“I pushed you cos I love you guys, I didn’t realize you weren’t having fun”
-Ben Folds Five
In many ways I am a horrible friend. This is a sin I live with every day and yet there is nothing in the world that I cherish more than those that I am privileged enough to esteem with the title of “friend”. I’ve never flattered myself to title any of you as my best friend and this could be because I’ve never pulled a punch when I would label any one of you as family.
I pray, dear reader, that the rest of you are as blest as I am to surround yourself with the absolute cream of the crop when it comes to individuals that, perhaps, are not like minded, perhaps are not the most blunt edged but trust you.
I have friends that would lie down in the street for me because I asked them to; I have friends that pull me out of traffic when I seek to sacrifice myself to an oncoming semi on a principle.
I am not a sentimental man nor am I am the sort of person that is quick to recognize an action with gratitude; and for this, again, I am a horrible friend. I commit, daily, my sense of ingratitude. I fail to answer phone calls, I prize the time that I come home to an empty house dearly and dedicate myself too much to it.
But my thanks is given to those of you that are there at those perfect moments. The moments, that somebody, much more educated in the world than I, described as those snippets of life where there is nowhere else in the world that you would rather be; those moments that you would go back to if you could.
Most people would have a difficult time describing the past paragraph. Some would appreciate their friends in the past, in times that they’ve had together. Some would appreciate their friends because of the experiences that they plan to have together. To me it’s both, but it’s also the potential; and not necessarily to have one of those incredible nights. Sometimes, like tonight, you just get me full blown loaded and we sit and talk.
Those moments. Those nights that you meet at a bar but leave after a beer and end up making pizza. Those that you dream up futures with on pads of paper. Those that go with you around Europe, than pass out on a dock in Switzerland, trying to keep watch until the next train arrives and while you secretly plot their death (Jord, it would’ve been quick and easy, you would’ve loved it). Those people arrange ways that they can come over to your house for a moment of a refuge and a video game. The one that spends their life trying to find out all about you, but actually knows everything about you. The one that only wants a hug and yet I never give it to. The one that understands me, yet knows that I’m better than all of those expectations and knows that I’m better than whatever I think I’m capable of. Those ones that seem perfect, that look perfect in every practical way and your friendship with them seems like the only sin that they’ll ever commit, and yet… and yet you know that it means as much to them as it does to you. And, of course, the ones that would actually lie down in a street for you.
This is dedicated to those brave souls that are also up far too late on a night like tonight. I’ll write you a letter tomorrow, tonight I can’t hold a pen. Someone’s gotta stamp I can borrow I promise not to blow the address again.
To paraphrase a far better person from somebody that I do not deserve to quote: If I were asked if I am a good friend I would say ‘no’ but I knew a lot of them.
Wow… the need to pass out has grown strong. Wwo this is the 69th pos.t awesome
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Grizzly Man....Child
I saw a human being disintegrate before my eyes this weekend. It was funny for a while, until I realized what was happening, then it got to be a bit sad. Then at the end, after the man had disintegrated it was funny again, but for a completely different reason.
Grizzly Man is a movie about Timothy Treadwell
(and, yeah, the name sounds a bit like someone Mr. Rogers would go to visit and learn about manufacturing doll houses). Tim spends his summers in the Alaskan wilderness with bears. And I don't mean kind of looking at them from a safe distance. I mean going up to them and patting them on the nose and basically asking the bears daily if they should let him live. Tim may know Huey Lewis but he definitely never got the News about bears being, y'know...kinda dangerous.Actually that's a bit dismissive. Tim knows they're deadly. He mentions the fact that he could be killed pretty much every other sentence. But he feels very strongly that he needs to protect the bears and learn from them. He did manage to collect a lot of valuable data about the bears migration, mating and other patterns too. That's the good part. The bad part? Tim is 100% batshit crazy.
The documentary is not about a Jane Goodall type doing research for science. No, he's more of a whacked out stoner guy who couldn't handle living with people so he tried something a little less tricky. Or more tricky, depending on where you fall on the whole evil people vs. hungry bear trickiness spectrum. The movie doesn't care about his research and his "protection" of the bears. It cares about Tim and his insanity and never stops revealing new layers of nuttiness.
We get to see Tim record a bear dropping a massive deuce and then, immediately, go up to the steaming pile of shit and put his hands on it. In a childlike voice he says "this poop was just inside her". He says it kinda dreamily. He also tells the foxes that hang around him "thank you for being my friend" in a voice that normally would be associated with an upset 13 year old girl. He doesn't understand the real world and adults. He doesn't like them. He throws temper tantrums and rants and raves at God to bring some rain so the bears can feed on the salmon in the rivers. At some point I tied together the childlike voice, the hatred of the outside world and his bizarre connection with the bears and I realized that bears are to Tim Treadwell what little boys are to Michael Jackson.
I shit you not. If you feel shitted then please reconsider for a moment, for you have not been shitted. I'm sure you feel shitted, but again, let me assure you, you have not been shitted. I shit you not.The guy literally is falling apart in front of our eyes. It's sad but it's unavoidable. Part of me thinks it's great that he found something in his life that he loved. He managed to do it for 13 years too, which is impressive. Living with bears for 13 summers basically all alone would be very difficult. Not as difficult as pretending Nicole Kidman's hot or anything, but pretty tough. So he had that going for him. But he was crazy and he created enemies where there were none. In the long run he may have done more damage to the bears then any help he may have provided. I'll leave that for the biologists to sort out. I just know I saw a man fall to dust in front of me and it's kind of haunting.
Fortunately Werner Herzog has enough of an ego to put himself in the film. He has a thick german accent and narrates the film as well. It's inexplicable. I dare you to explic it. He also has a bizarre and overwhelming earnestness that is infectious. Many of Tim's friends and coworkers were like him (read: kinda fucked in the head) so it's fascinating to watch these people interact with Werner. It's like they trying to emote for him and REALLY get their point across when they're clearly uncomfortable doing so. It's fantastically funny in that awkward sort of way that I do so enjoy. Also, Werner films the pilot who worked with Tim singing along to a somber song. He sings a half beat behind the tune and he sort of mumbles it like you would expect an old cowboy to do. 100% awesome. I bring these little trivialities up because they distracted me from Tim's issues. And his issues are a bit too overwhelming for me. And unresolved.
Tim and his girlfriend were killed...how you ask? By a fucking bear you moron. It's sad but not tragic. You can't live with bears for 13 summers and not think this could be the way for you to die, so I have a hard time calling it a tragedy. As one less sympathetic person in the film notes "he got what he had coming to him". And it's true, not because he was a bad person, but if you live with bears then you can't be surprised when one is looking for a nibble.
Grade: AWE
Thursday, February 23, 2006
bored.mule@world.com
A large breasted member of the Community was elloquating her love of this album she adored called Haughty Melodic, and turned the radio in the kitchen up as loud as it would allow. According to the Darwinistic backtracking of male singer songwriters with marshmallow voices and acoustic guitars, the natural selection that would follow would naturally backtrack to John Mayer and maybe *gasp* Coldplay (because all bad music conversation eventually devolves to Coldplay. The Community’s conversation turned to laudable overtones of praise; these bubbly dispositions willingly offered up on artists and bands that are more aptly equated to the science experiment that I had been conducting in the bathroom by not flushing.
Ostracized, like a common delinquent, I made my move onto the vacant back porch where I could offer choice remarks to those that really cared. Such comments included, but were not limited to: pontifications at Target whilst trying to select a new repertoire of bed sheets and the potential hit, in the gayness factor, I would incur if I really did suffer my inclination to purchase a canopy, whether or not the five hours of Olympic coverage per night that I had induced upon myself was really worse for my brain than twelve solid hours of my Sunday Funday and, by no means lastly, whether or not Scott Baker should be the fifth starter over Francisco Liriano.
But then the only real means of outlasting the Community kicked in and my mp3 player tripped onto Cooking Wine. Like a well reasoned shot of reality into a rather benign day, conversation became relevant and I was able to maneuver myself throughout the digestive tract of the community, safe in the knowledge that what was happening was right; that we were winning, though the players on this stage knew nothing of the lines that had been rehearsed.
There are few things latched more loosely, dear reader, to the good ship of Life than the common American’s conception of what the verbal word is meant for.
Over the sound in my headphones I attempted to explain this to the rather large breasted Community member, though I knew all of this was lost upon her. I tuned my player to the final track off of This Year’s Model, but this was lost on her and she removed the headphones before the track was complete.
In the corner another couple was talking for the sake of talking; a no doubt interesting dissertation on what their day had been like up until that point but blissfully another track kicked over and the world drifted away.
Ostracized, like a common delinquent, I made my move onto the vacant back porch where I could offer choice remarks to those that really cared. Such comments included, but were not limited to: pontifications at Target whilst trying to select a new repertoire of bed sheets and the potential hit, in the gayness factor, I would incur if I really did suffer my inclination to purchase a canopy, whether or not the five hours of Olympic coverage per night that I had induced upon myself was really worse for my brain than twelve solid hours of my Sunday Funday and, by no means lastly, whether or not Scott Baker should be the fifth starter over Francisco Liriano.
But then the only real means of outlasting the Community kicked in and my mp3 player tripped onto Cooking Wine. Like a well reasoned shot of reality into a rather benign day, conversation became relevant and I was able to maneuver myself throughout the digestive tract of the community, safe in the knowledge that what was happening was right; that we were winning, though the players on this stage knew nothing of the lines that had been rehearsed.
There are few things latched more loosely, dear reader, to the good ship of Life than the common American’s conception of what the verbal word is meant for.
Over the sound in my headphones I attempted to explain this to the rather large breasted Community member, though I knew all of this was lost upon her. I tuned my player to the final track off of This Year’s Model, but this was lost on her and she removed the headphones before the track was complete.
In the corner another couple was talking for the sake of talking; a no doubt interesting dissertation on what their day had been like up until that point but blissfully another track kicked over and the world drifted away.
Tipping the Scales
The daydreaming has started. It's necessary, when in a job like mine, to daydream lest your brain atrophy from lack of use. I prefer to kill my brain the old fashioned way, with copious amounts of alcohol. It may be abuse, but it's a hell of a lot more fun than abstaining.
The daydreams start off in the normal manner. Seeing a plane fly by on it's way out of town I think about what it would feel like to fly. And not in a plane. Is that part clear? I'm not little Billy getting shipped off to see the grandparents in Michigan or anything here, I have flown on a plane. Tons of times. I'm rich. I only took layovers in lame towns like Memphis if I felt like it, not because I had to. Y'know, cuz I'm rich. But I mean flying by my own self. Self propelled flight.
How would it work? Would it be the superman thing where I just think about it and off I go? And could I speed up by gritting my teeth and making a fist? That never made sense did it? I mean, a fist is less aerodynamic than the lean look of the diver's pointed fingers right? I guess superman's speed is tied to how aggrivated he was. Which makes sense. Maybe I'm just not angry enough. Maybe if I got really fired up I could fly and to this point in my life I've just never been that pissed. This seems unlikely though. I mean, I've been plenty pissed before. I'm guessing if anger is the answer then I would have been launched into flight years ago.
What about the mechanics of it? What if I had to flap my arms to fly and I looked like the biggest, goofiest vulture ever flapping my arms out there? Would I still want to do it? Think about that. You can fly wherever you want but when you land people laugh at you because you look like a numbnuts. That would be annoying. Of course if that were the case I could write one of those long winded diatribes about how the common folk hold down the unique in this world and try to get you to conform. So I'd have that going for me.
What if you could fly like you can swim. Just wiggle those feet. That would be ridiculous, but logistically it kinda makes sense. It's not like I'm gonna grow a propeller on my face anytime soon, I'm gonna need propulsion from somewhere. There are the obvious gas-related jokes here and feel free to go to them at any time. I'll just leave 'em to you.
And of course, if I could fly, where would I go? Would I be more bird-like? Or jet-like? I don't know the answers to those questions. My daydreams need some focus. I'll need to schedule some time next week for this whole flying scenario and dial this thing in. I know one thing though, I'd dive bomb the shit out of anyone who is foolish enough to wear one of those star trek wannabe cel phone ear clip things.
The daydreams start off in the normal manner. Seeing a plane fly by on it's way out of town I think about what it would feel like to fly. And not in a plane. Is that part clear? I'm not little Billy getting shipped off to see the grandparents in Michigan or anything here, I have flown on a plane. Tons of times. I'm rich. I only took layovers in lame towns like Memphis if I felt like it, not because I had to. Y'know, cuz I'm rich. But I mean flying by my own self. Self propelled flight.
How would it work? Would it be the superman thing where I just think about it and off I go? And could I speed up by gritting my teeth and making a fist? That never made sense did it? I mean, a fist is less aerodynamic than the lean look of the diver's pointed fingers right? I guess superman's speed is tied to how aggrivated he was. Which makes sense. Maybe I'm just not angry enough. Maybe if I got really fired up I could fly and to this point in my life I've just never been that pissed. This seems unlikely though. I mean, I've been plenty pissed before. I'm guessing if anger is the answer then I would have been launched into flight years ago.
What about the mechanics of it? What if I had to flap my arms to fly and I looked like the biggest, goofiest vulture ever flapping my arms out there? Would I still want to do it? Think about that. You can fly wherever you want but when you land people laugh at you because you look like a numbnuts. That would be annoying. Of course if that were the case I could write one of those long winded diatribes about how the common folk hold down the unique in this world and try to get you to conform. So I'd have that going for me.
What if you could fly like you can swim. Just wiggle those feet. That would be ridiculous, but logistically it kinda makes sense. It's not like I'm gonna grow a propeller on my face anytime soon, I'm gonna need propulsion from somewhere. There are the obvious gas-related jokes here and feel free to go to them at any time. I'll just leave 'em to you.
And of course, if I could fly, where would I go? Would I be more bird-like? Or jet-like? I don't know the answers to those questions. My daydreams need some focus. I'll need to schedule some time next week for this whole flying scenario and dial this thing in. I know one thing though, I'd dive bomb the shit out of anyone who is foolish enough to wear one of those star trek wannabe cel phone ear clip things.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Johnny Book Report - The Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters and the Birth of the Comic Book
I finally wrapped up this Christmas gift of a book this past weekend and I feel an odd compulsion to share. Books need to be talked about. It's that whole interchange of ideas thing that books seem to spark. That's what's great about books. Well, and if you're a dorky wallflower it's a way to learn about the world without actually participating. So there's that too. But I'm not going to go into a long rant about how important books are for our future and blame this here interweb and video games for the lack of reading by the childfolk. I don't care about that. I like reading. I read. That's good enough for me. If you also happen to enjoy reading then by all means pay attention. If not then please go fuck yourself for a while and check back later, I'm sure we'll have something else to talk about by then.
In honor of Remo's grading system I will also be going with a word to grade the books that I review. My word will be "Awesome". And, in keeping with logic and whatnot, a perfect grade will result in a "100% Awesome" rating. For further explanation of this I recommend you pull your head out of your sweaty butt cheeks and think for yourself a bit. The more letters in the word the better the book is. If you do not understand that then you probably live in your parent's basement and wonder why all the pretty girls never seem to join you in the mall arcade.
The Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters and the Birth of the Comic Book by Gerard Jones.
In the book Gerard Jones tries to explain how the comic book industry came together in the 30s. He does this from the ground up. First explaining the many varied histories of the major players and then building from there. Mr. Jones examines every facet of the comic book world, not just the artists and writers that created the stories. He explains the role of the publishers, the distributors, the accountants that laid the foundation in the pulps and girlie magazines. This is his first mistake.
I would like some cursory information on the individuals and day to day workings of comic book distribution. But that's about it. I don't need well over 100 pages of commentary on the life and times of a publisher/distributor that managed to rip off some young comic book talent. That's not entertaining. I nearly put this book down several times thanks to all the undue efforts explaining Harry Donenfeld (publisher/distributor) and Jack Liebowitz (accountant/media mogul) and their roles in the rise of the comic book. These men (particularly Liebowitz) knew what they were doing and how to make money at it. They weren't very interesting though. Even later in the book when Liebowitz is cast as the villain to Shuster and Siegel's heroes he comes off as nothing more than a methodical accountant balancing the ledger.
The book wraps itself around a few major players but inexplicably avoids many others that would arguably merit more time. Stan Lee is given a chapter or so. In fact most of Marvel's creators are largely ignored or, at the very least, pushed to the margins. Jack Kirby probably gets the most mention, but it's nothing compared to Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel. This wouldn't be that big of a deal if you didn't have the feeling that Siegel and Shuster were the stars mainly because they had people willing to talk about them. The same goes for Donenfeld and Liebowitz. They all played major roles in the early comics but why do I now know more about the life and times of Harry Donenfeld and not Jack Kirby? The book reads like it was thrown together and goes too heavy on some of these characters simply because it had not choice.
I'd like to think that one of the important stories to be told would have revolved around Lee and Kirby and their creations. Who really came up with the Fantastic Four and the Hulk and X-men? They both have their versions. The book doesn't really deal with the issue. But I can tell you all sorts of things about Donenfeld's mistress. Tell me Mr. Comic Book Guy
, which one are you interested in learning about? I thought so.
The book, much like this review, is slapped together in what I guess is supposed to show the exciting and fast paced world these young men lived in. It failed, it's just a jumble. It's done in a vaguely chronological order, but it's hard to tell because of the random nonsense thrown in. There are so many names being dropped (many of whom are of no interest at all) that it's hard to follow at times. I can tell you that if you had to take a drink every time you read a name that didn't actually have anything to do with the story you'd be in Hazelden getting treatment for a few weeks afterwards. It was like everyone involved offered to cover the author's living expenses for a day if they could get their uncle or grandpa mentioned in the book. It was embarrassing.
These are just some of my complaints with the book. There are others to be sure. But there were some revealing items that caught my eye and kept me going. As mentioned above, Siegel and Shuster are featured prominently in the book. To most people they are recognized as Superman's creators nowadays. That wasn't always the case though.
When Siegel and Shuster first signed on to produce Superman
they gave away their rights to the character in exchange for a 10 year contract to produce the comic and newspaper strip. They were young and stupid and, more importantly, this is what was done at the time. That's not that surprising. What is surprising is how little they actually knew about their character. They didn't know his origin story. At the time he couldn't fly. These guys were basically a couple amateurs throwing ideas at the window until something stuck. For further evidence of this please note how horrible every single one of their other characters were. Krypto the Super-Dog? What the fuck? Nature Boy? What the shit? The boys got lucky, plain and simple. Shuster wasn't a great artist and Siegel was a bad writer. But they caught lightning in a bottle and made it pay.
Bob Kane was also a bit of a hack, but not in the same way. He apparently wasn't too bright, but yet he kept on outsmarting those around him. In many ways comic books were a last ditch attempt at a job for these guys so it's no wonder he outsmarted most of them. They weren't the cream of the crop. By all accounts Kane ripped off his partner, Bill Finger, and got sole credit for creating Batman
. He also had a lot of his art ghosted by more talented folks and he took the credit.
William Moulton Marston created Wonder Woman apparently because he was a failed psychologist and successful polygamist. The man loved bondage (hence the lasso that makes you do what Wonder Woman tells you) and powerful women. He got into comics because every other option was shut. He wasn't talented so much as he was a dude who liked kinky sex and thought teenagers might be into it too.
The book revealed these gentlemen, heretofore considered heroes in my mind, as douchebags or cheap jerks. Joe Shuster comes off as sort of bumbling but goodhearted. But Kane was manipulative as all get out and Siegel was a topnotch douchebag. It was disappointing. After reading about Siegel's attempts to get back the right to Superman I feel more embarrassed for him then I thought I would. He's just a very annoying person in the book. I've never thought that a corporation should have the rights to a person's creation but Siegel is such a douche that he almost had me leaning towards the evil corporation. That's just an amazing amount of douchiness.
The biggest failure of the book to me though is this. It didn't inspire in me any wonder or interest. When I read the pulitzer prize winning Kavalier and Clay by Chabon I wanted to live that life. Creating new characters night and day, getting a samich when I could, late nights drinking in NY with the boys. This all sounds great. Jones never captures the magic of the moment in his book. I never wanted to be any of these people. Heck, I didn't even want to dig up my old Batman comics and plow through them. The lack of inspiration was astounding.
I think Mr. Jones is a lot like his subjects. These guys who couldn't find "real jobs" were forced into the comics world. They jumped in and threw out ideas until one stuck. There were several clunkers. Superman was never the best superhero (his all-powerful ways are too simplistic to create a genuinely great character), he just happened to be the first. I think Mr. Jones did the same thing. He didn't know how to write a book about the early days of comics very well, he just happened to beat everyone else to the punch. So we're left with this mess. I did learn a few things along the way but I can't recommend this one to others.
Rating: AW
In honor of Remo's grading system I will also be going with a word to grade the books that I review. My word will be "Awesome". And, in keeping with logic and whatnot, a perfect grade will result in a "100% Awesome" rating. For further explanation of this I recommend you pull your head out of your sweaty butt cheeks and think for yourself a bit. The more letters in the word the better the book is. If you do not understand that then you probably live in your parent's basement and wonder why all the pretty girls never seem to join you in the mall arcade.
The Men of Tomorrow: Geeks, Gangsters and the Birth of the Comic Book by Gerard Jones.
In the book Gerard Jones tries to explain how the comic book industry came together in the 30s. He does this from the ground up. First explaining the many varied histories of the major players and then building from there. Mr. Jones examines every facet of the comic book world, not just the artists and writers that created the stories. He explains the role of the publishers, the distributors, the accountants that laid the foundation in the pulps and girlie magazines. This is his first mistake.
I would like some cursory information on the individuals and day to day workings of comic book distribution. But that's about it. I don't need well over 100 pages of commentary on the life and times of a publisher/distributor that managed to rip off some young comic book talent. That's not entertaining. I nearly put this book down several times thanks to all the undue efforts explaining Harry Donenfeld (publisher/distributor) and Jack Liebowitz (accountant/media mogul) and their roles in the rise of the comic book. These men (particularly Liebowitz) knew what they were doing and how to make money at it. They weren't very interesting though. Even later in the book when Liebowitz is cast as the villain to Shuster and Siegel's heroes he comes off as nothing more than a methodical accountant balancing the ledger.
The book wraps itself around a few major players but inexplicably avoids many others that would arguably merit more time. Stan Lee is given a chapter or so. In fact most of Marvel's creators are largely ignored or, at the very least, pushed to the margins. Jack Kirby probably gets the most mention, but it's nothing compared to Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel. This wouldn't be that big of a deal if you didn't have the feeling that Siegel and Shuster were the stars mainly because they had people willing to talk about them. The same goes for Donenfeld and Liebowitz. They all played major roles in the early comics but why do I now know more about the life and times of Harry Donenfeld and not Jack Kirby? The book reads like it was thrown together and goes too heavy on some of these characters simply because it had not choice.
I'd like to think that one of the important stories to be told would have revolved around Lee and Kirby and their creations. Who really came up with the Fantastic Four and the Hulk and X-men? They both have their versions. The book doesn't really deal with the issue. But I can tell you all sorts of things about Donenfeld's mistress. Tell me Mr. Comic Book Guy
, which one are you interested in learning about? I thought so. The book, much like this review, is slapped together in what I guess is supposed to show the exciting and fast paced world these young men lived in. It failed, it's just a jumble. It's done in a vaguely chronological order, but it's hard to tell because of the random nonsense thrown in. There are so many names being dropped (many of whom are of no interest at all) that it's hard to follow at times. I can tell you that if you had to take a drink every time you read a name that didn't actually have anything to do with the story you'd be in Hazelden getting treatment for a few weeks afterwards. It was like everyone involved offered to cover the author's living expenses for a day if they could get their uncle or grandpa mentioned in the book. It was embarrassing.
These are just some of my complaints with the book. There are others to be sure. But there were some revealing items that caught my eye and kept me going. As mentioned above, Siegel and Shuster are featured prominently in the book. To most people they are recognized as Superman's creators nowadays. That wasn't always the case though.
When Siegel and Shuster first signed on to produce Superman
they gave away their rights to the character in exchange for a 10 year contract to produce the comic and newspaper strip. They were young and stupid and, more importantly, this is what was done at the time. That's not that surprising. What is surprising is how little they actually knew about their character. They didn't know his origin story. At the time he couldn't fly. These guys were basically a couple amateurs throwing ideas at the window until something stuck. For further evidence of this please note how horrible every single one of their other characters were. Krypto the Super-Dog? What the fuck? Nature Boy? What the shit? The boys got lucky, plain and simple. Shuster wasn't a great artist and Siegel was a bad writer. But they caught lightning in a bottle and made it pay. Bob Kane was also a bit of a hack, but not in the same way. He apparently wasn't too bright, but yet he kept on outsmarting those around him. In many ways comic books were a last ditch attempt at a job for these guys so it's no wonder he outsmarted most of them. They weren't the cream of the crop. By all accounts Kane ripped off his partner, Bill Finger, and got sole credit for creating Batman
. He also had a lot of his art ghosted by more talented folks and he took the credit. William Moulton Marston created Wonder Woman apparently because he was a failed psychologist and successful polygamist. The man loved bondage (hence the lasso that makes you do what Wonder Woman tells you) and powerful women. He got into comics because every other option was shut. He wasn't talented so much as he was a dude who liked kinky sex and thought teenagers might be into it too.
The book revealed these gentlemen, heretofore considered heroes in my mind, as douchebags or cheap jerks. Joe Shuster comes off as sort of bumbling but goodhearted. But Kane was manipulative as all get out and Siegel was a topnotch douchebag. It was disappointing. After reading about Siegel's attempts to get back the right to Superman I feel more embarrassed for him then I thought I would. He's just a very annoying person in the book. I've never thought that a corporation should have the rights to a person's creation but Siegel is such a douche that he almost had me leaning towards the evil corporation. That's just an amazing amount of douchiness.
The biggest failure of the book to me though is this. It didn't inspire in me any wonder or interest. When I read the pulitzer prize winning Kavalier and Clay by Chabon I wanted to live that life. Creating new characters night and day, getting a samich when I could, late nights drinking in NY with the boys. This all sounds great. Jones never captures the magic of the moment in his book. I never wanted to be any of these people. Heck, I didn't even want to dig up my old Batman comics and plow through them. The lack of inspiration was astounding.
I think Mr. Jones is a lot like his subjects. These guys who couldn't find "real jobs" were forced into the comics world. They jumped in and threw out ideas until one stuck. There were several clunkers. Superman was never the best superhero (his all-powerful ways are too simplistic to create a genuinely great character), he just happened to be the first. I think Mr. Jones did the same thing. He didn't know how to write a book about the early days of comics very well, he just happened to beat everyone else to the punch. So we're left with this mess. I did learn a few things along the way but I can't recommend this one to others.
Rating: AW
Friday, February 17, 2006
Spectacular Failure
...I know it well.
So, to begin, you may have noticed that we had planned a weeklong Twins bar fight thing. You may have also noticed that we had only one post that actually had any fighting going on. Sure, we had a post hyping the fantastical wonderland that was to be this week's posts, but we didn't really have any posts to warrant that sort of quasi-advertisement. Spectacular failure... welcome home my friend. You've been gone far too long. I haven't seen you since the last time I tried to hammer out a screenplay over a long weekend.
There were some mitigating factors that contributed to us not actually doing what we planned. Mule got sick. Then I got sick. And we are of the "sit alone quietly suffering" ilk when it comes to sickness. No unnecessary steps taken. On Wednesday I spent nearly the entire day on my couch alternating between reading a solid if unspectacular book and watching season one of Battlestar Galactica on dvd. In it's own way it was fantastic, but the idea of sitting at a computer and actually thinking was a little beyond me. So I mailed it in. And now I've lost my notes on the brackets and whatnot. And believe me, there were copious notes. Jokes about Juan Castro trying to snap Super Joe's knee, about Cuddy being jerked around by the coaching staff (not that he doesn't deserve it). I actually did research on this stuff. And I hate research. But I believe it was not meant to be. And plus, Spectacular Failure has taken up residence on my couch for the past few days and he said he wouldn't leave until I explained this stuff to you people. It's not that I want to do it, but he keeps on tivoing late night cinemax movies and drinking my beer. Mr. Failure has got to go, he's getting me in trouble with the Little Lady.
I'm sitting here drinking some Irish Breakfast tea and I'm still shivering because winter decided to show up in Minnesota again. It's been a while. Most days I don't even wear my coat into the office. Today I had my scarf wrapped ninja-style across my face and about 1 square inch of exposed skin showing. I'm sure by noon I'll be all warm again and then I'll run outside for lunch and start the whole deal over again because I am an idiot. I've got Stevie Wonder rocking out on my speakers and that makes me feel a little better. Songs in the Key of Life - the second album. It's hard to feel like crap when Stevie's singing and putting the funk down on this junk town.
So, for the six people actually fired up to read anything about the Twins this week I apologize. If it makes you feel better you should know that we were going to have TC Bear kick Nick Punto's ass. A lot of people don't know this but TC Bear put up an .817 OPS at AAA and I think he would have broken Punto's clavicle just on intimidation.
So, to begin, you may have noticed that we had planned a weeklong Twins bar fight thing. You may have also noticed that we had only one post that actually had any fighting going on. Sure, we had a post hyping the fantastical wonderland that was to be this week's posts, but we didn't really have any posts to warrant that sort of quasi-advertisement. Spectacular failure... welcome home my friend. You've been gone far too long. I haven't seen you since the last time I tried to hammer out a screenplay over a long weekend.
There were some mitigating factors that contributed to us not actually doing what we planned. Mule got sick. Then I got sick. And we are of the "sit alone quietly suffering" ilk when it comes to sickness. No unnecessary steps taken. On Wednesday I spent nearly the entire day on my couch alternating between reading a solid if unspectacular book and watching season one of Battlestar Galactica on dvd. In it's own way it was fantastic, but the idea of sitting at a computer and actually thinking was a little beyond me. So I mailed it in. And now I've lost my notes on the brackets and whatnot. And believe me, there were copious notes. Jokes about Juan Castro trying to snap Super Joe's knee, about Cuddy being jerked around by the coaching staff (not that he doesn't deserve it). I actually did research on this stuff. And I hate research. But I believe it was not meant to be. And plus, Spectacular Failure has taken up residence on my couch for the past few days and he said he wouldn't leave until I explained this stuff to you people. It's not that I want to do it, but he keeps on tivoing late night cinemax movies and drinking my beer. Mr. Failure has got to go, he's getting me in trouble with the Little Lady.
I'm sitting here drinking some Irish Breakfast tea and I'm still shivering because winter decided to show up in Minnesota again. It's been a while. Most days I don't even wear my coat into the office. Today I had my scarf wrapped ninja-style across my face and about 1 square inch of exposed skin showing. I'm sure by noon I'll be all warm again and then I'll run outside for lunch and start the whole deal over again because I am an idiot. I've got Stevie Wonder rocking out on my speakers and that makes me feel a little better. Songs in the Key of Life - the second album. It's hard to feel like crap when Stevie's singing and putting the funk down on this junk town.
So, for the six people actually fired up to read anything about the Twins this week I apologize. If it makes you feel better you should know that we were going to have TC Bear kick Nick Punto's ass. A lot of people don't know this but TC Bear put up an .817 OPS at AAA and I think he would have broken Punto's clavicle just on intimidation.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Minnesota Twins Drunken Bar Fight - Kent Hrbek Bracket
This entire week's worth of columns owe Billy Martin a huge debt. Billy was the manager of the Twins for a short period of time. That's not really important though. What is important is that during his time with the Twins he happened to get into a drunken bar fight with one of his players.
We here at BMC Headquarters happen to think this is fantastic. We think there should be a statue of Billy slugging Dave Boswell right outside the big, inflatable toilet we like to call the Dome. Or, at the very least, outside the Mall of America which stands on the ground that used to be the Twins' home back in the day. Unfortunately the statue has not been erected to this point so we're just going to have to contribute in our own little way.
This is day one of the Drunken Bar Fight Tournament. If all goes as planned then we should be crowning a winner this Friday some time. I'm handling the Hrbek and Killer brackets and Mule will be hammering out the details of the Puckett and Tony O brackets. For more information on the rules of this here contest I recommend you check out the post here or just scroll down a bit you lazy so and so's.
There have been a few revisions to the combatants since last week. The logistics involved with using the entire 40 man roster (including many players that even supergeeks don't know yet) and past and present team-related folks seemed like a lot of work so we blew it off and toned the tournament down to a much more manageable 32 fighters. Maybe someone, somewhere is lamenting the exclusion of Errol Simonitsch (minor league pitcher) on this list. To that person I say "Fuck off". Seriously. Outside of having a sweet name and a helluva reach (Errol's 6 foot 4) he's really not that interesting.
Now, our plan is to knock this thing out in a week as a means to kill off some time before pitchers and catchers report and also because we're guessing two weeks of reading about Pat Neshek engaged in fisticuffs with Naked BP might bore you and, more importantly, us. But we guarantee nothing. We're not what we would call "planners" or "organized individuals" (as evidenced by our failure to sort out how to show brackets on this here site) so you'll just have to bear with us. Or tune us out. We get that a lot too. We consider it a valid option in most cases. You may tune us out 99 times out of a 100. BUT NOT TODAY! Today, you read what we write. Today, you laugh at our jokes. Today, you win.
So, without further ado. Let's kick this pig...(and yes I just referred to an emotional, and probably slightly fictionalized, speech from a hockey game and then threw out a football reference as well to introduce this baseball blog)......
HRBEK BRACKET
A Northwoods bar, probably somewhere very close to Bemidji, is the host site for this year's Hrbek Bracket. Several dead animals are mounted in various sinister poses along the walls. We've got a vaulted ceiling, the scent of pine, and a rather nice hot stove in the middle of the room.
1 - Ron "Gardy" Gardenhire
8 - Jason Bartlett
4 - Kyle Lohse
5 - Bert Blyleven
3 - Rondell (RonDL) White
6 - Herb Carneal
7 - Unknown Free Agent
2 - Terry Ryan
1 Gardy vs 8 Bartlett
Drink of Choice
Gardy - Shot and a Beer
Bartlett - Daquiri
Gardy's what you and I like to call an avid bowler so he has his favorite ball "Pearl" with him on this fine occasion. Gardy's been drinking all day so he's pretty much ready for game time. Bartlett is baby faced and it took him 10 minutes to get past Merle, the 70 year old bouncer at the front door. Merle actually knew he was old enough, he just likes messing with the youngsters.
The fight, like you would expect, starts over playing time. Bartlett wants more and the manager isn't in the mood to hand it out to a kid who hasn't earned it yet. Bartlett immediately tries to work the right side of Gardy. Gardy's been expecting this since the kid seems like a natural 2 hitter and should be used for hit and runs whenever possible. Gardy blocks easily because, let's face it, Bartlett still doesn't know how to work it to the right as well as he should. Gardy does the only sensible thing you can to a kid who you might rely on in the future but not today. He knocks him out with one well timed swing of Pearl.
Hours later Bartlett would wake up with a massive headache but all of his bones intact. He knew his manager had saved his future. As Bartlett stumbled to the door Gardy called out to him "Why don't you go down to the Wilson Farm and work on your fighting, Rook". The rest of the bar laughed as the kid gets sent down. Gardy Wins.
4 Lohse vs 5 Blyleven
Drink of Choice
Lohse - Sam Adams
Bert - Whisky (straight out of the bottle)
Lohse has his usual sullen look about him. He seems pissed off just being here. Bert is happy and working the crowd. For some reason he's wearing his 87 Twins uniform. It still fits.
Lohse: What are you so happy about old man?
Bert: Well, for starters, I'm not you.
Lohse immediately starts kicking at Bert's legs. He's been coached up on staying low in the zone and he's not going to blow it right off the bat. Bert dances around merrily, not even setting down his bottle of whisky. Lohse finally makes a mistake and takes a swing at Bert's face. Bad move. Bert dodges and throws a perfect 12 to 6 curve of the whisky bottle. Lohse at first thinks the bottle will fly over his head but then stands in a moment of awe and sadness as he watches the amazing break of the bottle. A second later it breaks on his head and the fight is over. Bert Wins.
3 RonDL vs 6 Herb Carneal
Drink of Choice
RonDL - Rum and Coke
Carneal - Scotch
Rondell is a bit of a class act and doesn't want to fight the old man. Carneal, the VOICE OF THE TWINS, is almost all powerful and doesn't want to hurt Rondell either. Rondell has a history of falling apart physically and the old man doesn't want to hurt his ego anymore then is necessary. But this is drunken bar fight night and they have to fight. RonDL starts out with a big swing and then holds his side, he may have pulled something already. Carneal lets out his Banshee scream and the VOICE OF THE TWINS nearly wins the fight with one yell. RonDL falls to his feet and barely manages to get back up. Carneal is winded (he's very old) so he stops for another finger or two of scotch at the bar. Just as RonDL is about to attack John Gordon and Danny "Dazzleman" Gladden come in to relieve Carneal. The announcing underlings work RonDL over while Carneal enjoys his casual drink. Finally Carneal turns around and lets out another banshee scream to finish RonDL off. Carneal Wins.
7 Unknown Free Agent vs 2 Terry Ryan
Drink of Choice
UFA - Dom Perignon (he's not paying)
Ryan - Gin and Tonic
The UFA sits at the end of the bar having quiet conversation with some older gentlemen. They look like GM's from other teams. Ryan recognizes Omar Minaya from the Mets and flicks him off. Ryan looks longingly at the UFA but he's not sure if he can pick up his bar tab so he stays put. Finally, after most of the other GM's have left he saunters on down to talk to the UFA. He never sees Minaya behind him. Minaya picks up the Hot Stove in the middle of the room, breaks it free from the ground and, as Ryan is mentioning to the UFA that he could hit 4th in the lineup this year, he drops the Hot Stove on Ryan and knocks him out immediately. UFA (with an assist from Minaya and sweet irony) Wins.
Round 2
1 Gardy vs 5 Bert
Gardy has a weakness for veterans and goofy guys. Bert is both. But Gardy wants to win this fight. Just as they're beginning to circle each other the front door of the bar kicks open. Every single writer eligible to vote for the Hall of Fame walks in. In unison they tell Bert he's not good enough to be in the Hall. Bert's confidence is crushed. He's been screwed by these guys too many times to count. He attacks the Hall of Fame voters and, after beating 50 or so of them to a pulp, he collapses. Gardy walks over and kneels down to the worn out Bert. "I'm sorry buddy. I'd vote for you." Gardy Wins.
6 Carneal vs 7 Unknown Free Agent
The UFA only made it to round 2 with the help of other GM's. Those other GM's now know the UFA has a knee problem and they also know his OPS has dropped 150 points since the steroid ban went into effect. They have all gone. Carneal senses the lack of leverage for the UFA and immediately moves in. Using his trademark tactics he lets loose another Banshee scream. The UFA, with no one left to pick up his bar tab, runs off into the night. John Gordon and Dazzleman Gladden sit at the bar sipping Banana Daquiris and Glueks beer respectively. They didn't even need to assist on this one. Carneal Wins.
Round 3
1 Gardy vs 6 Herb Carneal
The old man, Carneal is staggering at this point. He's won two fights already. Not even Dark Star would have bet on him to win one. The scotch has been working it's magic but so far but this seems like the end of the road. He could win this fight if he had a solid supporting group. Sure Dazzleman is good in a tussle, but Gardy's gonna be tough. They'd need a reliable third guy. But they don't have one. They have John Gordon. And Gordon is an idiot.
In a rare move Carneal teams up with Gladden from the outset. Dazzle throwing punches while Carneal lets loose the Voice of the Twins. It's a harrowing spectacle. Harrowing I say. Gordon sits at the bar drinking his banana daquiri and commenting on past bar fights he's witnessed. He talks over the action but never gets involved. He has no idea what's going on. Gardy unleashes Pearl and drops Dazzleman in a horrific collision of bowling ball and mulleted anger. Only Carneal is left, and he is near the end of his rope. He admirably retires and shakes hands with Gardy for a fight well won. And then he pulls out a revolver and shoots John Gordon in the arm. Justice is served. Gardy Wins.
So Gardy wins the bracket. He's in the final four that will be hotly debated on Friday. If any of you are still reading this I implore you to do one thing. In my research for this thing I found out that anyone at any time can email TC Bear. This is just fantastic. I implore you. Email TC Bear and send in your responses. If you get nothing else out of this, at least take a chance to annoy a mascot.
Friday, February 10, 2006
DVDefect
DVDefect.
Saturday
Saturday is a day filled with possibilities. You can sleep all day, get a project done, go on an all day bender, or just relax on the couch. Saturday (provided you don’t have to work) is the best day of the year.
But of all the Saturdays the aforementioned relaxing on the couch Saturday is my favorite. Sure the laundry piles up, and the dishes never do seem to wash themselves, but Saturday isn’t for such dark deeds. You wake up at dawn… noonish, crawl to the couch, cover up, and turn on your one way ticket to a better day. Nursing a bit of a hangover or nursing the day’s first drink, you flip through the channels looking for something to ensconce you for the next 2 hours. And you find it, Tremors starring Kevin Bacon, Conan the Barbarian starring Governor Swartzenegger. Or on a special Saturday, provided you have the appropriate number of channels, you can happen upon such cinemagic wonders as Krull sort-of starring Ken Marshall, The Beastmaster with Marc Singer, or Remo Williams: the Adventure Begins magically portrayed by Fred Ward.
Whether or not you like these particular on screen gems the premise remains the same. Why watch a movie that you’ve seen several times, and why watch it edited for content, formatted to fit this screen with commercial breaks? Why… Because they are your childhood, because they are your friends, because they are known, safe, comforting, and most importantly, because nothing better is on and doing anything else would require effort.
Yes, I do like Saturday. Movies, video games, sleeping. No matter what life throws at you, it’s nothing that Vision Quest starring Matthew Modine can’t deflect for an hour or two. Now onto my recently watched.
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”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
I don’t know what to tell you, I didn’t purchase a new release again this week. I’m terribly disappointed in myself. So my commitment to you is this: Pick a movie, any one movie. I will buy it (if I don’t already have it) watch it, and review it. Whether it be a movie you’re not quite sure you want to rent, a movie you think I’d like, or a movie you think I’d hate. If I don’t already own it, I will. That’s a Remo promise. (limited to the first 5 comments, excludes adult film and the Brothers Grimm, seriously people).
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
The Predator (1987)
Rating: (Cooles) For being well done, for an excellent ensemble, and for most shots fired per actor.
Synopsis. Major Alan “Dutch” Schaeffer, Arnold Schwarzenegger (The Terminator) is the leader of an elite commando (pun intended) unit charged with going behind enemy lines to rescue American civilians from a Central American drug cartel, and some random Russians. What they least expected to find was a 7’2” Alien portrayed by Kevin Peter Hall (Harry and the Hendersons, Big Top Pee-wee), the rest is just awesome.
Comments. The scene when Mac picks up the mini-gun… and of course, “I’m here, I’m here, kill me, I’m here!”
Unbreakable (2000)
Rating: (Coole) For a darn good concept, for bridging the gap between comics and reality. (not that there was one)
Synopsis. Bruce Willis is an “average Joe” who after miraculously surviving a horrific accident begins to realize he is so much more than average. From Director M. Night Shyamalan (The Village, Sixth Sense) Unbreakable comes equipped with intense scenes and surprise plot twists.
Comments. It’s a slow pace, low action, semi-sci-fi drama that’s overall appeal was the artistic way in which it was shot, with multiple angles and long camera takes and dark shadowing, it was just as pleasing to watch visually as it was for the story.
Snatch (2000)
Rating: (Coole) For interesting dialog, and for not getting the bi-noc-cu-lars out in time
Synopsis. Following the path of a rather large diamond, this semi English film is a hell of a lot of fun that includes bare knuckle boxers, gypsies, gangsters, thieves, and oh yeah, dags.
Comments. Not Guy Ritchie’s (Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) best work, but fun none the less, and extremely quotable. Best served with friends and beer.
Four Brothers (2005)
Rating: (Cool) for a good cast. Writing, layout and delivery weren’t so good.
Synopsis. Oddly enough this movie is about four rough and tumble brothers who’s adopted mother is murdered gang-land style, causing the estranged brothers to return home to avenge her.
Comments. Well it got a (Cool) which basically means it’s worth a viewing, maybe on a Saturday when you just don’t want to get off the couch. But as far as vengeance movies go, I would have like to see the script and roles more tailored to the actors. And I could have done without the thanksgiving dinner scene.
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.
Batman and Robin (1997)
Rating: (Co) For making me watch it again last night for the sake of being thorough.
Synopsis. Director Joel Schumacher (Falling Down, Tigerland) takes a crap, throws it in the bat suit and tries to pass it off as a Batman movie. There’s something about a guy with a freeze gun who shouldn’t talk, and Bane, quite possibly the greatest evil villain (Batman Knightfall) played by “the” Jeep Swenson (God rest his sole, and may humanity not remember him for his role in Batman and Robin) reduced to a bumbling idiot who spends most of the movie grasping at air while missing a slow moving Clooney and O’Donnell. There’s also a hot lady who wears green clothes and has absolutely nothing of relevance to say.
Comments: Obviously I’m upset, but I did give it a (Co), why? Because this travesty, this coagulated boil of cinematic refuse, this inane attempt to destroy humankinds ability to interpret the graphic novel to live action paved the way for those who would say, “Never!” “we will not let this dynasty fall so easily” The result is Batman Begins, and the hope that Director Christopher Nolan (Memento) will make enough worthy sequels to bury this horrible nightmare forever. You bastards made me Hate Arnold! If only for a moment.
Editors notes.
I do greatly appreciate your comments, corrections and concerns. Having said that
I stand corrected.
Firefly originally aired on the Fox network in 2002, and was picked up in syndication on the Sci-Fi channel, still no word if there will be any new episodes. My fault sorry.
You’re welcome.
If I can help even one person avoid the agony of watching such horrible movies as The Brothers Grimm, well then, I have done my job.
In regards to The Punisher (1989).
Medical science has made tremendous advances in the last two decades, however if they haven’t dropped by now, I think you’re in trouble. Next time you feel like disagreeing with what has been made fact, just hold your breath for eight minutes and go to hell. Communist.
Saturday
Saturday is a day filled with possibilities. You can sleep all day, get a project done, go on an all day bender, or just relax on the couch. Saturday (provided you don’t have to work) is the best day of the year.
But of all the Saturdays the aforementioned relaxing on the couch Saturday is my favorite. Sure the laundry piles up, and the dishes never do seem to wash themselves, but Saturday isn’t for such dark deeds. You wake up at dawn… noonish, crawl to the couch, cover up, and turn on your one way ticket to a better day. Nursing a bit of a hangover or nursing the day’s first drink, you flip through the channels looking for something to ensconce you for the next 2 hours. And you find it, Tremors starring Kevin Bacon, Conan the Barbarian starring Governor Swartzenegger. Or on a special Saturday, provided you have the appropriate number of channels, you can happen upon such cinemagic wonders as Krull sort-of starring Ken Marshall, The Beastmaster with Marc Singer, or Remo Williams: the Adventure Begins magically portrayed by Fred Ward.
Whether or not you like these particular on screen gems the premise remains the same. Why watch a movie that you’ve seen several times, and why watch it edited for content, formatted to fit this screen with commercial breaks? Why… Because they are your childhood, because they are your friends, because they are known, safe, comforting, and most importantly, because nothing better is on and doing anything else would require effort.
Yes, I do like Saturday. Movies, video games, sleeping. No matter what life throws at you, it’s nothing that Vision Quest starring Matthew Modine can’t deflect for an hour or two. Now onto my recently watched.
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”
Rating: (100% Awesome)
New on DVD.
That one new release that should be in everyone’s collection this week is.
I don’t know what to tell you, I didn’t purchase a new release again this week. I’m terribly disappointed in myself. So my commitment to you is this: Pick a movie, any one movie. I will buy it (if I don’t already have it) watch it, and review it. Whether it be a movie you’re not quite sure you want to rent, a movie you think I’d like, or a movie you think I’d hate. If I don’t already own it, I will. That’s a Remo promise. (limited to the first 5 comments, excludes adult film and the Brothers Grimm, seriously people).
Other must haves.
Movies I have watched or re-watched in the last week and must have in my collection.
The Predator (1987)
Rating: (Cooles) For being well done, for an excellent ensemble, and for most shots fired per actor.
Synopsis. Major Alan “Dutch” Schaeffer, Arnold Schwarzenegger (The Terminator) is the leader of an elite commando (pun intended) unit charged with going behind enemy lines to rescue American civilians from a Central American drug cartel, and some random Russians. What they least expected to find was a 7’2” Alien portrayed by Kevin Peter Hall (Harry and the Hendersons, Big Top Pee-wee), the rest is just awesome.
Comments. The scene when Mac picks up the mini-gun… and of course, “I’m here, I’m here, kill me, I’m here!”
Unbreakable (2000)
Rating: (Coole) For a darn good concept, for bridging the gap between comics and reality. (not that there was one)
Synopsis. Bruce Willis is an “average Joe” who after miraculously surviving a horrific accident begins to realize he is so much more than average. From Director M. Night Shyamalan (The Village, Sixth Sense) Unbreakable comes equipped with intense scenes and surprise plot twists.
Comments. It’s a slow pace, low action, semi-sci-fi drama that’s overall appeal was the artistic way in which it was shot, with multiple angles and long camera takes and dark shadowing, it was just as pleasing to watch visually as it was for the story.
Snatch (2000)
Rating: (Coole) For interesting dialog, and for not getting the bi-noc-cu-lars out in time
Synopsis. Following the path of a rather large diamond, this semi English film is a hell of a lot of fun that includes bare knuckle boxers, gypsies, gangsters, thieves, and oh yeah, dags.
Comments. Not Guy Ritchie’s (Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) best work, but fun none the less, and extremely quotable. Best served with friends and beer.
Four Brothers (2005)
Rating: (Cool) for a good cast. Writing, layout and delivery weren’t so good.
Synopsis. Oddly enough this movie is about four rough and tumble brothers who’s adopted mother is murdered gang-land style, causing the estranged brothers to return home to avenge her.
Comments. Well it got a (Cool) which basically means it’s worth a viewing, maybe on a Saturday when you just don’t want to get off the couch. But as far as vengeance movies go, I would have like to see the script and roles more tailored to the actors. And I could have done without the thanksgiving dinner scene.
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.
Batman and Robin (1997)
Rating: (Co) For making me watch it again last night for the sake of being thorough.
Synopsis. Director Joel Schumacher (Falling Down, Tigerland) takes a crap, throws it in the bat suit and tries to pass it off as a Batman movie. There’s something about a guy with a freeze gun who shouldn’t talk, and Bane, quite possibly the greatest evil villain (Batman Knightfall) played by “the” Jeep Swenson (God rest his sole, and may humanity not remember him for his role in Batman and Robin) reduced to a bumbling idiot who spends most of the movie grasping at air while missing a slow moving Clooney and O’Donnell. There’s also a hot lady who wears green clothes and has absolutely nothing of relevance to say.
Comments: Obviously I’m upset, but I did give it a (Co), why? Because this travesty, this coagulated boil of cinematic refuse, this inane attempt to destroy humankinds ability to interpret the graphic novel to live action paved the way for those who would say, “Never!” “we will not let this dynasty fall so easily” The result is Batman Begins, and the hope that Director Christopher Nolan (Memento) will make enough worthy sequels to bury this horrible nightmare forever. You bastards made me Hate Arnold! If only for a moment.
Editors notes.
I do greatly appreciate your comments, corrections and concerns. Having said that
I stand corrected.
Firefly originally aired on the Fox network in 2002, and was picked up in syndication on the Sci-Fi channel, still no word if there will be any new episodes. My fault sorry.
You’re welcome.
If I can help even one person avoid the agony of watching such horrible movies as The Brothers Grimm, well then, I have done my job.
In regards to The Punisher (1989).
Medical science has made tremendous advances in the last two decades, however if they haven’t dropped by now, I think you’re in trouble. Next time you feel like disagreeing with what has been made fact, just hold your breath for eight minutes and go to hell. Communist.
February can kiss my ass
I realize by naming this little post something like that I've virtually guaranteed a 20 degree drop in temperature and a heavy snowfall roughly equivalent to the amount of cocain that has gone up every starlet's nose in hollywood for the past 20 years. (on a side note, if you got a snow globe for Columbia would it be filled with little bits of cocain?) And yeah, that was a long way to go for a cocain joke. But much like Brett Favre behind the O-line of the 96 Packers I've got all kinds of time.
I hate February. I don't know if it hates me or not. As far as I can tell February is ambivalent towards me. So now I'm gonna rattle her cage and see what happens. It can't be much worse.
Part of what makes February honk the horn is it's fault and part of it is not. February happens to be a cold month, of which I am not a fan. The snow can be pretty and fun when you're sitting at home reading a book with some tea or cocoa sitting nearby. But the allure of the snow and the bizarre feeling we minnesotans get when we think we're hardier than others because we put up with this stuff wears off around mid January. No more holidays to look forward to with family and friends. Just cold. For two months. Just ice on the road that makes going out to rent season one of The Wire seem like a chore.
Now, lacking holidays can't be entirely blamed on February. I mean they are trying with the whole MLK Jr. day. Which I'm fully behind. And not just because I think I deserve more time off. MLK Jr. is one of the beautifully flawed humans that I actually consider a hero. That's rare for me. But February has managed to fuck it up and so we still have to work on MLK Jr. day. This wouldn't happen if everyone was in a good mood. Put MLK Jr. day in June and we'd have that thing as a national holiday in no time. Everyone's pissed and gives up on the world in February.
There are no sports worth watching this time of year. The super bowl is over. Baseball has yet to start. The NBA and the NHL are still pretending their regular seasons matter when they clearly do not. And they don't call it February Madness do they? So college basketball is out. This isn't February's fault directly, but I think it kinda is.
I think that somewhere in the annals of time the leaders said "y'know what, let's have a month where everyone just mails it in." And February was born. Does anyone try in February? And if so, why? It's snowing right now but it's just barely coming down. Typical. Even the snow isn't put forth the effort this time of year. I guarantee you we'll get 6 inches of snow in March a couple of times. March is all fired up. March likes to play a bit. February? February is the month of half-assing life. And me? I'm a whole ass kinda guy.
I hate February. I don't know if it hates me or not. As far as I can tell February is ambivalent towards me. So now I'm gonna rattle her cage and see what happens. It can't be much worse.
Part of what makes February honk the horn is it's fault and part of it is not. February happens to be a cold month, of which I am not a fan. The snow can be pretty and fun when you're sitting at home reading a book with some tea or cocoa sitting nearby. But the allure of the snow and the bizarre feeling we minnesotans get when we think we're hardier than others because we put up with this stuff wears off around mid January. No more holidays to look forward to with family and friends. Just cold. For two months. Just ice on the road that makes going out to rent season one of The Wire seem like a chore.
Now, lacking holidays can't be entirely blamed on February. I mean they are trying with the whole MLK Jr. day. Which I'm fully behind. And not just because I think I deserve more time off. MLK Jr. is one of the beautifully flawed humans that I actually consider a hero. That's rare for me. But February has managed to fuck it up and so we still have to work on MLK Jr. day. This wouldn't happen if everyone was in a good mood. Put MLK Jr. day in June and we'd have that thing as a national holiday in no time. Everyone's pissed and gives up on the world in February.
There are no sports worth watching this time of year. The super bowl is over. Baseball has yet to start. The NBA and the NHL are still pretending their regular seasons matter when they clearly do not. And they don't call it February Madness do they? So college basketball is out. This isn't February's fault directly, but I think it kinda is.
I think that somewhere in the annals of time the leaders said "y'know what, let's have a month where everyone just mails it in." And February was born. Does anyone try in February? And if so, why? It's snowing right now but it's just barely coming down. Typical. Even the snow isn't put forth the effort this time of year. I guarantee you we'll get 6 inches of snow in March a couple of times. March is all fired up. March likes to play a bit. February? February is the month of half-assing life. And me? I'm a whole ass kinda guy.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
The Interview Bootlegs: The King of the Boogers
The Booger King contacted me, several years ago, about doing an article on him and his claim that he had an important message that must be shared with the world. At the time I had a desk at the St. Paul Pioneer Press, working the beat from 8 in the morning until 5 at night.
Unfortunately for the Booger King, as well, in a way, as myself, I was working on the fourth floor of the Cedar Street Building, the Classified Ad department and the Booger King had mistakenly called us not the news tip line.
Still, journalism is journalism and, for posterity’s sake, detailed records must be kept of it all.
Booger King: I have made a remarkable discovery; one that must be shared with the entire world.
Bad Mother Coitus: Where did you find it? It’s best not to go into too many details so that you don’t receive a million phone calls from people trying to score a quick one of whatever it is. Also, unfortunately, I know that we used to do these for free, but now we charge a fee for lost and found ads.
BK: I have discovered the exact amount of time it takes for a booger to decompose and am ready to make available the data of my findings.
BMC: What? Booger, what’s a booger? You mean a booger, booger?
BK: Due to the rather dry weather that we’ve been experiencing lately, coinciding with the lack of humidity I have found myself with a bumper crop.
BMC: You’re growing boogers? Are we talking about the stuff in your nose?
BK: I harvested five boogers of a good size and wiped them all in five different locations all over my cube at work. Including a booger of unusual size which I have dubbed as The Perfect Booger, its' size and content were perfection. It’s now available for sale on Ebay.
BMC: Um, yeah, I don’t think that I can mention Ebay in your ad. They’re technically competition. At least I think that they’re competition. Honestly, I don’t know if we’re really even competing with anybody anymore.
BK: It was the Perfect Booger and it unleashed such a torrent of mucus that the booger, before removed, surely must have extended all the way to my brain.
BMC: Or, slightly more believable scenario: Maybe it was your brain.
BK: You just blew my mind.
BMC: Well, you just blew your nose.
BK: Continuing with my findings, is Joe Soucheray available?
BMC: Speaking of somebody that blows.
BK: I feel that he is somebody that would understand my position. May I be transferred to him?
BMC: He’s actually out of the office right now. I think he’s covering the governor’s gastronectomy or something where they remove his balls. So what happened with the five boogers, I'll pass this along to Joe?
BK: Haven’t you always been curious of where the boogers go? You pick your nose, you flick in a random direction and then forget about it? But doesn’t it seem interesting that you never see those boogers ever again? Even if the entire population was to harvest only one booger a day, we would still have 252 billion boogers floating around. Think of the outcome in Flu and Cold season.
Now, with my recent studies I have found that boogers will eventually disintegrate on their own, but this is still over the course of two months. Sir, it is my contention, and being a paying subscriber of this newspaper I demand a full investigation, that it is the government that are secretly abducting our boogers and furthering the use of a giant booger of mass destruction that they may some day even use against us honest red blooded Americans.
BMC: Maybe we just need a large Kleenex to stretch across the United States
BK: That wouldn’t work. You can’t make a Kleenex that is that big.
BMC: So you’re saying that there is a Kleenex gap? I bet the Russkie’s have a Kleenex all the way over everything, even Kazakhstan.
BK: What are you speaking of?
BMC: I’ll make sure to pass this information on to Bob.
BK: Thank you, please tell him to contact me immediately.
Unfortunately for the Booger King, as well, in a way, as myself, I was working on the fourth floor of the Cedar Street Building, the Classified Ad department and the Booger King had mistakenly called us not the news tip line.
Still, journalism is journalism and, for posterity’s sake, detailed records must be kept of it all.
Booger King: I have made a remarkable discovery; one that must be shared with the entire world.
Bad Mother Coitus: Where did you find it? It’s best not to go into too many details so that you don’t receive a million phone calls from people trying to score a quick one of whatever it is. Also, unfortunately, I know that we used to do these for free, but now we charge a fee for lost and found ads.
BK: I have discovered the exact amount of time it takes for a booger to decompose and am ready to make available the data of my findings.
BMC: What? Booger, what’s a booger? You mean a booger, booger?
BK: Due to the rather dry weather that we’ve been experiencing lately, coinciding with the lack of humidity I have found myself with a bumper crop.
BMC: You’re growing boogers? Are we talking about the stuff in your nose?
BK: I harvested five boogers of a good size and wiped them all in five different locations all over my cube at work. Including a booger of unusual size which I have dubbed as The Perfect Booger, its' size and content were perfection. It’s now available for sale on Ebay.
BMC: Um, yeah, I don’t think that I can mention Ebay in your ad. They’re technically competition. At least I think that they’re competition. Honestly, I don’t know if we’re really even competing with anybody anymore.
BK: It was the Perfect Booger and it unleashed such a torrent of mucus that the booger, before removed, surely must have extended all the way to my brain.
BMC: Or, slightly more believable scenario: Maybe it was your brain.
BK: You just blew my mind.
BMC: Well, you just blew your nose.
BK: Continuing with my findings, is Joe Soucheray available?
BMC: Speaking of somebody that blows.
BK: I feel that he is somebody that would understand my position. May I be transferred to him?
BMC: He’s actually out of the office right now. I think he’s covering the governor’s gastronectomy or something where they remove his balls. So what happened with the five boogers, I'll pass this along to Joe?
BK: Haven’t you always been curious of where the boogers go? You pick your nose, you flick in a random direction and then forget about it? But doesn’t it seem interesting that you never see those boogers ever again? Even if the entire population was to harvest only one booger a day, we would still have 252 billion boogers floating around. Think of the outcome in Flu and Cold season.
Now, with my recent studies I have found that boogers will eventually disintegrate on their own, but this is still over the course of two months. Sir, it is my contention, and being a paying subscriber of this newspaper I demand a full investigation, that it is the government that are secretly abducting our boogers and furthering the use of a giant booger of mass destruction that they may some day even use against us honest red blooded Americans.
BMC: Maybe we just need a large Kleenex to stretch across the United States
BK: That wouldn’t work. You can’t make a Kleenex that is that big.
BMC: So you’re saying that there is a Kleenex gap? I bet the Russkie’s have a Kleenex all the way over everything, even Kazakhstan.
BK: What are you speaking of?
BMC: I’ll make sure to pass this information on to Bob.
BK: Thank you, please tell him to contact me immediately.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Minnesota Twins Drunken Bar Fight - The Preview
Coming next week! An all out extravaganza of baseball foolishness. Me and the Mule have been debating who would win in a drunken bar fight between various Twins players for the better part of the last couple days. We think we have a firm grasp on the situation. So, beginning on Monday the 13th we will be holding a tournament to determine who will reign supreme. Who will be your 06 Bar Fight Champion? Only time will tell (or Mule if you get him drunk).
We don't normally do this sort of thing here at the BMC headquarters. But some ideas are too good to pass up. Sure we've considered having "theme weeks" in the past but we haven't really bothered to follow through with them. Partially this was due to subject matter - I happen to disagree with Mule on our readership's interest in a weeklong debate between whether Strawberry Shortcake or My Little Pony was the better series. But this, this is a solid idea.
We have narrowed the field down to a prestigious (or anonymous) group of 64. All players on the 40 man roster will be included. There will also be some notables from years gone by. We will also include ownership, upper management and the coaching staff. There will be havoc. But this isn't a Celebrity Deathmatch sort of thing. This is just a drunken bar fight. Something brothers might do with a little too much tequila and an old grudge from their Bantam hockey days. So, here are the ground rules...
GROUND RULES
1. The players have to fight according to their hitting/pitching skills. So for instance, Justin Morneau will be going for a knockout punch every time rather than some nice easy jabs (singles to left field). Nick Punto will be all about quick jabs with no power. And he'll probably slide for no reason at some point in time. I haven't figured out what the equivalent to a slide into 1st base is yet but hey, that's what the weekend is for.
2. The players must treat each fight AS IF THEY HAVE TO RELY ON THE GUY THEY'RE FIGHTING FOR A GAME TOMORROW. So, if you have a good team player and he's fighting Johan Santana he will do everything he can to WIN the fight AND AVOID hurting Johan's left hand. If you have a bad team guy, well, let's just say he might be going after Mauer's or Kubel's knee to get himself some playing time.
3. There will be 4 brackets of 16 fighters each. These fighters will each have to fight according to their bracket's requirements. We have named each bracket in honor of past Twins players and the fights will be held in their most obvious environments. The brackets are as follows:
Kirby Puckett Bracket: All fights must take place in the bathroom of the bar in question.
Kent Hrbek Bracket: Hrbek is a huge fan of the outdoors so all fights in this bracket will be in a Northwoods bar. This means there will be various mounted heads on the walls. Do not overlook how valuable a deer antler can be in this situation.
Harmon Killebrew Bracket: Like most pleasant old guys I assume Harmon spends his time at the local VFW. All fights in his bracket will take place in a smoky, no ventihalation VFW. Anyone with asthma (or an affinity for older ladies) will have problems with this bracket.
Tony Oliva Bracket: The great Tony O hails from Cuba so all fights in his bracket will take place at the Copa Cobana or similar cantinas. Those spanish tile floors are slick as hell if they get wet. This could factor into the whole Punto unnecessary sliding thing. Also, the winner of this bracket gets a Cuban Pork Samich. They are fantastic.
So come on back on Monday and we'll begin breaking down the first bracket. Each day, Monday-Thursday, we will crown a winner of each bracket. Friday we will have the final four face off and announce the winner.
We don't normally do this sort of thing here at the BMC headquarters. But some ideas are too good to pass up. Sure we've considered having "theme weeks" in the past but we haven't really bothered to follow through with them. Partially this was due to subject matter - I happen to disagree with Mule on our readership's interest in a weeklong debate between whether Strawberry Shortcake or My Little Pony was the better series. But this, this is a solid idea.
We have narrowed the field down to a prestigious (or anonymous) group of 64. All players on the 40 man roster will be included. There will also be some notables from years gone by. We will also include ownership, upper management and the coaching staff. There will be havoc. But this isn't a Celebrity Deathmatch sort of thing. This is just a drunken bar fight. Something brothers might do with a little too much tequila and an old grudge from their Bantam hockey days. So, here are the ground rules...
GROUND RULES
1. The players have to fight according to their hitting/pitching skills. So for instance, Justin Morneau will be going for a knockout punch every time rather than some nice easy jabs (singles to left field). Nick Punto will be all about quick jabs with no power. And he'll probably slide for no reason at some point in time. I haven't figured out what the equivalent to a slide into 1st base is yet but hey, that's what the weekend is for.
2. The players must treat each fight AS IF THEY HAVE TO RELY ON THE GUY THEY'RE FIGHTING FOR A GAME TOMORROW. So, if you have a good team player and he's fighting Johan Santana he will do everything he can to WIN the fight AND AVOID hurting Johan's left hand. If you have a bad team guy, well, let's just say he might be going after Mauer's or Kubel's knee to get himself some playing time.
3. There will be 4 brackets of 16 fighters each. These fighters will each have to fight according to their bracket's requirements. We have named each bracket in honor of past Twins players and the fights will be held in their most obvious environments. The brackets are as follows:
Kirby Puckett Bracket: All fights must take place in the bathroom of the bar in question.
Kent Hrbek Bracket: Hrbek is a huge fan of the outdoors so all fights in this bracket will be in a Northwoods bar. This means there will be various mounted heads on the walls. Do not overlook how valuable a deer antler can be in this situation.
Harmon Killebrew Bracket: Like most pleasant old guys I assume Harmon spends his time at the local VFW. All fights in his bracket will take place in a smoky, no ventihalation VFW. Anyone with asthma (or an affinity for older ladies) will have problems with this bracket.
Tony Oliva Bracket: The great Tony O hails from Cuba so all fights in his bracket will take place at the Copa Cobana or similar cantinas. Those spanish tile floors are slick as hell if they get wet. This could factor into the whole Punto unnecessary sliding thing. Also, the winner of this bracket gets a Cuban Pork Samich. They are fantastic.
So come on back on Monday and we'll begin breaking down the first bracket. Each day, Monday-Thursday, we will crown a winner of each bracket. Friday we will have the final four face off and announce the winner.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Death in Amsterdam
We descended on the town of Fargo; eight men armed with Rum, Beer, Scotch, Whiskey, more Beer and curling brooms. It was another pilgrimage to reclaim what we believed to be rightfully ours.
Naked women and men, then more women cavorted across the screen as I laid down a hand to make fifteen and peg two. Playing as teams, my partner and I lost as the others signaled it was time to go to the bar.
Drunk from a punch in the face by a liquor heavy drink that had been a vague friend of coca cola you find yourself laying down a twenty dollar bill to buy a round for your friends and yourself. A friendly gesture crosses your mind to buy a drink for the old man sitting next to you comes too late as the bartender retracts his drink and refunds his money. More blurry images give way to a return ride home.
Morning comes like a sin and I tried to remember where I was. My right hand hurts and I’m missing part of a fingernail on my left. These details are filled in as the end of a Bloody Mary is passed around and a mini-van trudges us to the curling club. At the club, the ability to drink a beer while curling takes precedence over the competition but the match still ends with the score in my favor.
At the bowling alley the drunkest man in Fargo confronts me. He meets us with hostility but then promises to take us to his house to watch curling on his Canadian Cable. He exits to the bathroom never to come back again. You win the game without noticing.
The sun, in an unsettling way, leaves the skyline for the day as you leave a bar after throwing darts. After a brief intermission you’re back at the club, talking with an old woman that is setting plans, on the phone, to meet a friend at an adult bookstore when she is done with work. At this point nothing seems too surreal. This fact is made more prominent as you give a fellow curler the shirt off your back. Mercifully your brother is there to give you the shirt off of his.
And you hate this town, you hate everything about it and try to drowned it in beer. A staggering somebody tells you it’s time to eat. Even though you don’t like meat you order a hamburger, demanding of the waitress that they make it as rare as possible.
The blurs continue, first to one bar, then to another. Standing, dizzy in the glow of cigarettes and light reflecting from behind the liquor on the top shelf, you receive a call from the governor that takes you away to a place you would more rather be for two minutes and thirty six seconds.More strange memories are retained from this evening. Stuffing your brother into a pull out couch, justifying it by saying that he asked you to do it, but still hating yourself because you could’ve hurt him.
Another morning comes to pass, hours before anybody else is alive. Already Uncle Headache is banging out the tune, “Hangovers, Hangovers are no fun/Hangovers, Hangovers hurt someone”. And this time, without music, I’m taken back to a more foul memory. Another time that I pushed the envelope to the breaking point and felt that I lost.
It was snowing outside and the flat landscape provided little protection from the wind. Ashamed and broken down I pulled the hood up on my sweatshirt and wondered how this weekend would be remembered.
Were there stories that are here worth remembering, or was I just another corpse walking around another dead town?
Faggy Yellow
Does this shit even work anymore? And what's with the Faggy Yellow color? Did you go to bed, bath 7 beyond and ask for fagy yellow and they gave you this or did you come up with this shit on your own? I don't know if i can be asociated with this kind crap. soooo fuckingg gay man.
Monday, February 06, 2006
The Many Sides of Harm
I'm always amused by these personality tests that try to break people down into little sections of uniqueness. You've heard of them I'm sure. They're all basically variations on Type A and Type B breakdowns but they add a little fluff to the numbers to justify their own existence. Corporations use these things for work so they can clarify that hey, Justin from Accounting IS a jerk, but that's just because he's a Dominant/Influential personality and he's task oriented not people oriented. There's even the Beatles test where you can sort out which Beatle you're most like. You can check it out here. Most of them are a variation of the Meyers-Briggs test, which I would explain but I don't happen to agree with so why bother? I know that they're trying to boil it down to who you are in MOST situations, but I don't agree with that assumption. My reaction to a situation is based on my mood, the other persons involved, etc. So basically I think it's a bunch of bullschnickety.
I like pretty much everything most days. And some days I hate pretty much everything. I can be incredibly nerdilicious and analytical. This probably explains why I love baseball and also why, if given time and proper motivation, I can support my belief that Joe Mauer was arguably the 3rd best catcher in the AL last year.
There's also the overly arty side of me that believes in creating a project and following through and basically showing everyone that really I want to be a woman because all I want to do is bring something new and beautiful into this world. And yeah, that last sentence was awkward to write. I'm not proud of it. I don't like where my head was at during that sentence at all. But let's face it, guys don't really get a chance to nurture things into this world like the ladyfolk do. Not that I'd trade with them. My belly need not grow larger. This is getting worse. Moving on...
I'm just trying to illustrate that, depending on the day, I can be seen as completely different than the last day. I think most people are that way so it seems like a scam to me when one of these tests says something like "this person is cautious". Because everyone can, at some point in time, say "hey, that's totally me! I'm cautious!" And then those same people read something from a different personality group and think to themselves "hey, I'm totally impulsive. That's me in a nutshell!" But no one ever bothers to ask if maybe this thing is bullshit. It drives me nuts. Maybe that's my dominant personality coming through though.
So anyway, I think I'm all over the map of personality. If I was a Transformer (and if there's any justice I will be in Heaven) then I would be a Quintesson.
They were the creators of the Transformers and they had 4 faces that would rotate. Here's a picture of one of them. I think his name was Bob. And here's a pic of Optimus Prime holding a press conference. No reason really, I just like Optimus. 
Back to the Quintessons though - they were kind of goofy in that all of their faces really looked like slight variations of the same thing. Maybe to a Quintesson there were subtle differences that denoted personality. This is another reason why I need to be a Quintesson in heaven, then I'll know if the four faces are unique personality-revealing devices or just 4 different sides of bullshit on a stick. They never adequately explained what the other 3 faces were doing when not facing the camera but hey, I'll figure that out when I get to be one...y'know, in heaven. So that'll be pretty sweet.
If I were a character on He-Man I would be Man-E-Faces. If for nothing else then I would get to double hyphenate my first name! That's just tremendous. I think it's funny that the names on this show were so basic. I'm surprised they didn't have a guy named Dude-Who-Shits-His-Pants but apparently the toy line fizzled out before they had a chance. For excellent analysis of this and other He-Man insights I would recommend this site. Plus there's a great photo series of Man-E-Faces showcasing his various forms. I think today I will go with Robot Face to start and maybe turn into Monster Face around 3. If I were a character on Thundercats I would...actually I'd just hit myself in the face with a shovel...Thundercats kinda sucked.
I bring this personality issue up because I was torn about what to write today. On the one hand I have the starting lineups for the World Baseball Classic as presented by Baseball America to review. On the other hand my good friend Johnny H has some sweet stop motion on his site that I think you should check out. See? Nerdy stat guy vs. nerdy art guy. This happens every day in some form. And what happens? I address neither side and just talk about the various sides. I'm turning into a grade A douchebag here. Next thing you know I'll be shuffling around the breakroom microwaving my own shit (and I mean that literally, not like "hey, lemme put my shit down and I'll give you a hug". I mean feces.) for lunch and telling people about why I'm not a "people pleaser".
I like pretty much everything most days. And some days I hate pretty much everything. I can be incredibly nerdilicious and analytical. This probably explains why I love baseball and also why, if given time and proper motivation, I can support my belief that Joe Mauer was arguably the 3rd best catcher in the AL last year.
There's also the overly arty side of me that believes in creating a project and following through and basically showing everyone that really I want to be a woman because all I want to do is bring something new and beautiful into this world. And yeah, that last sentence was awkward to write. I'm not proud of it. I don't like where my head was at during that sentence at all. But let's face it, guys don't really get a chance to nurture things into this world like the ladyfolk do. Not that I'd trade with them. My belly need not grow larger. This is getting worse. Moving on...
I'm just trying to illustrate that, depending on the day, I can be seen as completely different than the last day. I think most people are that way so it seems like a scam to me when one of these tests says something like "this person is cautious". Because everyone can, at some point in time, say "hey, that's totally me! I'm cautious!" And then those same people read something from a different personality group and think to themselves "hey, I'm totally impulsive. That's me in a nutshell!" But no one ever bothers to ask if maybe this thing is bullshit. It drives me nuts. Maybe that's my dominant personality coming through though.
So anyway, I think I'm all over the map of personality. If I was a Transformer (and if there's any justice I will be in Heaven) then I would be a Quintesson.
They were the creators of the Transformers and they had 4 faces that would rotate. Here's a picture of one of them. I think his name was Bob. And here's a pic of Optimus Prime holding a press conference. No reason really, I just like Optimus. 
Back to the Quintessons though - they were kind of goofy in that all of their faces really looked like slight variations of the same thing. Maybe to a Quintesson there were subtle differences that denoted personality. This is another reason why I need to be a Quintesson in heaven, then I'll know if the four faces are unique personality-revealing devices or just 4 different sides of bullshit on a stick. They never adequately explained what the other 3 faces were doing when not facing the camera but hey, I'll figure that out when I get to be one...y'know, in heaven. So that'll be pretty sweet.If I were a character on He-Man I would be Man-E-Faces. If for nothing else then I would get to double hyphenate my first name! That's just tremendous. I think it's funny that the names on this show were so basic. I'm surprised they didn't have a guy named Dude-Who-Shits-His-Pants but apparently the toy line fizzled out before they had a chance. For excellent analysis of this and other He-Man insights I would recommend this site. Plus there's a great photo series of Man-E-Faces showcasing his various forms. I think today I will go with Robot Face to start and maybe turn into Monster Face around 3. If I were a character on Thundercats I would...actually I'd just hit myself in the face with a shovel...Thundercats kinda sucked.
I bring this personality issue up because I was torn about what to write today. On the one hand I have the starting lineups for the World Baseball Classic as presented by Baseball America to review. On the other hand my good friend Johnny H has some sweet stop motion on his site that I think you should check out. See? Nerdy stat guy vs. nerdy art guy. This happens every day in some form. And what happens? I address neither side and just talk about the various sides. I'm turning into a grade A douchebag here. Next thing you know I'll be shuffling around the breakroom microwaving my own shit (and I mean that literally, not like "hey, lemme put my shit down and I'll give you a hug". I mean feces.) for lunch and telling people about why I'm not a "people pleaser".
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
January 2006: A Recap
Favorite Quotes
Found or inspired by the month of January
“The next time that you want to stab me in the back, do it to my face.”
Mal to Jane
Firefly
“When you pray for what you want most in the world, its’ opposite comes along with it. I was given a woman whom I truly loved and whom truly loved me. The opposite side o such love is the pain of its’ loss. I can only feel such pain today because, until yesterday, I knew that love.”
Pandit Pyarelal Kaul
Salman Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown
“One never knows the answers to the questions of life until one is asked.”
Salman Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown
“And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time.”
Death Cab For Cutie
‘What Sarah Said’ off Plans
“We have arrived too late to play the bleeding heart show.”
New Pornographers
‘Bleeding Heart Show’ off Twin Cinema
“Now the rainman gave me two cures then he said ‘jump right in’, the one was Texas medicine and the other was just railroad gin. And like a fool I mixed them and they strangled up my mind now people just get uglier and I have no sense of time. And here I sit so patiently waiting to find out the price you have to pay to get out of going through all these things twice.”
Bob Dylan
‘Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again’
off of Blonde on Blonde
Mixtape of the Month
1. Good Day
The Dresden Dolls
The Dresden Dolls
2. Use It
The New Pornographers
Twin Cinema
3. Hearts of Oak
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Hearts of Oak
4. Kiss the Bottle
Jawbreaker
Etc.
5. Cocaine Blues
Johnny Cash
At Folsom Prison
6. You Said Something
PJ Harvey
Stories from the City; Stories from the City
7. After the Goldrush
Neil Young
After the Goldrush
8. 22 Hours of Darkness
The Ike Reilly Assasination
Junkie Faithful
9. Blinded By the Lights
The Streets
A Grand Don't Come for Free
10. Rodeo Town
The Kills
The Kills
11. Lost In the Supermarket
The Clash
London Calling
12. Dink's Song
Bob Dylan
No Direction Home (Bootleg Series Volume 7)
13. Mr. Kennedy
The Soft Boys
Nextdoorland
14. Little Black Back Pack
Stroke 9
Nasty Little Thoughts
15. Old Shit/New Shit
The Eels
Blinking Lights and Other Revelations
Found or inspired by the month of January
“The next time that you want to stab me in the back, do it to my face.”
Mal to Jane
Firefly
“When you pray for what you want most in the world, its’ opposite comes along with it. I was given a woman whom I truly loved and whom truly loved me. The opposite side o such love is the pain of its’ loss. I can only feel such pain today because, until yesterday, I knew that love.”
Pandit Pyarelal Kaul
Salman Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown
“One never knows the answers to the questions of life until one is asked.”
Salman Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown
“And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time.”
Death Cab For Cutie
‘What Sarah Said’ off Plans
“We have arrived too late to play the bleeding heart show.”
New Pornographers
‘Bleeding Heart Show’ off Twin Cinema
“Now the rainman gave me two cures then he said ‘jump right in’, the one was Texas medicine and the other was just railroad gin. And like a fool I mixed them and they strangled up my mind now people just get uglier and I have no sense of time. And here I sit so patiently waiting to find out the price you have to pay to get out of going through all these things twice.”
Bob Dylan
‘Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again’
off of Blonde on Blonde
Mixtape of the Month
1. Good Day
The Dresden Dolls
The Dresden Dolls
2. Use It
The New Pornographers
Twin Cinema
3. Hearts of Oak
Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
Hearts of Oak
4. Kiss the Bottle
Jawbreaker
Etc.
5. Cocaine Blues
Johnny Cash
At Folsom Prison
6. You Said Something
PJ Harvey
Stories from the City; Stories from the City
7. After the Goldrush
Neil Young
After the Goldrush
8. 22 Hours of Darkness
The Ike Reilly Assasination
Junkie Faithful
9. Blinded By the Lights
The Streets
A Grand Don't Come for Free
10. Rodeo Town
The Kills
The Kills
11. Lost In the Supermarket
The Clash
London Calling
12. Dink's Song
Bob Dylan
No Direction Home (Bootleg Series Volume 7)
13. Mr. Kennedy
The Soft Boys
Nextdoorland
14. Little Black Back Pack
Stroke 9
Nasty Little Thoughts
15. Old Shit/New Shit
The Eels
Blinking Lights and Other Revelations
Lamest Voyeur... Ever
I have a weird thing going on with the Minnesota Timberwolves. I don't watch their games. There are a myriad of reasons for this. I hate how refs can tilt the balance of the game. I hate watching amazing athletes who can literally jump out of gyms stand around and fist bump each other after every free throw. I hate free throws. They seem like a rule that was thrown in so that slow, whitish dudes had a chance to score too. I hate the fact that people pretend that coaches are necessary. And that coaches are given roughly 23 timeouts per half. There are more reasons for why I don't watch the games but I think you get the point.
I do, however, read about their games in the paper every day and listen to commentary about the team on the radio though. It's kind of weird. I'm like a voyeur. It's like I'm stalking someone actually. I never get close enough to get noticed. While the team is going for a walk around the lake I'm cleverly hidden behind a bush. When KG takes the team out for ice cream sundaes I'm sitting behind the Metro section of the Strib watching them without being noticed. You can see how it could be creepy.
I think the Wolves have slowly turned into something very much akin to Jennifer Aniston for me. I don't watch her movies (unless they're on tv for free) and I don't watch her show (unless the Little Lady has commandeered the remote). So even though I actively miss all of Jennifer's "day job" I still know waaaaaaaay too much about her thanks to the countless magazines and sites devoted to celebrities.
I like her, I hope she's doing well, and let's face it she's not too hard on the eyes. But I don't really care about her life in any tangible way. I still feel like a stalker though. I know all these bizarre things about her and yet she doesn't know me at all.
So by now you should see that the Wolves are very much like Jennifer Aniston. And yet not at all. I don't, for instance, want to see any of the current or former Wolves in a French Maid outfit. Which apparently Jen will be wearing in her next movie according to the good folks over at joblo.com. I guess you could make a case that they are very much alike when it comes to basketball though. I don't want to watch either of them play the game.
I suppose there's a bigger issue here about the way we follow celebrities and teams in some half assed effort to live vicariously through them. I'm not really interested in that though. And heck, I don't want to live an NBA life or a celebrity life. I wouldn't mind the money, I think I could find some good ways to use it, but it's not something I would really enjoy otherwise. It literally would take millions to convince me that hanging out with Ron Artest or the kid from Malcolm in the Middle is a good time.
I will say one thing though, Brad Pitt sure fucked up.
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