmed me must be guarded against and one that you must keep your whiles about so as not to wake up dead in the middle of the night.
“Chicago is a fine part of the world”, he began, taking a sip off of the scotch, cradling it in his hands like an old friend that has been gone far too long. He continued, “I had been sent to bring the good word, but found the task was above me. I quoted from the books of Cash and Dylan and was rebuked at every turn. Thus I set myself apart from them as more of a disinterested observer than as somebody that could bring peace to that land.”
“I’ve seen many strange and wonderful things. People wearing striped shirts and haircuts that were meant to define their social status. This is a culture that does not live off of integrity that comes through words. It is a culture where ascension in their ranks is dictated by how you choose to dress yourself and regular showers.
“I was brought to one of their denizen clan gatherings, at the house of one of their local leaders. I tried speaking in a dialect they would understand, and while I did make headway with some members on the outer social circle of the clan I was turned away by others I attempted to talk with. This was most noticed when I was confronted by the alpha male of their collective.
“The alpha male is a short, well-groomed character that had dressed himself in the intellectual garb of a person of similar ilk from the 80’s. He was definitely in charge, or at least he thought so. Having been given the foreknowledge that he was interested in international talk, I attempted to communicate or even learn from him and his position. This gave way to having my words turned against me. His diatribe escalated to attacking my character and I felt my face distorting into an incredulous mask as I struggled to comprehend what was coming out of his mouth and how I had wronged him.
“Was my gesture not understood by his local custom? Had I been too forward? Did he follow some sort of Gorilla Law that dictated when I was supposed to establish eye contact with him? Was it the fact that I had been befriended into this circle by a female that he viewed as his possible alpha mate?
“I made my way back into the kitchen and blended into the conversation before taking relief in a bathroom enjoying the momentary solace that it afforded me. Upon exiting, I found the same alpha male talking to a subordinate in hushed tones. His plan was to either bring harm to my person or evict me from their social gathering.
“I then recalled a past missionary assignment one that had been in a similar setting. I had been brought as a guest of honor to watch a Nerd Dance of Death. This “Dance” is a horrific tradition unlike any other; an act where two skinny men grab one another by their shoulders, cursing in blunt, nonsensical and indecipherable phrases while attempting to knee each other in the balls.
“Wanting no part of this, I grabbed my lover and the two of us exited the party, my nuts, gratefully, still in tact.
He concluded his speech with a sigh and drained the last finger from his glass; I immediately poured him another one. He accepted this gift and eased back into the comforts of the couch, the nightmare that he had just related still hanging over the conversation.
He mulled over his fresh glass of scotch by running a finger around the top. He spoke again, a more broken voice coming out of his mouth, “They’re sending me back out; off to the Rich Coast and I don’t know if I’ll come back from it.”
He left shortly there after. The light from my doorway spilled out as I watched his footprints disappear in the freshly falling snow. In that instant I knew that he would be back, in many ways he has never left and I cursed him for it.
Monday, January 09, 2006
The Workplace
...As fascinating as a Tuesday night at Applebees.
I was going to call this "the office" but I didn't want some superfan of BBC America writing in to tell me they slept with Stephen Merchant or something. In fact, I don't really want to hear anything about anyone sleeping with Stephen Merchant. He's funny as hell (he co-wrote, acted, and co-created two of the best shows ever in "The Office" and "Extras") but he's not exactly Brad Pitt...maybe the Sarlacc Pit but that's just really piling on at this point.
I mean the UK office not the American version. If you know Merchant, you know he's kinda gangly, kinda nerdish and really pale. He's kind of like the weird half rabbit/half bat/half camel things from the Dark Crystal that Jen and Kira ride and eventually offer up as unwitting sacrifices to the big ass beetles. I saw this movie like 6 times in the theatre. Got the dvd last year and watched it again. Apparently as a child I was a fucking idiot. Not the best movie (clearly) and yet I've still never come close to beating the 6 times in a theatre thing. I need to go watch a movie in the theatre 7 times to purge my soul.
Maybe it traumatized me. Maybe my brother just needed a cheap babysitter while he went out strolling for chicks. I dunno. You'd think my parents or brother would have intervened at some point, possibly as I was sucking on an orange and claiming that I had drained it of it's essence like the Skeksis do to the little muppets in the movie, but they never did. I must have been a fucking idiot. I mean, I was 6 or 7 at the time but still...
So anyway, that was a long way of saying that this is not about that at all. Which basically means it was a waste of time. But if you're like me then you're just here to kill time in the workday so I figure all's fair.
What's the workplace like for me? Other than some people that I actually like (surprised me too) it's a pretty drab place. I mostly get through the day by mocking those around me. Heard a co-worker this morning say to a person on the phone that she was speaking to that he needed to make "a business decision" on something. How is that different than just a "decision"? Is the guy on the phone going to make a personal decision to work with us but then the little business partner in his head is going to overrule him with his decision? I suppose it's more specific to refer to it as a "business decision" but, to be clear, we are working with this person and we are a business and he is running a business so wouldn't anything having to do with our relationship be a "business decision" and therefore it becomes redundant to throw "business" in there? How many quotation marks can I throw in before I tip the scales from annoying to obnoxious? Already there?
"Dammit" I said, in mock disgust.
It amazes me that so many intelligent to semi-intelligent to borderline knuckle draggers go to work every day. I know the nerdy little scientists and sociologists claim that we, as a race, crave routine and stuff but maybe they're wrong. Maybe it's all propaganda to keep us working. Maybe none of us would do these boring jobs if we really weighed the pros and cons. Or maybe I'm just super lazy. I'm okay with either option, I just want to know.
Unfortunately the workplace is still here and I'm still here and that's probably my fault. For further clarification on this issue see (Lazy, Harmon) noted elsewhere. I need to get some boots with some straps so I can pull myself up by them. That's the problem with people nowadays. Their footwear is not adequate for their metaphor needs!
Harmon
I was going to call this "the office" but I didn't want some superfan of BBC America writing in to tell me they slept with Stephen Merchant or something. In fact, I don't really want to hear anything about anyone sleeping with Stephen Merchant. He's funny as hell (he co-wrote, acted, and co-created two of the best shows ever in "The Office" and "Extras") but he's not exactly Brad Pitt...maybe the Sarlacc Pit but that's just really piling on at this point.
I mean the UK office not the American version. If you know Merchant, you know he's kinda gangly, kinda nerdish and really pale. He's kind of like the weird half rabbit/half bat/half camel things from the Dark Crystal that Jen and Kira ride and eventually offer up as unwitting sacrifices to the big ass beetles. I saw this movie like 6 times in the theatre. Got the dvd last year and watched it again. Apparently as a child I was a fucking idiot. Not the best movie (clearly) and yet I've still never come close to beating the 6 times in a theatre thing. I need to go watch a movie in the theatre 7 times to purge my soul.
Maybe it traumatized me. Maybe my brother just needed a cheap babysitter while he went out strolling for chicks. I dunno. You'd think my parents or brother would have intervened at some point, possibly as I was sucking on an orange and claiming that I had drained it of it's essence like the Skeksis do to the little muppets in the movie, but they never did. I must have been a fucking idiot. I mean, I was 6 or 7 at the time but still...
So anyway, that was a long way of saying that this is not about that at all. Which basically means it was a waste of time. But if you're like me then you're just here to kill time in the workday so I figure all's fair.
What's the workplace like for me? Other than some people that I actually like (surprised me too) it's a pretty drab place. I mostly get through the day by mocking those around me. Heard a co-worker this morning say to a person on the phone that she was speaking to that he needed to make "a business decision" on something. How is that different than just a "decision"? Is the guy on the phone going to make a personal decision to work with us but then the little business partner in his head is going to overrule him with his decision? I suppose it's more specific to refer to it as a "business decision" but, to be clear, we are working with this person and we are a business and he is running a business so wouldn't anything having to do with our relationship be a "business decision" and therefore it becomes redundant to throw "business" in there? How many quotation marks can I throw in before I tip the scales from annoying to obnoxious? Already there?
"Dammit" I said, in mock disgust.
It amazes me that so many intelligent to semi-intelligent to borderline knuckle draggers go to work every day. I know the nerdy little scientists and sociologists claim that we, as a race, crave routine and stuff but maybe they're wrong. Maybe it's all propaganda to keep us working. Maybe none of us would do these boring jobs if we really weighed the pros and cons. Or maybe I'm just super lazy. I'm okay with either option, I just want to know.
Unfortunately the workplace is still here and I'm still here and that's probably my fault. For further clarification on this issue see (Lazy, Harmon) noted elsewhere. I need to get some boots with some straps so I can pull myself up by them. That's the problem with people nowadays. Their footwear is not adequate for their metaphor needs!
Harmon
Friday, January 06, 2006
DVDefect
The death of your collection?
In the age of mp3 players and online books why haven’t the record companies and publishing houses seen a significant drop in sales? Sales in all types of “hardware media” (books, CDs, DVDs) have continued to fluctuate within the norms of our economy, even with the rise of digital media ¹. Why? Hell, I don’t know but if the average American is anything like me (and they are not), we like collections. We buy books that we have already borrowed and read because they’d look great on the coffee table or shelf and we may just get around to reading them again. We buy CDs for the same reason, saying you have over 1,000 CDs goes quite a long way in certain circles. I personally own about 20 CDs and as a result will never be taken seriously in any conversation about anything pertaining to music. Then there is the rare individual that purchases the book or CD to support the artist. Good for you “Keep em’ off welfare” is what I always say. No offense intended, unless of course you are an artist that is relying on my tax dollars to get you by until you make it. In which case, screw you sideways! What about my dream?! What about my natural ability in something that no one cares about?! When you get famous are you gonna pay us back instead of moving to France to avoid paying taxes?! I digress.
This same logic I can naively translate to TV shows and Movies. With the invention of TIVO, and SATA hard drives selling for thirty cents a gig why don’t we just record every movie on cable, or Net Flix them and record them on the aforementioned hard drive. The same can be said for television shows. Set your TIVO to record every episode of every TV show in the off chance that you’ll get around to watching it? I’m attempting to do just that, however I still see the value of having seasons 1-5 of the West Wing on the shelf. “West Wing?” “But you made a crack about welfare?” No I didn’t, just free loaders, and yes I am pretending to have a conversation with you.
It seems that half of the DVD section in most stores is filled with TV shows, old and new. From the A-Team to Alias you can purchase pretty much any TV show you want including the much anticipated release of The Fall Guy starring Lee Majors. Having said that, why would you spend upwards of $50 a season buying them? With TIVO or Windows Media you can set to record almost any show you want, and if you have enough cable channels it won’t take you long to get entire seasons. With Movie Channels and a proper decrypter, you can even record certain movies before they are out on DVD.
Bottom line. We’re collectors and visual learners, sure you can scroll through your list of movies to determine which one you want to watch, but it just seems more enjoyable to pan across a wall of DVDs whether it be in your local video store, or in your basement right next to your framed picture of Sylvester Stallone in First Blood. Buy your DVDs, Purchase that CD, hell, even buy a book if you’re still in the dark ages of the written word. Push that collection as far as it’ll go, cause long after that hard drive crashes you can sell your collectable DVDs on the futures equivalent to E-bay, probably Remoworld. But if you are going to start or expand your collection, allow me to make a few suggestions.
Like any good reviewer I will use a rating system. From 1-8 one being the letter (C) two being (Co) and so on and so forth until seven (Coolest). The eighth is reserved for few movies, but will be refereed to as (100% Awesome).
Example:
“That movie Kurt Russell was in was”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
The Wedding Crashers (2005) Widescreen .
Rating: (Coole) for Vince Vaughn, unnecessary toplessness, plus the dialog during the breakfast scene.
Synopsis. If you haven’t heard the plot yet and can’t extrapolate if from the title, I’m amazed that you’re able to use a computer, and you should stop reading this, now, we are not friends.
Comments. Sure it’s a little main stream, and what could be considered the obvious pick, but this isn’t my opinion, this is plain and simple fact, which is what I refer to my opinion as.
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
Old Boy (2004)
Rating: (Cooles) For realistic fight sequences where one man is virtually indestructible, plus a squid and a ending that will make you want to burn yourself and take 4 showers in a row.
Synopsis. Korean flick, about a man who has to pay for a sin he couldn’t have known was so unforgivable. Imprisoned for 15 years without knowing why Oh Dae-Su has five days to exact his revenge.
Comments. One of those rare treats, a real soon-to-be classic.
Battle Royale (2002)
Rating: (Cooles) Akin to Red Dawn, this movie ensnares the imagination with thoughts of “I wonder how good I would do”. For being poorly dubbed, for pot lids and answering your cell phone no matter what. “Arigatou!”
Synopsis. A random 9th grade class gets chosen to be stranded on a deserted island where the only way off is to kill everybody within three days.
Comments. If you didn’t think about doing this in 9th grade it’s because you where the jackass who made everybody else’s lives miserable… Shame on you. You should know, I’ve been drinking milk, and I’m not afraid of you anymore.
References: (1) Gilmore Girls.
In the age of mp3 players and online books why haven’t the record companies and publishing houses seen a significant drop in sales? Sales in all types of “hardware media” (books, CDs, DVDs) have continued to fluctuate within the norms of our economy, even with the rise of digital media ¹. Why? Hell, I don’t know but if the average American is anything like me (and they are not), we like collections. We buy books that we have already borrowed and read because they’d look great on the coffee table or shelf and we may just get around to reading them again. We buy CDs for the same reason, saying you have over 1,000 CDs goes quite a long way in certain circles. I personally own about 20 CDs and as a result will never be taken seriously in any conversation about anything pertaining to music. Then there is the rare individual that purchases the book or CD to support the artist. Good for you “Keep em’ off welfare” is what I always say. No offense intended, unless of course you are an artist that is relying on my tax dollars to get you by until you make it. In which case, screw you sideways! What about my dream?! What about my natural ability in something that no one cares about?! When you get famous are you gonna pay us back instead of moving to France to avoid paying taxes?! I digress.
This same logic I can naively translate to TV shows and Movies. With the invention of TIVO, and SATA hard drives selling for thirty cents a gig why don’t we just record every movie on cable, or Net Flix them and record them on the aforementioned hard drive. The same can be said for television shows. Set your TIVO to record every episode of every TV show in the off chance that you’ll get around to watching it? I’m attempting to do just that, however I still see the value of having seasons 1-5 of the West Wing on the shelf. “West Wing?” “But you made a crack about welfare?” No I didn’t, just free loaders, and yes I am pretending to have a conversation with you.
It seems that half of the DVD section in most stores is filled with TV shows, old and new. From the A-Team to Alias you can purchase pretty much any TV show you want including the much anticipated release of The Fall Guy starring Lee Majors. Having said that, why would you spend upwards of $50 a season buying them? With TIVO or Windows Media you can set to record almost any show you want, and if you have enough cable channels it won’t take you long to get entire seasons. With Movie Channels and a proper decrypter, you can even record certain movies before they are out on DVD.
Bottom line. We’re collectors and visual learners, sure you can scroll through your list of movies to determine which one you want to watch, but it just seems more enjoyable to pan across a wall of DVDs whether it be in your local video store, or in your basement right next to your framed picture of Sylvester Stallone in First Blood. Buy your DVDs, Purchase that CD, hell, even buy a book if you’re still in the dark ages of the written word. Push that collection as far as it’ll go, cause long after that hard drive crashes you can sell your collectable DVDs on the futures equivalent to E-bay, probably Remoworld. But if you are going to start or expand your collection, allow me to make a few suggestions.
Like any good reviewer I will use a rating system. From 1-8 one being the letter (C) two being (Co) and so on and so forth until seven (Coolest). The eighth is reserved for few movies, but will be refereed to as (100% Awesome).
Example:
“That movie Kurt Russell was in was”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
The Wedding Crashers (2005) Widescreen .
Rating: (Coole) for Vince Vaughn, unnecessary toplessness, plus the dialog during the breakfast scene.
Synopsis. If you haven’t heard the plot yet and can’t extrapolate if from the title, I’m amazed that you’re able to use a computer, and you should stop reading this, now, we are not friends.
Comments. Sure it’s a little main stream, and what could be considered the obvious pick, but this isn’t my opinion, this is plain and simple fact, which is what I refer to my opinion as.
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
Old Boy (2004)
Rating: (Cooles) For realistic fight sequences where one man is virtually indestructible, plus a squid and a ending that will make you want to burn yourself and take 4 showers in a row.
Synopsis. Korean flick, about a man who has to pay for a sin he couldn’t have known was so unforgivable. Imprisoned for 15 years without knowing why Oh Dae-Su has five days to exact his revenge.
Comments. One of those rare treats, a real soon-to-be classic.
Battle Royale (2002)
Rating: (Cooles) Akin to Red Dawn, this movie ensnares the imagination with thoughts of “I wonder how good I would do”. For being poorly dubbed, for pot lids and answering your cell phone no matter what. “Arigatou!”
Synopsis. A random 9th grade class gets chosen to be stranded on a deserted island where the only way off is to kill everybody within three days.
Comments. If you didn’t think about doing this in 9th grade it’s because you where the jackass who made everybody else’s lives miserable… Shame on you. You should know, I’ve been drinking milk, and I’m not afraid of you anymore.
References: (1) Gilmore Girls.
Mule vs. The World
It's not like I couldn't take over the world, at anytime, because I could. I would be a fair and benevolent evil leader. And by evil, I mean that in the nicest possible ways. It wouldn't be fluffy egg omelets for everybody for breakfast, but while a fluffy egg omelet may feed the body, giving thanks that you live in a world that is under the management of Mule, feeds the soul.
I have plans on how I would do this too. You see, it's all molemen these days. Not only are they cheap, but they're efficient; they don't talk back often and when they do they don't revolt against you when you kill one of their own. Now, I know what you are thinking, molemen are cute little creatures that wouldn't hurt a fly, plus they lack the opposable thumbs necessary for holding the St. Jane 2000 Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending).
This did cause a bit of a stir amongst myself and my faithful slave Pedro, the Cat. And so we ended up suing the makers of the St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) under the Handicap Act (Geralds Law: Gerald Ford was handicapped, right?) that congress put into place during the seventies. Our case was made against them that their St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) was not accessible to everybody, and either make a St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) that could be used by a moleman or else they should rot in hell, you son of a bitch.
I actually said that while we were going through litigation: "Make a St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) that could be used by a moleman or rot in hell, you son of a bitch!!!" It struck a chord with them, and Pedro with a deft paw motioned me to sit down. They kicked me out, as they couldn't handle me, or the truth, leaving Pedro to handle the litigation by himself. He's a sneaky little bastard, that Pedro, a real sidler that makes no bones about slitting a man's throat during the night. One of the major reasons that I keep my door shut, that and he has gas, and I'm allergic to him.
Litigation quickly subsided with Pedro and I walking out with a zillion St. Jane Deathray Peacemakers (patent pending) that we were able give to the molemen. Pedro had been training the molemen hard and he was of the opinion that they are fit for fighting. However Pedro's fit for fighting and Mule's fit for fighting are two completely different beliefs. The ensuing fist(paw)fight betwixt Pedro and I was surely enough to end the universe. Pedro, who is a liar and a cheat, started using his claws, which everybody who is anybody knows is illegal in a a fist(paw)fight, so I started using my St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending).
Pedro, who is not a good sport, is not talking to me right now. I even keep telling him that all good lieutenants in an evil army should have a peg leg. On an aside, this is especially confounding for him as I keep his food on a shelf. With only one leg he has a difficult time reaching the shelf and kinda keeps just jumping sideways. I've been meaning to move it down but… well he's kinda fat anyway. He'll learn. It's a good experience for him.
So we were going to take over the world a couple of weeks ago, but it was getting late and I really hate to leave my couch, plus they had a Xena the Warrior Princess marathon going on Oxygen, not that I usually watch Oxygen, but it's Xena, so that's nice. Then the Game Show network was showing some old versions of the Family Feud, the good ones before that fat ass Al started bringing the show down. Then after that there was a Mythbusters marathon, and I do so love that show, especially when things get blow-up. I know that when I take over the world, my molemen hench persons would be blowing things up, and that would be fun to watch, especially with their little paws in their little St. Jane Deathray Peacemakers (patent pending). But, it's just so hard to get up off the couch with all of this quality programming; seriously, I feel swamped.
I have plans on how I would do this too. You see, it's all molemen these days. Not only are they cheap, but they're efficient; they don't talk back often and when they do they don't revolt against you when you kill one of their own. Now, I know what you are thinking, molemen are cute little creatures that wouldn't hurt a fly, plus they lack the opposable thumbs necessary for holding the St. Jane 2000 Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending).
This did cause a bit of a stir amongst myself and my faithful slave Pedro, the Cat. And so we ended up suing the makers of the St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) under the Handicap Act (Geralds Law: Gerald Ford was handicapped, right?) that congress put into place during the seventies. Our case was made against them that their St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) was not accessible to everybody, and either make a St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) that could be used by a moleman or else they should rot in hell, you son of a bitch.
I actually said that while we were going through litigation: "Make a St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending) that could be used by a moleman or rot in hell, you son of a bitch!!!" It struck a chord with them, and Pedro with a deft paw motioned me to sit down. They kicked me out, as they couldn't handle me, or the truth, leaving Pedro to handle the litigation by himself. He's a sneaky little bastard, that Pedro, a real sidler that makes no bones about slitting a man's throat during the night. One of the major reasons that I keep my door shut, that and he has gas, and I'm allergic to him.
Litigation quickly subsided with Pedro and I walking out with a zillion St. Jane Deathray Peacemakers (patent pending) that we were able give to the molemen. Pedro had been training the molemen hard and he was of the opinion that they are fit for fighting. However Pedro's fit for fighting and Mule's fit for fighting are two completely different beliefs. The ensuing fist(paw)fight betwixt Pedro and I was surely enough to end the universe. Pedro, who is a liar and a cheat, started using his claws, which everybody who is anybody knows is illegal in a a fist(paw)fight, so I started using my St. Jane Deathray Peacemaker (patent pending).
Pedro, who is not a good sport, is not talking to me right now. I even keep telling him that all good lieutenants in an evil army should have a peg leg. On an aside, this is especially confounding for him as I keep his food on a shelf. With only one leg he has a difficult time reaching the shelf and kinda keeps just jumping sideways. I've been meaning to move it down but… well he's kinda fat anyway. He'll learn. It's a good experience for him.
So we were going to take over the world a couple of weeks ago, but it was getting late and I really hate to leave my couch, plus they had a Xena the Warrior Princess marathon going on Oxygen, not that I usually watch Oxygen, but it's Xena, so that's nice. Then the Game Show network was showing some old versions of the Family Feud, the good ones before that fat ass Al started bringing the show down. Then after that there was a Mythbusters marathon, and I do so love that show, especially when things get blow-up. I know that when I take over the world, my molemen hench persons would be blowing things up, and that would be fun to watch, especially with their little paws in their little St. Jane Deathray Peacemakers (patent pending). But, it's just so hard to get up off the couch with all of this quality programming; seriously, I feel swamped.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Just for the Fuck of it: Apothecary
There's no real point to the title of this little ditty. Which ties in nicely with the content of this post as it won't be about much of anything either. It's that sort of synergy between pointless title and pointless article that you've come to expect from BMC and I'm not going to let you down. It's the little things that matter right?
Well actually it's a combination of the little things and the big things and the medium things that matter but you can't fit that sort of thing on an inspirational calendar. I love these things by the way. They try to inspire you with pictures of beautiful seasides, lush tropical vistas and old mediterranean architecture. Who wouldn't be inspired by that? But I'm sitting in a cube that is some bizarre color combination of gray and tan. It's like the manufacturers couldn't decide which color was more bland so they combined the two and created a veritable black hole of thought that unfortunately no scientist could actually make black. I've gotta party with those guys. In case you're wondering - I do not normally go in for the picturesque calendars. Why remind myself of what else I'd rather be doing and where I'd like to be doing it? That just seems masochistic. But that's really here nor there.
I now interrupt this post to bring you an email from our old friend Todd Dancer who, while still on vacation, wanted to make his opinion known regarding the BMC Top Ten movie lists and debate from last week. I have added commentary to clarify some things but I've left his typos and misspellings in because they're so much fun.
Douchebag!
What's up? I'm kicking it out in La-La Land (ed note: I don't know if Todd is actually in LA or not, I haven't seen him in a while but he doesn't have the means for this much travel so I assume he's in his mother's basement eating peanut butter and working off a hangover) and I'm having a blast. I went to a place called the Brown Hat (ed note: the brown derby) with this chick but she ditched when I wouldn't pay for her drink. bitch. Totally saw your thing on the top ten movies. as usual you guys fucked it up. that kiss bang movie was terrible. Non of it make sense (ed note: that's just an awesome failure to grasp proper tense AND a typo to boot). It's awesome that you had Sin City up there though. That movie rocked! It would ben better if Alba had taken off her top but at least that Christa Gugina (ed note: Carla Gugino - impressive that he made her last name rhyme with vagina though) showed what her daddy gave her (ed note: no idea what this means, does he think her dad gave her beautiful breasts and a great ass?). I've been looking for brittany murphy out here, i'm gonna nail her (ed note: this is probably true. he's been convinced that brittany murphy would do him for a while now. for once I think he might be right. Of course I must prevent this from happening because the exchange of STD's that would happen if they ever hooked up may either collapse the whole known universe and finally prove that youth and sex will destroy us all just like old Baptists have taught us OR Todd would finally have it made with a whacked out sugar mommy and lord it over us and I just can't take that sort of thing). Sin City was cool but if they wanted to be Rosari Dosson and Alba shoulda taken their clothes off. Then it's 1. I don't know about all these other movies, you knjow me i'm usually banging sluts intsead of watching movies you know (ed note: by "banging sluts" he means rewatching Lesbian Pooper Sluts 9 in his mother's basement I'm assuming). Hitch was pretty sweet though (ed note: no idea if he has actually seen Hitch or not but this actually seemed off the cuff and sincere, which is funny in and of itself).
Tell Mule I'll be back in a couple and I'll give him his money that he's so whiny about. I'm swinging thour Portland on the way back since it's on the way (ed note: for those of you who failed american geography like our boy here Portland,Oregon is NOT on the way back from Los Angeles to St. Paul, Minnesota.) I hear they have a ton of nudie clubs up in Portland, its gonna fucking rock!
TD
God bless him. Just where is Todd Dancer? No one can say for sure. He may actually be out of town or he may be hanging out with some teenagers at Alley Gators bowling. Neither option would surprise me. Let me know if you see him, he owes me money too.
100% Awesome
- Watching the Japanese-released Battle Royale with friends and trying to figure out just what the hell is going on with the movie. Is it a cultural thing that we westerners don't understand? Is it just a horrible movie with the worst editing since Titanic? Help me out here. It's fantastic either way.
- Mike Sherman getting fired finally.
- Having a raindrop nail me in the forehead last night after a serious night of Asian movie watching and pretending the drop of rain slowly matriculating down my face was blood like Oh Dae Su in Oldboy.
Well actually it's a combination of the little things and the big things and the medium things that matter but you can't fit that sort of thing on an inspirational calendar. I love these things by the way. They try to inspire you with pictures of beautiful seasides, lush tropical vistas and old mediterranean architecture. Who wouldn't be inspired by that? But I'm sitting in a cube that is some bizarre color combination of gray and tan. It's like the manufacturers couldn't decide which color was more bland so they combined the two and created a veritable black hole of thought that unfortunately no scientist could actually make black. I've gotta party with those guys. In case you're wondering - I do not normally go in for the picturesque calendars. Why remind myself of what else I'd rather be doing and where I'd like to be doing it? That just seems masochistic. But that's really here nor there.
I now interrupt this post to bring you an email from our old friend Todd Dancer who, while still on vacation, wanted to make his opinion known regarding the BMC Top Ten movie lists and debate from last week. I have added commentary to clarify some things but I've left his typos and misspellings in because they're so much fun.
Douchebag!
What's up? I'm kicking it out in La-La Land (ed note: I don't know if Todd is actually in LA or not, I haven't seen him in a while but he doesn't have the means for this much travel so I assume he's in his mother's basement eating peanut butter and working off a hangover) and I'm having a blast. I went to a place called the Brown Hat (ed note: the brown derby) with this chick but she ditched when I wouldn't pay for her drink. bitch. Totally saw your thing on the top ten movies. as usual you guys fucked it up. that kiss bang movie was terrible. Non of it make sense (ed note: that's just an awesome failure to grasp proper tense AND a typo to boot). It's awesome that you had Sin City up there though. That movie rocked! It would ben better if Alba had taken off her top but at least that Christa Gugina (ed note: Carla Gugino - impressive that he made her last name rhyme with vagina though) showed what her daddy gave her (ed note: no idea what this means, does he think her dad gave her beautiful breasts and a great ass?). I've been looking for brittany murphy out here, i'm gonna nail her (ed note: this is probably true. he's been convinced that brittany murphy would do him for a while now. for once I think he might be right. Of course I must prevent this from happening because the exchange of STD's that would happen if they ever hooked up may either collapse the whole known universe and finally prove that youth and sex will destroy us all just like old Baptists have taught us OR Todd would finally have it made with a whacked out sugar mommy and lord it over us and I just can't take that sort of thing). Sin City was cool but if they wanted to be Rosari Dosson and Alba shoulda taken their clothes off. Then it's 1. I don't know about all these other movies, you knjow me i'm usually banging sluts intsead of watching movies you know (ed note: by "banging sluts" he means rewatching Lesbian Pooper Sluts 9 in his mother's basement I'm assuming). Hitch was pretty sweet though (ed note: no idea if he has actually seen Hitch or not but this actually seemed off the cuff and sincere, which is funny in and of itself).
Tell Mule I'll be back in a couple and I'll give him his money that he's so whiny about. I'm swinging thour Portland on the way back since it's on the way (ed note: for those of you who failed american geography like our boy here Portland,Oregon is NOT on the way back from Los Angeles to St. Paul, Minnesota.) I hear they have a ton of nudie clubs up in Portland, its gonna fucking rock!
TD
God bless him. Just where is Todd Dancer? No one can say for sure. He may actually be out of town or he may be hanging out with some teenagers at Alley Gators bowling. Neither option would surprise me. Let me know if you see him, he owes me money too.
100% Awesome
- Watching the Japanese-released Battle Royale with friends and trying to figure out just what the hell is going on with the movie. Is it a cultural thing that we westerners don't understand? Is it just a horrible movie with the worst editing since Titanic? Help me out here. It's fantastic either way.
- Mike Sherman getting fired finally.
- Having a raindrop nail me in the forehead last night after a serious night of Asian movie watching and pretending the drop of rain slowly matriculating down my face was blood like Oh Dae Su in Oldboy.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
In Response to Anticipation
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunate for you, dear reader, both Harmon and I have been detained from the actual act of writing for the past few days (hangover). Please read a response that we received to one of our previously posted articles.
Dr. Gonzo writes, semi-regularly, on the blog www.pontificationsofdrgonzo.blogspot.com
Best,
Mule
I am not sure I agree with monsieur mule about the meaning of Christmas. I thought the meaning of easter was absolvement as he seems to be angling for, and that the point of Christmas was about celebrating things new, and cherishing what you already have. Well, maybe I'm wrong or mule's idea of the holiday is a bit selfish in nature. Perhaps that's why he hates giving and receiving gifts? If you make the holiday about everyone else and being thankful for them and their parts in your lives, then gifts become superficial representations of the emotions you're trying to express, ie symbols.
Think about it, a gift is a huge statement. Think about the gifts you've received in your life. it's hard to remember more than just a few, right? Only the significant ones were important enough for a long term memory wrinkle. Usually they were representations of a person's feelings for you. I do like mule's sense of anticipation though. A gift is anything when it's all wrapped up. Even a brown paper bag creates a sense of mystery and excitement (actually, more so, as some people try to cover up lousy gifts with pretty paper, not that I've um, ever done thatÂ…).
This Christmas, I plan on enjoying my family and friends, a glass of nog and the site of pretty packages all under the glittering tree. Perhaps I just drink more nog that mule? Mule, go drink some nog this yearÂ…
dr gonzo
Dr. Gonzo writes, semi-regularly, on the blog www.pontificationsofdrgonzo.blogspot.com
Best,
Mule
I am not sure I agree with monsieur mule about the meaning of Christmas. I thought the meaning of easter was absolvement as he seems to be angling for, and that the point of Christmas was about celebrating things new, and cherishing what you already have. Well, maybe I'm wrong or mule's idea of the holiday is a bit selfish in nature. Perhaps that's why he hates giving and receiving gifts? If you make the holiday about everyone else and being thankful for them and their parts in your lives, then gifts become superficial representations of the emotions you're trying to express, ie symbols.
Think about it, a gift is a huge statement. Think about the gifts you've received in your life. it's hard to remember more than just a few, right? Only the significant ones were important enough for a long term memory wrinkle. Usually they were representations of a person's feelings for you. I do like mule's sense of anticipation though. A gift is anything when it's all wrapped up. Even a brown paper bag creates a sense of mystery and excitement (actually, more so, as some people try to cover up lousy gifts with pretty paper, not that I've um, ever done thatÂ…).
This Christmas, I plan on enjoying my family and friends, a glass of nog and the site of pretty packages all under the glittering tree. Perhaps I just drink more nog that mule? Mule, go drink some nog this yearÂ…
dr gonzo
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