there is water underground.

Some Kind of Rodent

2009-06-25T05:33:00.000-07:00

We all know that movies have dialogue that contains words which can’t be said on television. Hell, George Carlin made a name for himself because of the FCC’s ban of filthy words. The result of said ban is that when movies are broadcast on television, the naughty words are either bleeped out entirely or overdubbed with other, more acceptable words. Recently, upon reading a fantastic book about the making of – and subsequent cult status of – The Big Lebowski, I came to learn that when John Goodman destroys a car using a crowbar and repeatedly screams "This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!", the dubbed version claims that “This is what happens when you fight a stranger in the Alps!” In the film's context, this line makes absolutely no sense... of course, one could argue that the whole movie makes little sense, but I'm talking about the Dude here.

In another great slacker movie, the NPH plays a tripping-his-balls-off version of himself. Yep, in Harold and Kumar go to White Castle, Neil Patrick Harris - on the apparent ecstasy trip and looking for a few ladies - says "Forget White Castle, let's go get some pussy!" However, in the TV version, he says “Forget White Castle, let’s go get some privates!” Ironically, this option (if "privates" is interpreted as male soldiers) is more likely to be up the NPH's alley.

Al Pacino has plenty of great lines in Scarface, but one of my favorites is when he's talking about Miami and he says "This town is like a great big pussy just waiting to be fucked!" The TV version is, well... interesting: “This town is like a great big chicken just waiting to be plucked!” I mean, it didn't have to rhyme, fellas...

I love The Usual Suspects. Great story, great acting, and a brilliant twist of an ending. There's a scene when the suspects are placed in a police lineup, and they each have to say the line "Give me the keys, you fucking cocksucker!" But the TV censors, in another curious dubbing effort, inserted “Give me the keys, you fairy godmother!” Verrrrrry scary.

An unfortunate character in the first volume of Kill Bill is the ill-fated Buck, an orderly at the hospital where Uma Thurman is lingering in a coma. Buck, well... Buck's not very nice, and he says "My name is Buck, and I'm here to fuck." The man gets his comeuppance - trust me - but the TV dub is "My name is Buck, and I'm here to party." It has the unintentional effect of being a lot funnier than the original (not that raping a comatose Uma Thurman is funny).

What's up with stoner comedies? In the Dave Chappelle vehicle Half Baked, Bob Saget delivers the line "I used to suck dick for coke." While this is probably true, the TV version replaces "dick" with "feet", and suddenly we're into a whole 'nother ballgame.

Finally, one of my favorite movies is Ghostbusters. Rather than subject his film to overdubbing, director Ivan Reitman chose to completely re-shoot select scenes. One classic scene toward the end of the film occurs after the gentleman from the EPA shuts down the Busters' power grid, causing mass hysteria, the dead rising from the grave, dogs and cats living together... you get the point. It goes like this:

Ray Stantz: "The system was working just fine until the power grid was turned off by Dickless here."
Walter Peck: "They caused an explosion!"
Mayor: "Is this true?"
Peter Venkman: "Yes, it's true. This man has no dick."

The alternate dialogue is as follows:

Ray Stantz: "The system was working just fine until the power grid was turned off by Wally Wick here."
Walter Peck: "They caused an explosion!"
Mayor: "Is this true?"
Peter Venkman: "Yes, your Honor… this man is some kind of rodent, I don't know which."

Don't believe me? See for yourself.

And this one's even better:

I Have Twatted.

2009-06-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

At the behest of my illustrious place of employment, I have joined the ever-growing ranks of Twitter users in the hopes of increasing the awareness of our franchise opportunities. (yep, I’m serious!) I am not sure what to call myself or those other brave souls who use the service. According to the welcome email I received when I signed up, I am now a “Twitter-er.” I think that’s the least creative name that the company could’ve come up with. Obviously they’re not going to call us all “twits” – although one might argue that we are – and they’re not going to call us “tweeters” despite that being the most accurate moniker (each post on Twitter is called a “tweet”). My inclination is to roll with Mr. Stephen Colbert and use “twat” as the verb for posting tweets. But back to what Twitter-ers should actually be called, my vote is for “Twoots.” It has no other definition, and it incorporates the underused-but-awesome word “woot” (or “w00t” depending on your level of nerd-dom)... and in any case, we’re running out of vowels.

We're Number Forty-Nine!

2009-05-21T19:55:00.000-07:00

...out of fifty. That's right, GMAC Insurance gave a test to over five thousand licensed drivers from all fifty states.* From living in New York, Massachusetts, and currently New Jersey, I knew even before reading the article that the Northeast would wind up toward the bottom of the list.

I was right. The esteemed Garden State ranked 49th, just above the state with the worst drivers... New York. Massachusetts ranked highest among the states in which may various automobiles have been licensed, coming in at a whopping 46th place. Those Idahoans and Wisconsinites out there are apparently the smartest drivers, but I attribute this to the fact that they live in states with more cheese & potatoes than the rest of us. There's logic in there somewhere. Anyway, it's an interesting article if you'd like to read it. The kind people at GMAC have also posted the exam for all to attempt. I scored an 85, which betrays my brand-new Jersey plates.

*the District can suck it.

Exercises in Procrastination

2009-04-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

Links that I like:

Have you ever wondered where you’d wind up if you drilled a hole straight through to the other side of the planet? This link can show you (and the answer is often “in the middle of some body of water”). As you move one map, the other map moves as well, so it’s a little trippy to maneuver.

Make sure you have a printer, because this site has “tickets” which you can print and place on poorly parked cars. Living in New Jersey, I print out a lot of tickets.

Whenever you need randomly created jazz scales or dice throws, these will save the day. (In a related story, number of days saved = zero)

There’s a bear who shits prime numbers. The longer you stay on this page, the larger the numbers become (and the more sore the bear’s asshole becomes). One person apparently navigated to this page and then left his computer on for several months. His computer eventually became self-aware and – upon realizing that it was leading a pointless existence – subsequently self-destructed.*

The greatest webcomic ever. It’s the best thing since Calvin & Hobbes. It’s esoteric, funny, perverse, geeky, and heartbreaking.

If you’re planning to travel by plane and you have the option of selecting your seat when you book your ticket, you might want to check out this site. Seating charts for most airlines’ entire fleets are shown, and it’s definitely helped me to choose better seats (especially on longer flights).

Six degrees never tasted so easy.

This game is called GrowCube. There are ten objects which must be placed on the cube in the correct order. Math people know that this means there are over 3.6 million ways to place the objects (there’s a hint somewhere in the users’ comments that gives away the correct order, or just google a solution). It’s pretty weird – the “level up” comments are meaningless, and definitely mute the horrid music – but the ending is pretty cool.

This site will take any words, names, or phrases and find all the possible anagrams for them. Most of the results are pretty stupid, but it’s comforting to know that one anagram for my name is “renewed bran.”

Old episodes of “Celebrity Jeopardy” from SNL can now be found at Will Ferrell’s website. Can you believe that it’s been ten years since “Febtober!”?!? This is my favorite of the bunch, but the one where Burt Reynolds (played by Norm MacDonald) decides that his name is “Turd Ferguson” is also fantastic.

Finally: What happens when sheep herders have far too much time on their hands? ….no, not that. Get your mind out of the gutter.

*this might not be true.

Simplify

2009-03-24T12:34:00.000-07:00

Walden is a place for all seasons, but it carries its beauty best in winter. Last year, I visited the pond in early February on a clear, frigid day. It was completely frozen over, and the lone ice-fisherman in the middle of the pond was a speck on the horizon. I steeled myself and proceeded to walk straight across the pond, knowing that if the ice cracked I was probably screwed. Thankfully that didn’t happen, and by the time I reached the middle the fisherman had headed off to the shore for a break. I was standing alone in the middle of Walden pond. The actual temperature betrayed the clear sky and radiant sun, but I took off my hat and felt the wind freeze my hair. I felt close to nature, as close as one can get within twenty miles of Boston.

In Honor of National Grammar Day

2009-03-04T14:11:00.000-08:00

Our language has over 400,000 words. That’s a lot of words. Many are commonplace, like “sandwich” or “cable.” Many are used very infrequently, like “cloaca” or “subterfuge.” My favorite word is “effervescence” – the only word with five es each separated by two consonants. Words are amazing. And yet, there are some words that – while they are not dirty in and of themselves – well, simply sound dirty. They’re the kind of words that make educated Beavises and Buttheads snicker. Here now is a far-from-complete list of some of the words that just sound dirty.

• Doppelganger
• Mumps
• Finagle
• Mastication
• Spelunker
• Flagella
• Kumquat
• Moist
• Dangling Participle
• Pinochle
• Carpetbagger
• Flugelhorn
• Sloop
• Stimulus
• Package
• Stimulus Package
• Moist Stimulus Package (okay, now we’re getting ridiculous)
• Smorgasbord
• Nebbish
• Plethora
• Thwart

Special thanks are due to Kathy for assistance with this project. And Robin Williams too.

Unclear on the concept of "All You Can Eat."

2008-12-19T19:09:00.000-08:00

Best caption for this photo gets a prize. The actual story behind this is as follows: there is a festival in Japan where sumo wrestlers try to scare babies. The baby who cries the loudest wins a prize. I think the "prize" should be having the parents taken to a field and beaten severely with sacks of potatoes.

Smashy Smashy

2008-09-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month the world’s largest particle accelerator went online in Europe. It consists of a ring of superconducting magnets 17 miles in circumference that must be kept at a few degrees below absolute zero. The magnets are designed to move protons around the ring at speeds approaching the speed of light, eventually smashing the protons into one another. This collision at near-light-speed will hopefully produce evidence of the Higgs Boson, one of the elemental particles of the universe that has been theorized but never observed. It’s amazing that humans have constructed something so immense in order to detect something so minuscule. The Higgs Boson is one of the strangely-named particles (it’s actually not that strange – the scientist who theorized it was named Higgs – but there are particles called the Charm Quark and the Gluon (which has to be the one that makes everything stick together)) that are described as having “colors,” “flavors,” and “direction.” These tiny little particles are thought to be the building blocks for atoms, and therefore they’re supposed to be the most basic things in the universe.

I have no idea what the hell I’m writing about, but I hope that I’m composed primarily of red gluons. Anyway, this experiment – many years and billions of dollars in the making – will hopefully reveal some more details about life, the universe, and everything. I find it interesting that there is a contingent of people out there who believe that when the particle accelerator is brought up to full capacity, it will create miniature black holes and rip the world apart. This notion – other than sounding like a really cool premise for a science fiction movie – seems absurd. But really, what the hell do I know? It’ll probably generate more questions than answers, which is the sign of a good experiment. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll give scientists some insight as to how to start working on beaming technology. But my guess is that we won’t be any closer to knowing why, inexplicably, all day Wednesday you keep thinking it’s Thursday… and Thursday comes and you’re alright again.

Fucking Brilliant.

2008-09-11T15:04:00.000-07:00

Garfield Minus Garfield. It is self-described as a "site dedicated to removing Garfield from the Garfield comic strips in order to reveal the existential angst of Mr. Jon Arbuckle." It's completely bizarre. Without the fat cat or his foils Odie and Nermal, we are thrown into the midst of an unfinished world. And yet it somehow works. It becomes something vastly more interesting and irreverent than the original. Jon is no longer the lonely, bumbling caregiver and provider for his pets. He is downright SCARY. The concept is unique and perfectly executed. See for yourself.

Apparently Jim Davis, the creator of the Garfield comic, is a fan. Ballantine Books is publishing a collection of the "revised" comics later this year; the book is purported to have the original comics side-by-side with the edited versions.

The First Eight Thousand Are Tough. After That, It's Easy.

2008-09-09T08:23:00.000-07:00

Only in this country would someone claim that his obsessive-compulsive disorder led him to the practice of eating at least one Big Mac every day for 36 years. Some dude from Wisconsin (of course) has consumed 23,000 Big Macs since May 1972… and he has the receipts to prove it. Using my handy calculator, there are just over 13,000 days in 36 years. Therefore, it follows that this burger fiend ate 1.75 Big Macs per day on average FOR THIRTY-SIX YEARS. At 29 grams of fat per burger, the guy must resemble an enormous land-bound dugong (or he could be one of those freaks of nature who eats and eats and never gains a pound). It boggles the mind. My favorite part is that he wrote a book about his “achievement.” The book is two hundred pages long. Given that a) he has OCD and b) he ate the same thing every day, one can imagine what a page in the book might look like. My guess:

• July 19, 1983. McDonalds in Wausau WI. Two Big Macs. Tasty.
• July 20, 1983. McDonalds in Wausau WI. One Big Mac. Tasty.
• July 21, 1983. McDonalds in Wausau WI. Three Big Macs. Still tasty!

I think you get the picture. I’m sure that the book (which he apparently typed with one finger) delves into his history and his reasons for the love of the ubiquitous burger. Of course, if it does, then I question the reasoning that his OCD was the cause for his eating accomplishments; it seems that it’s much more likely that the guy is the perfect storm: can’t cook, lazy as shit, addicted to junk food, and really boring. The OCD probably doesn’t help matters much. But my reaction was kinda like this when I heard about the whole thing: “…really???”

Journey at the Center of the Earth

2008-09-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

It's, uh... it's not a typo. They really should have gone with this idea.

My House Used To Be A Crack Den*

2008-09-07T20:58:00.000-07:00

Yep, it's true. I'll explain. Max, Katie and I rehearsed at my place prior to playing a private gig on Saturday night. They came over with their significant others. David, Katie's boyfriend, grew up down the street from where I currently live. Upon entering my apartment (I have the first floor of a house), he told me that when he grew up it used to be a very sketchy place with lots of drug dealers. He was visibly creeped out by being in the house where he saw drug deals taking place many years ago. Times have changed, and I've never seen anything like that in the nearly four years (!) I've lived there - the occasional marijuana smell sometimes wafts over from the neighbors, no big deal - but still, I feel a bit weirded out myself.

*I wanted to call it "House of Crack" and style the posting after the Danielewski book "House of Leaves," but it would've been waaaay too much trouble. Besides, XKCD did the best sendup of that book ever.

Dear Rudy (In Defense of Community Service)

2008-09-05T08:24:00.000-07:00

There are ways to criticize a person and his or her record without denigrating the role that many people proudly take on every day. However, regarding Senator Obama, you said the following at the Republican National Convention: “He worked as a community organizer. What?? Okay, maybe this is the first problem on his resume. …He has never led anything. Nothing. Nada.”

You have implied that community organizers are not men and women of the people. I find it hard to believe that you would stoop so low as to insult citizens with the best intentions, biggest dreams, and – far too often – too few resources. People who want to see improvement in society and are tackling it one problem and one person at a time. People who take it upon themselves to organize, inspire, and lead others. Worst of all, you have implied that someone who does these things is unfit to have a larger leadership role, such as that of President.

To be sure, Senator McCain has endured trials that no person should ever have to experience. He is a good man, and he has given more than his share of service to this country. I don’t think there is a person in either party who would deny that. But to insinuate that the only method of service to one’s country is via the military is to condescend toward the 99% of Americans who are not on active duty or on reserve.

As a New Yorker, I am ashamed that you would consider community service as something to be scoffed at. You of all people should know that a city (which, by definition, is a large community) is only as strong as the people who comprise it. A city is bolstered by the people who do the right thing in times of crisis and in times of peace. A city is only as healthy as the people who work at every level to ensure that streets are safe, parks are clean, schools are respectable, and civility is the norm. You appear to be in contradiction with many of your party supporters who raised their “Service” signs in the rear of the convention hall. You seem to have forgotten your roots as the head of a narcotics unit, and later as the leader of a large city. You seem to have forgotten that people who are involved with their communities often go on to do great things just as often as those with military experience.

So Rudy – if I may call you that, being that I apparently exist at the lowest level of your totem pole (read: someone who aims to improve communities through education) – I have lost what respect I had for you. I have no real quarrel with your attacks on Senator Obama or the Democratic party; this is a political game and I know that mud must be slung, barbs must be leveled, and facts must be altered. But your condemnation of community service is unfair, crass, and beyond reproach. You have disappointed me and insulted many of the people whom I know, work with, and care about. And therefore, I feel justified in leaving you with the words of the late, great George Carlin (another proud New Yorker who did his community service by bringing rays of laughter to the city, I might add): Go fuck yourself. And go Mets.

The World Is Just Awesome

2008-08-13T11:30:00.001-07:00

I don't have my coffee until I get to the office, so my morning routine is exactly that: routine. Although I have no trains to catch or overbearing bosses watching the clock, things happen at generally the same time each day. Once in a while, however, I see something on the way that simply makes me smile. On my way to work, I pass a row of houses on a relatively quiet street. In one of those houses live two elderly women who have to be twin sisters. They've gotta be at least 85 years old. I sometimes see them taking a walk together, arm in arm, dressed in identical clothing, strolling slowly down the sidewalk. That sight brightens my day a little bit.

Oh, and watch this video. Please. My brother showed it to me recently, and, well... it's just incredible. And totally safe for work.

I want to go everywhere in that video (especially the DMZ in Korea). If you want to watch it in high quality, go here and click the link underneath the video feed that says... 'watch in high quality.' (duh) It's such a simple concept, but it's perfectly executed. And the song is beautiful!

List Time!

2008-07-18T14:27:00.000-07:00

These are great single lines from songs. No particular order or theme... just for fun. Feel free to add.

• “It’s just the daily grind to bring the daily bread, I wasn’t born rich – I’m good looking instead” (Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Cowboy Coffee)
• “I don’t have trouble with you fucking me, but I have a little problem with you not fucking me” (Ol' Dirty Bastard, Got Your Money)
• “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die” (Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues)
• “Some balls are held for charity and some for fancy dress, but when they’re held for pleasure they’re the balls that I like best” (AC/DC, Big Balls)
• “I thought about the army, Dad said ‘Son, you’re fucking high.’” (Ben Folds, Army)
• “All the other girls here are stars, you are the Northern Lights” (Josh Ritter, Kathleen)
• “Girl, I only wanna get with you, only you… and your sister, I think her name’s Debra” (Beck, Debra)
• “I love you like a fat kid loves cake” (50 Cent, 21 Questions)
• “You think you’re so smart but I’ve seen you naked, I’ll probably see you naked again” (Barenaked Ladies, Blame it on Me)
• “Never let me slip ‘cause if I slip then I’m slippin’” (Dr. Dre, Dre Day)
• “That is Bach and it rocks, it’s a rock block of Bach that he learned in the school called the school of hard knocks” (Tenacious D, Rock Your Socks)
• “I absorb trust like a love rhombus, I feel I must elucidate, I ate the chump with guile. Quadrilateral I was, now I warp like a smile” (Soul Coughing, Bus to Beezlebub)
• “Will Smith don’t gotta cuss on his raps to sell records. Well, I do, so fuck him and fuck you too.” (Eminem, The Real Slim Shady)

Boom de Yada!!!!

2008-06-28T08:49:00.000-07:00

Best. Commercial. Ever.

Awesome. Favorite part? Definitely Stephen Hawking. And check out the sendup on XKCD. Obviously there's great admiration there.

Gee, he was just here a minute ago.

2008-06-24T00:44:00.000-07:00

"Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits."

When I was about twelve or thirteen, I remember riding along with the family on one of our road trips. We were listening to a tape (remember those?) of different comedy routines - there were about a dozen comedians in all, each one had about a five-minute excerpt. Some were funny (Bill Cosby) and some were apparently quite dirty (Redd Foxx) and deserved fast-forwarding, much to my disappointment. But the one that stood out in my young mind was a bit called "Wonderful Wino Radio" by George Carlin. In one of his rare no-swearing routines, he portrayed a drunk radio announcer who broadcast his show on a bandwidth "just above the police band." The absurdity stuck with me, and before long I convinced my parents to let me listen to his full albums.

Carlin became a huge influence on my sense of humor. He was a total wiseass and existed to be subversive, but he was never mean (except to people who really pissed him off). Carlin's routines had an even greater impact on my appreciation for the English language and how severely fucked it is. Yeah, he swore a lot (boy, did he!) but it was usually to prove a point. Like when he talked about the aggressive "k" sounds in the words cocksucker and motherfucker as being just as aurally assaulting as the literal meanings. The act of breaking down the swears 1) made it okay to use the swears while talking about them and 2) made the routine that much more intelligent, which in turn made it even funnier. "Tits... such a friendly sounding word! Sounds like a nickname, right?"

He also made light of religion, having been brought up Irish Catholic and - through life, comedy, and a shitload of drugs - eventually questioning the whole idea of faith. If he believed in anything, it was that people, in general, can fuck things up and thereby provide him with an endless source of material for his comedy. Maybe in the end, that proved to be his god; the people of this doomed planet an ever-present wellspring of funny. Or maybe he prayed to Joe Pesci.

More than anything, though - Carlin reminded us that life is pretty damn funny and strange sometimes. As a comedian, he said that his job was "reminding you about the things you forgot to laugh at the first time." He loved the absurd, whether it was little things we all experience but don't really talk about or the wacky ideas he came up with while letting his mind wander (e.g. tissues with bulls-eyes on them). Or how strange it is to see an empty plate in the refrigerator ("Did something eat something else??").

He did a lot with his career - he was the very first host of SNL, he recorded many albums and won Grammys for them, he wrote books, he had stints in movies and even had a short-lived TV show. His HBO specials were the reason to have HBO. He even was the voice of the narrator in the kids' animated series Thomas the Tank Engine. And - like we all knew he would - he became a dirty old man. He was a dirty young man, so why not, right? But it was sad to watch some of his last routines... he could still knock 'em dead with the humor, but he didn't look too healthy. The drugs weren't good to him, and we all knew it was only a matter of time.

And so, as the networks and talk shows are undoubtedly scrambling to compile as much footage as possible for the tributes, real fans of George Carlin feel a twinge of sadness at his passing. But it was his time, and for someone who while still alive was regarded as one of the greatest comedians of all time, his passing will serve to introduce a whole new legion of youth to his material.

So George... thanks for the laughs. And go fuck yourself. You probably would've wanted me to end the post that way.

Spoiler Alert

2008-06-02T08:24:00.000-07:00

I saw the fourth installment of the Indiana Jones series last week. Dear God, I hope it’s the last. A wooden script, a vague and tenuous plot, and an ending that made me think “What the fuck?” If this was the best they could’ve come up with after nineteen years, they really should’ve let the series die a dignified death. The Last Crusade was an amazing movie – not just a great Indy movie, but a great movie – and a satisfying, fitting bookend to one of the most exciting series in movie history. I approached the release of this film with a mix of anticipation and dread: Was I excited that Indiana frickin’ Jones was coming back? Hell yes. Did I believe that the filmmakers would be able to match the awesomeness of the last one? …not really. But you’d best believe that I expected more than this.

The movie opened in a promising fashion. Seeing the opening sequence was kinda fun, and the re-introduction of the Indy character and musical theme was admittedly awesome, but it devolved pretty damn quickly. Surviving a nuclear explosion inside a lead-lined fridge? Yeah. Almost as believable as Cate Blanchett’s horrendous attempt at a Russian accent. I don’t get it – apparently they spent a great deal of time and effort to ensure that the Russian soldiers were authentic, and then they go and find a Brit with a terrible accent to play the Russian with the most lines? Wacky. Also, the pacing was all wrong; I felt like I was watching The Mummy rather than an Indy flick (which is fine if the stars are Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz, but y’know… this is Indiana frickin’ Jones). There was a sense of awe and mysticism present in the first and third movies (not so much in Temple of Doom) that just didn’t exist here… all the films touch on the supernatural, but I just found it very hard to care about this plot. But when Shia LeBeef (I don’t care about the correct spelling – “LeBeef” is funnier) entered the picture as a character named Mutt, I just knew that the screenwriters would be so shortsighted and predictable to make him be Indy’s long-lost son. Sure enough, after the whole escapade he had with the Ark of the Covenant, he probably had a lot of sex with Karen Allen’s character and then left her to go rooting through spiders, snakes, rats, and other ugly beasties to find artifacts and other old things (like his father). So yeah, it’s not too difficult to figure out that Henry Jones Junior’s kid is, well… Mutt. And he’s also a Henry (shocking, I know). But would the screenwriters be so banal and unoriginal as to end the movie with a wedding? Nah… they wouldn’t do that.

Oh… wait. They did. And seeing Indy in a white suit tying the knot was about as natural as an oral bowel movement (yes, I quoted Clerks). Forget the paper-thin plot of a race of alien superbeings who contacted the Mayans thousands of years ago and left them with technology, civilization, crystal artifacts, and herpes (okay, I made that last one up)… and wasn’t that the plot of Alien Vs. Predator? Forget the complete X-Files ending ripoff. Forget the blatant Disney-fication of having Mutt swing on vines with monkeys. Indiana Jones is the guy who sifts through dirt and finds clues and decomposed bodies and ancient tablets, then gets to screw the hottie that’s with him… and then gets to do it all again with different clues and different women in the next movie. He’s like the James bond of adventure movies. Bond works, in part, because the audience never really cares about the fate of the girl. Next movie, same Bond, girl from previous movie is gone (although I could watch Sophie Marceau in every Bond movie and be perfectly happy). Same principle with Indy, and Lucas et al should’ve listened to Sean Connery’s line at the end of Last Crusade: ~~Febtober~~ "Let it go." I’m glad that Connery chose to stay out of this one.

Adding to the movie’s crappiness was the couple sitting behind me. Please realize that I went to see the film directly after work on a Thursday evening, hoping to avoid crowds, children, and rude teens. To my delight, there were only eleven people in the theater when the previews started. And then a couple came and sat directly behind me. Yippee. At least they were Korean, so their semi-whispered conversations during the movie didn’t really register as annoying because I couldn’t understand them. But seriously, the theater had 250 seats. Eleven were taken. Get a clue. And the guy kept burping.

Damn, I'm Old - Redux

2008-05-29T11:43:00.000-07:00

My aunt just sent me a photo via email, and the tone of the message conveyed that she was excited. Opening the message, I saw my cousin Sam standing next to some dude. The last time such photo-sharing occurred, the "dude" was John McCain. This dude was younger (not saying much, I know), probably in his twenties, kinda scruffy and dressed in hipster clothing. I figured that he was someone famous, but I couldn't tell who he was. I asked two colleagues here to look at the photo and if they knew who he was. Both colleagues - intelligent women in their late 20s or early 30s - didn't know either. Sheepishly (yet emboldened by my colleagues' consensus), I asked my aunt who the dude was.

Turns out it was David Cook, recent American Idol champion and heartbreaker extrordinaire. Just goes to show you how far removed from that scene I am.

Trolling Atlantis

2008-05-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

One of my earliest complete memories has to do with my grandfather and his fishing boat. The boat was not docked at a pier; rather, it was tethered to a buoy in the harbor with dozens of other boats. In order to get to the boat, we had to ride on a small dinghy operated by the harbor patrol. To me, this was fascinating – riding on a boat to get to another boat! – and I always loved hopping from the dinghy to my grandfather’s boat. Such an adventure. Everything was much larger then; my grandfather’s boat was probably no more than twenty feet long, but to my five-year-old eyes it was enormous. There was a little space out front with cushions and handrails where I would ride as my father and his father drove the boat out of the harbor and into the sound. For about ten minutes we crawled at the minimum speed allowed by the harbor, gasoline fumes circling the boat until we reached the red & white buoy… and that was my signal. I remember looking back at my grandfather upon reaching that buoy; he would smile back at me and then throttle the powerful engine forward. The early morning water was a flat sheet of glass as it slipped underneath the hull.

We’d fish, sometimes catching bluefish and bass, more often catching nothing at all. We’d eat sandwiches and drink cold soda, and my grandfather would smoke his cigar. I have few memories of him without a cigar, and to this day I think of him whenever I smell cigar smoke. Once, when I was eight and my brother four, we snuck down to the basement in his house and found his cigar box… and proceeded to break all of his cigars into little pieces. Gramps was livid. However, my brother and I were treated to ice cream on the way home courtesy of our father, who was happy that we were concerned for Gramps’ health. Anyway, he would be smoking, and the smell of salty sea air and cigar smoke is a very pleasant memory. Inevitably we would turn off the engine while we ate lunch in order to enjoy the sounds of the sea, and inevitably the engine would fail to start when we were ready to return home. Thankfully the radio was more reliable, and every memory of fishing with my grandfather involves being towed back by the harbor patrol or even the Coast Guard on occasion. It never seemed to bother my grandfather much; he just accepted it and tried to make the best of the situation. Dad would try to fix the damn engine and would always become frustrated when nothing could be done to improve the situation. In any event, we always made our way back to the buoy in the harbor and the little dinghy.

I was recently on a ferry in Long Island Sound and with the wind in my face and the smell of the ocean all around, that memory came rushing back suddenly. I don’t know how these things get etched into the brain and stay there for years and years. I have earlier memories, but they’re mostly brief snapshots and moments in time, vivid though they may be. Perhaps the earliest memory of all is a brief glimpse of my father’s friend’s house; I was apparently playing in the grass and I can still see the white garage door and smell the lush green springtime. But that’s a brief glimpse, not a complete story. The brain is truly amazing – there are people out there who can recall every day of their lives and what they were wearing, what they ate… and then there are people like me, who forget what day it is right now (I think it’s Thursday, but I’m not sure).

Damn, I'm Old

2008-05-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

My cousin Samantha is about to graduate high school; she’ll be attending Duke in the fall. Clearly she’s an idiot. Kidding. But she’s going to college in September. This is mind-blowing to think about. She’s become a real person now, eighteen going on 30, and brighter than many of the people I interview. I remember visiting the hospital the day after she was born and holding her. I remember my aunt bringing her to Schreiber to see the musicals, and for months all she would talk about was Jen or Jason or Michele or Howland (bassists are usually invisible to four-year-olds… come to think of it, we’re pretty invisible to most people). These days, when I visit them in NY, Sam and I have real conversations and real drinks. I met her boyfriend last month. Of course his name is Andrew. Nice kid.

Eighteen years. That’s a long time. I remember babysitting and changing her diapers. I remember playing with her in a swimming pool in Florida during a family vacation, teaching her how to swim. And if she has her way (which she probably will), she’s going to come to Boston this summer for a few weeks and I’m going to teach her how to drive. I won’t do to her what my dad did to me the first time I was behind the wheel (tickling). It’s hard for me to think of her as a college kid, but what’s harder is thinking that I (and chances are from the people who read this, we) were that young and naïve and invincible and so ready for college life.

Putting it in context, when Sam was born, the number one song was “I Can’t Live Without Your Love and Affection” by Nelson. That was also the year of “Vogue”, “Opposites Attract”, and “Ice Ice Baby.” Look how far we’ve come. I enjoyed seeing her go through her music phases; there was the New Kids on the Block-esque phase of Backstreet Boys, N-Sync, and a half dozen other groups who have gone the way of the dodo (but I guarantee that the Backstreet Boys will reunite in ten years, just like NKOTB is doing now). There was the rocker phase… one of my favorite memories is of walking into their apartment and seeing Sam in a Clash t-shirt holding a guitar, trying to wrap her mind and fingers around the chords of a Who song. Hmm… that appears to have been a tangent.

So – to Sam, in your final few weeks of high school, I want to say that I love you, that I’m awfully proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and I’m looking forward to what the future holds. I don’t know how much wisdom I can share with you (I wasn’t all that bright in college, and it’s been a steady downhill ever since), but I’ll try. Make sure you pour your own drinks at the parties. You can skip a class now and then. Always use fake names when filling out credit applications so you can get free t-shirts. Don’t worry about grades too much – if you enjoy what you’re studying, you’ll do fine. Just don’t get arrested or pregnant, and you’ll be okay. And whatever you do, if you find yourself alone with a lacrosse player… run. And if you’re actually reading this, then you need to get out more.

McCain Farms Beets

2008-05-08T07:56:00.000-07:00

Despite a general dislike for our nation's Republican Party, I do respect John McCain. He's been through a lot, he's a much less conservative than Dubya, he's relatively intelligent for a politician, and he's able to crack a joke or two. Now don't get me wrong, I'll vote for Obama when (not if) the time comes, but McCain doesn't seem like that bad of a guy. The other night on The Daily Show, Jon Stewart asked him who his choice for running mate would be, and McCain answered with "Dwight Schrute."

Schrute is the consummate kiss-ass assistant to the regional manager on the only serial TV show I watch regularly, The Office. Awesome show, and being that I'm the only male in my office, I feel like I am different characters on different days. I'd like to say that I'm most like Jim, but his major purpose in the show is to fawn over Pam, and I'm not dating anyone in my office. Stanley is a great character, but I'm not THAT bitter about my job, nor am I black. I'm not as pathetic as Toby, and I'm not as sleazy as Andy. This leaves me with one conclusion: I must be more like Michael Scott. Good intentions, blundering idiot, yet they keep me around. That about sums me up.

Black cat crossed in front of me right as I left home this morning. Hmm. If this is my last post, Aubrey gets custody of the site.

Party of One

2008-05-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

There's something to be said for being stuck in traffic when you're not in any particular rush to be anywhere. It's a kind of helpless ennui, but not altogether unpleasant (unless you really have to pee) and it allows your mind to wander. This happened to me in Boston recently; I was traversing the city during rush hour in a rainstorm and found myself in several standstills. My mind wandered from topic to topic, mostly disregarding the radio - that is, until those timeless words were uttered: "Oh... my... God. Becky, look at her butt."

That phrase brought me right out of the mind-wandering; I turned the volume up and rapped along with Sir Mix-a-lot all the way through. Being stuck in traffic, however, my mind did start to roam again during the song, and I realized a few things: First, there were probably several hundred cars in the traffic jam. Second, being that there are actually very few decent radio stations in Boston, there were bound to be a bunch of people rapping along with me and Mix-a-lot. Therefore, there came a point the other night when, through no particular coincidence or cosmic event, a few dozen people in my immediate vicinity enthusiastically and unbeknownst to each other sang the line "My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hon!" That thought (not to mention that we all more than likely did the whipcrack after saying that line) got me laughing. Hard.

...there's really no point to this.

Oops.

2008-02-26T13:38:00.000-08:00

This is kinda fun. Maxim Magazine reviewed the Black Crowes’ recent album Warpaint and did not give it a very positive review. The reviewer gave the album 2.5 stars out of a possible five and stated that “it hasn’t left (singer) Chris Robinson and the gang much room for growth.”

One problem: The reviewer hadn’t heard the album.

That’s right. The band has not yet released any advanced copies of Warpaint (due out March 4) for the press to review; they’ve only released one song which can be downloaded/stolen as a single. Now, I’m not a huge fan of the Black Crowes, and I haven’t paid any attention to them since their first album Shake Your Money Maker (Remember She Talks to Angels? That’s a beauty). I’m actually surprised that they’re still recording; I was sorta under the impression that they just live underneath the Beacon Theatre in NYC, popping up to play a concert whenever they run out of pot. But this is some nerve on Maxim’s part. The band is pissed, and they have every reason to be pissed. Imagine if your boss gave you a crappy performance review but s/he hadn’t even seen any of the work you’d done! Maxim is no NY Times or Paste, but it’s still read by lots of people with disposable income who like the rock & roll (and Maxim does appear to have more boobies).

Not cool on Maxim’s part. To make matters worse, the official apology was also stale and unsatisfying: “it is our editorial policy to assign star ratings only to those albums that have been heard in their entirety. Unfortunately that policy was not followed in the March 2008 issue of our magazine and we apologize to our readers.” Yeah, we screwed up, whatcha gonna do about it, huh? Maxim went on to say that they “always prefer to hearing music [sic], but sometimes there are big albums that we don’t want to ignore and that aren’t available to hear. It’s either an educated guess preview or no coverage at all, so in this case we chose the former.”

So let me get this right… it’s commonplace for “journalists” to write about stuff they haven’t heard/seen/experienced? Huh. That’s news to me. Something tells me that the Maxim writers are spending too much time “reading” Hustler.

Of course, this little snafu makes me wonder what else has been reviewed without having been heard first. The movie Dogma comes to mind – there were nationwide protests from hardcore Christian groups before the movie was ever screened (and on opening night, Kevin Smith joined one – he brought a banner that read “Dogma is Dogshit”). It also poses an interesting question: What else can we review prematurely? Maybe Indiana Jones & The Kingdom of the Crystal ~~Balls~~ Skull should be reviewed based on the minute-long preview I saw on the internet (or maybe based on the title alone). Based on absolutely nothing, let’s have a critique of the new Al Green album, due out in the spring. (actually, I can’t wait for that to drop – it’s being produced by ?uestlove from the Roots, and that’s a cool combination). I’ve got a good one – based on this stellar standard of journalism displayed by the music reviewer, I’m giving the whole of Maxim Magazine zero stars… and that’s an educated guess.

CSC&J

2008-02-23T23:06:00.000-08:00

Burning question: What do Bill Cosby, Beverly Sills, Johnny Cash, and Carl Jung have in common?

...nothing. Absolutely nothing. And yet, this is so, so brilliant.