My Blistering Hell

Anatomy Of A Total Douchebag

2009-10-22T10:15:00.000-07:00

At last! Photographic proof!

If you are guilty of this sort of crime, I HIGHLY suggest you change your ways. I'm not a religious man, but if I was, I would firmly believe that there is a special circle of hell reserved for ignorant, self-important, inconsiderate dildos like you.

TO THE FOOTAGE!

#1 - Item 01 shows the ordering box/speaker. Note its' location. Note that right after ordering, Jeepster Fuckball has crept forward a whopping 6 feet and stopped.

#2 - "Hi! I am a self-important fuckwad who drives a shiny Jeep! I want some delicious Taco Bell food! Don't mind me, I'm just gonna sit here and smoke a ciggy and throw off the spacing so the Taco Bell guy can call out 'Hello? HELLO?' but the guy behind me can't get to the intercom! I AM AWESOME!"

#3 - Please note the TEN FEET OF SPACE between Jeepster Fuckball and the car in front of him. Feel my pain.

#4 - Our hero's vantage point as he seethes and fantasizes about getting out of the car and punching this piece of drooping ass-mung in the teeth.

#5 - Finally, a pretty sweet stencil graffiti of a Stormtrooper on the power box . Way to go, urban dwellers! Open the blast doors! open the blast doors!!

Best. Optical Illusion. EVER.

2009-10-06T12:37:00.000-07:00

Here's a photo from the internet. Enjoy it...

You pervert. It's just her shoulder and arm pit. Man are you sick.

That'll be QUITE enough, thanks.

2009-09-21T11:17:00.000-07:00

I just went into the bathroom. There is a guy in there who works with me... I won't go into who it is. He is sitting on the, well, you know... he is doing his business... he is talking on his cell phone... and the stall door is WIDE. OPEN.

I don't mind the constant chit-chat banter I have to endure from the idiots I work with, or the "when the cat's away" stuff that goes on when management isn't at work... everyone has to put up with some level of social interaction that they are less-than-comfortable with, and I know I am a tough customer when it comes to all of that because if I had my way- nobody would talk or interact with each other at work EVER unless it was work-related. But I should at least be able to go to a bathroom and relieve myself without... THAT.

Dear lord. Shut your fucking stall door. What the hell is wrong with you?

Learn How To Fucking Drive

2009-07-28T09:45:00.001-07:00

I have three "hopes" today:

I hope the title of this entry caught your attention. I'm guessing that it did, because you are reading it. How is it so far? How are you? Can I get you something? Water? There's San Pellegrino in the fridge over there. Yeah, help yourself. No, it's behind the pot of spaghetti sauce that my wife insists on placing right in the refrigerator instead of transferring it to a smaller Pyrex dish. There you go. I'm out of limes. Sorry.

The second thing I have "hope" for today is that you actually do what I tell you to do. Because I am sick to death of the shit you have been pulling on the streets lately, and it seems to be happening more and more. So shut up, quit looking for new photos of your nephew's Bar Mitzvah, and pay attention.

There have ALWAYS been lousy drivers. There always will be. Apparently that wacky stick that you can flip up and down to let people know where you are turning still eludes some of you, and that whole "this isn't my lane but I am gonna stay here for seventeen years and make you miss your turn" thing is as old as the highway itself. But for CHRIST'S SAKE, people...

YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY PERSON ON THE GOD DAMNED ROAD

This means that there are people behind you. They are next to you. They are in their cars, which means that THEY HAVE PLACES TO GO AS WELL.

Because they have places to go, they are completely and totally inconvenienced when YOU DECIDE TO DRIVE 15 MILES AN HOUR IN A 40, LOOKING FOR YOUR MOTHER FUCKING TURN.

We have turn lanes. We have Only lanes. We even have LOTS MORE ROAD. I mention that last part because if, for some terrifying reason, you miss your precious left turn... YOU CAN PROBABLY GO A FEW BLOCKS FURTHER AND FIND A PLACE TO TURN AROUND AND GO BACK.

If you think you are going to turn left soon, GET YOUR FUCKING ASS into the turn lane. When you hang half of your car in the turn lane and keep the other half in the lane that you were traveling at 30 miles BELOW the speed limit in just a moment ago, you have literally FUCKED EVERYONE ELSE WHO IS BEHIND YOU UP.

YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY PERSON ON THE GOD DAMNED ROAD

I can't stress this enough. There is nothing in this world, NOTHING, that you can say that justifies you acting like you are the only person in a car who is driving somewhere. The only thing you can say in your defense would be the following:

I am an ignorant, selfish, inconsiderate piece of shit who only cares about MYSELF. Or:
I am deliberately doing this to be a fucking prick.

Either way, you need to have your pants yanked down and someone needs to whack you on the back of the legs with a bamboo cane about fifty times.

This is happening with alarming frequency lately. And it is yet another example of how inconsiderate people have become lately. I mean don't get me wrong: Since we crawled out of the swamp and became capable of breathing air we have been selfish pricks. We don't like to think so, but we are. But in the last few years it's becoming more and more acceptable to flaunt it.

Well I am sick of it. At least, I am sick of it when I am trying to get to work. Or home. Or anywhere in public.

It's very simple:

Drive within 10 miles above or below the posted speed limit.
Be AWARE of the cars around you.
Get the LIVING FUCK OVER when you are making a turn.

Jesus. Christ.

Oh, my final "hope" for the day?

I hope that whoever reads this and decides to comment by saying "AMEN, BROTHER! THEY DRIVE ME CRAZY TOO" (or some variation on that theme) gets hit by a bolt of lightning and fries you in the goddamn skull.

OF COURSE YOU AGREE WITH ME! THAT'S BECAUSE THERE IS NO FUCKING EXCUSE FOR DRIVING YOUR CAR LIKE A GODDAMN DOUCHEBAG.

Now DON'T make me come in here and tell you this again. Go to bed. Go on. You have work in the morning.

I hope I have helped.

That's 4 "hopes". Shit.

THREE MOVIES I WANT TO SEE ON DVD. BUT CAN'T.

2009-07-08T11:54:00.001-07:00

Here are three movies that haven't made it to DVD yet, let alone Blu Ray. And that sucks.

It sucks because movies like THE CANNONBALL RUN, POPEYE, ZORRO: THE GAY BLADE, and THE PIRATE MOVIE are all readily available on DVD, and they are crappy movies that I grew up watching on Home Box. Hell, even GREASE 2 gets a goddamn DVD special edition. And the following movies do not. And that sucks.

1. UNDER THE RAINBOW (1981)

Let me start this off with the following statement: I think Chevy Chase is a fucking douche bag. The guy was funny on SNL in 1975. He left in '76 because everyone told him he was a magic bullet and he believed them, because heck... cocaine makes you think you are totally awesome. If you don't believe me, I humbly submit to you the work of a little ol' band called Eagles. Not The Eagles, mind you. Eagles. Look it up, it's how they want it. Ahem... ... ... ... cocaine.

Okey dokie. Back to Chevy "It only works when I am with Goldie Hawn" Chase. In '81 the big galoot starred in a movie that has effectively slipped off the face of the planet, titled UNDER THE RAINBOW. The story was actually pretty damn compelling; It is 1938. A hotel manager in LA goes on vacation and leaves his nephew (or was it his son? I can't remember and I can't re watch it because the fucking thing isn't available on DVD!) in charge of the place. The nephew swindles a bunch of little people to stay there while they are filming the Munchkin scenes on The Wizard Of Oz. The little fuckers are everywhere: hanging from the damn ceiling. Among the crowd is a dwarf Nazi who is passing on secret info to a Japanese spy. But there are also Japanese tourists all over the place, and one case of mistaken identity happens after another.

Oh, and Carrie Fisher minces around quite a bit wearing a lace see-through bra. Oh my yes indeed.

The plot is convoluted and silly, and horribly degrading to little people. The events in the movie match the politics and history of the time (pre-Nazi spies, the depression) and it even echoes the Wizard Of Oz all the way through (a fish-out-of-water fantasy... good and evil, etc.) It's madcap crap. I have no idea why Chase's MODERN PROBLEMS is on DVD for less than $10 and this one isn't. Dammit.

2. IF YOU COULD SEE WHAT I HEAR (1982)

Tom Sullivan is a real guy. He was born premature and the incubators that they used at the time had a flaw where they sometimes fed too much oxygen into the chamber. It would create a film over the baby's eyes, or some such. Congratulations, son, you are now blind. Enjoy your life!

Sullivan didn't let that stop him or slow him down, and his autobiography became a bestseller in the late 70's. The guy wrote songs, was an athlete (running, swimming, even golf!) and he even took up skydiving for the hell of it. He appeared on tons of sitcoms and TV dramas in the same time period that his book was big; and they made it into a movie starring Marc Singer. Yes... the guy who played THE BEASTMASTER. Christ... I just realized that THE BEASTMASTER is available on DVD. And IF YOU COULD SEE WHAT I HEAR isn't.

The movie is the story of Tom Sullivan's college years, pretty much. His romances with a young black student, his trips into hooliganism with his best friend Sly, his summer as a piano player in a tavern of a harbor town, and how he met and fell in love with his future wife (played by the cute blond gal who was in MEATBALLS... a movie that is available on DVD. Sigh...).

This would easily be a CBS movie-of-the-week if it weren't for the PG-rated language. But something about it the story of "a guy who doesn't know he's blind" is irresistible and awesome all rolled up into one. The performances are charming, the movie flies along at a good pace, and there would probably be more puppies on the planet if more folks watched it. I don't know how it correlates, but trust me: Puppies and IF YOU COULD SEE WHAT I HEAR go hand-in-hand.

3. ELECTRIC DREAMS (1984)

Have I ranted and raved about how wonderful this movie is to you yet? Have we talked at length about how Lenny von Dohlen turns in an absolutely wonderful performance as Miles, a milquetoast architect living in San Francisco who meets and falls in love with Virginia Madsen, a cellist who just moved in upstairs? Have you heard about the movie where a guy dumps champagne all over his new computer and somehow or another it ends up bringing the computer to LIFE!? You read that correctly. He brings the computer to life. Through booze.

The computer's name is Edgar. And he agrees to help Miles write a love song for Virginia upstairs, because he is in love with the gal as well. Yeah... it's pretty much Cyrano de Bergerac. But with a computer. And Virginia Madsen. Yes oh yes.

There is a very good chance that you own a copy of the incredibly stupid and mediocre 1985 Hughs-o-rama WEIRD SCIENCE. And you think it is awesome because it has a scene where Bill Paxton gets turned into a giant pile of shit.

You own a movie where a guy gets turned into a huge pile of shit, and you can't own a copy of a movie where Virginia Madsen and a pre-Windows PC have a breath-taking 4-minute cello/synthesizer duet. Everything about ELECTRIC DREAMS is awesome: the clothes, the colors, the terrible underlying fear that the appliances were secretly out to get you... Every time I talk about ELECTRIC DREAMS in front of a group of "movie people" I get at least one other person who flips out, who has been thinking that the movie in question was never an actual movie at all but maybe something that they just made up once when they were young. Nope. It exists. It's a great piece of 80's fluff, and it hasn't been put on a DVD. And from the way things are going, it probably never will.

I just don't get it. I really don't.

Pad Thai

2009-07-08T11:52:00.001-07:00

Pad Thai.

Pad Thai fucking sucks.

"Hey we have some delicious noodles here! Let's put a sauce on it! Hmm... this sauce is a wee bit too sweet and sticky. maybe we can temper the taste of it with some shrimp!

Fuck! The shrimp made it all sweet AND mellow... quick! Put some chicken on there!

Oh no! The chicken counters the taste of the noodles and the sticky-sweet shrimp! Quick! QUICK! WE NEED ONIONS!

Man... I fucked this one up bad. What the hell can I put on this thing to go with the taste of sticky-sweet noodles, shrimp, chicken and onions?

GROUND-UP PEANUTS!"

Fuck you, Pad Thai. You suck.

10 REASONS WHY GREASE 2 IS THE LOUSIEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME

2009-05-13T10:44:00.001-07:00

LOUSY. Not "bad". I'm not talking about The Worst Movie Of All Time. To qualify for that, the cinematography needs to be terrible, the acting atrocious, the script ludicrous and the overall finished product has to be certifiably inept.

GREASE 2 is terrible, but the actors can act and the pictures are pretty. This doesn't excuse it from being a truly lousy movie. Easily the lousiest movie I have ever seen. What adds insult to injury here is the fact that I am positive I have seen this steaming pile of otter droppings at least 20 times. It was a programming mainstay on HBO in the early 80's. I know the thing better than the original.

And for the record; the original GREASE isn't that great, either. It's a 70's movie about the late 50's that looks and feels like a 70's movie about the late 50's. It's dopey and goofy and hyper-silly but it KNOWS that and it's okay with it. GREASE was and is an okay movie. Watchable Pith. GREASE 2 is not. Here's ten reasons why.

10- Bikes instead of hot rods.

Okay, fine- we need to be progressive and all, but in 1961 motorcycles weren't as nutty and crazy as they were about to become, and the idea of making the T-Birds a motorcycle gang would be fine if they were an actual gang, and not four ineffectual dopes who are ahead of their time in terms of what they are riding. The inclusion of motorcycles is symbolic of every other misstep the movie makes with its' choices: they don't fit and they are included in order to amp up the 'Cool Kitsch' factor from the original. Bowling, a bomb shelter, a talent show and a luau are right there alongside the motorcycle concept: set pieces and kitsch that is supposed to make us "remember when" but instead embarrasses the piss out of us. This is what happens when someone who hasn't lived through the 50's and 60's wants to make a sequel to a movie that was made by folks who haven't lived through the 50's and 60's either. I wasn't even a twinkle in my pappy's eye in 1961 and even I can see through this horse shit.

9- Lorna Luft channeling Marilyn Monroe.

GET IT?! SHE'S MARILYN MONROE BECAUSE MARILYN MONROE WAS A BIG DEAL BACK THEN!! SHE IS EVEN DAFFY AND UBER-SEXY LIKE MONROE WAS! OMG OMG OMG! (head explodes). Lorna Luft is Judy Garland's daughter. She's Liza's half-sister. She's also nowhere near as subtle or talented as Marilyn Monroe. And when she was researching the part, it's a little obvious that she didn't watch a single Marilyn Monroe movie. Or study acting. Or singing. But we will get to that later.

8- The whole cast has no idea who Maxwell Caulfield is. Why? Because he is wearing goggles. Brilliant.

I know I am picking at nits here, but come on: the plot is shoestring and dreams enough as it is- when you are dealing with a sequel that is pretty much rehashing the original, and your only hook is to switch genders and play the "mistaken identity" card, you NEED to do better than to put Maxwell Caulfield in a fucking pair of goggles and send him into a parking lot to do wheelies.

This all goes towards my original complaint listed in #10. When you need to fill a musical out you rely on convention, and when you are trying to beat your original box office take you grab those conventions and you hold them down and hump them until they beg for mercy. So we have the lover's triangle, we have the unrequited infatuation, we have the "pretending to be someone I am not just to win my lover's favor". We have terrible movie-making.

7- Stunt casting.

Not necessarily bringing back the tiny handful of actors who appeared in the original (although we will roast that chestnut over the coals in a few as well, I promise). This is more geared towards Connie Stevens as Miss Mason, a steamy, goodie-goodie sexpot teacher with a sorority-girl demeanor and a cougar-in-waiting mentality lurking in the shadows.

It's not even so much as the decision to cast a celebrity from this era in the film that bothers me as much as how they make her so damn savvy. She knows what the boys who oggle her are after. That's no fun. Nobody's intentions are right in this thing. What the hells is the backstory deal with Principal McGee having dinners over at Johnny's house? Where did this personal pride she has for these boys come from? And what the living fuck is going on at the talent show? What school has a talent show this elaborate?! Fuck this movie.

6- Seriously. The talent show? Jesus fucking Christ.

5- Michelle Pfeiffer sings like she has a dying cat in her throat.

When Michelle Pfeiffer went on to star in THE FABULOUS BAKER BOYS, she made a point of sharing the fact that she was brought through extensive voice training lessons in order to pull off the role. Know why? Because everybody heard that she sang her own songs in the movie and immediately remembered seeing her at the top of a ladder singing "Cool Rider" in GREASE 2. Holy shitballs, she's the star of the movie and if she isn't flat then she's sharp.

4- Somebody thought that Adrian Zmed would be a good "Johnny" because he played "Danny" on Broadway.

If I told you that Russel Crowe was going to be playing Divine in a John Water's biography because Crowe played Frank N Furter in Australia's ROCKY HORROR cast you'd shake your head at me and tell me to get out of your bathroom while you are in there. I don't have a point here, by now I am just typing so my co-workers think I am doing actual work. Oooh! Cake!

3- Those twins.

Actually, the entire supporting cast. And by "supporting cast" I mean everyone who shows up and does complicated dance numbers and generally tries to lend a air of "big fat fuckin' musical" to the production. That whole sequence where the entire cast sings about reproduction? It's 55 minutes long. 48 minutes of it is devoted to adorable side-glances and eye-rolls by the supporting cast. I timed it. I did it for you.

2- Bringing back Didi Conn and The Ugly Fucker.

Because people will relate more if they see Didi Conn and The Ugly Fucker. You know, they were in the first movie. And now they are back in this sequel! So remember them? Are you enjoying this thing any more than you would be if they weren't in it? Okay. Incidentally, Eve Arden and Blanche get a passing grade because... well... come on... it's Eve Arden. And Blanche.

1- The god... damned... MUSIC...

GREASE had a pretty damn good soundtrack. It was a nice mix of late-1950's doo-wop, bop and rock 'n roll, and it all worked. Know why it worked? Because it was music for a Broadway show and it had years and years of talent behind it. Even with adding 70's pop tunes in there for John and Olivia to sing- it all worked. The songs were GOOD.

The songs in GREASE 2 are horrible. Sincerely terrible. Incredibly bad. There are 13 musical numbers in the entire film and each one is overloaded with nonsense-lyrics, ridiculous subjects, and the worst thing of all: melodies that refuse to leave your skull, long after you have walked away from the TV set. There's no crime against humming "Hopelessly Devoted" while you are driving to work. But getting "Let's Do It For Our Country" stuck in your head will make you want to gouge your eardrums with an icepick. Hearing and re-hearing the chrous of "Girl For All Seasons" while you are walking out to pick up the mail just might provoke you into walking out into traffic. The music is catchy, light and fluffy, and fucking terrible.

Man, this movie sucks. It sucks hard. This is a movie that you are embarassed to watch even when you are watching it alone. God forbid you manage to catch a few minutes of it when you are surfing channels and someone walks into the room. You'd rather be caught masturbating than admitting that you were watching a full-blown musical number about bowling called "Score Tonight".

I think that the most heinous of crimes committed in GREASE 2 is the movie's sense of showmanship. GREASE 2 encompasses and displays the enthusiasm and jazz-hands of every 14 year-old tap dance class ingenue. It has the grace and poise of every Senior High School Play you ever had to sit through. Everything about it is mediocre, but it plays out as if it is a blockbuster of epic proportions. I strongly believe that Michael Bay watches it and says "YES! THAT IS MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT!" There is a remarkably large difference between a crappy movie that isn't up to snuff because it is overblown and over-enthusiastic and a movie that sucks because it is a piece of shit. GREASE 2 lives in the valley between.

Yes, I own it on DVD. Fuck you.

SLOSS...

2009-04-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

Went to a Sloss Pour. Amazing. Here, read this- there are tons of photos and I don't feel like re-doing it here...

http://www.ryanwilliams.us/slossweb/sloss01.html

THE RED BASTARD STRIKES AGAIN!

2009-04-01T12:45:00.000-07:00

Some things never go away. Taxes... Corduroy... Rod Stewart... and douchebags in red cars who can't walk an extra 10 feet...

Behold! An empty parking lot! And only 30 yards from a door to the building!

BEHOLD FURTHER! A DOUCHEBAG IN A RED CAR WHO FEELS THEY MUST PART RIGHT NEXT TO ME.

Why am I the only person who sees how annoying this shit is?

THE WEBCAM PHOTO INCIDENT

2009-03-19T13:29:00.000-07:00

I swear to you that this wasn't intentional...

I'm loopy about My Lovely Wife™. There, I said it. So we do what loopy-about-each-other couples do sometimes. You know, stuff like calling each other silly names and making squeaky noises at each other instead of actually speaking. Those of you who are in the same mess we are in will understand.

So this afternoon at work my Blu Ray copy of PINEAPPLE EXPRESS shows up. She has been on me for a few weeks now about picking up a copy and it's finally here. OH HAPPY DAY!

Now my INTENTION was simply to do the following:

1- Write My Lovely Wife™ an email saying "Hey (pet name that I dare not repeat online), guess what showed up! HOORAY!"

2- Include a photo from my webcam so she can see it and see me smiling and she can think to herself "Oh Glee! Oh Fortuna! My life is a fine one!" and so on and whatnot.

That's ALL I was gonna do.

So I fire up Photo Booth. I hold up the disk in its' sexy blue box with a photo on the cover of stars James Franco and Seth Rogan, and I hit "snap"...

And I end up with this:

This will be even more amusing to those of you who recall my lament earlier in the year regarding the comments have been getting at restaurants, movie theaters and bookstores.

I am a pudgy, hairy doofus.

WATCHMEN ... ... ... dammit...

2009-03-09T12:23:00.001-07:00

I get into film discussions on a regular basis with Josh, My Cinematic Junky Compadre. I respect his opinions because he respects mine, and because he admits that he is far more forgiving to the flaws and cracks that often ruin the experience for me.

We recently attended the majority of a Stanley Kubrick retrospective, and in between films one of our chats touched on the fact that Kubrick was the master of adapting novels to the screen. It never seemed to faze the director that he was deviating from the original outline, because the director was able to effectively convey the emotion and message of the book even if he didn’t stick entirely to the plot. Did we really need to see the animated hedge-animals in THE SHINING? The Made-For-TV remake in 1997 answered that question quite effectively.

Furthermore, Josh and I agreed that because of Kubrick, the time has come to stop comparing books to their cinematic counterparts, because the director had shown Hollywood once and for all that a film could stand on its’ own from it’s source material. Perhaps it could even improve upon it. A book is a book and a movie is a movie. Let each stand up for itself.

Imagine what Kubrick could have done with WATCHMEN.

Director Zack Snyder has been adamant about acquitting himself of plot changes and lost moments in WATCHMEN. It seems to me that if this is true, we will be seeing a more competent, exciting, faithful adaptation of what many consider to be the Greatest Graphic Novel Of All Time. Perhaps we will see one where the emotion and message of the original story comes through. All that I know for certain is that they are lost in this cut of the film.

If you don’t know what WATCHMEN is all about, then stop reading this review and go read it, or at least see the 162-minute version that I just saw and let me know what it is like to experience the film without being tied back to the graphic novel that inspired it. For me, the story was always an epic: a magnificent comic book story that marked the reader’s transition from adolescence to adulthood. It painted superheroes as (almost) entirely human, and existing in a real universe where history mirrored our own, but didn’t rely on Kryptonite or atomic spiders to create it’s saviors. It grounded its’ characters in reality and then pondered what would happen if a world that was filled with masked vigilantes was suddenly given a TRUE superhero to witness: one that possessed actual superpowers and was therefore drawn less to humanity and more fascinated with the makeup of the universe itself.

The original WATCHMEN also gave us a cautionary tale about fear, and the fragile precipice of sanity, and it suggested that we ask ourselves “what kind of a person WOULD dress up like a moth and try to fight crime in a big city?”

You know how awesome you think Batman is? You wouldn’t recognize him before WATCHMEN was written. Do you know why Spiderman began to fight Venom? Read WATCHMEN. The dark realities were out there before Alan Moore & David Gibbons created Nite Owl and Rorschach, but WATCHMEN galvanized it, and set it in darkness, and gave it some sort of reality.

Enough of me waxing poetic. Zack Snyder’s filmed adaptation of WATCHMEN is released. And it is almost a great movie. But he left out some very important details in his interpretation, and it is exactly like creating a stew without any seasoning... the ingredients are fine and good, but ultimately you have a bland dish that leaves you wanting more.

What’s great about WATCHMEN? The actors. Every last one of them is fine. Carla Gugino is getting some flack for not adding much to her interpretation of Sally Jupiter, the world’s first Silk Spectre, but she’s fine. Fanboys are gushing over Jackie Earle Haley’s dark, brooding Rorschach, and rightly so as he handles every word and nuance perfectly. The actors don’t miss a step, and they gel wonderfully with each other. No complaints.

Another great thing about WATCHMEN is it’s decision to fill in the gaps with exposition that works: the opening credit sequence is by and far the best example of how to bring an audience up to speed with a comic-book-reality I have ever seen. And the way it introduces each character in the first act of the film is truly impressive.

But sadly, there is never any sort of payoff by the third act.

I truly believe that there was enough material and information shot that, when edited together properly, will give us an acceptable version of WATCHMEN that might convey the depth of emotion and intellectual investment that the original graphic novel evoked. But it’s lost here, and it is caught under a ton of unnecessary garbage and unreasonable filler. I found myself adoring the first half of the movie and fearing what they were going to do next with the story after the first 90 minutes.

The Top Five Things That Disappointed Me About WATCHMEN:

5- “The Watchmen” moniker

So this is a little thing, but it was the first thing that unsettled me when I was watching and it goes towards my “this is a pot of beef stew without any seasoning at all” theory. In the film, Dan Dreiberg and others refer to themselves as “The Watchmen”- it is implied that they were an organization in the 60‘s that followed after “The Minutemen” in the 40’s. In fact, the organization that was proposed in the 60’s was going to be called “The Crimebusters” and it never happened because The Comedian made such a mockery of it during its’ first meeting. The title WATCHMEN refers to each and every costumed vigilante and superhero that encompassed the scope of the story, from the 40’s on through. It might seem fanboyish to wish for a detail like that to remain in the film, but it adds more depth and symbolism to the story when it is left ambiguously out of the crime fighters’ vernacular. When they refer to themselves as “The Watchmen” it makes the casual viewer understand that there was a group of superheroes out there, but it also implies that it was a small group and that they were unified. That’s the first step in misleading the viewer from the original message.

4- The Violence

It’s not that I don’t like blood and gore. That’s crazy. I have been a gorehound since the days of renting VHS tapes and fast-forwarding them to the parts where the bad guys all melt. But I was flabbergasted at how gleefully and mercilessly Snyder decided to let fly with the carnage. Bones don’t just get broken, they fly out of a person’s skin when they crack. Knives are thrust into bad guys’ necks. Cleavers split heads open, arms are out-and-out amputated. Entrails hit the ceiling and stay there. Here is my question:

WHY?

Is it because Snyder wanted to add a level of depth and reality to the story? Did he want to remind us that these are “real people and that they are really doing these horrible things, and that blood and gore is a result of it?” Is this part of the underlying theme of the story... that this is what would really be happening when costumed vigilantes get violent with real flesh-and-blood criminals?

If so, then why do people soar 20 feet through the air when they get kicked in the chest?

3- That Sex Scene

I love tits. LOVE em. There, I said it. If there was any doubt, let that be the closer, right there. Naked boobs? They are A-O.K. in my very long, very detailed book.

Therefore it is with a heavy soul that I proclaim the very moment when WATCHMEN became less-than-great for me was during the 3-minute extended sex scene between Dan and Laurie in the hovership. Did we REALLY need to see Dan’s ass thrusting enthusiastically and triumphantly between Laurie’s legs? My inner pervert says “Yes indeed!” but believe it or not... it was unnecessary. And silly, and uncomfortable, and stupid. This marks TWO occasions where Zack Snyder has taken me OUT of a movie-watching experience because of a too-long, too-goofy sex scene (see 300).

2- The Pacing

It should have been faster, smarter and tighter. Nobody said that 300 was over too quickly. And considering what I am about to complain about, one would think it could have been accomplished with a heavier hand in the editing bay. By the last half hour you felt like it needed to be over. What a shame... SUPERMAN came out at 143 minutes in it’s initial release... felt like a half hour. Hmm...

1- That Ending

SPOILERS AHOY!

The biggest bone of contention against WATCHMEN is the fact that they changed the ending. (highlight the following if you want, I don’t want to destroy this for the rest of you) In the book, Veidt’s plot involves a band of scientists, artists and designers who have been exiled on an island for months-to-years designing an authentic alien squidlike-creature that they believe will be a prop for a science fiction movie. Veidt teleports the creature to the center of Manhattan, where it explodes on arrival (Dr. Manhattan can teleport objects and allow them to remain intact, but Veidt’s technology can’t). The creature’s arrival in New York City implies an impending alien invasion, and the countdown to Armageddon ceases to be an issue between The US and Soviets as they unite towards a common cause. Sure, a few million people die... but Veidt insists that it was necessary in order to save billions.

Snyder’s version instead has Veidt constructing complicated bomb-like mechanisms that imply, when detonated in SEVERAL cities across the globe, that Dr. Manhattan has attacked more than one area as revenge or an act of aggression towards the human race.

(OKAY I AM DONE SPOILING IT)

They claim the resolution is the same: unity and an end to impending nuclear war. But there couldn’t be a larger gap between the intent of the implications in the original story and the implications of the film. I’m not religious, but the overall message of “Fear God’s Wrath” is WAAAAY, WAAAAAAAAY off the mark here. And it ruins everything that came before it.

Snyder claims that there simply wasn’t enough time to provide the exposition necessary to keep the original ending intact.

Let me get this straight... there was enough time to show two characters humping like teenagers for three minutes... there was enough time to change a scene where a convict gets his throat slit to a scene where he gets his arms hacked off with a power tool... there was enough time to change a scene dealing with burning a building down with a killer inside it into a scene where a beloved character butchers him with a meat cleaver... but we couldn’t effectively convey the original climax because there just wasn’t enough time to do it right?

Try harder. Alan Moore did. And with all the technology you had at your fingertips, you could have done it for us, and left the original message intact.

You went for a big Hollywood ka-boom ending. Enjoy the paycheck. Let’s see the ‘Director’s cut”.

PROOF OF HOPE. PROOF OF CHANGE.

2009-03-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

It's the first week of March, 2009. The GW Bush Presidency is gone and done with, our nation is knee-deep in the worst recession since the 1930's, and somehow fate has decreed that a hard-boiled metrosexual detective from 2008 has ended up in the early 1970's in a precinct run by Harvey Keitel (who's only acting direction in the 6 or 7 episodes I have watched so far redefines the term "phoning it in").

And yet, if you look... heroes are emerging.

Many of you will remember my McDonald's nemesis Marcello. The man is a shyster, a hooligan, and a harried part-time employee at the closest fast-food restaurant to my workplace. Despite the painful way he has treated me in the past, I have not stopped eating at the place. This is because I am a fat, miserable dick. I blame the Scottish Bastard that Marcello works for. Hate the game, folks, not the playas.

The Scottish Bastard's newest ploy in the epic Plot To Give Me A Bypass By The Time I Am 40 involves the Lent-based Double Filet-O-Fish Sandwich. Let's bring this puppy out so everyone can marvel at its' glory...

(image courtesy of McChronicles)

There it is, folks... the answer to the burning question: "Hey, kids! Do you LOVE the taste of fish sticks but HATE having to eat them at home, all alone?"

I wanted a light lunch, since I am currently battling my third head cold in as many months (and worrying tremendously about my immune system and what sort of effect that evening with that Thai hooker with the Adam's apple has had on it), but I am not yet ill enough to stave off nausea. My natural curiosity won out and I found myself at the drive-thru window asking for the five-dollar value meal. With a Dr. Pepper. Because I am sick, after all.

It was only after I had gotten out of the parking lot and was headed back to my cozy little desk when it struck me that in addition to TWO "filets" (I spelled that right, look it up) on a lightly-steamed bun, I was also currently in possession of an entire order of salty, potato-y McDonald's french fries! Oh happy day!

But what to dip them in?

My office has a common area with a shelf that has become a catch-all for fast-food detritus. If you need a tiny paper double-tube of salt or pepper, we can handle that for you. Are you looking for a spork? You are covered. Need a place to deposit the extra 45 packets of "mild" sauce from your trip to Taco Bell? Drop 'em in a bowl and wash your hands of the burden of unwanted sauce-ownership.

Sadly, even though you can acquire a packet of mayonnaise and six fortune cookies in our break room, the area suffers from a ketchup drought. Something about the tomato-and-high-fructose-corn-syrup concoction makes it very rare and succulent in our office. And although you CAN consume McDonald's french fries without dipping them in ketchup, it's not recommended.

"But Ryan", you say around a mouthful of raisins, green salad and lite Italian dressing (fuck you, you health nut), "everybody gets french fries with their meals at The Scottish Bastard's, and nobody ever remembers the ketchup packets!"

Right you are. However: nine times out of ten your greasy, condiment-laden sandwich will drip half of its' contents onto the cardboard container where you have dumped your fries, thus allowing you SOME sort of alternative to eating dry-and-salty pommes frites.

You can't do that with a Filet-O-Fish. Because french fries and tartar sauce is fucking gross.

Seriously. It's horrifyingly disgusting. My guess is that when Steve-O from that MTV show where the two "NOT GAY" guys run around the planet and throw up all the time is about to eat something like a caribou turd or an iguana's dick, the last thing he thinks when it's going in his mouth is "well at least this isn't going to taste like a french fry in tarter sauce". Next thing you know... "Huuurk! Huulll-wik! HORF!" Oh, the ratings!

So here is my sad lament... I am headed up to my desk with a double-decker sandwich that can't even legally include the proper spelling of fillet in its' title, and I know that in a half hour I will need more to drink because of the amount of salt I am going to be sucking down with these delicious Potato Sticks of Death. And there will be NOTHING TO DIP THEM IN, because I was too phlegmy and medicine-headed to say anything about ketchup when I had the chance.

And then I opened my to-go bag...

Yes indeed! Sitting on top of my food, glowing like a beacon of hope...

MARCELLO HAD GIVEN ME FOUR PACKETS OF UNSOLICITED KETCHUP.

This is a crazy world we live in. The Republicans are telling us that Obama is a Muslim. You can't buy sinus medication over-the-counter any more for fear of meth labs. Nobody knows if Ben or Whidmore is the good guy...

But in one corner of one town, a guy had the foresight to slip another guy a few packets of ketchup without having to ask for it.

My world is a little bit sunnier. A little bit brighter.

Yes We Can.

THE TV-DINNERAMA UPDATE!

2009-03-04T13:29:00.000-08:00

It's already March 4! That means it is DAY FOUR of the:

So let's take a look at how we are doing so far!

...
... ...
... ... ...

I quit.

I really want to impress upon you how much I was looking forward to the

... I bought stuff. I designed graphics. I made templates. I cleaned the TV room up.

What I did NOT anticipate was that I would be out of town for the first two days of March. Furthermore, I didn't pause to consider the quality of the food I was about to exclusively consume for 31 straight days.

Here's what went down last night:

My first day back home! And time to belly up to the Banquets!

I walked into my kitchen late last night and opened the fridge, anticipating a GREAT kickoff to the

... And there was the first contender of the month: A Banquet Chicken Fried Beef Steak Meal.

I'm a fan of chicken-fried steaks and chicken, don't get me wrong. But something in the presentation of the meal started to turn my stomach. Before I opened the box I flipped the thing over and decided to educate myself as to how to prepare my evening supp.

Unpackage. Heat for 4 minutes. Stir. CONTENTS MUST BE THOROUGHLY COOKED!

Somewhere between holding the clammy, thin, cardboard packaging and reading that if I didn't let the whole thing sit for 2 minutes after cooking it (in order to maintain proper heating throughout), my body started to tell me that it wasn't hungry at all.

It went on to tell me that even if I waited for a long, long time, it would not be hungry for this food. My body even made a special effort to assure me that if I was starving to death, it would need at least a six-pack of beer and a hail-mary pass before it would consider letting me put this in it.

Considering that this was coming from the same stomach that sometimes orders me to consume 2 dozen chicken wings and a half-rack of ribs on a Wednesday night, I decided it meant business.

Hence:

... I had a salad.

Fuck it.

THE NEW YORK SHOW (now with snazzy graphics!)

2009-02-24T14:42:00.000-08:00

Just a quick 'ELLO! And a poster for Saturday's show:

COME SEE ME LIVE (IN CAPITAL LETTERS!)

2009-02-23T14:40:00.000-08:00

Hey there, person I knew when I was growing up in New York! Do you wonder what it would be like to watch me perform a comedy show in the town I grew up in? Have you longed for a chance to hear me talk about things that I find funny and annoying?

WELL LOOK NO FURTHER!

I will be performing comedy at THE RELIEF PITCHER on Saturday, Feb 28th at 9pm.

Here are some Frequently Asked Questions for you to read!

1- Hey Ryan! When is the show again? And where?

Please go back and read this post from the beginning.

2- Hey Ryan! Who else is performing with you?

Tony Liberati, an old friend who got me the gig and who is funnier than a room full of ping pong balls; also your headliner will be an incredibly funny guy named Jamie Lissow. He's got a Comedy Central special! I have a joke about playing tricks on blind people. HOORAY!

3- Hey Ryan! Is it cool if I bring my 6 year-old kid to a 9pm comedy show in a bar?

Certainly! By all means! Especially if they enjoy hearing stories about Paris Hilton's libido and how fun it is to play tricks on the blind! What a great idea! While you are at it, bring Grandma along!

THE RELIEF PITCHER is at 197 Conklin Ave, Binghamton. The show will start at 9. Tickets are available at the door. I have no idea how much it will cost, but if you show up I will probably buy you a drink.

A Major Life-Changing Announcement...

2009-02-19T10:38:00.000-08:00

I got married in '04, but I have known My Lovely Wife™ for a lot longer than that. I personally blame her for why I never went through a Heat-N-Serve period in my life.

I shall explain.

In high school, most of my meals came out of a can, or from my mother's kitchen, or from the handful of restaurants I was employed at. In college, if I wasn't eating Ramen Noodles or cans of Spaghetti-O's, I was enjoying whatever they prepared for students in the local Commons. After college I spent a great portion of my time back at my folks' house, and later when I made a (very meager) living as a Radio DJ, it was always a question of fast food. I think in the 2 years that I spent doing radio, I ate a home-cooked meal once. And THAT was only because my roommate was trying to sleep with me and she thought if she made a casserole it would get me hot and horny for room-on-room action. It did not.

After I met My Lovely Wife™ I learned to cook. I pretty much had to. Ask her, she'll agree that if I didn't cook on a regular basis, we'd starve. Wonder why I am so fat now? It's because I am a damn good cook.

But as a result, I missed out on living the life of a "just throw it in and heat it up" kind of existence. I went from "cook it for me" to "I'll get it to go" and straight on to "All you need is a saucepan, some paprika and a good vegetable-chopping knife".

In short, I never fully experienced the majesty of existing solely on TV Dinners.

There is something about the TV Dinner that fascinates me and captures my whimsy. Perhaps it's because they always looked so horrifyingly delightful in old commercials. Maybe it's because the concept of Salisbury Steak just plain sounds funny to me. Maybe it's the 'fried chicken' sitting on a tinfoil square that perfectly captures the notion of "Suburban Bliss" to me.

I'm sure that quite a bit of it has to do with the stereotypical image of a shiny foil tray sitting comfortably on a thin metal folding-tray in front of a 12-inch TV screen. There is something truly wonderful about the idea of coming home, pulling off your shoes, grabbing an inch-thick block of prepackaged edibles out of the ice box, popping it into the oven for twenty minutes, and sitting down to watch The Beaver with a glass of beer and a full meal at your knee. I have a tremendous aversion to network television, and despite the fact that I have scarfed what amounts to roughly 60 tons of pizza, wings, ribs and chips in front of my home theater; I have never actually sat down to a hearty ready-to-eat meal while enjoying the fine programming that Burbank California has seen fit to expose me to.

For whatever reason, I have decided to undergo the following experiment.

Starting on March 1st, 2009, and continuing though the entire month, my evening meal shall consist of nothing but TV Dinners whenever I eat at home, and they shall all be consumed on a tray while enjoying a television show of my choosing.

I call it the:

Yes indeed. For the entire month of March I have decided to forgo "cooking" anything for my nightly meal. Instead, I will indulge myself by luxuriating in whatever the good people at Swanson, Hungry Man, Lean Cuisine, Stoeffer's and the rest of the gang have deemed fit to consume for my supper.

Naturally, I will provide reviews, descriptions, photos, and breakdowns of the experiment. And because I am a stickler for details, here are a few important ones to consider:

I will not pass up an opportunity to eat at a restaurant. My TV Dinner consumption is regulated to remaining at home and having my dinner in the evening. To that effect, I will not have a TV Dinner for lunch, breakfast or snacky time. Because it's a TV Dinner, dammit.
As I have a long-standing hatred for reality TV, and I am not able to cope with the vast amount of "Stunt Programming" that modern-day TV has to offer, I will occasionally be watching DVDs of TV shows in the place of regularly-scheduled programming. I have several seasons of Classic SNL to get through, and I recently purchased the complete Addams Family series. Plus there is still my collection of Miami Vice, Alien Nation and Firefly to get through. In short: I will be watching TV shows while I am eating my TV Dinners, but they might not be the TV shows featuring Stars Who Dance.
Some field research has revealed that there is now a very thin line between "TV Dinners" and "Single-serving piles of frozen pasta, cheese, meat and veggies" designed to make you feel like you are getting thinner. For the sake of my experiment: A TV Dinner shall be any meal that requires me to heat it in order to enjoy it properly, and must come in a sectional tray consisting of at least two sections that separate the content. Sadly, this means I will NOT be enjoying Michelina's pasta entrees or very much from Weight Watchers. It also means no Pot Pie. Sacrifices MUST be made.
As I cannot imagine doing so without one, each meal will be consumed accompanied by an ice-cold bottle of Rolling Rock Beer. It just feels right, people.

I plan on kicking this odyssey off on March 1st. In preparation I have already purchased a few delightful-looking standbys like the Hungry Man Turkey Dinner (the box proudly proclaims that it is MOSTLY white meat, and stands by its' boast by displaying a photo with 3 slices of pink turkey and one very gray one soaking in gravy).

Wish me luck, and send me Tums. I have a feeling we will all become stronger from this experience.

The Joaquin Phoenix Thing

2009-02-12T12:14:00.000-08:00

Knock it off.

I'm talking to YOU. You are sitting there at your computer and you are reading this because you are interested in discussing The Joaquin Phoenix Thing. You want to talk about how he is melting down in public, how he has lost grip with reality, and how he's all "crazy" now. "Wha the hell is goin' on?! Mabel! Come lookit this! That feller who done the Johnny Cash is nuts! Look!"

No he hasn't. He's fine. This isn't a hoax or a ruse... it's more of a gambit. And he wants you to get all "goon show" about it. Let's discuss.

Of course I suppose that by discussing it, blogging about it, debating it and watching and re-watching it on YouTube is providing exactly the kind of publicity that Joaquin Phoenix is hoping to gain with his spate of recent stunts in public. The Beast gets fed no matter what. That's not the point of this writing.

The point of this writing is intended to discourage the public from engaging at this particular time in the schadenfreude of watching a celebrity experience a meltdown. Because he's probably not.

For the uninformed, I will briefly explain the situation.

A few months ago, a haggard-looking Phoenix gave a red-carpet speech to a reporter where he publicly announced he was no longer going to pursue acting. Instead, he was interested in developing his musical career. The reporter naturally took it with a grain of salt, which was exactly what Phoenix was looking for, so he used it as an excuse to walk away in disgust (but only after flashing the words "good" and "bye" backwards on his knuckles) and acting like 'yeah, I expected as much' from his interviewer.

His publicist confirmed it the next day, which gave the Media a happy little celebrity news blip. And then the public promptly forgot about it, because nobody gives a shit about Joaquin Phoenix. Except, of course, for Joaquin Phoenix.

A couple of weeks ago, another video clip surfaced on the web; this time it was footage of a very furry and stiff-looking Phoenix appearing on stage in Las Vegas, where he was attempting to perform a hip hop song. Naturally, he makes a fool of himself but refuses to acknowledge that anything off-kilter is occurring. Even after prat-falling on his ass.

Last night Joaquin Phoenix appeared on national television on Letterman, where the self-indulgent and only marginally-talented actor decided to act as if he was above being interviewed, and more than that, acted as if he wasn't all-there. The chances that you have seen the clip, either when it aired or almost immediately afterwards on about 50 websites, are huge. I won't go into details other than to say that he went above and beyond in his attempts to make something out of nothing. Pay attention to how he responds when Dave slices into him. Letterman has an inkling of what's going on here, and he isn't impressed. A guy who is that far-removed from reality wouldn't break out in a smile and attempt to shift the focus back to distant melancholy the way that Phoenix does. Letterman jokes that he owed an apology to Farrah Faucet, but at least Faucet stayed in character.

I could be very wrong about this. There just might be a chance that Joaquin Phoenix is legitimately unhappy with his lifestyle and that he wants to center himself back into a personal, non-superficial reality. But I doubt it. There are two reasons why I doubt it...

Kristen Stewart appeared on Letterman a couple of months ago. The attractive and down-to-Earth actress has publicly admitted being bedazzled by the amount of attention she has received for starring in the teen-heartthrob-laden TWILIGHT. During her interview you witnessed a young woman who was uncomfortable with the superficiality and distanced-from-reality world she has been in, and while avoiding eye contact and actually taking moments to think about answers that Letterman was asking her about- she managed to come across as someone who is unhappy with the accolades and attention. The interview wasn't awkward as much as it was steeped in a more direct and non-bullshit-laden tone. Dave even seemed impressed at her capacity and honesty.

I mention her in full-knowledge that as of late, Stewart has been exposed by the press as a pot-smoking hippie stoner-girl who might not serve as a role-model for young women who are flocking to see her get seduced by a diamond-shiny vampire in a shitty Hollywood movie.

With that comes even MORE reason to believe that a person under the influence of narcotics is able to function when he or she is asked to participate in a televised interview.

The second reason I have for believing that Joaquin Phoenix is making the choice to act like a spoiled brat instead of being genuinely affected: the mere fact that he appeared on the show AT ALL.

After the weeks and weeks of booking, agents, publicists, pre-show rehearsals, discussion-point cards and everything else, only a guy with an AGENDA to act like a compete and utter tool would be able to actually appear on a show and get away with acting the way that he did.

I'm not saying that Letterman himself was in on it. He certainly didn't act like he was, and he fabulously refused to play into any of Pheonix's attempts to derail the moment. It was a prime example of "I think I see what's going on here and I don't think you have the stones to pull it off, buddy."

All in all, the consensus with doubters seems to be that if this IS a stunt that is being perpetrated for the purposes of a mockumentary, it's not going very well. And in addition, I would go as far as to say that it is a fucking waste of time and talent to even try to pull this off. It's been done before, and by smarter participants.

See? It's NOT just me, dammit!

2009-02-09T12:35:00.000-08:00

I admit it. I'm nitpicky. I pick at nits. My OCD is set to eleven. Being a slave to my own preferences for having things just-so has cost me friends, relationships, and many a delicious meal at a local eatery. My cross is heavy, but I bear it well, and you must admit, the wood is wonderfully polished and thumbprint-free.

And I am not alone.

At least, not in all things. I might be the only one who gets physically nauseous when the Idiot In Front Of Me doesn't pull far enough ahead at the drive-thru to give me ample room to be face-to-speaker when I come up. I stand alone in my belief that a person over the age of 60 shouldn't comment on my vegetable selection at the check-out counter at Publix. And I dare say I am the only person at my workplace who has a problem with the concept of talking at the top of your lungs with your fellow salesman in the bathroom while someone (me) is trying to take a quick dump.

But when it comes to parking, it looks like I have found a comrade.

Let me set the scene:

The building I work in isn't as crowded as it used to be. I'm in a 5-story behemoth that can accommodate approximately 1600 persons at a time, according to the information in the janitor's closet (don't ask, I drink a lot, okay?)... currently I estimate there are only about 200 employees scuttling about in the four separate businesses occupying the property. It's big and it's pretty empty, and I like it that way just fine.

The layout of the parking lot is a sight to behold. Aside from the spaces right against the edge of the building, there is no such thing as a "close spot". Oh, it LOOKS close when you are parking 20 yards from the smoking area... but you have to work your way around 30 additional yards of shrubbery and ornamental mulch in order to actually get to the door. It's annoying, but tolerable, to a degree, because as empty as the building tends to be, it means there is ample parking as long as you don't mind getting mulchy once and a while.

With so much parking space, you'd think that everyone would know about "the empty parking lot rules".

The Empty Parking Lot Rules are not sacred, and they aren't as revered in song and legend as, say, the Bro's Before Ho's Rules... but they are still pretty much self- evident. You KNOW when you are violating them, even if you have never seen them listed out.

Here's an abridged list of some very well-respected Parking Lot Rules:

1- If you are over 200 pounds and you are walking to/from your car through a parking lot, move the fuck over, because people are trying to drive past you.

2- If you are headed back to your car with packages at Christmas and a car is following close behind you, it is your job to let them know if you are leaving, or if you are just dropping off our load of packages and meeting Your Lovely Wife™ for an Orange Julius. That way they don't follow, at a CRAWL, watch you dump your stuff, then wait until you go back in the building so they can key your car.

3- Anyone who thinks their car is so important that they need to park SIDEWAYS across TWO OR MORE spaces is just asking for a broken tail light. Seriously. I mean it, unless your fucking car is dipped in gold and the Dali Lama is in the back seat waiting for his slice of Sbarro, don't park like a fucking retard.

And the most important Parking Lot Rule ever?

4- When there is ample space in a big, empty lot... SPREAD THE HELL OUT.

It's really annoying when you don't. I can't tell you why. But look at any lot at the mall on a Tuesday afternoon in Spring and tell me you don't see the pattern: Up close to the doors? Lots of clusters of cars, in space after space... but the further out one goes, the more space opens up between cars. By the time you get to the Logan's it's a desert of asphalt. It's the way that God intended things.

In the miasma of strange and difficult-to-access parking zones at my building, a handful of employees have taken to a semi-empty patch of concrete on the East side of the place that I like to call East Jesus.

Up until 2 weeks ago, only 4 cars have found a permanent place in good 'ol East Jesus. And we have all lived in harmony, faithfully obeying Fourth Law Of Parking Lots... we have spread out. Sure, we all want to park as close to the door as possible, but we still know the rule, and each car has courteously left a parking space open on either side of each other. And sure, we trade off actual SPOTS from day to day, depending on who shows up on time and who doesn't, but the entire mood has been friendly and accommodating to each other. It's a fine system! See:

What I mean to say is- This WAS a fine system. Until a week ago. When THE RED CAR showed up.

THE RED CAR has been seen before. It has been closer to the door in other parts of the lot, but for the past few days, THE RED CAR has taken up residence in East Jesus. And all hell has broken loose.

THE RED CAR has started parking next to other cars. We are in the middle of nowhere and THE RED CAR wants to snuggle. We don't even know who THE RED CAR belongs to, but that doesn't deter it from abandoning all reasonable etiquette and parking it's ass right next to the other cars in East Jesus.

What does this mean for the rest of us? It means we have to over-compensate and park even further from the building, which wouldn't be such a hassle except that it is, goddammit. And it's all THE RED CAR's fault. It shows up and fucks up the whole layout of cars by parking itself right NEXT to other cars in an empty part of the lot.

And all this would mean nothing, other than being of minor annoyance to me, if it weren't for what I just saw on my way back in from lunch today.

See, as much as I complain and nitpick, I'm a realist. I know that these things really only bug me, and if I complain about things on my little bloggity-doo, I can usually cope. I assumed that the existence of the touchy-feely RED CAR would be something only I would have trouble with, and that it would never even escalate to becoming a blog-worthy consideration.

But then I discovered something wonderful, something as delightful as discovering that your brand new college roommate also digs The Housemartins or that your mail-order bride is also into light bondage.

I discovered a fellow East Jesus resident ALSO has a problem with THE RED CAR.

Getting out of my car after lunch (3 spaces down from where I would normally park, thanks to that crimson bastard) I noticed a piece of paper was attached to THE RED CAR's wiper blade, flapping in the breeze.

Curiosity overtook me and I wandered over to the windshield to see what it was.

Someone left our scarlet offender a message. And as God as my witness, I could not have invented such a wonderful note if I tried.

It was just a simple piece of paper with black Sharpie and it read, in block letters:

HI, NICE CAR, CAN YOU PLEASE STOP PARKING OUT HERE LIKE AN ASSHOLE? THANKS!

Thank you. Thank you, fellow Parking Lot Rules Abider.

I am not alone.

I GOT IT

2009-02-05T09:11:00.001-08:00

I THINK I HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT!

So all in all, here is what it seems like we got:

IN THE BEGINNING there was an island with incredible magnetic powers that probably slows down time or something or other, and people on the island are kind of like living in the Garden of Eden, maybe. Or something.

Then in the 1950's a douchebag America decided to test a nuke called Jughead on the island, but the 'original inhabitants' fucked all that up. So they buried the bomb about 15 minutes from the shore.

Then the Dharma Initiative showed up and made a bunch of stations around the island. They somehow harnessed the energy of the hydrogen bomb and put The Swan over it, and after Ben wiped out the Dharma guys they set up some super-science stuff that tapped into the magnetic powers of the island and caused the whole island to "stop" in time... literally to loop every 108 minutes as long as someone pushed a button. Or something.

But some Scottish guy ended up forgetting to push the button right when an airliner was traveling OVER the island, and since the island was becoming "unstuck" in time, it freaked shit out and caused a crash. But Desmond punched in and reset the loop again just in time so now the airline passengers are stuck on the island as it cycles through an 108-minute loop.

At least until Locke shows up and let's the whole thing go kerflooey... but at the last minute, before the nuke nukes the place, Desmond hits a 'fail safe' which probably jumps the island OUT of it's loop and back into the normal time flow. Jughead blows up, but at a different point in time, so everyone is safe. The bad news is that the island is now back in 'normal time'.

The bad guys (Widmore, who left the island when the Dharma kooks started taking over and driving the "original Others", including Richard, away) can find the island now, as long as they follow the right magnetic bearing to get into that crazy island. Or something.

But Ben 'moves' the island as an emergency last-defense. Which is a lot like bumping a record on a turntable, and now the needle is bouncing all around the record, and it can't find the right 'groove' because all the ingredients aren't in the bowl like they should be.

They only have a short amount of time to get back to the island, because the island will kind of do like what is going on in Juliet, Miles and Charlotte's heads. And since the island is basically the world's brain, the world will start bleeding out of it's nose and flopping around in the solar system.

Who's with me?

I hate this fucking show.

Um... Hi... 'Sup? Um... I made you a mix tape...

2009-02-02T22:10:00.000-08:00

I realized what sucks about modern mix tapes: They don't exist any more.

If someone makes you a mix nowadays, you get a playlist. Playlists suck. If I send you a playlist, all you are going to do is listen to the stuff you like and not follow through on listening to the whole thing. There's no fun in that at all. "Oh... you made me a mix... how nice... let me just zap through this weird Peter Gabriel section and get right to the Soundgarden."

Screw that.

Here's the thing... when you got a mix tape from someone in high school- you earned that shit. Most of the time what you got was a damn 60-minute Maxell Cassette tape with hearts and smiley faces drawn on the label with a felt-tipped pen. You didn't have a CLUE what was coming on that thing, and all you could do was pop it in and listen to it with your headphones on and pray to god that nothing sappy would make you cry in front of your little sister.

So this afternoon I was experiementing with some new software I have 'aquired' and I decided to put it to use. I made you a mix tape. Yup. A real-life, true-blue Totaly Awesome Mix Tape. Just for YOU, my loyal blog-reader. It's a full hour of delicious 80's goodness, and it is 100% FREE of nightmarish pop bubblegum-laced crap from the era. You get 17 of the coolest songs in the world, and ZERO Madonna.

And you gotta listen to them all, because it's one long track, dammit.

LISTEN TO IT HERE (or better still)

DOWNLOAD IT HERE (MP3) unzip it and enjoy.

Come on. You'll love it. And to sweeten the deal:

I offer hearty prizes galore to whomever is able to list a full ARTIST and TITLE of each song, and send it to me as a reply to this post. Extra points if you can name the title of the film that the song comes from, if applicable.

When was the last time someone gave you a mix tape.

Come on. Will you go out with me or not?

THE WRESTLER

2009-01-30T07:52:00.000-08:00

Gene Siskel is often quoted by his surviving partner as saying "It's not what a movie is about, it's how it's about what it's about."

I mention this because of the woman who sat in front of me when I saw THE WRESTLER last night. She was obviously there as a favor to her boyfriend, who was already paying the price by listening to her say things like "If this is one of your ROCKY BALBOA things or another KARATE KID I'm making you go see CONFESSIONS OF A SHOP-A-HOLIC with me when it comes out."

Charming!

I feel good for the guy, actually, because by the end of THE WRESTLER his shrewish lady-friend was just as affected as the rest of us in the audience, and I think he got out of having to watch a spunky chick buy boots for 90 minutes.

What THE WRESTLER is about has been done before. How it is done this time is pretty much perfection.

Mickey Rourke is Randy "The Ram" Robinson; a professional wrestler who has fallen out of the limelight since the late 80's when he was in his prime. He still wrestles, but it's not in the arenas and stadiums any more. Mostly it's high-school and civic center auditorium bouts. Places where hard-core fans still show up and pay $10 a head to see musclebound characters "pretend" to beat the shit out of each other in (and out of) the ring. Sure, wrestling is "fake"- the athletes are shown in their makeshift dressing rooms discussing the outcome of the fights and working out details with each other. But the hits they are taking are still real hits. The chairs to the head and the drops from the turnbuckle still take it's toll on the human body, and Randy's body is just about all used up.

The guy is a walking junkyard, figuratively and literally. His face is ripped, scarred and swollen. His body is still pumped up, but his skin is starting to look puffy and leathery from years and years of tanning and toning. He's using steroids and enhancers. He needs a hearing aid. He's dying and highlighting his stringy 80's hairdo. He's falling apart.

Randy lives for the rush he gets in the ring. He is a pile of hamburger, but it's worth it when he's flying through the air and tossing an opponent over his shoulders. But during a particularly horrifying exhibition match, something terrible happens to him, and THE WRESTLER is the story of how he tries to cope with losing the only thing he still has in his life.

My wife is a tremendous fan of movies about misfits and losers who manage to find kindred spirits and come together. One of the first movies we ever saw together was BOOGIE NIGHTS and it touched her that so many lost souls could find a safe place to be themselves. She has an affection for ED WOOD for the same reason, and a slew of other "loveable losers" who find a way to cope with the harsh realities of not fitting in.

What is most poignant about THE WRESTLER is that it's titular character isn't the lovable loser. He's a hard-headed bull of a man. He never found anywhere to fit in after his fall from grace. He can't cope with any sort of reality. Without wrestling, he has nothing.

Randy knows a stripper, played in an Oscar-worthy performance by Marisa Tomei. She's exactly like him: aging, in over her head, losing the ability to effectively do what she knows how to do. We first see her attempting to please a group of young bachelor-party revelers who are openly insulting her for being so old. She insists that she can still get the job done, but they are only interested in being crass. Randy identifies with it and tries to help. But he's just another guy, and Cassidy's "rules of conduct" force her to keep him at a distance.

As a person who's worked in a strip club and seen women attempt to make a living competing every night for the attention of clients, let me just say that I have never seen a more realistic depiction of a topless dancer on film before in my life. Tomei knows about the subtlety of being polite to men who have cash, and she knows how and when to let someone in long enough to feel special. Most importantly, she thinks she has the ability to put a stop to someone getting TOO close to her. Most strippers who have been around the block end up seeing a customer outside of the club at least once, and it almost always turns out the way it does here. Real and raw and forlorn.

There is a sub-plot involving Randy's estranged daughter that feels forced, at first. And contrived after a second encounter. It takes patience and a willingness to appreciate how it resolves itself to put the rest of it in perspective.

Has anyone said enough about how amazing Rourke is in this thing? I am a long-complaining curmudgeon when it comes to people heaping praise on a movie solely for an actor's performance in it. In this case, Rourke carries the weight of the film on his shoulders. It would truly be nothing without him. This isn't a case of a bad script or a plot-driven story with a single noteable performance. This is a beaten, nearly broken-down old warhorse who has made a decision to play a beaten, nearly broken-down old warhorse. He deserves every word of praise that he has been given for this.

This is a terrific movie. It's rife with metaphor (the title alone suggest more than just the profession of the main character). THE WRESTLER is the kind of film you would have seen in the 1970's at the height of Hollywood's "Second Age", when character pieces and studies of human behavior took precedent over special effects and catch-phrases. Director Aronofsky and cinematographer Maryse Alberti capture some amazing and legendary iconic moments that will be discussed in years to come. Everyone will comment and mention the moment where The Ram walks through the "backstage" and emerges into his new profession. I found some subtle glory in some more personal moments as well, though. Randy flipping his daughter's photo over and revealing a string of phone numbers; The expression on Cassidy's face when she sees what he goes through in the ring. The harrowing moment of relization that crosses Rourke's beaten, weathered face while he lies crouched in the woods, unable to even jog any more without it hurting.

THE WRESTLER proves that you can make an effective, moving, emotional story without resorting to cheap reaction shots and orchestral cues on the soundtrack. It shows that you can tell a story that you have seen before, but tell it in a way that makes you wonder what will happen next, even though it might be obvious. And it earns its' ending. That's all I will say about that. Sure, it's a wee bit exploitive... predictable, and a touch melodramatic.

But so is professional wrestling.

NOTE: I tried not to be crass in this review because it's rare that I see and enjoy a movie that I feel has been over-hyped. But it seriously bears mentioning that Marisa Tomei is easily one of the most beautiful actresses working in film today. A lot has been said about her decision to appear nude in this movie. All I can say is that when you look that incredible at 43, you should show off as much as you want.

Who?

2009-01-29T10:36:00.000-08:00

I think I'm beginning to sympathize with my wife.

The back-story:

One of my strict requirements when I am dating someone is that she is attractive to me. I can't tell you how many times I have passed up a wonderful opportunity at a long-term relationship based solely on the fact that I was not in any way, shape or form attracted to my would-be companion.

My Lovely Wife™ (at the time, still My Lovely Girlfriend™) had the edge and good fortune to be very attractive to me. I met her in '98 while Living The Dream as a DJ in glorious Alabama. We hit it off and things progressed quickly.

Several weeks into our new found love affair we got on the subject of celebrity look-alikes. I mentioned that in my college years, I got quite a bit of flack for looking a heck of a lot like Jim Carrey. I'm spoiled and egotistical enough to assume that THIS is why I didn't get a lot more choice dramatic roles in college (it had NOTHING to do with my lack of talent, or course). By the time Alison had come into the picture, I was starting to put on some weight (you can't be a radio personality without consuming McDonald's and Wendy's at least twice a day. It's a law, look it up) and the illusion was fading, thankfully. I have never been a tremendous fan of Mr. Carrey, and although I admire the man for becoming famous by pretending to talk out of his butt, I had hoped that I would achieve fame and fortune without resorting to impersonating the guy. The extra tonnage was helping.

I asked my wife rather innocently if she was told she ever looked like anyone famous. I had posed the question because I was about to remark on the fact that she resembled Olive Oyle, complete with the "OoOoOH!" noises she made when she got flustered. She rolled her eyes and said "Yes! And I was surprised I didn't hear it from you sooner!"

I was all set to say "Aw Popeye!" in a shrill falsetto when she drew her head back and said "I can't believe they forgot my fucking birthday."

I hadn't seen the Molly Ringwald resemblance at ALL until then, but for the past decade I can't watch anything she's in without thinking I am looking at my wife, to a degree. I could do with the red hair, but Alison is a brunette. And I'm sure that if My Lovely Wife™ made as much cash as Ms. Ringwald has on hand, life would be better too. Because the only thing that is important in the world is money, kids. Write that down.

Okay, so when I was enjoying The Salad Days with my significant other, I was content to have a rapidly-fading resemblance to a bombastic physical comic with double joints, and I was more than pleased to be sharing a bed with a woman who looked like a member of The Breakfast Club.

But then "adulthood" stepped in. And by "adulthood" I mean 50 pounds. And by 50 pounds, I mean I have become a big fat bastard.

I'm not HUGE, mind you. But I am definitely not 170 pounds of combustible sex any more, either. Okay, I'm huge. Dammit.

That's the back-story.

Today, for the tenth time, someone has out-of-the-blue stopped me and told me that I remind them of Seth Rogan.

Seth. Rogan. The fat guy from KNOCKED UP. And PINEAPPLE EXPRESS. The huge Jewish guy with curly hair and a big fat chin who is hilarious, I will admit, but who looks NOTHING LIKE ME.

I mean really? Seth Rogan? I don't see the voice, the hair, the mouth, nothing. And yet on TEN SEPARATE FUCKING OCCASIONS I have been told by strangers that I look like him, or I have been asked if I AM him, because why WOULDN'T Seth Rogan be living in Nashville and working as a Graphics Designer who drives a Civic?

I think I preferred being Jim Carrey.

... I think I forgot my point.

REVOLUTIONARY TURD

2009-01-26T09:16:00.000-08:00

I guess I just don't get it.

According to the marketing campaign, the movie is a "searing portrait of the human spirit being crushed by the mediocrity of day-to-day experiences". If I understand the reviews correctly, the film "dares to reveal the dark side of The American Dream." It "skillfully and deftly handles the unmentionable anguish of living in the 20th Century." They even gave Kate a trophy at The Golden Globes for it. And she might win an Oscar.

REVOLUTIONARY ROAD sucked. It sucked long, and it sucked hard. Watching Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet try to play a 30something couple mired in the dull, lifeless futility of suburban 'bliss' circa 1959 was like watching a high school drama club attempt to capture the world-weariness and bile-soaked venom of WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF. The dialogue was written by a person who has never heard dialogue spoken by an actor in any kind of production. It is delivered by people who were told to act more angry with their lot in life than they could possibly conceive of actually experiencing. The plot was predictable to the point of being a parody of itself. The fact that they felt it necessary to include scenes where a mental patient spells out the misery that our protagonists are mired in was laughably insulting. Nobody delivered a single line that sounded genuine. REVOLUTIONARY ROAD sucked.

I have a longstanding issue with movies that are hyped by the production company and sold to the American Public as being "avant-garde" and "a new and exciting look" at the way stories are told. Particularly when what we are actually seeing is packaged as a vehicle for the stars who are involved in it. REVOLUTIONARY ROAD thinks it is something bigger than it is, and I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't as predictable and worn-out.

Questions for those who have seen it and feel that they have seen something incredible:

1- Could you have gotten the same message from this film without Michael Shannon's character ever appearing in it?

2- Did you think for even a moment that Leo "Babyface" DiCaprio ever came across as a man in his late 20's/early 30's? Or that he delivered a SINGLE LINE of dialogue that sounded convincing or was in any way a piece of non-exposition?

3- Was there any doubt in anyone's mind that any affairs would NOT occur? That the ending would NOT play out that way? Was ANYTHING that happened a surprise? And if so, HAVE YOU WATCHED A MOVIE BEFORE IN YOUR LIFE?

4- Could they make Kate Winslet look ANY more haggard or fuck-faced? I understand that they wanted her to be stressed... to look "fallen" to a degree. But she looks like a fucking MAN in this movie. She looks more manly than DiCaprio. Christ.

I felt insulted and angry at the end of this movie. I felt like I had been spoon-fed something that might have been more complex and rich if it had taken the time to be subtle. I burst out laughing when the blood hit the carpet.

The movie sucks. If you enjoyed it then good for you, but I'd like to know why you didn't feel like you were being pandered to. And I would like to know why you have never read or seen WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF, THE WILD PARTY, THE LOST WEEKEND, MAD MEN, AMERICAN BEAUTY (proof the filmmaker IS capable of doing this stuff correctly the first time), or any other piece of work written between 1955 and the present that deals with couples who want to be more than what they are.

What a mess. REVOLUTIONARY ROAD sucked.

The Catch-Up Thing

2009-01-19T15:14:00.001-08:00

FIFTEEN EXCITING BITS OF INFORMATION ABOUT ME, AS OF JANUARY, 2009

1- I over-use the all-caps feature!

2- The Nintendo Wii is a fine, fine game system if you have any grudges against your rotator cuff. Failure to use your strap will result in dents in the drywall. Oopsie.

3- My mother and stepfather are LOOPY NUTS about the HBO Series THE WIRE, which My Lovely Wife™ and I bought them for Christmas. YOU should be too.

4- I was sick as a dog over the holidays. Hence: no blogging. In addition, nothing funny happened to me for a while. Unless you could being sick as a dog as "funny". If so, fuck you. During my illness, I overdosed on codeine and booze, and I had the most trippy experience I have ever had in my adult life. I was loopy on narcotics in the guest room of my father and stepmother (see, Ginny? I describe it like that now)'s house. Ever trip balls in your parents home? Legally? Crikey!

5- We got our log-in date! As of November 17, 2006 My Lovely Wife™ and I are logged into The People's Republic Of China's adoption database. What does that mean? It means we wait. We wait and wait and wait, and hopefully we get a letter someday that says "Come get this to-go order. Twenty minute. No checks. You want soy sauce?"

6- Thanks to the magic of my mate Mike (alliteration! swish!), a short cartoon that I lent my voice to will be featured on IFC. Want more info? So do I. Details are a-comin'.

7- We now have a built-in "cat box box" in our garage. This means that we have a large wooden box sticking out of out garage wall and there is a pet door in our laundry room. Our little bastards go through a pet door into the box and use the litter boxes in there. What does this mean to us? No more cat litter all over the laundry room! And no more smells! And no more split ends! What does this mean to you? Nothing. Let's move on.

8- If you have been living in Nashville and NOT attending the Belcourt's midnight movie series, you have missed out on a BOUNTY of movies that you can otherwise only see if you have basic cable! Last weekend I enjoyed a 35mm print of THE KARATE KID in glorious screen-o-vision! And two weeks before that? BACK TO THE FUTURE. GREAT SCOTT!

9- Speaking of cinema- a lot of folks have asked me what my pick has been for the Best Movie Of 2008. And by "a lot of folks" I mean "one". And by "one" I mean "nobody". Regardless, I'd like to announce that my official choice for the best movie of 2008 is the Swedish thriller LET THE RIGHT ONE IN. An incredibly well-told story about a lonely 12 year-old boy who is on the verge of snapping and lashing out at his bullies, and a strange 12 year-old named Eli who comes into his life when they both need a friend. It's moody, grotesque, deep, cathartic and mesmerizing. Good news for the morons in the world, the film has already been bought up and is in the process of being adapted for American audiences by the guys who brought you CLOVERFIELD and LOST. Here's an idea- see this movie before they fuck it up.

10- I have nothing for #10

11- Have I mentioned how sore my shoulder is? Damn Wii. Damn Wii Sports. Damn drywall.

12- Here's a photo of two ladybugs humping. JEALOUS?

13- SPEAKING of hot sex-on-film action... well, not really... here is a photo that I posted on Flickr. It's of My Lovely Wife. She is playing with the cats and looking, well... in MY opinion, she's looking just plain adorable. And by "adorable" I mean "hot". And by "hot" I mean HOLY CRAP LOOK AT HER CLEAVAGE.

I put it on my photos page and added the following tags to it: "Wife", "Candid", "Cats".

It got 2... maybe 3 hits in 6 hours.

So as a lark... just to "see" what would happen, I added three more tags to it: "Sexy", "Downblouse" and "Cleavage"...

In less than 24 hours the photo got 10,496 hits. HEY INTERNET! STAY CREEPY!

14- I'm almost done with this post.

15- ... ... ... ... done!

REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA

2009-01-16T10:49:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA at The Belcourt. I would like to extend my apologies and a hearty "well done" to everyone whom I asked to come along with me to see it and refused. You chose wisely.

"Hey there 16 year-old clove-smoking upper-middle class private school students! Do your parents not GET IT, MAAAAN? Does the sound of My Chemical Romance accurately express your anger at Fox for canceling [i]Buffy[/i]? Have you ever wondered if a major studio would produce a movie full of songs with lyrics that rival the poetry you post on your MySpace blog? Would you like to see what Evanescence sees when she is wacked out on hoppers and she's strap-on-fucking Gwen Stefani with a dildo shaped like Jack Skellington? Well come on out and see REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA! It'll make you feel like you felt when you watched MOULIN ROUGE with your older sister and she made fun of you for crying!"

Hey look! It's Paris Hilton, appearing as a whorish rich girl addicted to plastic surgery! Fuck you, REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA. Fuck you.

On the bright side, it's only January 16th and I have already gotten the worst movie I can see all year over and done with.

Lunch

2008-12-04T10:44:00.000-08:00

I am 2o pounds overweight. I was 30 pounds overweight and I dropped 10 pounds in 2 weeks thanks to a system that actually works, called Not Eating Like A Fucking Pig And Taking A Jog Once And A While. But the last few weeks I have been slacking and lazy and I can feel the fat starting to climb back on. And that sucks. But what sucks worse is being hungry, so off I went.

If you don't have a Harris Teeter in your region, you have something close to it, at least. Harris Teeter is a high-class supermarket. The kind with a deli and a 210-foot salad bar and employees who don't look like they are counting the minutes until they can go out by the loading dock and smoke. Every weekday the deli at HT offers working stiffs like myself a 6-inch deli-made sandwich for only $2.99. Want a footlong? Add two bucks. What a deal!

MY PLAN: Go to HT. Get a 6-inch. Grab a salad at the bar. Go light on the dressing. Feel thin.

THE EXECUTION: Go to HT. See that they special of the day is a meatball sub. Go for the foot-long. Eat it at your desk in less than 10 minutes. Feel your stomach go from a gentle slope to a beachball. Suck down a Dr. Pepper, because nothing says "fatty" like extra air in your stomach.

And JUST as I am downing the last bite, the very MOMENT that I am thinking "So what if I feel a little fat today? I can suck in my belly if anyone important comes around"... that's when it happens.

My morsel of bread and tomato sauce goes rogue.

Boy let me tell you! Nothing in the world says "FAT FUCK" like a splotch of deep red tomato sauce and grease at the most swollen point on your torso.

The fucking diet starts tomorrow.

Oh My! Aren't We Edgy! We're Willing To Lampoon Ourselves!

2008-12-01T11:06:00.000-08:00

The best way for me to explain to you how I feel about this article is to paint you a mental picture, if I may.

Let's say that you have a lovely home. Let's say that the house is very large, very modern, and people from all over come and see it because it's just that damn fine. There is marble everywhere and the crown molding is perfect. The bathrooms have those goofy doohickeys that clean your butt off for you when you are done doing your business. The front door is rounded, like the doorways in The Simpsons. And there are lovely plants and sculptures throughout.

Oh, and there is a dead, rotting dog in the middle of the kitchen.

Don't make any mistake about it: the kitchen is all stainless steel and the counter tops are granite, but there's also a 200-pound dead St. Bernard on the floor. He's been there for weeks and he's bloated and gray and there is a nest of mice living in what used to be the dog's ass.

That's not the entire portrait I need to paint for you, but it's a start. The point of the portrait is that there is a family who lives in that house and accepts visitors from all over the world to enjoy it and be entertained by that house, but for some reason... even though the smell of the big dead rotting dog makes people gag and hork... nobody mentions it or even refers to it being there when they walk through the house!

Then suddenly... with no warning or explanation as to why... the owner of the house walks into the kitchen one day... a kitchen that he has been walking through for years... and without any sort of logic behind it he suddenly slaps his palms on his cheeks and his eyes bug out and he says "Oh my god! There's a dead dog in here!"

It annoys the shit out of me when Hollywood seems to come across as if they don't know that they are a shallow, self-obsessed, money-hungry, condescending entity with little to no regard for anything that is NOT superficial or trite.

It annoys m even more when they act like it's news.

Make no mistake: CNN isn't digging into this investigation because they have stumbled across a soon-to-be-released feature film that satirizes Hollywood. This "Oh My, Aren't We Edgy" news was spoon-fed to them by the studio releasing this thing. And that makes it worse because what they are trying to do is drum up business for a movie that otherwise won't make money based on its' merits as a film.

Condescending self-awareness in the face of the obvious is a terrible trait that rarely does any real good. Think back to the mid 90's when Johnathan Demme shat out the steaming turd that was PHILADELPHIA. The movie sucked balls. The screenplay was pandering and arthritic, and the focus of the whole thing was to make you feel sorry for people with AIDS. Which you shouldn't have to depend on a movie to do anyway.

On a side note, I can recall sitting in a packed movie theater watching a rail-thin Tom Hanks collapse out of the witness chair and unintentionally letting out a snorting guffaw of amazement that a 'major studio release' had the gall to stoop that low. I was treated to a stern "You must be Satan" gaze from the blue-haired Jewish lady in front of me for that one. Sorry.

A movie shouldn't try to drum up press for itself for being controversial unless it actually IS a controversial movie. And in that case, the studio doesn't need to do the work because some other useless organization that wants attention will step in to field that. For every AMERICAN PSYCHO and KITE RUNNER (both had ad campaigns and publicity junkets that claimed that the studio itself is worried about the effects of it's impending release upon the general public) there are SCADS of legitimately good films that will draw flack from controversy for simply being (see: THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, A CLOCKWORK ORANGE).

But to be so self-effacing and gregarious as to try to drum up wobbly controversy regarding a Hollywood movie that might... heaven forbid... poke fun at Hollywood movies... and to act as if that might be a sin in the eyes of the system... as if nobody would have ever noticed that The Industry might have more than a few exploitable flaws... as if THIS is the movie that is going to open one's eyes to the self-absorbed underbelly that IS 'Hollywood'...

Pathetic.

Quick game for you to try playing: Come up with some big studio movies about making movies that don't make cartoon characters out of its' stars. Come up with some independent movies about making movies that don't come across as bitter and angry with how Hollywood treats itself. I get as close as SUNSET BLVD before I give up. And that movie is 60 years old.

Marcello...

2008-07-23T10:27:00.001-07:00

A McTale

In an effort to NOT appear as a conglomerate that doesn’t give a damn about the common consumer, McDonald’s Corporation has been rolling out an interesting option to their franchises over the past few weeks. They call them “The Manager’s Specials”. The logic behind it is that McDonald’s will look more like a non-corporate, non-by-the-book cancer factory and more like a big, lucky company that has a LOT of stores but who gives their local managers some leeway with the menu.

They destroy this concept by printing and selling six-foot-by-four-foot full-color posters that advertise the manager’s specials on them, along with giant photos of whatever heart-attack-in-a-bag you happen to be able to purchase for a reasonable fee, but that’s not really the point of this tale. I only needed to mention that the Manager’s Specials are in play in order for you to appreciate the following true story.

Our local McDonald’s is pretty heavy on the Mexican and pretty light on the “Ugh” factor. The “Ugh” factor usually consists of phantom poopie smells when you walk in and a general sense that you just missed the cockroach parade. I work in Brentwood, which is a pretty nice part of Nashville, and the McDonald’s is in pretty good shape. It’s forgivable that our servers don’t speak English because at least there isn’t a sticky floor is what I am saying. Stay with me, I’m almost ready to start making sense.

This week’s “Manager’s Special” is a doozy. TWO Triple Cheeseburgers for ONLY $3.15. Yes indeed! For only Three dollars and fifteen sense you can enjoy SIX all-beef patties smothered in pickles, re-hyrdated onions and processed cheeze-food. And don’t get me wrong, I LOVE’S ME SOME CHOLESTEROL, so I am all for the deal. The only problem is that I don’t like cheese on my burgers. There’s something about the gooey, slimy, tangy taste of the slices of cheeze-food that McDonald’s has opted to use on their products that reminds me of industrial lubricant. The cheeze-food they use is more adhesive than Super-Glue. I defy you to pry a bun off of a freshly-served cheebooga from The Scottish Bastard without ripping it’s underside off. It’s not natural, I tell you. Not a bit. What I am trying to say is that I am not a fan of cheese from McDonald’s. I only hope I have made my point.

In the past, I have ordered a double-cheeseburger and asked them to “hold the cheese” and I have encountered no problems at all, apart from an occasional funny look. It’s an understandable request; I want all the benefits that twice the meat will offer me, but without the messy, sticky goo. A double cheeseburger with no cheese? Comin’ right up, pal! Thanks for shopping American!

But nothing could prepare my server for a request to hold the cheese on a TRIPLE CHEESEBURGER MANAGER’S SPECIAL.

I literally blew his circuits. I asked for the Two-Triple-Cheeseburger-Special with NO cheese and my Latin friend went blank and all the life drained from his eyes. I might as well have said that I didn’t think 2 Fast, 2 Furious was a very good movie. Or that some companies offer insurance and dental care. Or that you don’t need tinfoil to cook food on a grill.

He was really shocked, that’s all I am trying to say.

He was SO shocked, in fact, that he spent the next TWO SOLID MINUTES trying to type this into his food-ordering-thingy. Every twenty seconds he would raise his head back up and say “Okay... two triple cheeseburgers... no cheese?”

“No cheese,” I would reply. “And a 6-piece chicken.”

“No cheese?” He’d ask again, in awe and wonder.

“No cheese, and a 6-piece chicken.”

That happened every twenty seconds. For two minutes.

A few minutes later, I got my to-go bag. I didn’t remember to ask for it “to-go”, and I am quite familiar with McDonald’s unwritten policy of sending lunatics and homeless people on their way without a tray, so I let it slide.

I DID, however, want some sauces with my McNuggets.

Oh- hold on, I guess I should cover my reasoning and logic behind why I ordered TWO TRIPLE CHEESEBURGERS WITHOUT CHEESE and IN ADDITION, a 6-piece order of Chicken McNuggets.

I am a fat fucking pig, that’s why. Ok, let’s move on...

So my server, who has spent MORE than enough time judging me, hands me a bag with my food in it and says “Thank you”. It is a known fact that it is impossible to eat Chicken McNuggets without sauce. It can’t be done. My sauces of preference? For the last 20 years it can only be One Barbecue and One Hot Mustard, please.
Marcello looks temporarily pained, opens my bag, reaches under the counter, and shoves his hand into my bag in a gesture of full pleasure to be serving such an upstanding and undemanding client. Then he very quickly turns his attention to the incredibly busty and financially questionable Latin-American Mom standing behind me. I leave the establishment.

Here’s where it gets awesome.

Back in the office, I open my bag and plunge a hand into its steamy depths, and I retrieve the first of my two Cheese-Free-Triple Cheeseburgers.

You know, the one that is COVERED in cheese.

Frustration rising, I dive into the bag again and pull out the second burger. THIS one has so much cheese on it that it is almost impossible to separate it from the paper it is wrapped in.

MAAAAAARCELLLLLOOOOOOO!

It finally dawns on me how all this went down. My dude is behind a counter, working his ass off and hating every second of his life, and I stroll in and make a completely unreasonable demand for a cheese-free namesake. He can’t find the buttons on his amazing ordering device and after TWO FULL MINUTES, he just says “fuck it” and decides I will be better off if he ignores my request completely. I can confirmed this by looking and the receipt and noticing that there is no account of “no cheese” on it. Marcello knew what was best for me. I can’t possibly fault him for THAT.

But here’s the best part...

The best part is that I decide to forgo the cheeseburger experience and I toss them aside... “oh well, I think to myself. I didn’t really need two goddamn burgers AND Chicken McNuggets. I am supposed to be watching my weight as it is.

I know you are thinking that this ends with Marcello not giving me my chicken. Oh no, no the 6-piece was in there all right. Right on the bottom of the bag, all by itself.

Not a damn sauce packet in sight.

I wish you were there when I asked for the 2 sauces so you would believe me when I tell you that I LITERALLY WITNESSED MY SERVER PRETENDING TO INCLUDE SAUCE PACKS IN MY BAG JUST SO I WOULD GO AWAY.

I can’t stress this visual enough! I was LOOKING across the counter to the prep area and I PHYSICALLY SAW several packs of sauce in containers back there. I ASKED my harried server for a couple of them and he REACHES below the counter as if he is grabbing some (All the while I am thinking “Oh, he must have a supply of them under there as well so he doesn’t have to turn around”)... and he MIMICS PUTTING CONTAINERS OF SAUCE INTO MY BAG.

Marcello... YOU are the Manager’s Special in MY book.

Geeker

2008-06-30T12:42:00.000-07:00

Geeker 'Mudd' The Cat
October, 1995 - June, 2008

"Shrewd Confident, Soft Companion, and Mighty Conqueror Of Squeeky Rubber Mice"

I miss you a lot, buddy. You were a really good cat.

73%

2008-06-20T10:49:00.001-07:00

Here's an interesting factoid, according to epidemiologist Elizabeth Pisani, who has devoted her life to studying the AIDS epidemic and its' impact on global societies and culture:

The failure rate of "vows of celibacy" by U.S. teenagers is a little higher than 73%.

73 out of 100 dopey teens who stand up and raise their hand to "God" and pledge that nobody will touch their no-no spots until their wedding nights can't do it.

I mention this statistic for a couple of reasons:

1- The statistic is verified and my source is given (unlike the 90% of you TRUE CHRISTIANS won't be proud enough to pass this dogshit 'Pro God' message on).

2- Most people who hear this act shocked, even though THEY are the same folks who got their bubble burst in the back seat of their Dad's Ford after Homecoming.

3- We live in a culture where sex is the number one selling tool. We've been that way since the 30's. Many would argue that we've been that way since we were cave dwellers. Sex sells, but HAVING sex is a bad thing, kids... so JUST SAY NO.

We're hopeless as a species. I just want you to see that.

Here's another thing to mull over. The person working next to you; whether you are in a cube farm or at the counter at Subway- the person sitting next to you has though about what you are like when you are having sex.

I don't have the data to back that up, but it's true.

And right now, you are returning the favor. Way to go.

Wiener

2008-06-17T10:26:00.000-07:00

Crash

2008-05-30T10:21:00.001-07:00

Last night at 10:30 I hear a terrific crash in my garage. My ladder fell off the wall and literally landed 2 inches from my new car. 2 INCHES.

I'm not making it up. Here's a photo:

I tell this story to a few co-workers this morning near our coffee machine. And GUESS WHAT one of the responses HAD to be...

"Well someone up there sure was looking out for you!"

Yes indeed. God in his infinite wisdom, majesty, and grace went forth, eschewed the standard pleas from suffering masses of starving children and dying retches, and STOPPED A LADDER FROM HITTING THE HOOD OF MY CAR.

And you ask me why I think religion is silly.

I know, I know, she was just making an off-handed comment about how lucky I was.

But it certainly indicates something deeper at work.

In other news, I am eating a bean burrito. So you see where I am standing on the weight of this issue.

The one where we catch up

2008-05-28T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hi. It's been a while.
Man, you look great.
Sorry I haven't complained about anything to you for so long. I will try to catch you up to all the wonderful and exciting stuff that has been going on in my life as of late.

Very little.

My Lovely Wife™ and I spent the Memorial Day Weekend mostly on our hands and knees in our yard. My garden now boasts green peppers, tomatoes, assorted herbs and spices, and a patch of mystery gourds: the result of my throwing a rotting bucket of Thanksgiving Day centerpiece offal into the planter as fertilizer and watching it go nuts.

I also got a path laid out from my back porch to my garden and it is pine-bark-a-fied. Progress has never looked so square!

My Lovely Wife™ spent her time in the front yard digging and weeding and setting up our front beds to look nice and proper. While doing so, she slathered suntan lotion on every visible inch of her body... except for her lower back. Fun fact about My Lovely Wife™: when she works, she looks like a sexy plumber... complete with an exposed lower back and a pretty impressive view of whatever panties she happens to be wearing that day.

After four hours in the sun, she has earned a pretty ridiculous-looking sunburn. It looks like two parenthesis if they were sideways. Turn your head and look at this: ( ) ... now picture it being cooked-lobster red and right above My Lovely Wife's shapely fanny.

She's in a lot of pain. I think it's hilarious. Mostly because I'm a jerk.

The up-side? I get to smear aloe and lotion all over my wife's butt about 6 times a day. EVERYBODY WINS!

In other news, there IS no other news. See why I haven't written? My life is too boring for you to be interested in.

Now kindly stop thinking about My Lovely Wife™'s lower back.

The Blog Where I Get Political, Part I

2008-05-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

We are 6 months away and I am already sick of this shit.

I just spent a mere 10 minutes on YouTube, listening to left-wing and right-wing dipsticks take a grand shit all over each other in order to get the world out that anyone who might ascend to the White House next year is going to pretty much trigger an apocalypse.

All I can say at this point is this:

SHADDUP! SHADDUP SHADDUP SHADDUP!!

No matter who wins the election: we will be better off than we have been for the last eight years.

My name is Ryan Williams and I endorse this message.

OH! Our homeowners association had their annual meeting last night. There were two spots open on the board and I got nominated and elected. It's incredibly strange to me- thinking that I am a board-member of an organization. Those guys are in for a hell of a lot of trouble.

Civic Duty

2008-05-04T15:08:00.001-07:00

Enter Ezra
Originally uploaded by Rwilliams718

Friday My Lovely Wife™ and I found ourselves over at the local Honda dealership.

She bought a Civic 3 or 4 years ago, based mostly on Consumer Reports' recommendation. I have been jealous of it for quite a while, as I have been driving an Exorcist-puke-green Nissan Sentra since '03 and I hate it. 'Solange' was clunky, she creaked, and her belts and joints were starting to slip.

We do most of our traveling in my car, because I am a control freak and I prefer to drive (also because My Lovely Wife™ drives like she's living in an incarnation of Grand Theft Auto... and yes, I have seen her actually kill a hooker who just restored her heart meter to 100%... IN REAL LIFE) we end up putting the bulk of our mileage onto whatever I am currently in charge of.

So when our booger-green/gold Nissan was flirting with 100,000 miles, I started to get antsy about getting a new car. A NEW car. I'm 33 years old and I have been driving used ones since I was 16. NEW. No miles on it. A car where the first seat-cushion fart will be MINE.

There's something that you should know about My Lovely Wife™, when it comes to making a major purchase; she's very difficult to convince. She will go without buying microwave popcorn if it is more than $3 a box. Any mention of spending a few hundred on a TV set or a new lens for my camera sends her into overdrive.

BUT- she IS an accountant. And one thing that an accountant can never resist is a low interest rate.

Seriously. Draw a pentagram onto your floor with a stick of chalk. Drop a slide-rule on the north point and write "4.7% APR for 30 Months" in the center of it. My wife will appear in your home with a burning ledger in her left hand and a roll of adding machine tape in her right.

She had NO intention of letting us get a new car this weekend. But we test drove 3 or 4 of them anyway, just to get a feel.

When the Honda dealership offered her 2.9% Financing for a 2008 Civic or Accord, her eyes popped out of her skull and her hair stood on end.

For normal people, I am just trying to explain that we got a hell of a deal.

I picked the 08' Civic EX. Its' not as 'showy' (read: vain) as the Accord. But it's packed with features and it's the sexiest gray/silver/charcoal color ever made. Our guy 'gave' us the sun roof visor, door guards, splash guards and trunk liner for free, and I spent an hour scraping the double pinstripe off the sides of it, because pin stripes are dumb.

It's a fucking awesome car.

I call it Ezra. Because I name my stuff.

Ryan's happy.

Coffee Break

2008-05-01T10:38:00.001-07:00

Ha!

Someone at work is hilarious.

I don't know if this is an old thing and if I have just never seen it before, but I was grabbing coffee in my break room a few minutes ago and I was staring blankly at the 'you have to post this in your work area break room' board. You know the 'how to help a choking guy out' poster?

Someone (brilliantly) put this on it (click for big):

Like I said, I dunno if this is an old internet meme that I missed or if it's just someone's subtle attempt at humor.

If so, whomever it is in my office who is fucking funny enough to put that on the poster and not draw attention to it: I salute you!

That's Four...

2008-04-23T11:08:00.000-07:00

Four years ago Alison and I got into the car and took off to Florida. We go to Destin just about every year and sit on the beach and eat too much and live like typical upper-middle-class white Americans.

We stopped in Santa Rosa beach and got married. We planned it, but tried not to make a big deal out of it or build it up inside. But we did anyway.

Neither of us have much religion, or use for it. Luckily, Alison isn't one of the uncountable masses of women in the world who think that Their Wedding Day needs to be a 5-star affair involving bands, white horses, shiny party favors, doves, dollar-dances, bride-and-dad pictures, 13-story cakes, and guest books.

We stood in a courthouse and got married without hundreds of dollars of makeup and hair. I had a red Hawaiian shirt and jeans on. She wore a pretty red blouse that made her look like a hippie chick, which she is. And we got married without our folks knowing about it. The witness was a clerk with hockey hair and jean shorts. Our J.O.P. was in an orange crop-top and she had a little bit of a lisp.

Aside from the rings we smuggled to the event, the whole thing cost us $110.

It was awesome.

I complain and make fun of My Lovely Wife™ all the time when I blog. I do it because I am grateful to have a Lovely Wife™ like her. I had little-to-no interest in getting married after I left college and left a relationship that was particularly difficult for me to get over and past. I think Alison knew that, considering we were together for about 6 years before the trip to the courthouse. But I really need to say it: I dig the hell out of Alison, and she's really the only lady in the world who I would WANT to be married to.

That's about as sentimental or mushy as I am capable of getting. It's very difficult for me to gush over someone. I'm not the kind of person who thinks that 'love' is some sort of overwhelming force that controls our actions or that heals any sort of problems that two people might have without it.

But it certainly makes it easier to be happy when it's there.

This whole entry would probably be a lot more touching if I didn't mention that I am listening to a Samantha Fox song on my iTunes as I type this.

Elitism

2008-04-17T09:01:00.001-07:00

Lounging
Originally uploaded by Rwilliams718

Ahem (taps microphone, draws breath)...

elitist

noun
Someone who believes in rule by an elite group.

Let's go a bit further...

e·lit·ism or é·lit·ism

noun

The belief that certain persons or members of certain classes or groups deserve favored treatment by virtue of their perceived superiority, as in intellect, social status, or financial resources.
-The sense of entitlement enjoyed by such a group or class.
-Control, rule, or domination by such a group or class.

I wanted everyone to know what the words meant, since they are throwing it around the same way we threw around 'Communist' in the 50's and 'Freedom' in 2001-2002.

If you have had more than a single beer with me at any given time, you probably have gotten at least HALf of my fumbling attempt to explain my 'Cult of The Ignorant' theory.

That's my well-shared belief that we encourage each other for being stupid, that we celebrate ignorance, and that we even go as far as to reward the criminally moronic as being icons that we wish not only to emulate, but that we look up to in order to feel like we belong.

The list of examples is, sadly, a mile long. Highlights include the following:

Jackass
Rock Of Love
Viva La Bam
Paris Hilton
Lindsey Lohan
Owen Wilson
Ben Stiller
Jessica Simpson
Brooke Hogan
Amy Winehouse
Heidi Montague
Britney Spears
Matthew Mchau... Mac... fuck, the guy who always takes his shirt off.

This isn't a list of people, movies and shows that I have a particular problem with. It is a list of people who are considered on a constant basis by the media to be celebrity-worthy. And each has, in the last 6 months, done at least one or two incurably stupid things that the media has jumped on. And so have we, as consumers.

This entire campaign against Obama, this angle that he is 'elitist', smacks more strongly of hoedown politics than anything I have ever witnessed. It's straight out of a schoolyard playground or a scene from Idiocracy: "What are ya tryin' ta be? Some kinds ed-e-cated faggit? Smartypants Mcgoo?! We don't take kindly ta people comin' in hare n' puttin' on aires!!"

WE LIVE IN A FUCKING REPUBLIC, PEOPLE!

In a Republic, we elect officials who are brought in to make decisions FOR us, based on our needs and goals.

Has the last 8 years worth of brainwashing us into thinking that a sweet-faced "good 'ol boy" is the best our country can elect as a leader?

Are we THAT afraid of bringing in a person who might have our best interests in mind as a country?

I'm really fucking annoyed at this crap. If the worst you can do is imply that a candidate is a better man than most other Americans... (shakes head in anger).

I don't endorse any candidate. I am still on the fence about a lot of stuff concerning this upcoming election. I hope you are, too. It's too soon to align yourself with a particular candidate. there are too many things to consider.

But what I HOPE you will start doing, if you haven't already, is that I hope you will start looking at 'news and information' regarding each candidate as it surfaces, and I hope you will start thinking to yourself: "Did the rival campaign/party put this out there? Is this the BEST they can do to smear their opponent?"

Jon Stewart said it best the other night:

"Not only do I want an elite president, I want someone who's embarrassingly superior to me."

So do I.

I am sick of catering to idiots and masses of people who are proud to be ignorant and downright stupid.

Chuck's Budd

2008-04-10T09:48:00.001-07:00

Chuck's Budd
Originally uploaded by Rwilliams718

Chuck is a Silver Maple that started out when I thumbed a helicopter seed into the ground. It was at the first apartment that My Lovely Wife™ (at the time she was still My Lovely Girlfriend™) had in Nashville. Two years later we moved into a condo and I brought the 17-Inch-Tall 'Chuck' with us, and I planted him behind our condo near our fence.

Well, eventually we moved from the condo to our current home. When we left, I was a little bit distressed because I was so proud of the fact that Chuck started out as a seedling and he was easily 6 or 7 feet tall by then. I mentioned my concern to a good friend of mine named Craig Smith, who understood completely and who selflessly came to my condo one Saturday Afternoon and dug up Chuck's root ball. He kept it at his home for several months while they built our house, and afterwards he sacrificed ANOTHER Saturday hauling Chuck out of his yard and into mine.

That was 3 years ago, and Chuck is about 10 or 12 feet tall now. This week he woke back up and is starting to get busy again.

I'm very, very fond of Chuck.

Hanzo

2008-04-09T10:44:00.001-07:00

Hanzo
Originally uploaded by Rwilliams718

This is Hanzo. He is the world's greatest salesman.

Hanzo won us over by sitting on our back porch and meowing at the door for hours on end. He didn't want food, we gave him plenty of that even though he was a stray and we knew what it would lead to. He just wanted to be petted and loved.

So we did.

Now, he's a house cat; one of four (his salesmanship got him in the house alongside his snowy-white brother, Pai Mei). And he's the one who will climb up your leg, just so you will pick him up and carry him around with you.

Hanzo's a pretty good cat.

Breffast

2008-04-09T08:09:00.001-07:00

Here’s what you need to know about today’s entry:

1. I’m still trying to maintain my South Beach lifestyle by eating a consistent breakfast. In my case: a hard-boiled egg and a can of V-8 every morning at 10.

2. My Lovely Wife™ is a hippie-chick. Not one of the annoying Late 1960’s Love Child types, but the sexy and exciting 1963 post-Beat Generation mod types who doesn’t care about macramé and bell bottoms but loves being nice to Mother Earth.

3. I am vowing to take a photo a day for a month, just to give myself something to work for.

Okay. Now we can blog.

This was breakfast. My Lovely Wife™ insists on buying farm-fresh, cage-free, vegetarian-fed eggs (all of which I am all-for).

I rarely get one with spots, though. I sort of feel like I am eating a tiny dinosaur egg.

Taking a picture of it was the least I could do, considering this guy’s mum laid it with the best intentions of procreation and here I am about to put it in mah belleh.

NOM NOM NOM.

News. Coverage You Can Count On...

2008-04-08T13:34:00.001-07:00

I don’t know if I have ever talked about this before, but my hatred of local news has no bounds.

Not MY local news, per se. I have lived in about 20 cities in my short and miserable life. They all have had one thing in common, and that’s a VD epidemic by the time I split town and move on.

Well, they really have TWO things in common, because every town I have ever lived in has also come complete with a ’local on-the-spot news team.’ WE ARE THERE FOR YOU.

The team always includes the following:

1 Conservative-but-pretty female anchor with short hair and a comforting smile. The kind of smile that reminds you of the woman who takes your insurance ID and hands you a clipboard when you are at the dentist’s.

1 Conservative-yet-attractive-in-a-non-gay-and-non-threatening way male anchor. He is usually named Dennis. Or Andrew. Or Matthew. You can picture your dad playing golf with him. He is the guy who stands with his hands in his pockets near the cluster of husbands at the cookout and smiles, but is always looking across the yard at something else.

1 Black male and female to fill in and meet a bit of criteria. Put ’em wherever you need em. If you are in a fairly white community, give ’em Sports.

Wanna stick with a white sportscaster? I’ll give you two: You get the young, fresh-outta-college frat guy who likes to pause while the tape is playing back the hot point and say things like ’Snap there you go for two points Warriors!’. Your other choice is the old guy who obviously still smokes Chesterfields and who’s face is puffier than a baseball mitt. If you pick the old guy we will give you the kid on weekends for free. Hell, I’ll even throw in the black guy. Take em. Now get off my lawn.

Local news is the biggest waste of time and energy on Television. I say this with full knowledge that there is a television show on VH1 called Rock Of Love with Brett Michaels.

I live in a city with FOUR prime local network affiliates: ABC, CBS, NBC and FOX. That amounts to FOUR news teams who are combing the streets, looking for juicy stories like The Woman With Sewage In Her Yard and The Guy Who Made Shea Stadium Out Of Toothpicks. If you are dowton on a Friday night, you will see two of the four networks; news vans out and about, just dying to come up with a story or an angle.

And don’t get me started on the fucking weather guy.

Complete. Waste. Of. Time. All of it. In this day and age when we have CNN repeating their stories every 4 hours, and The Weather Channel giving us accurate forecasts "On The 8’s"... the whole system is useless.

What every city needs is ONE news team. They can work with the local paper. We can broadcast local stuff like house fires and Old Ladies With 200 Cats on CNN once a day. YOU ARE DONE.

"Hey Ryan!" You say, indignantly, "What about important things like tornadoes and riots and bank robberies and The Chinese Buffet On Nolansville Road With Roaches In It?"

Exactly, answers I.

I fucking hate the local news. That’s all.

To celebrate: here is a FINE link (courtesy of Shelley) of a compilation of all those terrible things that happen to local asshat ’news reporters’ when they try to make their mark on the media map.

Click HERE to see idiots and fuckwads get beat up, scratched, knocked over, dumped on, and almost blown to bits. I swear to god I laugh my fucking ass off every time I see that guy wind up with a lizard on his coat.

Eat me and live forever...

2008-04-04T13:34:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I hit you kids with an exciting blog, so I figured I would burn up this precious at-work time to give you a little update on my life.

I'm fine.

Well that about sums it up, now doesn't it?

In the mean time, here's a chance for you to learn a little something about life...

I have become obsessed recently with health. Namely- my own. I have lost almost 17 pounds in the last month or so by sticking HARD to stage 1 of my diet and cheating like hell during stage 2. I've knocked out eating candy and greasy stuff almost entirely, and the last time I had an actual non-diet/non-'Zero' product was five weeks ago.

And of course, it goes without saying I have had to abandon the meth. The sweet... sweet meth.

Anyhoo... what I have become specifically enamored with is the whole Antioxidant thing.

Did you know that YOU can avoid cancer and not become old and creepy if you just eat a shit ton of this stuff:

Berries. Namely: Strawberries and Blueberries. If your blueberry has a tiny red spot on it then it will be bitter. This rule goes for any red spots you find on any part of your body that you might call your blueberry.

Broccoli. Yeah, yeah, yeah, George Bush Sr. didn't like it. Let's move on. It's delicious, and if you steam it semi-whole then you can eat it with your fingers and pretend you are a giant devouring a tree. At least until your wife sees you dicking around with your food. Then it's a case of HELLO, MISTER RIGHTY! 'HEY HONEY?' KA-POW! Now you can go back to playing Pete's Dragon. RAAAAAAAR!

Garlic. I had no IDEA that garlic was as good for you as it turns out to be. Garlic is LOADED with Antioxidant properties. Once you get past the 'gah! that stinks!' aspect of it, it becomes a tasty treat to enjoy sauteed, roasted, ground up in sauces, and speinkled in 'salt' form over your favorite bowl of popcorn. I'm telling you, garlic sounds terrible and stinks on the first pass, but after you open yourself up to it and really start getting into what garlic has to offer, it's marvelous stuff. What I think I am trying to say is that garlic is the Bob Dylan of food.

Here's an added bonus! All those weepy, sad-faced, too-much-black-makeup, clove-smoking, Jesus-And-Mary-Chain-listening goth douchebags who fancy themselves as vampires will stay away from you and your food if you cook with a lot of garlic. It's that whole 'ooh, vampires hate garlic and so I do too' thing. It's a win-win for you, because now you don't have to deal with those ass hats.

Tomaters - By LAW I have to spell 'em and pronounce 'em that way. I also have to use the word 'em instead of them when I explain how to pronounce them. Er... 'em. Eat more. They are delish.

Red Wine. Neil Diamond has said more about this Godlike fluid than I ever could. Why you aren't drinking a big old goblet of Red Wine right NOW is a mystery to me. If Little John can do it, so can you. Tell your boss Ryan says it's okay. It's good for your heart. Screw your liver.

Spinach. Do you know why you hate spinach? You hate spinach because your mom served it to you out of a can or a frozen brick. She probably scooped it out of the metal saucepan with that grotesque 1950's-style slotted strainer that looked like a spatula that got the shit knocked out of it during a rumble in the silverware drawer. Who WOULDN'T be turned off at the idea of a slimy, greasy wad of green-black goo swimming in boiled water, dangling off the edge of your plate? Nobody blames YOU, honey. Your parents were just lazy.

I've always loved spinach. Mainly because I was that annoying little kid who would eat things that looked gross just to get attention and make the other people at the table say 'ew!'

Carrots. I wasn't allowed to touch carrots for 2 weeks because Phase One of the South Beach Diet said they were full of sugar. Total bummer, because a day without carrots is like a lesbian video without a strap-on. Eat more carrots. Watch more porn. If that is at all humanly possible. You might need to quit your job.

Soybeans. I'm not a fan of tofu. Something about the texture makes me think I am eating flavorless Jello. Even when you grill it or try to dress it up like a piece of fried chicken, my tongue knows the difference. That's why I endorse the consumption of edamame. Edamame is a soybean steamed in its' shell and rolled in salt. It's what you eat as an appetizer when you go out for sushi. You can also buy it shelled in bags in your local grocer's freezer. If I was a LOL Cat I would end my endorsement of this stuff by saying NOM NOM NOM.

NOM NOM NOM!

Here we have the ACTUAL reason for me to compile a list of my favorite Antioxidants. You paid your dues, and read this far, so I will reward you by revealing my latest obsession, and my most favorite Antioxidant to date.

Green Tea.

Oh my LORD yes. Green Tea is mind-spankingly delicious. I just finished my third mug of it.

And subsequently, I have just realized that I have been sitting here for 30 minutes with three mugs of green tea inside me. Which means I have just now come to discover that I have but one choice in my immediate future... I can sit here and eke out a few more paragraphs of self-serving ha-ha's for you that recount my newfound love of The Healthiest Beverage You Can Enjoy In Your Life, or I can go take a monster piss.

I REALLY gotta pee, you lucky bastards.

A fine, FINE-looking table...

2008-03-31T09:00:00.001-07:00

Here is the greatest news story I have ever read in my entire life, and it just happens to have taken place less than 5 miles from my home:

(Thanks to Josh, who brought it to my attention)

Police: Man Had Sex With Picnic Table
Anonymous Tip Led Police To Arrest

BELLEVUE -- A Bellevue man was arrested for public indecency for reportedly having sex with a picnic table in his backyard on several occasions near a school.

Art Price Jr., 40, of the 100 block of Brinker Street, was arrested March 20 by the Bellevue Police Department after a confidential source saw Price in the middle of a sexual act using a metal table and reported him to the police.

Price faces four charges of public indecency, which is a fifth-degree felony, because the incidents took place near school grounds. His bond was set at $20,000, and he is currently out on a signature bond by Judge Kenneth Fox.
If convicted, he could receive up to a maximum sentence of four years in prison and a $10,000 fine, according to the Bellevue Municipal Court.

The witness turned over three DVDs that show footage of Price engaging in these sexual acts on four different dates -- Jan. 29, Feb. 2, March 13 and March 14.

According to the police reports, all the videos show Price naked and performing a sexual act in the open doorway of his home while walking out to his backyard deck. He then set the metal table on its side and began another sexual act using the table.

According to the report, Price would clean the deck after each sex act.

Bellevue Detective Capt. Mark Brooks said the video was very clear and showed that Price didn’t attempt to conceal what he was doing.

"My first thought was how?" Brooks said.

The incidents took place across the street from Ridge Elementary School.

Brooks said the sex acts occurred in the late morning and early afternoon hours in a wide-open back yard that had no fence.

"My feeling was that he was looking straight at the playground when he had sex with the table," Brooks said. "It worries you when its that close to a school. I would hate to see something happen (to the kids)."

After an interview with Price at the police station, Brooks said Price admitted that he was having sex with the table and realized what he has been doing was wrong.

"He was so ashamed," Brooks said. "He realized that he had a problem."

During the interview, Price implied that the events have been taking place for quite sometime, Brooks said. He also said that since the acts took place in an open area, he would run inside the home for a passing car and return and finish the act when he thought it was clear.

Price is married and has three children who attend schools in the Bellevue area, Brooks said.

Bellevue City Schools Superintendent Stephen Schumm said no kids ever reported witnessing the acts.

"I was just shocked and amazed at a very unfortunate situation," Schumm said. "I’m concerned about the family and giving them support."

Schumm said the district is ready to help with counseling and do anything to help the kids.

Bastards...

2008-03-27T12:22:00.001-07:00

Things I say while in line at SubWay, and what the SubWay Employee hears:

WHAT I SAY: I'd like a foot-long turkey on wheat, no cheese.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: I'd like a foot-long turkey on white, with lots of cheese. Extra, even.

WHAT I SAY: Spicy mustard and lite mayo, please
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: THREE QUARTS of regular yellow mustard and a wad of regular mayonnaise that you can just go ahead and squirt into a ball of ooze in the far right corner of the bun.

WHAT I SAY: Lettuce, tomatoes, banana peppers, onions.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: three tomatoes and ninety seven pounds of raw, red onions, please.

WHAT I SAY: I don't want it heated.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: Put it in that oven thingy and forget about it while you serve the WASP with huge fake tits behind me.

Fuck you, SubWay. Fuck you, Jared. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

Diary Of The Dumb

2008-03-24T12:45:00.001-07:00

Oh Monday, you always show up so early.

Here are a few stories about my weekend:

Friday I attended the annual Full Moon Horror And Tattoo Convention. This is the same event that gave you my famous Hand Turkey Incident 2 years ago. The venue was DEAD Friday, so I actually had a wonderful time chatting for prolonged periods with the likes of Tony Todd, Dee Wallace Stone, and the absolutely wonderful Adrienne Barbeau. I congratulated Ms. Barbeau on winning the original CANNONBALL RUN, thanked her for walking down the stairs so often in MAUDE, and asked her if I could just call her Billie. There were worse things I could do. That is an awesome series of references. Look it up.

Friday night I stood in a line outside the Belcourt for two hours. It was in order to witness a sneak peak of DIARY OF THE DEAD, the new 'installment' of George Romero's 'Dead' series. Romero himself was on hand to take a bow before the screening and say 'thanks for giving me a living for the last 40 years.' Hence the 2-hour wait time. It wasn't worth it. The movie is terrible. Horrible. Not even in the good way. FAIL!

I went with a few pals, and a few pals of pals as well. We showed up at the event at 9:30pm, even though the screening was at midnight. This was because last October we had sold out by 10:15pm when we showed ROCKY HORROR at the theater, and I expected the same thing to happen this time. It did. By 11 the line was around the block. We got there first and stood at the head.

I mention getting there first and standing at the head because Sean, Josh and I stood there for 90 minutes as the queue formed behind us. The venue has been sold out for a few weeks, but I had an extra ticket and it went to one of Josh's friends: a guy named Adam who is on my friends list and probably reads this and who is kinda cool but kinda a dipstick. He achieved 'dipstick status' by showing up and hopping into line with us at 11pm (not a huge offense: we had his ticket and I am a firm believer in 'cutting' if you are with a group). He was a little drunk and chatty, and he didn't think twice about having the following exchange with a passer-by who knew him:

PASSER-BY: Hey Adam, man what's up?
ADAM: Hey dude!
PASSER-BY: Man, I would have guessed a guy like you'd be at the head of the line!
ADAM: Yeah, well what can I say?

And... scene!

What can you say? I'll tell you what you can say, you twat, you can say "Yeah, I just showed up and cut into line but my friend here have been standing in the cold for 90 minutes waiting for me."

Fortunately, I am a dipstick as well, and so I harbor no anger. Just bitterness. I am like a human root.

Saturday, I was up bright and early at 9am so I could attend the 'town meeting' at Belcourt: in order to discuss renovation ideas, programming issues, and overall suggestions to broaden the aspects of the ONE establishment in Nashville that I support fully and lovingly.

I am all for public town-meeting style gatherings where anyone can come in and give their opinions on what can be done to better an establishment. There are usually quite a few hearty suggestions regarding ways to make more non-profit-profit and expand entertainment possibilities in a place like this.

BUT...

Having a microphone and a set of open doors ALSO means you are going to end up getting 2 or three lunatics and, to quote Patton Oswalt; 'Raisin Cakes' in the bunch.

My favorite is the dowdy 80-pound woman with Oklahoma Hair who suggested the theater starts showing 'kids movies like that one about The Indian In The Cupboard and the like. More kids needs to see movies!' This is, of course, right after Belcourt has wrapped up their Children's Series a few weeks ago, you know.

She also suggested colorful T-shirts. Which Belcourt has. And 'A western film festival. I know a lot of people like westerns even though I don't."

Ahhh, Agnes... go to the mic 3 more times. Go on. We are all waiting. Glorious.

I was waiting for her to suggest that the movie theater start projecting their movies onto a big, white screen in order to enable people to see the product better.

Sunday Night it was back to the same place (holy shit I LIVED at the Belcourt this weekend!) to see The Greatest Haunted House Movie Ever Made: THE HAUNTING.

So good. So goood. So very, very very GOOD.

Sunday I drank beer and didn't care about Jesus rising from the grave because he's just not that cool a zombie. Oh, and because I have common sense.

And can't eat chocolate.

Oh! which reminds me to give you an update on THE GREAT WILLIAMS WEIGHT LOSS DRIVE OF '08...

In two weeks I have dropped roughly 15 pounds. All from not eating sugar, bread, booze, fruit and fat. I am supposed to be done with 'phase one' and now I should be moving on to 'phase two', where I can re-introduce 'GOOD' carbs and breads into my diet, along with fruit, and the occasional glass of wine.

It ALSO means I can 'cheat'... which I did on Sunday... by ingesting 3 whopping pints of delicious beer at our local brewery.

If you drink as much as I admittedly drink, and you go for as long as I have without one (two weeks is the longest I have been 'off alcohol' since I was 19)... I can't begin to accurately describe to you what it feels like to sniff the top of a glass of freshly-poured Pale Ale. The closest I can come is to say what I said when I was a-sniffin'... "Hello, old friend!"

NUMMERS!

That's all. For lunch today I 're-introduced' wheat bread to my diet by getting a 6-inch from Subway. I didn't want chips so I opted for yogurt. The nice Arab guy who hates me but tries to be polite helped me out by putting a fork in my bag. Thanks for the fork. It's what all of us infidels like to eat a cup of yogurt with.

Social Work

2008-03-19T08:54:00.001-07:00

Yesterday we were visited by our social worker. This was the famous "1st Home Visit" that takes place before the adoption. Lindsey comes to our place, sits down, and asks us a bunch of questions about our lives and our preparedness to raise a little Chinese takeout.

Here is a helpful list of things you shouldn't bring up in front of a social worker:

1- Your penchant for meth.

2- How most fights in your home are resolved by a visit from 'Mr. Knuckles'.

3- Your collection of celebrity offal.

4- The 'Real Doll' Room in your basement.

5- How you plan to vote for Nader.

6- The concept that most adoptions from China, or Asia in general, 'go sideways'.

7- When asked about how your sex life is, don't offer to show her.

8- Your obsession with meat sculpture.

9- The word 'pantaloons'.

Just a tip or two from someone who lived it.

"Oh look, an indoor outhouse..."

2008-03-17T10:43:00.001-07:00

Strange time for convergences and coincidences, this week. A lot of stuff is coming around full-circle, and I am not trying to be deliberately cryptic. Sorry it is coming out that way. All I can say is that what goes around comes around, and this is NOT a case where that statement is related in any way to revenge, 'getting back at someone', or what-have-you. It's just a strange month so far, that's all.

An example:

The first movie I ever saw in a theater by myself - meaning I went without parents or friends and just wanted to see a movie that I was looking forward to - was BEETLEJUICE. While it played theatrically I saw it no less than 8 times. It is very likely that BEETLEJUICE was the very first movie that I ever saw to the point where I 'studied' it with enthusiasm to the point where I decided I wanted to 'make' movies.

So when I discovered it was playing at my local theater this weekend... well... I was totally up for it. I haven't seen BEETLEJUICE in a looooong time, despite my enjoying it so much when I was in Jr. High.

I looked the movie up on IMDB Saturday evening, before attending, and discovered a neat circular coincidence. Originally BEETLEJUICE was released in March of 1988. That's 20 years, for you kids who can't count. Almost to the day.

Cool!

So while I was driving, by myself, to the theater, I was thinking about how BEETLEJUICE was my first 'by-myself' movie experience. But for the record, the VERY first movie I had ever seen in a theater was THE MUPPET MOVIE.

It was a throwaway thought, until I went into the movie theater and heard the pre-show music that they were piping in while my friend Josh and I got seated.

They were playing 'Can You Picture That' from THE MUPPET MOVIE.

Very Cool!

What's NOT so cool is the fact that BEETLEJUICE has NOT aged well, for me.

When I was 9 or 10, 'Adventure' on the ATARI 2600 was a pretty badass wicked game.
You got a sword... you got to fight dragons and find keys... total coolness for a video game. A few years ago I was lucky enough to find an old 2600 emulator online in order to play those old video games form the era, including 'Adventure'. Naturally, I drooled at the prospect of revisiting such an old friend.

'Adventure' kinda sucks. It's NO 'World Of Warcraft', that's all I am saying.

BEETLEJUICE is the same way. It doesn't hold up, and now it makes sense why my mother and stepfather had that glazed-over look of perplexed confusion on their faces after watching it in our living room, back when it came out on VHS. This was after months of me raving about it and not shutting up about how awesome of a movie it was.

They were kinda right. The movie kinda sucks.

Maybe it's my in-the-last-10-years-acquired disdain for artistic Goth. Maybe it's my appreciation of substance over style. Maybe it's my being-able-to-see-where-Burton-interfered-with-the-script-to-accommodate-his-pretentious 'vision'.

Whatever the reason; BEETLEJUICE didn't hold up.

Kinda sad.

go!

2008-03-14T09:31:00.001-07:00

I don't like the coffee in the break area right next to my work zone. They provide us with a brand called Flavia. You take a little metal pouch that looks like a miniature Capri Sun and you stick it into a slot on top of the coffee maker, then you wait 35 seconds for the pouch/machine to make you a cup of muddy, clotty, coffee-flavored hot water.

Across the building in another break area they still carry the Keurig brand of coffees- these are coffees and teas that come in little salad-dressing-sized cups that you put in the top of a little coffee machine and it brews you a relatively normal-tasting experience.

The price I pay for that is having to walk across my building in order to get a delicious hot beverage. In addition to that- Occasionally I have to submerge myself into the world of The Hens.

The Hens are the flock of cube inhabitants that nest over near the 'good coffee'. If you have ever run through a barnyard and heard the discordant reaction of the poultry on the ground near you, you see why they got their name.

The Hens in question were at full 'BOCK' today, discussing one of the ladies' little girl. Apparently, this gal is graduating this spring from high school, and Mama doesn't want her little chick to go all the way down to Atlanta to go to school.

The overheard dialog was:

"...because I KNOW that if she's in that element, with all those college people, she will get exposed to stuff and be on her own and there's a strong chance she might forget herself and do thangs [yes... THANGS] that people do in college. I want her to stay here at home where she will stay herself."

I got my tea and moved on.

A few thoughts:

I think everyone should go to college, if they can. Having a college education looks good on paper; and depending on what you study, college will prepare you with a delightful plethora of knowledge that helps you achieve your goals. I mean let's face it: high school didn't teach you anything valuable. Anything that WAS valuable for you to know about you re-learned in your core college classes your freshman year. Sad but true.

BUT-

The biggest reason to go to college is BECAUSE of the elements you will become exposed to! Isn't that the whole idea?

I couldn't tell you the names of the classes I took my first semester at Stephens. But I DO remember making out with Regina and tucking her drunk ass in on my couch instead of trying to 'seal the deal'. I remember the dynamic between folks I didn't think I would get along with. I remember sitting on the roof of The Guys House and drinking beers, and I remember about a trillion dates, pranks, comments, rehearsals, and instances where I became a better person because of it.

There is nothing like the feeling of living on your own, and yet still having that tether back to your family when you need help. It's completely different than just striking off on your own after school with NO help from 'home'. And I think it is a completely useful and unique experience.

Let your kids go away to college. Put $50-$75 a week into their bank account and let them blow it on T-shirts, cult movies, 6-packs and the occasional bag of grass. Insist that they get passing grades and that they keep a journal of their time there. They might not remember the names of their professors in ten years, but they will totally remember what it was like to room with a Muslim who's concept of God and right and wrong is slightly different than what they grew up with. And maybe they will become better-rounded individuals because of it.

Allow the poor chick to leave the nest, dammit.

Day 3

2008-03-12T11:11:00.000-07:00

Having 30 pounds of excess weight on you isn't pleasant at all. So we are trying the South Beach Diet. I am vehemently against fads and crap like this, but I am more against the expanding chunk of stomach that I seem to be cultivating.

The diet breaks down like this: don't eat gross stuff, don't eat bread, no potatoes, no pasta. If it looks 'carby', you can't eat it for the first two weeks. At all. No meatballs. No sausage. No ice cream. No bacon. NO SUGAR. No.

You CAN eat as much as you want of the other stuff. Eat 'till you are full. Stuff yourself with grilled chicken. And green veggies. And 'good' carbs, like cauliflower.

Worst of all... no booze.

So it's day three, over here in Losesomepoundagevania. I have consumed roughly 6 chicken breasts in 3 days. 6 hard-boiled eggs (dear GOD am I starting to loathe them). seven handfulls of nuts. 10 cherry tomatoes, and a garden of bunny food. I swear I have whiskers by now.

And water. 190 gallons of water.

The only thing I can really complain about is that today I feel tired and my head aches.

And dear fucking lord do I want a beer.

What a boat costume perties?

2008-03-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

In these crazy, busy, get-it-done NOW times, bright young video production artists such as myself have trouble making movies for the masses.

Thank GOD that Fred & Sharon are here to pick up the slack for all of us who cannot 'do' any more...

What a boat animation?

What a boat costume perties?

DAY ONE... AGAIN...

2008-03-10T14:26:00.001-07:00

MONDAY!

This weekend I saw Alfred Hitchcock's ROPE.

10 cuts, 80 minutes, tons and tons of homosexual innuendo.

ROPE was damn good. Watch it.

------------------------------------

My Lovely Wife-- has decided to put me on the South Beach Diet. Well, SHE is going on it, and I live with her... so...

Today is the first day. The gist of the diet, as far as I can tell, is that you can eat as much as you want for this first two weeks as long is it's not sugar or carbs. I did 2 eggs, green salad, a V-8, and an unsweetened iced tea for breakfast and lunch. My mid-afternoon snack consisted of two slices of turkey rolled up with strips of green pepper. I think I am getting a can of tuna on my dinner's salad.

I am not hungry, but I am grumpy anyway. I want a Coke.

------------------------------------

I just left a social worker's office, where I talked for 70 minutes about why I would be a fit parent, because of this upcoming adoption.

All I can say is that I need a drink.

Oh yeah... I can't have any of THAT for 2 weeks, either.

Josh, and TAXI DRIVER

2008-03-07T14:43:00.001-08:00

I have a very good friend of mine named Josh. He's a raging cinephile, like myself, and although he is a TON more 'forgiving' of mainstream movies than I can ever hope to be, I still tend to respect his opinion on movie and film above several of my other movie-lovin' comrades.

Last week we saw MEAN STREETS and TAXI DRIVER in a soul-crushing 4-hour marathon at our local movie theater. They are two of my favorite movies of all time, and it had been a while since I saw both of them, particularly on a big screen.

Anyhow, Josh wrote an absolutely fantastic essay on TAXI DRIVER. He posted it here on his website, but I am gonna reprint it here because the bastard thinks it's cool to print more than 20 words in BRIGHT PINK TEXT on a black background. My eyeballs are still screaming from reading it myself.

Here's Josh's take on a movie that is so good that you need to be watching it RIGHT NOW.

***

Talking movies at one point with my father, he was discussing Apocalypse Now. "It's a great movie to watch at midnight," he said, "because afterward, all you feel like doing is going to bed. Most of the life is gone out of you at that point."

I agreed with him at that time, but it's been a while since I was as forcefully reminded of that quote as when I watched Taxi Driver at the midnight show the other night.

It had been a long time since I saw Taxi Driver - it's quite possible, I think, that I had not even seen it since the first time I saw it, back in high school. I remembered the basics of the story - what film fan doesn't know the basics, even if they haven't seen it? But somehow, I had forgotten the power of the storytelling, the pure brilliance and visceral power of the film.

It's remarkable how much Scorsese grew between Mean Streets and this. I liked Mean Streets a lot, but it's a meandering film, more of a "slice of hometown life" than a true film. It's enjoyable, and it has a raw power to it, but it doesn't even compare to the control over the medium that Scorsese shows here - a control that he uses to devastating effect.

Re-watching this, it occurred to me that, in some ways, Travis Bickle is a predecessor to John Doe from Se7en. Both are men obsessed with what they perceive to be a filthy, horrible world filled with sin, and both men choose to fight that evil. To be fair, Doe is far more methodical and intelligent than Bickle, who is simplistic, but it's still a thought. (At one point, Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro apparently discussed doing a follow-up to Taxi Driver, showing where Travis Bickle would be today. It's rare that a sequel would be so captivating and fascinating, but god, would I love to see that film.)

The Se7en comparison works on a lot of levels, in fact. Like Fincher's serial killer film, Taxi Driver creates a world that disgusts and horrifies, and does nothing so much as make me want to get away from it, as soon as humanly possible. Mean Streets showed that Scorsese was a master at giving you a sense of time and place, but Taxi Driver let him immerse you in a world that resembled nothing so much as a modern-day Bosch painting.

That, in the end, is what makes Taxi Driver so effective - its subjectivity. I had forgotten just how plunged into Travis's mind you are in the film. Between the fact that he is in almost every single scene, his monologues that grow and grow as the film progresses, and the way we view so much of the world from behind his cab windshield, we find ourselves more and more immersed into the deranged, violent mind of Bickle. Ironically, the film tells us little about it. It implies that he was in Vietnam, and we get the sense that he might have seen or done some horrible things over there, but we don't really know. When we meet him, he's a blank slate, making it all the easier for us to step into his shoes...and find the dark heart and soul there waiting for us.

It's a testament to the film's quality that by the time it reaches its violent climax, we actually understand why Travis is doing this - and it makes leaving the film all the more uncomfortable. How could we have empathized with this violent psychopath? And yet, Scorsese and Schrader pull off that feat handily.

They, of course, couldn't do it without De Niro. Watching this, it's a reminder of how incredible he once was, and it almost erases my ill will towards him after drek like Meet the Fockers. De Niro's performance is haunting and unsettling; he plays Bickle like a live wire, seething inwardly, taking in all the world has to offer, judging it, and finding the world wanting. That famous scene where he's talking to the mirror should feel iconic; instead, it feels queasy. We're watching Bickle portray himself as a hero, but we know who he is, and we know that whatever's to come, it's not going to be heroic.

Of course, the film is packed with incredible performances. Albert Brooks adds some much needed comic relief to the film's first half, but fades into the background as his protector figure is supplanted by Keitel's pimp. (One of the many fascinating things about the film is the shift in Bickle's attention from one duo to another: at the film's beginning, it's Shepherd, protected by Brooks; by the end, it's Foster, protected by Keitel. Only the latter allows him to feel like the hero, someone who will accept him for what he is; after all, she's a prostitute, and she has to? But in his deranged mind, she wants him for who he is.) Peter Boyle makes the most of a supporting role, creating an interesting character with minimal screen time. Shepherd has rarely been better, but it's Foster who really makes an impression and haunts the film; wise beyond her years, hardened by the streets, she leaves us with the same impression she leaves Travis: a child whose innocence has been taken, and who needs help.

[Spoilers follow.]

All of these paths, of course, lead inexorably to the film's ending. Is it real? Is it a dream? Does Travis actually do what he sets out to, but die in the process? It's hard to say. To be sure, the violent showdown is what shocks the viewer; even years later, the film is remembered as being far more violent than it is, and that's due in no small part to the intensity of the violence on display. But is it real? Or is Travis dreaming? And does he survive?

There's no doubt that the ending doesn't feel real. A hero? Re-hired by the taxi company with no questions? These seem at odds with the dangerous man we've lived with. And yet, for the hellish world we've seen depicted for the last hour and a half, Bickle is a hero - and that says far more about our world than anything Bickle does. If these are our heroes, Scorsese asks, what does that say about us, that such violent, dangerous men are people to idolize, to invite to dinner, to honor?

It's that awkward reunion with Shepherd, though, that sticks. After the trip to the porno theater, after the violence, after the stalking, she returns? Maybe. Maybe she's convinced by his hero act. Maybe she gives him a second chance.

But for a moment, after she leaves, there's that jarring burst of music, that strange shot of the mirror, and we know that the world has misjudged. This is no hero. This is a monster...and we're looking at him in the mirror.

End film.

Is it any wonder that we all left so quietly and uncomfortable? For an hour and a half, we're plunged into the mind of madness, subjected to painful attempts to reach out, watch as brutal violence is doled out and acclaimed, and made to question the nature of our own world.

It's a hard watch, by any standards, and the fact that it's held up so well over the years is almost disturbing. We should have grown away from this cynicism; the Times Square of Taxi Driver is gone, we would hope.

But inwardly, we're just not sure.

***

The War

2008-03-07T13:50:00.001-08:00

My mother-in-law ordered me a copy of The War for Christmas. It's the FIFTEEN hour documentary on WWII that Ken Burns did for PBS last year. So far we are 2 hours in and already I am a jittery mess half of the time. The sheer NUMBER of lives that we lost in this conflict is staggering. The lengths to which these soldiers were willing to go- even to JOIN the conflict willingly and to serve this country... it's just mind-numbing.

My generation was never thrown into a war. My father's generation was. And the generation before that, and before that, and before that. Anyone can sign up and fight, but something about the idea of being DRAFTED... being TOLD that you are going to be forced to serve your country... that's so damned interesting to me.

I think that part of the reason why my generation doesn't value things as much as we should stems from that. I think there is a pretty strong number of 'rebels' out there who don't really know what they are rebelling against- they are just doing it because they think it's what they are supposed to do. It's hip to be disaffected.

All I am saying, and saying rather poorly, is that there is something sociological about all of this: about how we are a nation that is at war, and yet we are not as united in the cause as we were in 1941. And I really DO think that it has something to do with the fact that we are not being drafted to serve in the effort.

I'm not saying, for even a moment, that I advocate a draft. What I think that I AM saying is that I understand it when old codgers complain about 'you young people got it easy! And you don't appreciate how hard it was when I was a kid.'

There needs to be less emo-kid manure out there; and less 'I have been through some seriously hard shit, man' when the worst the person who says that has had to endure was the breakup of their parents or having to live in 3 cities through high school.

And while I am complaining... there needs to be less sheep-like behavior when it comes to opinions and worldly points-of-view. I work with a guy... let's call him P. P is fantastic about spouting out some sort of heard-it-on-the-radio doctrine or opinion when the topic comes up in conversation. The guy is in his 20's. Every opinion or world view he has decided to share with people around him is still largely based on what he has heard his parents say, or has heard spouted on TV shows or 'hip' magazines and Web-groups. He is echoing dogma that he hasn't had a chance to savor, yet.

There is a lot of that going around. Everyone drinks the Kool-Aid once and a while. If they didn't, then NOBODY would go to Ben Stiller movies.

It just annoys me that anyone in America with a middle-class upbringing thinks they have overcome some incredibly insurmountable odds, and carries a chip on their shoulder about our government, or our American Way Of Life, then they can go watch My Name Is Earle and be satisfied that they are well-rounded and accomplished.

Go tromp through a jungle-island for 2 years and get shot at by Japanese soldiers while your supply lines have been cut off and you are surviving on coconuts and rice-soup. Do it against your will because you'd rather be home watching Billy Wilder movies. Then you can feel free to listen to all the Linkin Park you want.

D & Dead

2008-03-05T08:53:00.000-08:00

Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons & Dragons, has died.

My brother Tom was a hardcore D&D fan. 90% of my memories of him while we were growing up consist of Tommy sitting behind a huge double-desk covered with graph paper, character sheets, 20-sided dice and pewter figurines that I wasn't allowed to touch upon pain of death.

When Tom moved out, he left a pretty hefty cache of D&D books, supplies, and unfinished campaigns for me to pilfer and exploit. I only had 2 or 3 friends who were willing to play, and we never got as hardcore into it as my brother and his pals, but I liked me some AD&D.

Somewhere in my miasma of old books, stacks of Trapper Keepers, and piles of loose-leaf paper, there is a level 12 Half-Elf Magic User named Lelendri who mourns your loss, Mr. Gygax.

AND NOW, THE JOKES!

-Somewhere in Minnesota, a Magic The Gathering Fanatic is steepling his fingers and muttering "this is all going according to plan!"
-Gygax's widow heard the news and immediately rolled a Human Chaotic Warrior with 15 strength and 2 wisdom... Too soon?

Marty

2008-03-05T08:06:00.001-08:00

Last night My Lovely Wife™ wanted to watch 'something old but good'. That's not a tall order in The Williams Household. Well, 'good' is a relative term. What she meant was: I want to watch something that displays characters and settings that allude to a bygone era but NOT something with monsters in rubber suits, silly acting, or guys who's dialog came out of a Raymond Chandler novel.

So once again, we watched MARTY.

I love this damn movie.

MARTY is just about the best movie ever made. Ernest Borgnine plays the title character: a 34 year-old butcher who's 5 brothers and sisters have all gotten married and moved away. He still lives in The Bronx with his mother in a big old house, where he is constantly harangued by his family and neighborhood 'hens' for being single. Marty's still a bachelor for obvious reasons(to him): he is a fat, ugly man. And even though he has a huge heart, it doesn't seem to matter.

One night he gives in to his own ego and decides to go to a big dance hall with his pal, Angie. They are wallflowers, and Marty is miserable. He's approached by a slick jerk who wants to dump his blind date because "she's a dog, a real dog," and he offers Marty $5 to pretend to be his army buddy and "take her off my hands." Marty is appalled at the guy's behavior, and he refuses. The slickster propositions another wallflower who goes for the idea, and Marty watches as the setup falls apart by an embarrassed Clara, who eventually stands up and walks out onto a balcony to escape the humiliation of not fitting in. Marty goes out there to ask her to dance, and she cries on his shoulder.

Perfect. Fucking. Movie.

I only described the first act. The rest of the movie is all about the rest of the evening and the next day, when Marty has top cope with the fact that, for the first time in his life, he's got himself a prospect. I'm telling you... this movie will blow you away. I'm such a damn fanboy.

Taco-Bot

2008-03-04T13:35:00.000-08:00

Need proof that America is getting dumber? Read on:

I made a January resolution to not eat at Taco Bell or McDonald's for a year. Both are close to work, and both make me feel terrible after I indulge.

So far, avoiding The Bastard Scottish Clown hasn't been that difficult. I crave a McNugget once and a while, but I am able to stave it off. But the flesh is weak, and Chicken Ranchero Soft Tacos with Fire sauce is strong.

What the hell. I went to Taco Bell, thinking about how it's not so bad to give in to temptation once and a while, as long as I don't make a pig out of myself.

Picture the following scene: I drive up to the drive-thru 25 minutes ago. I am behind another car. they order and move on. My turn.

"Hello, welcome to blahdie blah, can I blah your blah"

"Hi." (this is me...) "Can I have a number two with a Pepsi?"

I always order a number two, because that's what Taco Bell gives me anyway.

They give me a total and I pull around.

Now keep in mind that I haven't been to The Border in a few months. So for a second or two after what happens actually transpires, I am thinking that things might be different... that what I am experiencing might be 'normal'.

I pull up to the window, hand them my card, and they give me my drink. Then they hand my card back to me.

"Want any hot or mild sauce?" Asks the sleepy-eyed, slightly slack-jawed minimum-wage-earning Slipknot Fan in the window.

I ask for hot sauce. A moment later they give it to me.

On a tray.

The dude hands me a plastic Taco Bell tray, complete with paper placemat. My items are placed side-by-side next to three packs of hot sauce (in a new, purple packet).

So I take the tray and look puzzled. Nickleback says "Thank you" and I drive away from the window.

WITH A TACO BELL TRAY IN MY HAND.

Now like I said, because I haven't been doing The Bell for a while, for a moment or two I was thinking that maybe this is normal. I seem to recall seeing a few commercials for new 'platter' meals from La Casa Del Taco.

But no... this is an actual 'for here' tray. In my lap. From the drive-through. Something is wrong.

I parked and walked inside. "Keri"... the manager on duty, asks me if she can help me when I approach the counter with my TRAY of food.

"Yeah, Hi. Um... is this normal? I got this tray in the drive-thru."

"They gave you a tray?"

"Yeah. I mean... um..."

"Yeah, sorry, I will take that."

She put my food in a bag and told me to have a good day. My mind continues to be blown.

Then, a few moments ago, it all made perfect sense to me.

See, when they hand me my card back... when ANYONE hands me my card back, I put it in my wallet, and I fold my receipt and put THAT in there, too. Just for kicks, I pulled out the receipt.

It says 'DINE-IN' on the top, instead of 'TO-GO' or 'DRIVE-THRU'.

So for all I can figure, what we have here is a case of a guy who was just following orders. He was following them EXACTLY as written. When a customer is DINING IN... give 'em a tray.

Unbelievable.

The switch...

2008-03-04T13:00:00.000-08:00

I get bitched at for posting my blog entirely on MySpace, and I can understand that. So I have shopped around and adopted Blogger as a reasonable alternative. Hello. This account started up 4 years ago and I have just re-adopted it. You lucky twits.

friday night

2004-09-03T19:59:00.000-07:00

what does a suave, sophisticated dude like myself do on a friday night, you ask? hold yourself down and read on, babe...

i bought a new case for my PC and a removable HD bay. Awwww yeah, honey, you know it's right...

took me 3 hours to get all the old junk out of the piece of crap case and into the newer, nicer case. i was hoping it wouldnt be as loud as it turns out to be (about the same noise as my original case was) but it looks prettier, and i took the time to wire it properly, windows and all.

my wife is on the couch downstairs watching TV. me? playing video games and blogging.

I am a red hot stud.

here and alive

2004-09-03T15:18:00.000-07:00

howdy folks. yes, i have finally decided to start up a blog, because my life is only slightly less boring than the average 13 year-old who spends countless hours on here dicking round with his or her own miserable existence. I'm relatively sure you have stumbled upon this because you know me. if so, groovy, welcome to my hell. for those of you who don't, i suppose you'll get my profile in a few. if not, consider the following...

for the past 5 years i have played around with/maintained a website called Shekfester.net. about a year ago i also bought www.myblisteringhell.com because it's a term i use a lot in reference to my life. no, it's not really a miserable existence. although i flirted with the whole goth thing in school years back i have more or less dismissed it for what it is: another clique begging for kids to spend obscene amounts of money to look like vampires. man i freakin' HATE vampires. ok, sorry, lost my train. anyway, my site sorta acts a little as a portfolio and a showcase of stuff i learn, teach and work with. and so i am sort of critical about putting my thoughts on it and making it a bitch board.

so thats what this is. a place for me to bitch.

and... begin...