MCF's Nexus of Improbability

How I Wasted My Autumn Staycation

2009-12-01T00:00:00.001-05:00

Every year, my Thanksgiving weekend is my longest weekend, four days off from work that I extend by taking an extra day or two of my own. It's funny reading some of my goals from last year, since I only got around to a few of them this weekend. Better eventually than never is what I always say. Last year in addition to playing a holiday parade with one of my bands, I made it to a happy hour with some of my old neighborhood friends I'd recently reconnected with, and I started the whole weekend with another happy hour with one of my work friends, who I assisted in drunk-dialing Rey with some random Star Trek question about “Dharma and Greg on Viagra”. The actual quote was in some alien language, but I think my version is sort of close to what he was asking. This year, things were a lot quieter, and I'd be hard pressed to top that story. At one point there was the possibility of a road trip to Atlantic City, but it got pushed back when the friend planning it had other plans. I've never been there, and the trip might be on for one of these subsequent weekends. As for this past weekend, it may have been quiet, but it went fast. Some days I passed the time better than others:

Day ONE:
I couldn't tell you what I did on my first day off. I know I watched some episodes from my From the Earth to the Moon boxed set, and spent some time on the computer, experimenting with some photo manipulation technique tutorials. For the most part it was a gray, dreary day, certainly not a good one for photography. I know I woke up way too early because I forgot to tell my dad I'd taken the day off, or I had told him but he didn't hear me. One of my college friends had wanted to see Ninja Assassin, but I'd never heard back from him. (A few days later I'd learn that the sister of one of the other guys who was supposed to go had been in the hospital and had passed away, so it was more than understandable). At some point on that first day I drifted off into a nap, waking in darkness hours later. I had a text message from another friend from my old job about the same movie my college friends wanted to see, but at the time I thought I already had plans and I woke up 20 minutes before the movie was going to begin. I ate dinner, watched a few more DVDs, wrote about my latest blood donating experience, and drifted off, wondering how a day could just evaporate.

Day TWO:
The second day off from work was a Thursday, and Thanksgiving itself, which I already wrote about in detail, at the end of the second day. It too was a quiet day, but a brighter one with sunshine, home cooking, and family. Even the depressing atmosphere of the nursing home left me with a positive message: I was still FREE to venture out and have adventures any time I wanted.

Day THREE:
Of course, Black Friday is one day I wouldn't go out, at least not near any stores. It was another dreary day not conducive to taking pictures or hanging out in the outdoors, so apart from a trip to the post office I stayed inside. By this point I was bouncing off the walls from boredom. I still had the boxed set to finish, and posts to write, and some cleaning and organizing to do in my room. But I was sick of it all, and at one point I even started playing Marvel Ultimate Alliance again. It's a great game, but I beat it years ago(twice) and already unlocked most of the bonus features. I also didn't like the way it swallowed time. As much fun as it was, hours would irretrievably disappear the way they do when I take a nap. Midnight came and went, and the sitcom post I'd written earlier in the day automatically published. Eventually, I turned off the game, went to sleep, and vowed to do something on Saturday. My vacation was halfway over, and I hadn't done much of anything.

Day FOUR:
By the fourth day I got things right. I got to McDonald's early and ordered myself a deluxe breakfast platter of pancakes, sausage, eggs, a biscuit, a potato cake, and an orange juice. Once a year that's a treat. Twice, it's an artery-hardener. After watching another DVD and checking out some maps, I grabbed my camera and took advantage of my first sunny, free day to track down some unexplored trails. My first destination would have required me to leave my car on the shoulder of a busy road and walk to the woods. Plan B led me to a dead end, private road, and clearly the internet misled me when it said there was a parking lot and a nature preserve there. Oh, there were still some undeveloped woods, but they were surrounded by estates on land that had since been developed. I was more successful on my third try, returning to a historical site I'd been to twice before, once as a child on an elementary school trip and once with my first digital camera. This time I had better lighting and better equipment, and in a few weeks I'll be posting my pictures. I ran into a lady from work who pointed out part of the site required tour tickets to be purchased, but they were sold out by the time I checked. So, I've still got something to shoot if I ever return there. In the evening, I took my mom to church, and was surprised as always to see the first candle lit in the Advent wreath. One holiday really does begin on the heels of another. My evening concluded with reviews of 3 of the DVDs I'd watched and more Ultimate Alliance, where I finally unlocked a U.S. Agent skin.

Day FIVE:
By Sunday morning, I realized the Ninja movie probably wasn't happening, and I should have gone when I had the other opportunity. I checked to see if it was playing at my local theater, and though it was not, Fantastic Mr. Fox was. Hardly anyone goes to that theater any more, so I figured the risk of small children was minimal. Besides, though animated, I doubt any parent would mistake a Wes Anderson movie for a kid's film. Oh, it was kid friendly, with any curse words substituted hilariously with the word “cuss”, but it had all the dry and subtle humor and philosophy of any of Anderson's live films. And of course, parents see anthropomorphic creatures and erroneously assume their toddlers won't be bored. There were only two or three families there besides me, but the youngest kids were definitely part of the G crowd, not PG. “What's dat? What's dat mommy? What's dat?” one little girl kept repeating. Her brother kept saying he wanted to go home. I tried to focus on the witty dialogue and amazing stop animation, how perfectly the expressions fit George Clooney' sly talking or Jason Schwartzman's monotone exasperation. It was outstanding. There were a few deaths in the film, with the more violent ones off screen, but I wonder if the bodies shown afterwards were too much for the 4- or 5-year-olds. The real “terror” came when the little boy in the noisy family stood on his seat, and was “swallowed” by it. He was screaming as the mother tried to pull him out, but he'd gotten wedged between the seat and the back. Another couple helped when the woman looked pleadingly and said, “I don't know what to do!” The father of the older, better behaved child two rows up lifted the little boy out of his predicament pretty easily, and in all the ruckus I missed a crucial scene in which the main character suffers a life-changing injury. I'd say that was my only complaint, but prior to the film I ordered nachos and cheese, expecting them to be heated. The kid behind the counter took one of those plastic trays and dropped a sealed bag of chips in one section, and a sealed plastic pudding-cup like container in the other. “Thanksyouenjoytheshow” he muttered after taking my four bucks, as I stood staring at the incomplete display. The container said “do not microwave” so I guess the cheese was meant to be served cold, but it was still a gross and pasty goo. I won't be getting nachos in that theater again. In the evening, I made it down to the docks in time for a gorgeous sunset, and my material for future photo posts grew even further. I'd return home to finally finish watching the last disc of From the Earth to the Moon and watch my FOX Animation Domination shows before compiling my Phantasmic Links and playing (you guessed it) more Ultimate Alliance.

Day SIX:
Monday for the rest of the world was a Sunday for me, although my dad was once again oblivious to that fact as he flipped on my light at 7 AM. After explaining I had taken another vacation day, he asked if I could clean the gutters. “I didn't mean right now!” he shouted as I began to shuffle downstairs to get the ladder. I went back to bed for two more hours then got the ladder out and pulled out all the leaves. I had some shopping to do near my old job, and was going to see if any of my old friends wanted to meet for lunch, but I got sidetracked when I was unable to locate a Best Buy gift card I'd gotten for my birthday. I could swear it was glued to the inside of a greeting card, draped over a string in the doorway to the kitchen, but it wasn't there. Had I taken it out already? It wasn't in my wallet. Did I lose it? Did I throw it away with the envelope? I searched everywhere, and my mom even started looking under the appliances with a flashlight. I remembered the night I got the card I was wearing a dress jacket, and a search of those pockets revealed only some napkins and four packets of ketchup. If I was drunk enough to pocket and subsequently forget the presence of condiments, then that gift card could be anywhere. I was in despair, and hated that I couldn't remember anything past hanging up the card. My mom calmly helped me retrace my steps, and we realized that the refrigerator door, if open, would be directly beneath those cards. I checked the shelves, and then my mom asked me what color the card was and told me to close the door. I did, and she reached down amid the dozens of magnets and pulled something out that was stuck behind a photo of my friend's kids. “Is this it?” It was, and I was back on track. Going shopping after lunch proved to be a good thing, since the crowds subsided as people returned to work. I got a new, larger memory card for my camera, and then headed to a nearby mall to revisit a food court I hadn't dined at in years. Two major counters were disturbingly vacant, but one old favorite, Charley's Steakery, remained, so I loaded up on steak and cheese and bacon and fries and melted cheese and bacon bits and it was GOOD. Granted, it probably wasn't good for me, and since I've been away from the gym for a week, my run on Tuesday evening is going to be both challenging and necessary. After lunch, I hit Target and probably found it the least crowded I will for a month. I got a card and the first gift for my folks, and browsed the toy aisles for my cousin's kids. I couldn't remember their ages though, and my home phone was busy so I couldn't reach my mom to ask. I called it a day, and returned home to sum up my long weekend(see above) and unwind with a new Heroes.

And maybe play more Ultimate Alliance.

Oh, I'm wasting my life...

Phantasmic Links 11.30.09

2009-11-30T00:09:00.000-05:00

I'm glad my long weekend is almost over, but not over yet. I'll be fully recharged and ready to work for another year after just one more day off. And no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I'll always start the calendar week off with an assortment of fantastic PHANTASMIC LINKS:

(1) Have you seen Smallville's version of the Justice Society? I'm not sure how I feel about those costumes just yet. They might be too faithful, and what looks good on the page looks like something from a comic book convention in real life. I'm still excited about the episode though, and they may look better in motion with different lighting.

(2) Every new Star Wars® Gangsta Rap is better than the last!
Hat Tip: J-No.

(3) These step-by-step photos detail the creation of a “Big Daddy” armored suit based on the video game Bioshock.

(4) In 1969, Chairman Mao had a second city constructed beneath Beijing in the event of a nuclear attack. It was never used, but you can see now how it looks today.

(5) Harrison Lake is home to some of the most amazing sand sculptures I've ever seen. When I was a kid, I was lucky if I got sand to hold the shape of a plastic bucket.

(6) This dude creates a 3D replica of Howl's Moving Castle....with PAPER.

(7) The Universal Record Database is a place where people can record all those records no one considered, or ever would...

(8) Marvel characters take on this year's Thanksgiving parade in the very special “99 Hulk Balloons”.

(9) This baby dances better than I walk. Okay, maybe having a baby on the edge of your kitchen table isn't the best thing to do, but still, that kid got MOVES.
H.T.: B13.

(10) Level up, armor up, and gear up to protect villages from hordes of invading demons in Shadowreign.

Have a link to a game, movie, article, or anything else you think might be “phantasmic”? E-mail me and it just might appear in an upcoming PHANTASMIC LINKS!

WWW: Weekend Wrental Wreviews 19

2009-11-29T00:00:00.000-05:00

Let's see what I saw this week for Weekend Wrental Wreviews in my 19th WWW:

1) Higher Learning:
Using a college campus as a microcosmic representation of America, John Singleton crafts a tragic tale of race, perception, and the unending cycle of violence. At key points, we see how some characters could almost have become friends, but mistakes and old ideas lead to a wider divide and an escalation of hatred. I've never seen this kind of performance from Michael Rapaport. He generally plays a doofus, even when he's injecting other elements into his roles, be they malicious or sympathetic. Here, a flannel-wearing hard rock listening kid trying to fit in and prove himself makes one wrong choice after another. You see why he makes the decisions he makes, and what pushes him down into the hole where he eventually ends up. He is at once a villain and a victim, and one of three key characters in the movie. Kristy Swanson plays the naive white girl afraid of the wrong things. She clutches her purse tightly in an elevator when she sees someone with darker skin, but walks the campus at night alone and gets drunk with the wrong frat guy. She learns, at a price, when to be vigilant and who to choose as her friends, things that cannot be recognized solely on the basis of race. Finally, Omar Epps is a promising young athletic superstar with an attitude. Under the tutelage of a professor played by Laurence Fishburne, he slowly learns to check his ego and work with a team. But pride is a powerful force, and he needs to experience great loss before he can fully appreciate what he has. The guy you overlook today could be your worst enemy tomorrow. The film has its share of hyperbole, and didn't represent my own college experience with diverse friends, but I recognize it as a metaphor for a larger picture as well as the way things might have been on other campuses, or even sections of my own outside my microcosm. I think things are better today; I hope they are. Singleton's final message of “UNLEARN” seems to urge one generation to forget the prejudices of a previous one, but perhaps there's a subtle difference since, to me, forgetting runs the risk of repeating past mistakes. If anything, the lesson should be to REMEMBER and LEARN.

2) Dead Presidents:
I remember the trailers for this movie when I was in college. My friend's sister even dressed up like one of the characters for Halloween. I always thought it was a heist movie, in which the characters wore white face paint with black hats to rob a bank. So when I finally did see it, I was surprised, not unpleasantly, to find that it was so much more. The heist is just one act near the end of a coming-of-age story of disillusionment in the Vietnam era. The youthful dreams of Larenz Tate and his friends, played by Chris Tucker and Freddy Rodriguez are shattered by their experiences in the war, and each returns changed in some way. The war portion of the movie is particularly brutal, on par with many of the major war films, and includes such things as a soldier toting around the severed head of one of their enemies. It pulls no punches. Honestly, any segment of the film, from the coming-of-age portion to the war to the heist contained enough material for one film, but since there's a logical progression from one to another, it makes sense why all are included. Keith David and Terrence Howard round out the cast in this rich tapestry. I don't recall how it did in theaters, but it was interesting that they marketed it with the focus on 15 minutes of the third act of a much richer tale.

3) Choke:
Sam Rockwell plays a sex addict who can't even abstain from sex with the girl he's supposed to be sponsoring in his support group, and a con-man who consistently fakes choking in restaurants to get people to save him, people who subsequently send him money or gifts. On the surface, he doesn't seem to have too many redeeming qualities, but because it's Sam Rockwell, you're compelled to watch this behavior and even root for him. When he's not working in a dead-end colonial reenactment job, he's visiting his mother in the nursing home, and her portrayal by Anjelica Huston adds a heart-breaking element to the film. She refuses to eat, and never recognizes her son, always confusing him for a lawyer or someone else, and she complains to Rockwell that her loser of a son never visits her. As the film delves into his childhood relationship with his mom through flashbacks, we gradually understand why he is the way he is, and even why he looks for strangers in restaurants to save him. When a beautiful young doctor at the home suggests a possible way to restore his mother, she sets off a chain of events that will make him question everything, after which nothing will ever be the same. It's a solid little film adapted from a novel by the author of Fight Club, though this movie has more of an independent, character driven flavor. It's definitely worth checking out. I never even would have heard of it myself, until I read on a message board for increasingly brilliant Community that a line of dialogue about a stripper named “Cherry Daiquiri” was a subtle injoke referencing a character cast-member Gilian Jacobs had played in the movie. It makes me wonder what other clever and obscure references the writers have sent sailing over my head, but I'm glad it led me to a good movie.

More reviews to follow next week after I've spun a few more discs!

In the Core Sitcom Universe

2009-11-28T00:00:00.001-05:00

Thank Full

2009-11-27T00:00:00.004-05:00

I hope everyone had a blessed and happy Thanksgiving this year! My family deviated from tradition slightly this year, possibly forging a new one along the way.

Normally, my Uncle Jerry would join us for such holiday gatherings. Since becoming too demented to live on his own, he's been relocated to an assisted living facility. We probably could have checked him out, but for various reasons I won't get into here, he would have been too much for us to handle. So for the first time in possibly ever, my parents and I had a quiet meal with just the three of us. My mom opted for seasoned deli chunks of turkey as opposed to getting a whole bird, but it was still quite tasty. As for corn, salad, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the rest of the usual side dishes, they were all well and truly accounted for.

My mom also made an angel food cake, which my dad dug into right after the main meal. Since I'd only had my “breakfast” around 11:30 AM and we had “dinner” by 1 PM, I wasn't quite ready for dessert yet. My mom wrapped up a piece to take to my uncle, and soon we were on our way. Parking was abundant and I got a great spot, as most people had been checked out by their families for the day. Inside, my mom checked the main recreation room first in the hope that my uncle had ventured out of his room on his own. He had not. Upstairs, he didn't answer her knocking, but fortunately both she and her oldest brother have spares.

He shuffled to his feet from his bed at the far corner of the room. His television volume was cranking, which is why he probably didn't hear us. His face lit up with recognition when he saw me, but he's definitely not the full person he was a few years ago. My mom asked if he'd had a party that day, and had difficulty getting straight answers. He kept complaining it was cold, although even my folks thought it was hot and they're always cold. I'd thought ahead and worn a short sleeve shirt under my coat, knowing that a building full of the elderly would be warmer than I'd like.

My mom only turned her back on him for a minute or two to talk with my dad and I, who'd become engrossed in the end of Dr. Dolittle. More accurately, I was engrossed while my dad was just waiting for me to put the football game on for him. Meanwhile, Uncle Jerry had put on his neck pillow and climbed under the covers of his bed. “What are you, going back to sleep? HELLO??” asked my mom, when she turned back and saw what he'd done. Apparently he did the same thing to my other Uncle earlier in the week.

My dad by this point started muttering that we should just go home, that he could watch the game there. There really wasn't much point in visiting someone who wasn't aware of our presence. But a nurse soon arrived to take him down for the afternoon meal, and with some effort and help from my mom, they got him on his feet and got his jacket on. He shuffled along like the old man skit Tim Conway used to do, and insisted on taking the stairs rather than the elevator. Eventually we made it to the dining hall, and the nurse said we'd be able to sit with him since a lot of people were out for the day. One of the younger nurses walked by and my uncle shook her hand and introduced us. She'd met my folks before, and recognized me from my uncle's photos. When she moved to continue on her way, Uncle Jerry continued gripping her hand. “Oh, you don't want me to leave?” she asked. He just smiled. Player.

It took another ten minutes to traverse the dining area. “She's not there...” he mumbled, but we didn't know who he was looking for. One of the nurses? One of the patients he usually sits with? There were cards on the tables with people's names, but the staff told us we could sit anywhere. He got to his usual table and was joined by a few others, though one woman came over reluctantly, thrown off by the chaos of the “sit anywhere” business even after her son assured her that the assigned seat rule had been lifted for the day. My dad slipped off to find a television, and when all the other seats at the table were full I left my mom with her brother so I could find my dad. But I got stuck at a ramp where people with walkers kept materializing. It was like I was in some kind of video game. One would make it to the top and I'd start to proceed, but then “BAMF!”, a new one was at the bottom of the ramp. I was waiting so long that my dad actually came back, and called up to me that someone was turning on a television for him in the rec room, but he wanted me to ask my mom if it was okay, if it wasn't rude.

I told my mom that her “other son” was asking permission to watch TV, which she granted with a small smile. I checked on my dad for a bit as he watched the game in giant flat screen glory in a room all to himself, then back on my mom, who'd gotten food for my uncle to slowly pick at. Sandwiches probably weren't the best choice for someone with false teeth. Still, he managed, and had a better time with the potato salad and fresh fruit. One of the workers came around with various pills, but my uncle refused his. “We fight every night about this,” she told my mom. My mom had better luck sticking the pill in his mouth and getting him to wash it down with some juice. Then, after retrieving my father, we made the long journey back upstairs to my Uncle's room. Inside, Home Alone was just wrapping up on the television, and ”the old man got to me.” Fortunately, that one scene with that heart-tugging score didn't last long, and I maintained my composure for a family photo before we said good night, leaving my uncle standing in front of his bureau devouring the cake my mom had brought.

It's always interesting to see the people in that place, the varying degrees of competency and awareness. At one point while watching the game, my dad matter-of-factly told me, “Yeah, I think I'm going to die this year.” He's been saying that nearly every year as long as I've known him, but I still felt compelled to remind him that he's in much better shape than most people pushing 80. He rakes leaves, climbs ladders, carries things, and works on cars, and wonders why it puts more of a strain on him than it used to. Other guys his age are sitting staring at walls drooling. I'm thankful my family is still here, that their health is for the most part still good. My dad is in a lot better shape than he was at the beginning of the year when he was in a nursing home himself. He definitely didn't like being there and I don't blame him. But we had to be there for my Uncle, who despite asking us if we voted that morning, on some level of consciousness was aware of what day it really was, and that his family was there. My parents see him a few times a week, while I'm only there once every few months, yet he still knew enough to introduce me to people as his nephew. That's something to be thankful for. And all of the people in that home hopefully led exciting or interesting lives prior to settling there, and have memories they can be thankful of. As for me, I'm thankful that I can go where I want, when I want. The visit certainly served as a reminder that maybe I need to exercise my freedom more often, while there's still time. It all goes so fast. I'm thankful it doesn't go faster. And I’m determined to stick around on this world as long as possible, because I don’t want to miss anything. If I end up in a home with no internet access though, then and only then might I be ready to go....

Young Blood

2009-11-26T00:00:00.002-05:00

I've successfully donated blood about four times now, and was unsuccessful once. My first attempt was back in high school, and it was a horrible experience. Back then, they'd prick your thumb with, in my memory, a big thumb tack. It probably wasn't that bad, but with sensitive nerve endings in the tip of my thumb, that hurt worse than the needle in my arm when they drew blood. I made the mistake of glancing at the tube of red stuff flowing out of me into a bag, and felt a little woozy. About the only good part of the experience was, before leaving the gymnasium, having a veritable feast of cookies and drinks. I can't think of any other situation in life where I'd combine Oreos and apple juice, but that's what they serve to boost sugar. It was a Friday night in my senior year, because at the time I had a job with the student cleaning crew assisting the maintenance staff. I was lightheaded, though some of it was psychological, and cleaning all the windows in the school took a little longer than usual. I remember wondering at the time if that was what it was like to feel drunk. I'd be in college before I'd learn that the sensation was similar.

About a month after my first donation, I came home from school to find my mom fairly upset. There was a letter saying my blood had been rejected, and that I should see my doctor because the blood bank thought I was anemic. It was nice of them to wait so long to tell us. Of course, everything checked out fine with the doctor, so we assumed the technicians had screwed up and wasted perfectly good blood. I'd gone through it all for nothing, and I was done with needles. Flash forward eight years and I'd be in the hospital with severe internal bleeding, within a pint of needing a blood transfusion. An exploratory procedure confirmed the problem to be a birth defect in my intestines known as a Meckel's diverticulum, a long shot but the doctors' best guess. The surgeon resectioned my intestines and removed my appendix while he had me open, and after a few days on morphine with a nasogastric tube siphoning my stomach, I was finally allowed to eat real food again.

One thing the experience got me used to was needles, since they were drawing blood from me three or four times a day to (ironically) test how much I was losing. Subsequent checkups were much easier and I didn't fear blood tests or needles. It really was just a momentary pinch after which I was fine. Still, whenever the blood bank stopped by my office, I wasn't too inclined to go out to those mobile centers out in the parking lot. Something about having my blood drained in a trailer didn't appeal to me. Three years ago when I changed jobs, I finally caved and decided to donate. The office blood captain was very persuasive, and besides it was in the cafeteria, which was more appealing to me than the trailers, even though it was probably less appealing for anyone eating lunch on the other side of the curtains.

According to the stickers I've accumulated in my cubicle, this past Tuesday marks my fourth donation. One of my friends has dubbed me a “blood buddy” since my presence is relaxing or distracting. She probably doesn't realize that the whole experience kind of still makes me nervous. I worry about passing out, which ironically makes me feel more light headed. Usually I close my eyes or simply lift my thoughts up out of my body and detach myself from what's happening. And I never, ever look at the tube or the bag. I tried to convince another office friend to start donating, using the mental detachment argument, but he can't get past the feeling of a needle stuck in there for an extended period of time.

One thing that has greatly improved is the little finger prick they do in the preliminary testing. Instead of a metal tack, there's some little plastic thing with a small metal pin inside that they click, and it only takes a second. I remember the nurse taking forever to push the metal into my thumb back in high school. They also use the ring finger which seems to have less sensitive nerve endings. This year, I braced myself for the pinch, and didn't feel a thing after the click. It was great. “Uh oh,” said the nurse, “Did it...yeah, I think that one broke.” “What do yo--ooohh!” I began as she tried again with a new one. “Felt that one, did you?” she asked. I knew it was too good to be true. When she asked for my blood type, I was somewhat positive that it was O+, the universal donor. When asked to present my card, I whipped out my red CVS card, which apparently didn't count. I cleaned my wallet out a few months ago and I guess I never put my donor card back in. I'd find it later and confirm that I was right about my blood type.

Honestly, the whole procedure of filling out paperwork and having a nurse check my blood, temperature, and blood pressure took longer than the actual donation. Each time seems faster than the last, and the anticipation between sitting in the waiting area and lying on the cot waiting for a vein to be found and pierced is worse than the actual lying there with blood draining out. I felt like I'd just begun when I was told I was almost finished. I didn't even feel all that light headed when I got up, though I still made a pig of myself with the juice and cookies.

Because my type can be given to anyone, the blood telemarketers harass me throughout the year. My company has increased to two drives per year, and I donate any time they come around. But when I get those phone calls, at work no less, I'm sort of a dick about it and hang up. I've learned to recognize the silence at the other end of the line that precedes an operator getting on the phone upon realizing a live person has answered. I know it's wrong, but I figure the once or twice I give each year is still better than not at all. According to my papers, the next time I'd regenerate enough to donate again won't be until January any way. So we'll see if I continue to hang up or start making other contributions throughout the year, if they finally break me down. I never thought I'd ever donate again after my high school experience, and I do hope that each time I donate now my blood is put to good use. Maybe there's someone out there on an operating table as I once was, who won't be so fortunate as to have a problem resolved without the help of a transfusion. I know the stock photo families on the posters aren't real, that I'll never see the people my blood goes to. But it goes somewhere, and that's enough.

Of course, with my luck, some clumsy orderly tripped and dropped mine on the way out. if that happened, I'd rather not know.

PBW: Mom's Crafty

2009-11-25T00:00:00.003-05:00

My mom was a fairly good painter in her youth, although I think I was in my 20s before I found out some of the paintings hanging in our house were done by her. I guess I didn’t recognize the initials painted in the corners since they were done before she was married. But I have always known my mom was good at crafts, from sewing to crochet to making wreaths. One of her specialties is making angels out of styrofoam and fabric maché and painting them gold. She sells them at various craft fairs throughout the year, and this past weekend I got some shots of my folks along with her creations at one such event for a Photo Blog Wednesday pre-holiday special:

Turtles Forever

2009-11-24T00:00:00.001-05:00

As far as I knew, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles began as a goofy '80s cartoon about four pizza-loving green heroes spouting catch phrases like “Cowabunga!” or “Turtle Power!” There were toys and a variety of merchandise, and by 1990 they even got their own live action movie, the first film I saw in my home town's first movie theater. I had never been to the movies without at least one parent accompanying me, and I remember begging my folks and cleaning the entire house for a week to get them to let me go with my friends unsupervised. I even did a little drawing of the four characters and put them the refrigerator as a reminder.

The turtles were probably my second most frequently drawn characters after, of course, The Transformers. By the time I was in high school, I had gotten into comic books and started drawing superheroes. And old, “hipper” collectors showed me the Mirage comic series that inspired the show. It was much darker than what I'd been watching, black and white panels with style and dialogue influenced in part by Miller's Daredevil. If the film version of the turtles differed from the cartoon I grew up watching, it was because it was more faithful to the source material. I altered my drawing style to look more like the comics, and even attended a class at my local library taught by none other than Turtles co-creator Peter Laird.

By college, I was majoring in art, with more of a focus on graphic design than illustration. I would also make several pilgrimages a year with my friends to the Words and Pictures Museum in Massachusetts, founded by the other creator of the Turtles, Kevin Eastman. That museum respected comics as “sequential art”, and exhibited original pieces from both independent and big name illustrators. And of course there were plenty of life-sized Turtles lurking about in the rafters. It was a cool place; a shame it's gone.

In 2003, a new animated series debuted, with darker, edgier Turtles closer to their comic book roots. Gone were the initials on the belt buckles to tell the characters apart. No longer were the pupils drawn on the masks, just opaque slits. They trained as actual ninjas, and kept their existence secret from the public, while the Turtles from the first series often flew around in a balloon or drove in a van bearing their logo. The series ran for 7 seasons, and with the exception of one season that had our heroes trapped in the future with a younger sidekick, it maintained its dark tone. Characters died, and a lot was at stake. Injuries carried over from episode to episode, and there was genuine continuity and personal growth. Leonardo took on much responsibility for his brothers, and trained the hardest, going solo in Japan for a bit after a personal crisis. Donatello was still the scientist of the group, although he went through an arc in which science nearly destroyed him. Raphael was the belligerent loner of the group, though beneath his tough exterior beat fierce love for his brothers and their sensei/”father” Master Splinter. Michelangelo was probably the closest to his 1987 version, still the comedian of the group, here a comic book aficionado with a penchant for dressing up like his favorite heroes at times. He retained the lighter spirit of the old show, and collectively the whole cast made up an outstanding hybrid of the source comics and prior series.

SPOILERS follow for the conclusion of the series and a follow-up movie:

That show ended with the wedding of the Turtles' human friends and allies, April O'Neil and Casey Jones. Things of course do not go smoothly with the arrival of Cyber Shredder, but all the Turtles' old allies join forces to defeat their enemy once and for all. This was not the same Shredder who was their main foe through the first few seasons of the show; in a twist, he was revealed to be an alien and had been exiled to a distant, frozen world following his defeat. There were actually 3 or 4 Shredders over the course of the series, with a history too convoluted to get into here. But they were all more menacing and formidable than 1987's Shredder.

Every Turtles series culminated this past Saturday in Turtles Forever, an epic feature-length adventure in which the 2003 Turtles meet their 1987 counterparts, thanks to an interdimensional mishap with the Technodrome, the giant rolling fortress of ‘87 Shredder and his interdimensional ally Krang. The film opens on a familiar 2003 scene, as Hun and his gang are confronted during an electronics robbery by a quartet of shadowy green figures. Master Splinter catches a reference to this on the news, and thinks his sons have been careless, but since none of them had ventured out that night, they soon realize something's not right.

Hun captures his attackers, who are revealed to be the ‘87 Turtles, and the 2003 versions come to the rescue of their alternate universe counterparts. Mikey, of course, takes to them instantly, while Raph finds them irritating. Shredder and Krang are in the ‘03 universe as well, along with the Technodrome and Bebop and Rocksteady, who did not have counterparts in the new cartoon. The two Turtle quartets join forces and find time for a visit to the ‘87 universe, while Shredder uses the Technodrome to locate and revive his counterpart, the deadly alien Shredder. ‘03 Shredder quickly takes control of the situation, upgrading the technology of the interdimensional travelers while reuniting with his old allies. He eventually discovers that these two groups of turtles are but a small part of a multiverse, and in one spectacular sequence of floating screens we get cameos of every comic book, live action, or CGI incarnation of the franchise. He tracks it all to a prime dimension, and the biggest treat of the film is finally seeing the black and white original Mirage Turtles animated. Raph is as enamored with the gritty source universe as Mikey is of the ‘80s “pudgeballs”, but they all fall quickly to the black-and-white originals, all while Mirage Leo narrates in a gritty voice: “I strike two on my way down. Donatello...takes out a third with his staff. Already the PUDGY ones are starting to panic. Raph LOVES this stuff. He's not alone.” The narration strikes the ‘03 Turtles as insane, as much as the ‘87 group's penchant to break the fourth wall and address the unseen audience.

The idea of multiple universes colliding is hardly an original one, but for TMNT to go through their own Crisis was definitely a fitting tribute to the 25-year-old franchise. It makes me feel old to realize they've been around that long, but Eastman and Laird's creations have come a long way, and this film certainly demonstrates that. It wasn't without its flaws, as the lack of some of the original voice actors is painfully noticeable in some instances. But the concept works in connecting all that's come before into one cohesive conclusion to this chapter, while acknowledging that it's not over. Now that Laird has sold off all the rights to Nickelodeon, it remains to be seen where these characters will go next. A new series is apparently in the works for 2012. Meanwhile, all the original incarnations are intact as we remember them, and all the universes Turtles Forever touched upon can be visited at any time. You don't even need a Technodrome to get there, just some DVDs and back issues.

Cowabunga.

Phantasmic Links 11.23.09

2009-11-23T00:43:00.000-05:00

It was nice, if slightly boring, to have a quiet weekend for a change. I helped my mom with a craft fair, got some photos, and caught up on some DVDs and TV shows. The one-time only debut of the epic Turtles Forever had me in front of a television early on Saturday morning with a bowl of cereal, taking me back in many ways as characters from 1987 met their 2003 incarnations. It was definitely a highlight. Other highlights found during my online travels can be found below, in this week's PHANTASMIC LINKS:

(1) You must help a panda recover the broken pieces of the time-travelling portaloo which has stranded him among four different time periods. Really, there's not much else you need to know.

(2) Successful surgical hand reattachment. WARNING: EXTREMELY GRAPHIC.

(3) These are 15 of the dumbest superhero retcons of all time, not that any situation where a comic book writer tells us, “forget what you read, this is what really happened” is ever a great one, with few exceptions. I'm more impressed when a story is shown to have been planned out, and when writers stick to what's been established. The fact that no change ever seemed permanent was one of the reasons I stopped collecting and reading comics to begin with, because it all seemed to be going in circles after a while. (Although the stuff I've read online about what they're doing with Norman Osborn in Dark Reign sounds pretty cool, and would never have been possible if the character stayed “dead”.)
Hat Tip: J-No.

(4) One artist proves that some characters are BETTER...with BEARDS. I think Bearded Batman might find it harder to conceal his secret identity...

(5) Kiss your productivity goodbye with Free Frogger. It's like crack.

(6) Take tattoos to the next level with LED. Changing the name of an ex will be easier than ever!

(7) How can you escape when you're alone in The Company of Myself? Sometimes, you're all the help you need....although that last level took me FOREVER.

(8) In the category of “Why didn't someone think of this sooner?”, I present bacon flavored envelope glue. If it killed me I'd die happy...
H.T.: J-No.

(9) This gallery of nylon fabric sculptures is INSANE. I had to do one of those for a high school project and made a replica of my chemistry teacher's wrinkled old head, but it looked nowhere near as good or realistic as these.

(10) Enjoy challenging two-player gaming with yourself as you take control of Fireboy AND Watergirl in The Forest Temple. Can your left and right hands work together to navigate every level?

Have a link to a game, movie, article, or anything else you think might be “phantasmic”? E-mail me and it just might appear in an upcoming PHANTASMIC LINKS!

WWW: Weekend Wrental Wreviews 18

2009-11-22T00:00:00.000-05:00

Let's see what I saw this week for Weekend Wrental Wreviews in my 18th WWW:

1) Legally Blonde:
While I felt that I was clearly not the target audience for this classic tale of female empowerment, I can't exactly say it was a bad movie. Reese Witherspoon might start out playing the queen of the dumb sorority girls, but her character quickly proves how smart and capable she truly is when she follows her jerky ex-boyfriend to Harvard law school and, surprise, succeeds. That's an ironic “surprise” in the preceding sentence, since anyone familiar with the Hollywood formula can pretty much predict what's going to happen here. But Witherspoon proves likable as always, and wins over her audience even as her character wins over her professors, classmates, and even a courtroom, because under Article What Section Whatever of Habbeus Hollywoodus, even a Law Student might represent a client in a murder trial. Just go with it. There's a solid supporting cast here that includes Luke Wilson, Selma Blair, Victor Garber, and Ali Larter. Guys might cringe at things like the sheer volume of pink clothing and a musical sequence in a beauty shop where Witherspoon teaches middle-aged women how to “bend and snap”, but there are some laughs in there as well. In the end, I almost gave it four out of five stars, until they did that cliché ‘80s thing where superimposed captions tell you what happens to all of the characters. In the ‘80s this works, especially if you find out what students go on to do later in life for example. But here, the captions tell you what happens MINUTES AFTER THE FINAL SCENE, and it comes across like they ran out of film or couldn't pay the actors any more, even though it was a case where it would have been better to show rather than tell us. So I subtracted a star, put the movie back in its mailing sleeve, and subsequently went to a Metallica concert.

2) The Shipping News:
This movie is at times outstanding, heartbreaking, and hopeful. Kevin Spacey plays a shy and awkward loser whose love for Cate Blanchett's character blinds him to her flaws, until tragedy strikes. When a previously-unknown Aunt played by Judy Dench shows up, Spacey and his daughter relocate to Newfoundland, where he learns hidden truths about his family and the hidden potential within himself. An ink setter often berated by his father for everything from not being a good swimmer to not being successful, he finds himself working as a reporter for a small newspaper. With some coaching from veteran writers and his own instincts, he soon gets to be pretty good, and some of the short, catchy headlines that pop up in his narration will bring a smile to your face. “Lumbering Idiot Stuns Crowd--for a Change” was one of my favorites. The theme of Man vs. Nature is just as strong as Man's Inhumanity to Man here, in a town where people seem to accept that storms and the ocean will claim more than a few lives each year. It's the last place one would expect to find hope, so it's all that much more satisfying when our protagonists do.

3) Monsters vs. Aliens:
Pixar might be the undisputed master of computer animation, but if anyone can dispute them it would be Dreamworks, and M.v.A. certainly is a shining example of how great they are too. As I expected, Seth Rogen got some of the best laughs, voicing B.O.B., a brainless mass of gelatinous blue goo with an eyeball and some intelligence. Reese Witherspoon shines here as a bride-to-be turned into a giant freak by a meteorite on her wedding day, who soon finds true friends in other government-contained monsters when they unite against an invading alien force led by Rainn Wilson. The premise is pretty basic: aliens invade so the government sics monsters on them. But it works, and it's all so pretty. People look more and more real in these things. Textures like hair and fur are insane. Water is fluid, as it should be. Eyes are shiny and seem to stare back at you. In one sequence, as the Golden Gate Bridge crumbles, it really looks like they destroyed the actual bridge, as cables snap and concrete dividers are tossed around. Animation has come a long way, and with little nuggets in this movie like the theme from Close Encounters and Axel F, there's more than a few treats in there for parents to enjoy too.

More reviews to follow next week after I've spun a few more discs!

The Birthankschriangle

2009-11-21T00:00:00.002-05:00

There is a dark and deadly triangle my friends, one that cannot be seen, heard, nor touched, but trust me when I say that it is real, it does exist, and its effects are felt.

In college, a cheese stick at 1 AM on a camping trip earned me the nickname of the “Snackin'est Mutha****a in the World”, although it wasn't just that cheese stick. It was that snack, at that time, that made one of my friends realize that I always had a cookie, chip, or some other food item in my hands at any given moment. When our art club had meetings, I was the soda and chips guy, in that I purchased and consumed most of the soda and chips. I had more munchies than a pothead, which makes me shudder to think what effect the stuff might have had on me if I ever tried it. I'd probably have turned into Galactus; I've already got the head for it.

My big downfall after I graduated was the propagation of a little chain called Starbucks; have you heard of it? I was never a big coffee drinker, and mostly went there at lunch for social reasons, to be around a girl I liked. We eventually dated for two-and-a-half years once she dropped enough anvils letting me know that she liked me as well, and I'm very fortunate for that time since five Venti Mocha Frappuccinos a week with whipped cream tend to add a little weight. There was one Summer before my senior year of college in which running around for six hours in the hot sun for my job at a gas station helped me slim down quite a bit. I didn't realize how much until recently when I looked at some old photos.

The next time I'd lose significant weight would be when, at the age of 25, a birth defect in my intestines that only effects 2% of the population, and is usually diagnosed in infants, up and decided, “Hey, I'ma gonna rupture now.” After nearly bleeding to death, the problem was diagnosed, with the offending culprit removed, and I spent 11 days in the hospital with only IV fluids to sustain me. Gradually, I got back strength and confidence and soon resumed a normal life, and a few years later when my company added a gym, some friends coaxed me into joining. It was one of the best decisions of my life.

I treated the treadmill like a video game, did constant math with the numbers on the display to calculate how fast I would have to run to achieve a certain distance in a certain time, and every day I tried to “beat” my score. I eventually ran in several inter-company races, and it was very satisfying to think that the chubby kid who could barely run during his school years because he'd get sharp pains in his side was now running competitively. When I lost my old job I lost my gym, and I put weight back on very quickly over one dark Winter. When my energy levels dropped and old feelings of anxiety, lightheadedness, and shortness of breath returned in stressful situations, I knew I needed a new gym. The new one was more expensive, but had better equipment, and was worth it. Just as before, I had to start slow, but gradually worked my way up. I didn't get back to where I was until this past Summer, when training for a race, and after I finished the race well below my goal time, I didn't stop running every day in the gym. People who hadn't seen me in a while on band gigs would comment that I was looking slim, so eventually I mustered up the courage to get on a scale, and I'd gone from almost 200 pounds earlier this year down to 175, which while still 25 pounds more than that one year in college is still an improvement.

The last time I got on a scale was a few weeks ago, after I found I had to punch a new hole in my belt to keep my jeans up. But now, now I'm afraid. You see, now I'm inside the first point of that dreaded triangle. My birthday starts things off in November, and between the cupcakes some girls at work gave me and the arsenal of snacks my parents bought, I've been feeling the effects of gravity more and more on that treadmill. I'm still managing 6 miles a day, but it's starting to get harder again. And I get this mentality that the sooner I finish those snacks, the sooner those cupcakes and Kit Kats and Doritos and Milanos and chocolate chip muffins and pudding cups and ice cream cake are GONE, the sooner I get back to my routine.

Only scraps remain now. The Milanos and Kit Kats were the first to fall, followed shortly by the Doritos. One cupcake and one back of mini muffins remain. The ice cream cake didn't know what hit it. Oddly enough, my mom always stocks the refrigerator with cartons of ice cream in the early Fall; I'm guessing the prices are right this time of year. Some nights I've caught myself taking granola bars, one of my healthier snacks, and dipping them into an ice cream “soup” which is just ice cream in a bowl with milk poured in, possibly some dried cereal like Rice Krispies. Seriously, when it comes to gluttony, I'm an artiste. When it comes to will power, it only extends a certain distance. If I have to leave the house to get a snack, I won't. But if it's in the freezer a few feet away, I have a problem. I might tell myself that tonight I'm going to skip dessert, but then I black out or something and find myself slumped in front of an Office rerun with an empty bowl and the faint scent of chocolate from the residue within.

I'm still running. And every day I walk at least two miles at lunch, so long as the weather continues to permit. But my birthday is only the beginning. Thanksgiving will be here in just a few short days. With my Uncle Jerry in a nursing home with dementia this year, he won't be bringing by Cannoli and other pastries from an Italian bakery, but that won't stop my mom from making turkey AND lasagna AND buying a slew of desserts. It won't be as bad as my birthday with leftover snacks lingering, but it will strike before I've had a chance to recover from my birthday, and just as I'm getting over Thanksgiving, guess what? Point #3: Christmas. I'm DOOMED.

I haven't gotten on a scale, but I can see it in the mirror, see angles rounding out and disappearing, definition in my face lost as my cheeks balloon out. I feel that sickly feeling where love handles spill out the sides and drape below the pelvic bones. And I'm a lot more tired than I should be. A lesser man might quit the gym entirely while in this triangle; a wiser one would put his membership on hold, since I just come home and cancel out whatever work I'm doing. But I don't think I should stop, because this isn't a losing battle. Right now, this is a holding action, and the enemy is gaining some ground, but not winning. If I can just hold on for six more weeks, then I'll be poised in January for one hell of a comeback. Let the holidays take their toll for two months out of the year; the other ten belong to a runner leaving the Snackin'-est Mutha in the dust.

My YEAH Five

2009-11-20T00:35:00.003-05:00

I think musicians have a bit more leeway than poets in that they can twist, extend, or distort words to fit melodies and rhyme schemes. A hallmark of rock and rap singers in particular is the “YEAH”, a four-letter word that can be used in a surprising variety of ways, to punctuate, bridge, buffer, and just in general support the rest of the lyrics. Here are My Five best musical “YEAH” masters, in no particular order:

1) Eddie Vedder:
The lead singer of Pearl Jam is notorious for scrambling, distorting, and exhaling his “YEAH”s until they're virtually unrecognizable. Most sound like “ehhhyahh”, and sometimes I'll mistake other words like “again” for his signature “YEAH”. For a good example, take a look at Even Flow with lyrics:

2) Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell:
The harmonic duo that brought us the unique sound of Alice in Chains might be no more since Staley's drug overdose in 2002, but I've been listening to the group's new album since they brought in a new vocalist, and I have to say I'm impressed with how intact their original sound is. But since their sound originated with Staley/Cantrell, let's listen to their rendition of Again, with elongated “Y”s and “H”s:

3) The Who's “Won't Get Fooled Again”:
Roger Daltry belts out like a two-minute “YEEEEEEAAAAAAH” almost 8 minutes into this song; of course it's on the list:

4) She Loves You by The Beatles:
It's this of old-school “YEAH YEAH YEAH!” simplicity that makes up the foundation of everything that's been done since then:

5) Lil Jon:
I think we all knew I was going to end up here. Sure, if we're looking for good and original hip hop “YEAH”s, we'd be better off looking at someone like Flavor Flav. But this way I get to save Flav for a “BOYEEE” five and instead share a Dave Chapelle Lil Jon skit, since those are so much funnier:

Do you agree with my choices? There's probably some word to answer that inquiry in the positive, but it escapes me right now...

27 Years

2009-11-19T00:00:00.001-05:00

”So I just spoke with your Uncle Dean,” said my dad.

“Oh yeah?” I replied, “How's he doing?” I hadn't seen my godfather since my dad's nursing home stint at the beginning of the year, but he'd made a point of calling my dad several times a week since then. There's nothing like almost losing a friend to remind us of his or her importance, and as the man who helped introduce my folks, Uncle Dean was more family than friend.

“He was calling to say his brother passed away.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” condoled I, “Are you going to the wake, then?”

“No, he's already buried. They hadn't spoken for 27 years.”

“27 years?!”

“Yeah, he answered the phone, and his sister-in-law simply told him, ‘Your brother's dead. Goodbye.' Then she hung up.”

My dad went on to tell me how the two brothers were equally stubborn. Uncle Dean's brother, in my dad's words, was “a bit of a playboy,” and wasn't much help when their mother was dying. After she was gone, the brother moved out of state, and the two never spoke again. And now, they never would. The silence had become irreversible.

I've never held on to a girlfriend for more than two-and-a-half years, or a single job for more than seven; I can't fathom holding a grudge for TWENTY-SEVEN. There was a period of time before I was born, when my dad didn't speak to his oldest sister over a property dispute after my grandfather had died(she sued him with the family lawyer to take their old house). Eventually they got back to speaking again, and once or twice a year she'll call from Florida. “I can forgive, but I'll never forget,” he'll tell me. There's still tension, but at least they're talking.

I guess it comes down to the path of least resistance. The good things take work and effort to hold on to; ironically the negative stuff is easier to keep and difficult to shed. I'm glad my aunt and my dad reached some form of uneasy truce before it was too late. It’s a genuine shame that my Uncle Dean’s relationship with his brother died 27 years before the man did. Proud and stubborn though my godfather may be, he’s also a man of caring and concern, evidenced by how frequently he visited my dad when he was sick. He’s maintained a friendship with my dad, who’s like a brother, for far longer than he kept that grudge. The people in our lives, whether placed there by biology or chance, each play some important role, not to be discarded lightly. If their friendship could last that long, if my parents’ marriage has now passed 39 years, then it proves that sometimes, just sometimes, good things last too.

PBW: The Accidental Oasis

2009-11-18T00:05:00.009-05:00

Some of my best Photo Blog Wednesday adventures happen when I have absolutely no plan at all. Driving aimlessly on Monday afternoon, I passed a sign for the Vanderbilt Museum and Planetarium, a place I haven't been to since an elementary school field trip. I remember the grounds and structures were very nice, and grew excited at the opportunity to return there as an adult. The van crowding my rear bumper had other ideas, however, so I missed my turn. I made the first left I could, and was soon driving down a narrow two lane road alongside the water. I ended up in some beautiful waterfront town, and decided to park there and take pictures. It was idyllic, and I wondered where this hidden treasure was exactly. As I walked along the shore, I couldn't help but notice how much this little community resembled Northport. As my perspective changed, I began to think it was Northport, and then I noticed the name on some signs. I'd been there dozens of times, from parades to dates to solo photo excursions, but had always come in through the main road. The little side street I accidentally discovered was a back way in that shaved several minutes off the route I used to take whenever I'd go there. I wish I knew about that street ten years ago. In any case, it was a beautiful day, and a perfect place to spend a day off from the office. As for the Vanderbilt site, I managed to drive past it later and see that it was closed. I'll have to save that for the future, and not on a Monday.

MetallicAgain

2009-11-17T00:00:00.000-05:00

Back in January, I had the privilege of seeing Metallica play live at Nassau Coliseum, my first time seeing the band perform. They didn't disappoint, playing a healthy mix of the best of their old stuff with songs from their latest album, skipping all the disappointing stuff in between. After their first five albums, things went downhill for a while, but they're starting to sound good again. It was an amazing experience, with lasers, pyrotechnics, and audience participation. When my friend told me they'd be playing again in November at Madison Square Garden, I didn't need to be invited twice. Though they sure don't show any signs of it, they are aging, so I shouldn't miss any opportunity to see them live.

It was nice not to worry about driving, to be able to take the train directly in. We had a group of about 10 people, but since seating was sold in groups no greater than two, we were somewhat spread out. Originally there was only going to be one show on Saturday, but once that sold out, a Sunday show was added as well, and that's where we fit in. We opted to go to a bar for drinks first and skip the first two acts, heading upstairs around 9 PM when it was almost time for the main event. I ended up sitting with some kid that worked for my friend's brother-in-law, and he spent most of the time talking about how his girlfriend had done “something”(I assumed cheated) but that he forgave her and didn't want to throw away four years together. She had taken him to his first rock concert and it stuck with him, and he hoped she would understand him taking his boss up on the offer to see Metallica when he had an extra ticket. Still, the kid ended up cutting out a little early so he could see his girl, and I ended up having a section to myself for a while.

At some point, a trio of drunk idiots came along, and one asked if the seat next to me was taken. My friend had texted me that he was going to join me but needed my seat number, so I told them it was taken. After a few minutes when no one took any of the vacant seats next to me, the trio returned, edging their way in. The guy next to me sported a Punisher t-shirt and looked a bit like Zaboo from The Guild. I held my ground, and decided to be a bigger drunk idiot, even though I'd only had five beers and they had a few hours to wear off by that point. I moshed. I threw my fists up in the air, in hopes that I might “accidentally” catch him on his unshaven chin. It was a fight for personal space that I was somehow losing. During one song I didn't recognize, I sat down for a bit to catch my breath. Some tunes, like Sad but True, sent me into an exhausting frenzy. And as good as the show was, it was simply a better version of the one I'd seen in January. The same coffins hung around the stage, with lights mounted on them as they moved. There were laser light shows and jets of flames, and even some of Hetfield's schtick as he addressed the crowd was the same.(“Oh, YEAH?! Oh....YEEEAH?”) So I didn't feel like I would miss anything if I sat down for a song or two. When “Zaboo” almost fell on me, I flat SHOVED him into his friends. “Sorry...” he murmured, regaining his balance, before sinking back into headbanging oblivion. Kids today. Ironically, one of my friends at work thought I'd be the youngest person at the show.

At the end, James teased us by pretending to remove his guitar. We'd boo when he lifted the strap off his shoulder and cheer when he put it back on. But we knew there would be encores as usual, from the Mistfit's Last Caress cover to Seek and Destroy, the ultimate anchor song. As black beach balls rained down on the crowd, I was overwhelmed by how awesome it was to hear Hetfield work “New York City” into the lyrics. It's a corny thing that bands do, and with that song they already have the word “city” in there, but for whatever reason it was great to hear. After two-and-a-half hours of nearly non-stop thrashing, the show was over, or so we thought.

With the house lights on, I could spot the rest of my party. They were actually in the same row, but four sections over. My friend had texted me their location during the show, but I was busy with my turf war for those last few songs. As I made my way over, I heard a commotion down below, and turned to see someone covered in whipped cream with paper plates stuck to him. As he wiped himself off, I saw it was lead guitarist Kirk Hammett. “You knew that was comin'” said Hetfield, grinning ear-to-ear. “It's close enough to your birthday.” And then, something I never, ever expected to happen occurred. The lead singer of freaking METALLICA led a packed MSG in singing “Happy Birthday”. You expect a Metallica show to end with Seek and Destroy, but this was probably a once-in-a-lifetime surreal experience. When else am I going to sing such a universal, tame song with thousands of people at the end of a heavy metal concert?

So, it was a fun night. Downstairs, the bouncer outside a bar stopped one member of our group from going in. “You've had enough.” was all the guy said to him. My friend stepped up, expecting an argument, and asked if he could go in to get his wife and her friend, who were seated a few feet away. “Yeah, go ahead, go get whoever you want,” said the bouncer, as though it were a non-issue. As several other people walked in without any problems, the banned guy stood with a look of disbelief and confusion. We couldn't figure out what it was about him that made the bouncer keep him out but let everyone else in. It was very odd, and a source for many jokes on the train ride home. I dozed a bit, and though there was talk of hitting another bar when we got back, everybody was tired and we soon went our separate ways. I was glad to have Monday off to recuperate, even if the sound of my old man with a leaf blower soon had me out of bed.

Metallica didn't disappoint. I might wait a while before seeing them again, since the shows were so similar. If another album comes out that I like, I'd definitely go, or if enough time passes that they switch up their set list a bit. My mom never liked that kind of music, always complaining that it “glorifies death”. She also asks if any bats' heads were bitten off or if people drank a bucket of saliva. I think she's thinking of Ozzy, and I'm not sure if any of that stuff happened or if it was urban legend. And while I found myself chanting “DIE! DIE! DIE!” with thousands of people during Creeeping Death, it occurred to me that, if anything, a rock concert is a celebration of life. Here are these guys in their 40s and 50s running back and forth on stage, playing and singing to the fullest extent, to a totally energized crowd. We were all very much alive, and making as much noise as possible to affirm that fact. And when you get past the coffin props and lyrics and look at things that way, suddenly it's very fitting to end the show celebrating someone's birth.

Phantasmic Links 11.16.09

2009-11-16T02:00:00.000-05:00

Feeling my age didn't stop me from ending my weekend seeing Metallica in concert again, and no matter how old you are, you can start your week with PHANTASMIC LINKS:

(1) Since it probably wouldn't be rockin' to begin with, if I ever got a van I could totally see myself decorating it with some of these ‘70s superheroes.

(2) You must listen to this album from an alternate universe in which The Beatles never broke up.

(3) These are some dirty, dirty computers. I'd hate to see what the inside of my computers look like. It's bad enough my transparent keyboard allows me to see that it has just as much hair as my chest now....

(4) We all know that roughly 70% of the Earth's surface is covered by water. Do you know where else you can find water? THE MOON.

(5) The giant robots are invading Montevideo! I'm guessing it's for their advanced digital rendering and editing techniques...

(6) And in the cyborg department, enjoy this gallery of pop culture human machine hybrids.
Hat Tip: J-No.

(7) Click and cleverly solve puzzles to help this rabbit achieve his goals under the light of a Full Moon.

(8) Admit it, how many of you comic book geeks remember Marvel's Swimsuit Issues? I visited that link for the article, which made me nostalgic and cracked me up with its observations, some of which were new to me.

(9) Spider-Man was led away in handcuffs by police this week, breaking the heart of a nearby little girl as well as all of his fans.

(10) Have you ever wondered what Stormtroopers do on their day off?
H.T.: J-No.

(11) In news that will disappoint many yet surprise no one, Dollhouse has been canceled.

(12) The upcoming “Turtles Forever” will combine several incarnations and prove that sometimes, four turtles aren't enough. November 21st can't arrive soon enough.

(13) This movie trailer is Kick-Ass.

(14) Here are some truly agonizing pop culture dilemmas. What would YOU do? What WOULD you do?

(15) What happens when a drunk woman falls on to some subway tracks? The answer just might surprise you...

Have a link to a game, movie, article, or anything else you think might be “phantasmic”? E-mail me and it just might appear in an upcoming PHANTASMIC LINKS!

WWW: Weekend Wrental Wreviews 17

2009-11-15T00:00:00.000-05:00

Let's see what I saw this week for Weekend Wrental Wreviews in my 17th WWW:

1) Cruel Intentions 3:
Unlike Cruel Intentions 2, which was an edited remake of the original, this is a true sequel with one loose connection to the first one(one of the main characters is a cousin of one of the characters from the first movie). Beyond that, it goes into a fairly original plot, though not a very good one, in which a girl goads two guys into a competition with each other, in which they each try to seduce a different girl already committed to someone else. It's another film about bored rich kids with few morals amusing themselves at the expense of others, with one crossing a serious line and managing to be more despicable than the other. It's not a terrible film, nor is it one in which you can root for the stars. The script is pretty bad at times, as is the acting, but ultimately it made me appreciate that I don't deal with people as cruel as those in the film, nor have I in decades. It's the better of the two sequels, but that isn't saying much.

2) Empire:
John Leguizamo heads up the cast as a Bronx drug dealer with ambitions, who makes a deal with a questionable Wall Street guy in an attempt to make a better life for himself. It's his attempt at a Scarface or a Carlito's Way, and while it obviously falls short, it's still a solid film with solid performances, especially by Leguizamo. It's yet another film that makes you realize this comedian who once had his own sketch show is just as good with dramatic acting. Throw in some twists(which the trailer would have ruined had I seen that first), some exciting gun fights, and the always hot Denise Richards, and I'm happy with the results.

3) Brainscan:
This is a film that reminds us just how bad the computer special effects were in the ‘90s, at a time when we were so impressed by them. It makes me wonder how we'll look back on the films of this decade. It's also a film that reminds us why Edward Furlong didn't become the next DiCaprio or even LaBeouf. His “acting” here mainly consists of running around screaming bloody murder in a cracked voice. It's a fun idea though, about a kid playing a video game in which the murders in the game are carried through to real life. There was real potential when he first pops in the disk and plays as a killer from a first person perspective. But this angle is soon abandoned entirely, and then he meets a cartoonish fiend known as the Trickster with a bad mohawk/mullet hairstyle thing, and then since everything seems to be taking place in real life, it's a little confusing why he has to keep putting disks into his system, which by the way didn't have any controllers now that I think about it. I was expecting Brainscan to be the horror version of Gamer, but Furlong was not controlling someone else, as the movie initially implied. In the post-Matrix age, I could see this film getting a decent remake with a better budget. At the very least, it made me nostalgic for the ‘90s and I remembered all the ads for the film I used to see in the backs of my comic books. Or, you could save an hour and a half of your life and just rent eXistenZ instead, a much better take on the whole virtual reality genre.

4) Wild Things 2:
I think I've more than learned my lesson about direct-to-DVD sequels, but the nice thing about bad movies is how little time it takes to review them. I absolutely loved the original Wild Things, and it helped that I hadn't seen a trailer and wasn't spoiled by some of the twists. And once the BIG twist happens in that movie, it's like another hour of turns just when you think you have everything figured out, and then there's this awesome montage during the credits of scenes that fill in the blanks. Wild Things 2 is more or less the same movie with a cast of no names, so there are no surprises. They duplicate one of the more infamously racy scenes from the original, and there's no point in recycling something if you're not going to at least try to improve it somehow. They even include the same gimmick with the scenes in the credits, but honestly they weren't needed for this much simpler plot. It's not the worst DVD sequel I've seen, but that's only because those others were pretty bad. Skip it.

More reviews to follow next week after I've spun a few more discs!

Math Boy

2009-11-14T00:55:00.002-05:00

I haven't watched the latest episode of Stargate: Universe, but I have a pretty good idea what it's about. A stranded group of humans on the far side of the universe, the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time, run dangerously low on something, be it food or air or water or power or what have you. In a dark and depressing setting, personalities clash, and moral ambiguity is explored. Do you trust this guy or that guy? Do you trust anyone? Still, one or two characters stand out and I'm sticking with all the character development and establishment of premise, because I feel like it's going somewhere. It's Battlestar Galactica without Cylons, or LOST without a monster or Others. Actually, while the setting is BSG, the flavor is a bit more LOST, even though the latter has a better cast of characters with interesting flashbacks, and didn't need to bring outside antagonists in to the dynamic of these people learning to work together for survival, or clash with one another. So I see the potential in SGU, even if it feels so different from previous series in its franchise.

Dr. Rush is definitely an interesting character, as a scientist we're never sure whether or not to trust. Either he has his own agenda or his ego keeps him from explaining the larger picture to all the morons he's marooned with. Colonel Young is also quickly becoming a memorable character, as he struggles to lead the people while dealing with political pressure from back home on Earth and the “lot of work” he faces whenever he clashes with Rush. So there's definitely an interesting dynamic and power struggle between those two. And in between there's Eli, the self-proclaimed “Math Boy” who was just an ordinary fat kid playing video games until his gifts brought him to Rush's attention, a la The Last Starfighter. He's quite clearly a stand-in for us, the overweight dateless wonders who spend all our time engrossed in video games or serialized dramas targeting geek culture. Sometimes his geek references feel particularly forced, especially a few shoehorned Planet of the Apes references that he almost immediately explains for the very slow or very young members of the audience.

Eli serves as a bridge not only between Rush and Young, as both a regular guy and a genius, but also between the civilians on the ship and the governing military body, since they see him as one of their own with an “in” with the bigwigs. He also has a relationship with the beautiful daughter of a senator, one who seemed considerably less appealing in an episode that showed her jumping in to bed with the prettyboy soldier. In keeping with the LOST parallels, it'd be like Kate hooking up with Sawyer as opposed to Hurley. Mind you, LOST has never to my knowledge suggested anything romantic between Kate and Hurley, but Eli clearly has feelings for Chloe. In the same episode in which she sleeps with the soldier, she seeks comfort from Eli who, being the good friend and nice guy that he is, sucks it up and holds her hand while their ship is plunging in to a sun. So the show kind of sends this mixed message that, yes the slacker geek can have his dreams come true and end up on a real spaceship, but he's still going to be just a friend to the pretty girl. Thanks a lot, show.

I was always a bit of a “math boy” myself growing up. I was a year ahead of everyone else, and it was my easiest class. Homework never felt like homework, but solving puzzles, and of the three hours each night I agonized over my assignments, those first 20 minutes knocking off math problems were my favorite. Then I had to read thick boring history books, where the numbers attached to dates were infinitely less interesting than the ones in my math problems. I managed a near perfect average, and my four year high school math score was precisely 98.6%. And then I majored in art, to the chagrin of my driver's ed instructor who, between the Summer of my Senior year in high school and Freshman year in college, told me I was crazy for not becoming an accountant or something. As a designer, I still deal with numbers every day, and I'm probably obsessively precise. It drives me crazy when I open a document and find someone has made some shape on a page an odd size, like a “square” that's 1.417” x 1.439” inches; how hard is it to make it 1.5” x 1.5”? It doesn't matter that people receiving the final printed advertisements won't know if something is evenly proportioned or positioned at rounded X/Y coordinates; I need to make everything mathematically clean; it's a sickness.

Numbers stay with me, too. I saw earlier that a 3 number lotto drawing was 1-4-4, and immediately thought, “Gross”, which is 12 dozen, or 12 x 12, or 12 squared. The messed up thing is that the only reason this fact has cemented in my brain is because of the cover to Madballs #8 in which that month's variation of the “gross” pun that appeared on the front of every issue took an extremely geeky and mathematical turn, not to mention an educational one. I've already written about the frequency with which I notice the number 333, and 2% is another important figure in my life. Those were the chances of me having a rare intestinal birth defect, and one that made my inverse improbability suddenly measurable: what was 2% for others was 98% certain for me.

And what were the odds of things going wrong for me on a Friday the 13th? I got an e-mail to review some printed samples in someone's cubicle whom I'd never met before, and when I arrived she said, “Garbage pail?”, thinking I was a maintenance guy. At lunch, I walked through wind and mist without an umbrella, testing fate to see if I could walk a mile in either direction before the heavens opened up. While I was waiting to cross the street, a dump truck full of asphalt parked right in my path. In Dunkin' Donuts, I opened what was supposed to be a turkey, cheddar, and bacon wrap to find something spongy and white with moldy green spots. As of last weekend, I've stopped accepting such mistakes as fate, and I brought it immediately back to the counter and asked for what I wanted. I made it back to the office before it rained, and got done with my work in time to catch an early showing of 2012, Roland Emmerich's latest epic disaster movie in which the only thing more unlikely than the disasters are the huge coincidences that allow a diverse cast of characters not only to survive, but to cross each other's paths. On a global scale, this brought a lot of laughs, at least from my seat, but I can't say it wasn't entertaining or that the destruction wasn't well rendered.

Outside, the wind was no strong enough to physically push me, and the mist tickled my face. It's strange that, of all the bad luck I could have had this week, most of it fell on other days, whether it was finding a flat tire on my car or watching the ceiling outside my office burst into flames. I guess, in the end, the only probability I can truly calculate is the improbable, that the least likely thing is most likely to occur, unless I expect the least likely to be likely in which case probability will shift and reinvert. Math Boy or not, there's no simple equation to figure out my odds, at least not one that wouldn't give a physicist a nose bleed.

01100111011011110110111101100100001000000110111001101001011001
1101101000011101000010000001100001011011100110010000100000011
00111011011110110111101100100001000000110100001100101011000010
11011000111010001101000001011000010000001101101011110010010000
001100110011100100110100101100101011011100110010001110011

Thank You, Umbrella.

2009-11-13T00:12:00.001-05:00

I remember the day well. It was four, maybe five years ago, and I was running errands on my own at lunch, a rare thing at a company where the social aspects of group lunches were the skeleton around which the rest of each day was built. But some holiday was fast approaching, various people were on vacation, and I was out shopping. When I walked out of my favorite card store, however, I saw that the skies had suddenly opened up. This was no mere drizzle. It was as though God had left several billion faucets running. There was no outrunning the downpour to reach my car at the far end of the parking lot. I was trapped in a strip mall, under an overhang, and I wouldn't make it two feet without becoming absolutely drenched. So I waited. And waited. And it seemed like an eternity because I was bored, and had a meeting to get back to at the office. In reality, it may have only been two or three minutes.

I had to do something, but what? My car wasn't KITT, and shouting “I need ya, buddy!” into my wristwatch wasn't going to help me any more than it did when I was getting pummeled on the playground in elementary school. The card store couldn't help, nor could the pizza place, the video store, the discount CD store, nor the express Burger King. It was a pretty lame strip mall. But there was a dollar store. Could that be my savior?

Sure enough, there was a rack full of cheap umbrellas right by the door. I might have had several perfectly good ones of better quality at home, but even if they were in my car they'd still be useless to me. No, for a dollar, that little black umbrella was worth it. My feet my have gotten soaked in the lake that was once a parking lot, but the rest of me was relatively dry for my meeting, and I got there early enough that no one would hear my squeaky shoes. The Emergency Umbrella became a staple of my car, one I kept when I got a new car a few years later after changing jobs. My good umbrella got buried in my room. I have a rough idea of where it is, but stacks of graphic novels brought home from my old job, next to bags of comic book convention swag, next to towers of paperback novels, next to so much clutter I can't even make this a proper sentence. I think I'm missing a verb...or subject...participle...moving on....

Now, that umbrella has seen better days. After one storm, one of the spokes broke, so one side always hung down. I kind of liked it, as it made a good shield on days when it was raining at an angle. I could also be a better “ostrich man” and hide my face from people on the street, moreso than I could with a pair of sunglasses. I have issues. I also, as I've mentioned, have a better umbrella, not to mention a steady job with which I could easily afford a new one. A coworker spotted me early on at my current job and commented that it was time for a new umbrella. But I'm a weird, lazy, sentimental creature of habit.

After yesterday's fire, I came home and replaced the battery in my parents' fire alarm, something that was at least two months overdue. And Thursday was off to a great start, until I rounded the back of my car and saw my rear left tire was completely flat. I was even going to be a little early for work. A few weeks ago my father and I had patched the back right tire, so of course the left one was flat. At least it had the courtesy to empty itself during the night after I'd gotten home from work, and not during my commute. There was no time to change it, and certainly no time to patch it. I borrowed my dad's car for the day, and I was on my way.

Things were back to normal at work. I noticed one of the cubicle workers outside arrive and scrutinize his desk with a puzzled expression. No doubt there were ashes and other debris. If he only knew. Later that morning, one of the maintenance guys arrived, and spot checked a few panels in the ceiling, replacing some with new ones. I guess he was checking for scorch marks. At lunch, I opted to walk, and was glad I'd grabbed my old friend from my car before hopping in my dad's vehicle. It's compact, and fits up my sleeve, kind of like the spring-loaded stakes in Angel, not that I'm dorky enough to ever pretend I could spring into action and slay vampires on a moment's notice. Nope, I've never done that. Never.

On this day, my sta--er, my umbrella didn't remain up my sleeve for long, and it got me from my office to, coincidentally enough, another strip mall with a Burger King. This is Long Island. This is probably America, but I wouldn't know. The journey there was uneventful, but coming back was bad. It took all my strength to push against the wind, and if legs that have been running six miles daily for several months now couldn't do it, what chance did my poor, cheap umbrella have? At least two more spokes broke, and I had to use one hand to hold the floppy mess of black fabric open while I clutched the handle for dear life with the other. Miraculously, I made it back to the office without getting very wet, but I think that was the last adventure of that umbrella. Thankfully, it wasn't raining when I went to gym later, though after my workout I discovered that I'd forgotten to pack a change of underwear for after my shower. I didn't have spare socks and had to put my shoes on over bare feet, but I had inexplicably packed two pairs of gym shorts that morning so I didn't have to go commando. That's too much information and not at all relevant to the main story, but it's a good way to see how many paragraphs people get through.

Farewell, my old Emergency Umbrella, and thank you for years of service which far surpassed the one and only time I should have needed, and enlisted, your assistance. That'll do...

Without a Spark

2009-11-12T00:00:00.000-05:00

Last Christmas, my cousin got me the boxed set of DVDs for From the Earth to the Moon. With the volume of shows and movies I normally watch, I've only recently gotten to them. Four episodes in to the 12-part series, and I'm in absolute awe of how each episode is like this sweeping, epic movie with an amazing cast and a powerful score. But the one thought that keeps popping up in my mind is that it's not science fiction; we've DONE THIS. These days, we take footage of ships flying in space for granted, but the show does a great job of reminding us what a task it was, the challenges that were faced, and the sacrifices that were made. It's made all the more powerful by the fact that these events happened. I just finished watching an episode about 1968, a particularly bad year for the world. We lost both Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy to assassins' bullets. Riots ensued. The Vietnam war was raging. And, in the last days of the year, Apollo 8 carried three astronauts into orbit around the moon on an historic and tense achievement of a major milestone. “You've saved 1968”, wrote one woman to the crew, upon the completion of their mission.

Apollo 8 was an important victory that paved the way for the success of the Apollo 11 mission in landing on the moon for the first time. But, more importantly than taking us one step closer to Armstrong's “One small step for man...”, it was a much needed victory in a program with a tragic beginning. In 1967, Apollo 1 cost the lives of three astronauts without ever leaving the ground. During a routine test, a combination of elements from faulty wiring to a pure oxygen environment to the presence of materials super-flammable under such conditions like velcro led to a lethal fire. The episode of the miniseries dealing with these events pulled no punches in showing the terror of the final moments of those three men, strapped down in closed quarters before asphyxiating and burning. The actors did an excellent job capturing the guilt and remorse of the survivors tasked with determining what went wrong and how to prevent it, while mourning their friends.

I have a lot of admiration for astronauts, putting themselves into such dangerous conditions. Those three burned in a small capsule, but those who launch lie in a capsule above a rocket filled with fuel, are explosively hurled away from the Earth, and spend days in a void with only the air in their suits and capsule, and limited food resources. I couldn't do what they do. It's enough for me to get in a car and drive every morning. And as for fire, well, being a packrat living in a house with a mother who's a packrat and a father who, while not as bad as either of us has his share of possessions, I fear fire. I'm surrounded by stacks of comic books, regular books, and DVDs. My clothes no longer fit in my closet or bureau, and hang from door knobs or sit in stacks in front of my radiator. Our basement is chock full of furniture my mom rescued from her brother's house, as well as his old paintings and all her crafts materials, such as dried flowers. This house is a fire waiting to happen, with old wires, paint, art supplies, mechanic's chemicals, and more. It's a miracle it hasn't happened yet.

Surely I must be mad to tempt fate, to even type such words. My luck is legendary, my knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time epic. And if lightning is going to strike twice, I'm the one that's going to get struck. “Twice?” you might ask, wondering when it struck the first time. An excellent question...

Over the past few weeks, electricians have been installing new light fixtures throughout my office building. Each unit takes up one square section amid a drop ceiling, and the new lights have been particularly bright. For a while after they did my office, I was leaving the overhead lights off and relying on the cozier illumination of a desk lamp, but I've since gotten used to the bright lights. On Wednesday afternoon, they began replacing the fixtures over the cubicles outside my office. The occupants of those cubicles adjourned to the cafeteria while insulation and debris rained down and workmen stood on their desks, while those of us with offices merely shut our doors.

After about an hour, the workmen disappeared, and the lights outside flickered on. My first thought was that they had to be kidding me, since there were two ridiculously bright fixtures directly outside my window, adding to the illumination within my office. My second thought was, “What's that popping sound?” I looked up at my own ceiling, where it seemed to be coming from, then back outside at those light fixtures. Thank God they hadn't replaced a drop ceiling panel alongside the new fixture, so I could see the sparking wire that was causing the popping sound. “Well that's not good...” I said aloud. Then one of those sparks landed on the insulation in the ceiling, and I saw it burst into flames. “That's really not good.”

It was almost mesmerizing, watching it flicker like a fireplace while everything up there took on an orange glow. I stared for a few seconds, either hypnotized or slightly in shock. Was I really seeing that? Just then, two of the workers walked by, snapping me back to reality. I thought they were coming to take care of the problem, but they walked right past it, never noticing the flickering right over their heads! I leapt up, flung open my door, and called after them, “Uh, you got a fire.” They kept walking, so I repeated my message more concise and enunciated: “FIRE?!” They looked at each other, then sauntered back and looked up. “Oh...he's right, you do have a fire up there. I thought he was kidding.” While (at least in my recollection of events) I did a Chandler-esque double-take and wide-armed “WTF?” gesture, the other guy sprang into action, grabbing a ladder and scrambling up. He removed another panel and popped his head in to assess the situation. Then, he yanked this flaming piece of insulation down to the ground and stomped on it.

At this point, the office took on a hearty ski lodge smell, and I wondered what sort of burnt dust and fibers we were now all breathing in. Slowly, passersby stopped to inquire what had happened. Doors opened, and people emerged, wondering what the smell was. I don't know if anyone besides myself and the one worker who scrambled up the ladder ever saw the full extent of the fire. And I can't help wondering what would have happened if they had replaced that one tile before turning the lights back on. I might have heard the popping noise, but I don't know if I would have realized there was a fire up there. It would have spread over other offices, and maybe the ceiling would have collapsed. I could envision flaming debris landing outside, trapping me in my office and fulfilling my fear/certainty that I'm destined to die in front of a computer. So, given that if circumstances were slightly different, if I were in a slightly different spot, had my blinds closed, or my view was obscured in any other way, I think I can count this as one of my many improbably near-death experiences. At the very least it's a near-near-death experience. In my immediate vicinity, office work can be as hazardous as the space program.

I also find it interesting that, while a pizza I accidentally burned at my old job caused the evacuation of two three-story office buildings, an actual fire burning a few feet in front of me didn't even set off an alarm. What are the odds?! Show your math...

PBW: Tackapausha Memories

2009-11-11T00:00:00.005-05:00

I have a fuzzy, childhood memory of visiting the Tackapausha preserve on Long Island's South shore, and seeing a giant totem pole at the entrance to the woods on a main road. It's one of those places I've been meaning to get to since I began my journey as an amateur digital photographer, and when I finally made it back there for the first time in over 20 years this past Sunday, that totem pole was no where in sight, nor was the entrance to the preserve on the road I thought it was on. So I don't know what I was thinking of, but I still got in a nice hike and captured some nice sights for this week's Photo Blog Wednesday. On the way home, I even stumbled upon a memorial field of flags, which you'll also find below. It's good that I keep a photographic record of my travels. If my memory is failing me now, these photos will definitely come in handy when I'm 20 years older....

Fighting Back Feels Good

2009-11-10T00:14:00.001-05:00

To this day, I'm still reasonably sure that my elementary school principal and teachers gave my parents some really bad advice when they told them that if I'd just hit bullies back once, they'd leave me alone. They either didn't understand the bully mentality, or they were trying to absolve themselves of any responsibility. Honestly, hitting back wouldn't have worked, because I was smaller, weaker, and outnumbered. And most bullies are looking for any excuse to justify their actions, and blame the victim. So for a long time I believed flinching or showing the whites of my eyes were legitimate reasons to punch me in the stomach as hard as possible. I brought it on myself. I'm not absolving myself of responsibility entirely here; there were plenty of times I fought back verbally, and no one wants to hear sarcasm from some high pitched little nerd.

So, if fighting back only led to escalation, was a pacifistic approach the only solution? In the world arena, on a larger scale, hitting back historically seems to be the answer, provided you hit back so hard that you subdue and incapacitate your enemy. And since I was both physically and emotionally incapable of inflicting such pain on my enemies, I had no choice but to turn the other cheek. Morally and philosophically, I still believe in that approach, in doing to others as I would have them do unto me. In an ideal world, we'd all feel that way, and peace would reign supreme. In this world, it seemed like the more I turned the other cheek, the worse I got ****ed.

With such a foundation in my childhood, I have a great appreciation for even the smallest of victories, for any rare deviation from my norm. Take my local Burger King, for example. A more wretched den of sloth and incompetence you will not find, and yet it is a family ritual for me to stop there after going to 5 PM mass on Saturday and pick up dinner. “Have it Your Way” translates into something entirely different there, but I'm determined to beat the odds. I now automatically add “just the sandwich” after ordering a sandwich, because they always look at me like I have two heads and ask, “You mean the meal? The #8?” There are certain specifics that throw them for a loop as well, despite their marketing. My dad usually gets a vegetable burger or a grilled chicken sandwich, in either instance plain with only lettuce. Countless times we've gotten home to find mayonnaise or some other ingredient he can't eat. On many occasions, we've gotten home to find items missing entirely, and just let it go because it's too much of a hassle to drive back for one sandwich. But, for some reason, we keep going back.

On Saturday, I was pleased to find the usual dim bulb cashier was distracted meddling in the affairs of the woman working the drive through window, and the manager stepped up to help. I placed my order, he kept up with every word, and when I checked my receipt everything matched. I watched him hover over the cooking staff, and bag the food, and I was out of there in record time. They're notoriously slow, and on occasions when I use the drive through I've been told to pull up so they can turn off their timer and not get in trouble. They'd rather walk outside and hand me the food than have one vehicle sit by the window for too long. Seriously, I don't know why we keep going back.

I thought I looked in the bag and counted the right amount of items, but when we got home, my dad's sandwich was missing. “That's all right,” he said as sincerely as possible, but with a slightly heartbreaking air of disappointment. Fat b@stard that I am, I usually get two sandwiches, and offered him my cheeseburger. But he's not supposed to eat cheese either. Something snapped. I'd had enough. If it was my sandwich, I'd probably let it go. I have no qualms about taking hits; my shell is 35+ years thick. But when people close to me get hit, I feel it. I was like a passenger in my own body, as it grabbed the receipt and stormed out the door, fueled with determination. I had to get back there while I was still fresh in the minds of the staff, so they didn't think I was trying to pull a fast one. More importantly, I wanted to get back home to finish my own dinner before it got cold.

”We're Not Gonna Take It” blared from the ‘80s metal compilation CD I've been playing to death lately, keeping my fire burning. When I stormed into the place, it was no longer busy. There was no sign of the manager. No one was working the register, in fact. I stood there, clenching my receipt and the yellow carbon copy as backup, drumming my fingers on the counter. The drive through lady noticed me, and said something to someone in the back. Seconds later, the dim bulb cashier emerged. Undeterred, I told my story, how I'd been there fifteen minutes earlier, and discovered my father's chicken sandwich was not in the bag when I got home. Dim Bulb turned and asked the staff, “Did any of ya have a chicken? Chicken sandwich?” as if they'd remember. They all stared and blinked. “Ya went in the drive in?” she asked me. I explained that no, I'd been inside, and the guy in the sweater helped me, the manager. “Ohh,” she chortled, “Yeah, he's the general manager. That's why.” I'm not sure how that explained the 15 or 20 times she herself had screwed up one of my orders in the past, but I wasn't going to bring it up. Not only am I a nice guy to a fault, but I'm never sarcastic to anyone in a position to spit in my food. Okay, I've been sarcastic to my parents, but I can trust them not to do that. I think. I hope.

In any case, the cashier not only told the staff to make the sandwich they'd missed, but did something surprising. “What else do ya want? Just the sandwich? Ya wanna free meal?” I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't expecting that, and my gut response was to say “No thanks,” that it was enough to get the rest of my original order. “Are ya sure? Ya came alls the way back heres.” She made a good point, so I ordered a second regular chicken sandwich for myself, since the one sitting on a dish at home was getting colder by the minute. And so, I walked out of there with not just what I paid for, but a little something extra. The journey would have been worth it just to feed my father, but in some strange karmic way it seemed like I'd been rewarded for taking a stand and not accepting my fate. I took control, and things worked out abnormally well. It was a good feeling. I don't know if there will be any consequences, if anyone in the restaurant will get in trouble. And, though I was keeping a close eye on them, I probably can't be positive that they didn't spit in either of the sandwiches. But, for now, the outcome was positive. Will I be more assertive in other areas of my life? Will I stop accepting things the way they are? With my personality and experience, it would take quite a few fires to get me moving, for me to become the all-new, all-different, take-no-crap, spit-on-fate MCF. But every fire starts with a spark....

And I really should consider not going to that Burger King any more.

Phantasmic Links 11.9.09

2009-11-09T00:07:00.000-05:00

I feel so exhausted. Is this what it's like to get old? Can I go back a few days to when I was still 34, when I could hike for an hour or two on a Sunday afternoon and not have stiff muscles later on? It could be all the junk food I've been eating since my birthday, or staying out drinking until 5 AM on Friday night. I guess we all get here sooner or later, but I feel like there's a ton of stuff young MCF still needs to experience before I can settle in to being grumpy old MCF. If only cloning was an exact science, and the technology existed for me to transfer my entire consciousness into a younger, empty shell. I did skip the gym on Friday, so maybe I'll feel better after my run on Monday night. For now, I'll muster up with will power to make these decrepit, swollen digits type and share some PHANTASMIC LINKS for you young surfing whippersnappers:

(1) Let Christopher Walken show you his p-p-p-Pokerface. OH!
Hat Tip: B13.

(2) Meet the “Lazarus Species”, 13 extinct animals that aren't as extinct as we thought.

(3) Behold tattoo regret and be glad if you don't have one of these....

(4) Hosting a children's yoga program with a Rastafarian rooster doesn't seem like the best gig for this potential pedophile. “Nice tomato! I'll save that one for my sandwich!” Yikes....Also, Tim Thomerson has not aged well at all.

(5) Enjoy these Martian landscapes.

(6) Maybe this collection of free online guides will be of use to you!

(7) Take control of this mecha with your mouse and keyboard, and do some damage!

(8) Virtually put everything from eggs to deodorant to Christmas lights(especially Christmas lights) in the microwave and see what happens. The key word is “virtually”; don't try at home what the various videos show, as tempting as the lights are...

(9) It's never too late for a catalog of the scariest movie scenes. I've seen quite a few of those, and I can't argue with their inclusion.
H.T.: Krispy.

(10) Four colors. Twenty levels. Do you have what it takes to fill in the shapes as efficiently as possible to earn a gold star? I managed it for all but four of the levels...so far...

Have a link to a game, movie, article, or anything else you think might be “phantasmic”? E-mail me and it just might appear in an upcoming PHANTASMIC LINKS!

WWW: Weekend Wrental Wreviews 16

2009-11-08T00:02:00.000-05:00

Let's see what I saw this week for Weekend Wrental Wreviews in my 16th WWW:

1) Formula 51:
This was no Guy Ritchie film, but it had a lot of the same sensibilities. After a badly shot introduction in which we're supposed to believe Samuel L. Jackson is playing his character 30 years ago in the ‘70s, we jump ahead to the future, where he's now making a living designing illegal drugs after his past mistakes cost him a legitimate career. Betraying his boss(Meat Loaf) and jetting off to England wearing a kilt(which isn't explained until a scene in the end credits), he seeks to sell his new product, a designer drug made from legal, over-the-counter ingredients, and something which holds a secret. He ends up in an unlikely partnership with Robert Carlyle, a smalltime hood whose ex, played by Emily Mortimer, just happens to be the assassin sent to find Jackson. It's a fun ride, with a lot of action and Samuel L. Jackson doing his thing and hamming it up, and certainly worth a rental.

2) Crank 2: High Voltage:
Jason Statham returns in the unlikeliest of sequels to Crank, a film I enjoyed for the suspend-your-disbelief-at-the-door video game movie nonsense that it was. This is more of the same, only EXTREME. In the first movie, he had to keep his adrenaline up in order to keep from succumbing to a poison. Disbelief didn't have to be suspended as much. Now, his heart is removed and replaced with an artificial one, and when the battery pack dies he goes through a series of increasingly bizarre and unbelievable methods of keeping it charged, from grabbing jumper cables to rubbing up against an old lady with a sweater to wearing an electric dog collar to having sex with his girlfriend on a horse track during a race. That all probably sounds a lot more awesome than it actually is, and by the time he's wearing a prosthetic jaw and fighting as a giant in a Godzilla fantasy sequence or talking to the disembodied head of an old enemy kept alive in a fish tank, you'll be fairly certain that you haven't rented a movie, but have instead taken some serious, serious psychotropic drugs.

3) Transporter 3:
This Statham sequel, on the other hand, is much more believable, with only one physics-defying stunt that fans of any ‘80s show involving a car will accept and enjoy without question(::waves::). For the most part, it's true to its roots, with Robert Knepper playing the diabolical villain manipulating our hero into transporting a kidnapped girl. To his credit, Knepper for once dispenses with any accent or accents and still manages to be menacing and conniving. There are the requisite chase scenes for the fellows, the requisite “let me take off my shirt, jacket, and tie during the course of this choreographed fight sequence” scene for the ladies, and plenty of action and attitude for everyone. Statham is cool, Knepper is gleefully bad, and Natalya Rudakova, while 85% of the time given annoying dialogue, is consistently nice to look at.

4) Cruel Intentions 2:
A better title for this would have been, “Cruel Intentions Too”, since it's basically the same movie with a few details changed, and some actions assigned to different characters in the name of a twist. Apparently, this direct-to-DVD film was made by editing together episodes of an unaired series based on the first movie, with some scenes added and names re-dubbed to make it almost work as a prequel. With the exception of Amy Adams, no one in the cast went on to anything noteworthy on the big screen, and no one comes close to the performances of the original cast. I vaguely remember adding this to my Netflix queue years ago when I first joined and learned it existed, and for years it kept getting bumped to the bottom of the list in favor of hundreds of better movies before finally working back up to the top. In hindsight, I probably could have deleted it entirely, but it's not the first bad movie I've rented, and I'm sure it won't be the last....

More reviews to follow next week after I've spun a few more discs!

If You're Reading This...

2009-11-07T03:09:00.001-05:00

....then I haven't gotten home yet. It was my birthday this week, so naturally I'm spending my Friday night in the city at a bar or bars with a friend or friends. If you're not reading this, then my plans fell through, I came home in time to watch Smallville, and I got to my blog before this message automatically posted. And in that case, I don't even know why the preceding sentence would be necessary. So hopefully, you are reading this, and I'm enjoying some long-overdue revelry. Maybe I made some new lady friends, or put way too many quarters in a jukebox. Perhaps there was some dancing in the street, although I haven't touched vodka since the one time that happened. Maybe I don't know where I am, or where I've been, or where I'm going. Taxi! Hopefully I made my train connections safely, and hopefully I drank responsibly and didn't get behind the wheel of a car if I wasn't sober yet. I'm quite confident that I wouldn't. In any case, even the geekiest of geeks(::waves::) has to unwind and party some time, and it might be another year before I do this again. I'm not getting any younger.

Finally, I apologize in advance to any friends I might have drunk dialed, either directly or indirectly by handing my phone off to a drunk friend. Not that I've ever done that....

UPDATE, 10 AM: So I had a pretty good time last night. Went in to Manhattan after work and met a few friends at one of our favorite drinking establishments. It was a chilly walk from the train station through streets that still had a lot of drunk pinstripes. I could care less about baseball, but at least New York won. After meeting two of my friends at the bar, at one point, one of my buddies leaned in to the bar to grab some drinks and struck up a conversation with the young lady next to him. She turned around, looked at my other friend, and slurred, “Whish Brady ish he?” We made her repeat it a few times before we finally got what she was saying. I pointed out that my friend didn't have dark hair but she was stuck on the hairstyle. It didn't seem to matter that she looked like someone had hit Salma Hayek over the head with a mallet and squished her down to like a MODAM version of the actress. She did correctly guess that it was my birthday, but soon went back to ignoring us.

There was also a dead ringer for Sylar there at some point who showed up with a friend of a friend and some other girl that was chewing Sylar's ear off most of the night, until the guy who brought those two fake-left with them and then doubled back around the block to come back to the bar. There was also a joke told that I probably shouldn’t repeat, though I’m not sure I could. The gist of it was some classroom full of kids being asked to use “contagious” in a sentence, and after several do so successfully, little Timmy tells some rambling story about an old woman slowly painting a fence, and his father telling him, “It’s gonna take that C*NT AGES to finish!” The accent and the beer make that a lot funnier. It was one of those nights where I didn't think I was drinking that much until I got off the bar stool and found it challenging to walk to the restrooms at the back of the bar. After that I took it easy, but not before my friend handed me a cell phone. I couldn't hear anyone on the other side so hopefully I didn't leave someone an annoying voicemail. I vaguely remember doing a running commentary of what I was seeing around me, mumbling things like, “That guy's a total douchebag; how is that girl now making out with him??” So yeah, the shots were probably a mistake.

One friend left around midnight because he had something like a two-hour ride home, so it was cool that he hung out that long. When the rest of us finally left an hour or two later, I had this strange feeling after a block or two, and turned around to find I was completely alone. Apparently the other two guys just stumbled in to the bar next door. While eating some food and waiting for my train, I got a “Where the **** are you?” voicemail from one of them. It would be another hour before my train arrived, and an hour after that before I was home. My cat seemed happy to see me, and his constant inquiries probably translated to “Where the **** were you?”, which stopped once I put some food in his dish.

And for years now, my internal clock has made it almost impossible for me to sleep past 10 AM, no matter what time I went to bed. It's been a good year, and a good birthday week, and after an inevitable nap I hope the good trends continue.