"Two Way Monolouge" by Sondre Lerche

Just a little something to listen to while you get ready for the evening's shenanigens. This is Sweden's answer to Rufus Wainwright, Sondre Lerche, who's got quite a nice voice and is seen here performing a duet with himself:



We're just going to assume that they're employing digital trickery here. Unless he's got a swarthy twin who sings as well as he does. Anything's possible, suppose. Anyway, enjoy your going's out and partying's down. Since I had a bit of an evening last night, I'm staying in with some movies and Mexican food and my girlfriend. Though not in that order.

Never put tacos before your girlfriend.

The Old Man and the Booze

Was trying to find an image online that would accurately convey the way I feel this morning after having spent the better part of last night drinking with friends. The best that I could come up with was this:



While there may not technically be a rampaging monkey destroying cities within my brain and guts, it certaintly feels like it. To that end, when the hell did I get so old that a night of drinking (moderately; it's not like I was doing keg stands or anything) turns me into such a pathetic wreck? I'm only 26 for crap's sake!!! Not five years ago, I could have consumed exactly the same amout of alcohol and, the next morning, been perky enough to run a couple miles around the track. Were I the type to ever run around a track, of course. Which I'm not. But I digress.

This is very disturbing. I don't like feeling old and I don't like feeling the after-effects of alcohol this strongly. Meh. Stupid age and booze. So cranky right now...

Going to go sit on my stoop and scowl at happy people. When I can open my eyes in daylight without weeping, of course.

Cow Flat

So, I have this thing on my blog that tracks who stops by for a look; a "tracker" if you will. Besides telling me how many visitors I have, it also tells me from whence any particular visitor came, geographically. I find this fascinating; besides the obvious locals of New York and Texas (my current and former homes, respectively), I have a lot of visitors from Ohio, Colorado, Wisconson and, most odd, Australia. Why those specific locations, I don't know (but of course, thanks for reading!) but for whatever reason, these locations seem to be where the highest concentration of my visitors comes from.

Anyway, I bring all this up because, as I was perusing the tracker data this morning in a boldfaced attempt at not working, I noticed that I had a visitor from a town called Cow Flat in the state of Victoria in Australia.

Cow Flat!!!

That is the best city name ever in the history of names. I want to live in Cow Flat. So, person who visited my site from Cow Flat, Australia... if you come back... please tell me everything there is to know about your town. Is it a magical place? Is it awesome?

I bet it totally is.

Stairs: The Diagonal Menace

Know your enemy:



That's right. Stairs. Stairs hate you. They hate everyone. Had they the ability, they'd take a shotgun to your family and not even blink. They might even smile. But, as they're, technically, objects and not beings, they're forced to enact their cruel will in the only way they know how: by being really steep and narrow.

Okay, maybe my current swelling of rage springs forth from the fact that I helped my friend Lisa move all yesterday and went up and down a couple of flights of stairs much like the one pictured at least 7,328 times. While carrying things, mind you, though it's not the boxes and furniture's fault. I blame the stairs. And then, this morning, while coming up from the subway, I was the victim of a vicious attack at the hands of some concrete stairs; they grabbed my toe, forcing me to the ground and underfoot of a callous New York rush hour crowd. Fortunantly, I managed to get out unscathed and with minimal high-heel prints in my back, but I'm still shaking over what could have been.

Do you see what's happening? They know that I'm on to them. They're watching me. Please, before it's too late... heed my warning!

Beware the stairs!!!

And I'm Spent...

Helped my friend Lisa move all day. Tuckered out. And sore... let's not forget sore. Will be back tomorrow when my hands stop going, "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Mind your manners, kiddos!

Movie Posters A Go-Go: The Threequal

Graphic design skills... you've met your match.

Pans Labyrinth



(Gagging noises). This movie looks totally kick-ass; scary, visually stunning, great story, etc. Then they go and saddle it with a poster that looks like something a Tim Burton-obsessed 9th-grader would think was totally deep. Like, the rocks and trees are screaming, man. Pshaw... whatever. If you like this poster, I'm sure it'll be available at a Hot Topic near you real soon.

Home of the Brave



USA! USA! AMERICA ROCKS!!! WOOOOO!!! What's this movie about? It's about the US of A kicking Sadaam in the nards, man! Is it any good? Uh... what, you don't love America? Also, it fucking bugs the crap out of me when a rapper is in a movie and they use his real name, but then put his "rap" name in parenthesis like he's a kid with nickname. Just call him 50 Cent and be done with it... his real name on the poster isn't going to make your movie any classier.

The Good German



Finally! A poster that's thematically appropriate for the movie it's promoting AND that looks awesome! Love the classic design, the three-color art, the Clooney looking all smooth and handsome... For once, I can find nothing to criticize. God, I hate that.

Shortbus



For those of you who don't know, Shortbus is a romantic comedy set in New York about a diverse group of people trying to find love in this modern age. That, of course, doesn't matter because this movie also is about really, really graphic sex scenes. I think it's nice that they at least somewhat acknowledged that that's all anyone's going to care about by making the poster design the group photo before the orgy begins.

Black Snake Moan



Holy shit! How could you not want to see this movie? The posters just drip with sleaze and there's not enough sleaze in movies these days. Plus... and I say this as a totally modern male who's pro-feminist and is very forward thinking in my thoughts on gender issues... women in chains are hot.

Curse of the Corner Bitch

I've got a small order of fries from the fast food establishment of your choice if you can explain to me, in detail, why I'm supposed to loooove Mad Hot Ballroom.

We watched it last night and I was overcome by exactly two emotions. They happened to me in this order and are defined by these thoughts:

1. Hmm... those kids are kind of cute. I guess.

2. Holy shit! I'm so bored right now that my heart has stopped and I'm floating above my own body, watching Mad Hot Ballroom, and now I'm a bored ghost.

Being a confirmed and accredited film nerd, there's absolutely nothing that I hate worse than watching a critically acclaimed movie that's loved the nation over by absolutely everyone and thinking it the cinematic equivilent of a butt. My fellow film critic and palsy-walsy Buzz (of CampBlood.org fame) came up with a name for this horrible phenominon: being the "Corner Bitch;" otherwise known as the bitch in the corner who's all scowling and snarky while everyone else is dancing the Hora about how great a given movie is. I've been the Corner Bitch way too many times (all the Lord of the Rings movies, Napolean Dynamite, Crash) and, trust me, there's nothing that can you make you feel like bitter crank faster. And it seems I've found myself in these brackish, unpleasent waters yet again.

So, anyone, please tell me why I'm wrong to think Mad Hot Ballroom should be used as a general anesthetic for people undergoing dental surgery.

Save me from myself.

NaNoWriMo: The Updated

As I said a couple of posts ago, I've started a blog with my friend and accomplice Braden concering our adventures with the National Novel Writing Month contest. I just put my first post up there and it is, if I do say so myself, something that I've written. Here, go read it and see if you agree:

http://wrimo2006.blogspot.com/2006/09/turning-your-life-into-literary-gold.html

"Lazy Line Painter Jane" by Belle & Sebastian

Super-busy at work today. Wanted to post a Belle & Sebastian video because they're a very Monday morning sort of band, but then I remembered that all of their video's kinda suck. So, digging around on YouTube, I managed found some great live stuff and I think that makes up for it. Anyway, this is a video of them singing "Lazy Line Painter Jane." This is probably my favorite song of theirs, not to mention one of my favorite songs of all time. I'm totally a sucker for duets. Anyway, this is some pretty interesting concert footage for a couple of reasons. One, it's shot, it appears, on 16mm, which is a pain in the ass to shoot with normally, much less when trying to capture live concert footage. And two, whatever concert this is, it's where hipsters and hippies converge into one smelly mass of groovy irony. Enjoy:

Things Of Interest

(Yawns)

Mornin'.

Sorry I don't have breakfast cooked just yet, but if you'd like to sit a spell, we can chat while the coffee boils and the eggs fry up real nice. Of course, you won't be able to drink any of my coffee or eat any of my eggs because food doesn't transmit over the internet. Also, I'm not really brewing any coffee or frying any eggs, so even if you could transmit food over the internet, I wouldn't really have anything to send your way. Basically, this was all a sham and, for that, I'm sorry. However, since I've got you here already, there are some bits o' business that I wanted to take care of... good things, nothing to worry about, no one's getting fired (well, maybe Darrell's getting fired; he's been stealing pens).

So, without further dilly-dallying:

Three Things of Interest (To Me):

1. So, I got some good news the other day, but I've kept it under my hat until I was sure we'd gotten all the details ironed out. About a year and a half ago, I wrote short play about two people who meet at a wedding and discover that they had a history together way back in their junior high days. It was a silly little dialouge-based short play and, because I am a creative genius, I named it "Junior High." Anyway, it was put on at the TSI Playhouse in Manhattan and was very well recieved if I do say so myself. Cut to last Saturday... I get a phone call informing me that the TSI Playhouse has selected "Junior High" to be a part of their 10th Annual NYC Playwrights Festival. They gave me the opportunity to direct it again and I accepted, so now we're puttin' on a show! The only weak thing is that the show is in a bowel-loosening three weeks and we've only, just last night, gotten the cast confirmed. So... yikes! Crazy rehearsal time starts Monday. Anyway, the show's going to be on October 11th and 12th; more info later, for anyone in the area who feels like gettin' their theater on.

2. November is, apparently, National Novel Writing Month. In keeping with this, some enterprising souls have started a contest where participants will, in the course of one month (November; yeesh, try to keep up) write an entire 50,000 word novel. You can get more info here: http://www.nanowrimo.org/. Because I like a challenge, I've decided to take on this Herculean task myself, armed only with my wits, a bottle of whiskey and the goadings of my friend Braden, who got me into this mess, even though I'm not supposed to be here today and it's my last shift before retirement. Braden, actually, is the driving force behind our attempts at this seemingly-impossible goal and, because he's cool like that, he's started a new blog that he and I will use to track our progress. It's this: http://wrimo2006.blogspot.com/. I'll be posting there too as time draws ever-nearer to the starting line and if you go there now, he's got a rather well-written explaination of the whole affair plus an adorable picture of a monkey.

3. I actually don't have a third thing of interest but all good things come in threes so, to that end, here's a picture of an adorable badger:

Colbert Is My Homeboy

Who am I to argue?



Nice to see that I'm finally getting the support I deserve. Even if it is Basic Cable support. Well, I guess you've got to start somewhere. I guess. Now if Anderson Cooper would only return my calls. Man, then we'd be in business.

Trite: The Musical

Last night, despite the fact that we're not 15, Em and I subjected ourselves to the Disney Channel original movie, High School Musical. We did this because, eh, we both like musicals and it's a musical and... well... okay, there's really no excuse for two grown-ass adults to watch High School Musical. And yet, there we were, couchward bound, surrounded by delicious food and armored by a thick layer of irony. We were ready for anything.

It was, to put it mildly, a regrettable decision.

Herewith, some notes on High School Musical, presented in bullet point form. It is impossible to form complete thoughts about this movie without blood leaking from ones ears. To it, then:

-The movie's set in New Mexico? The fuck? Why? I'm fairly certain that there's never, ever been a movie set in New Mexico before this and I don't really think we should've started now. It's mean to the folks who've decided to reside there, for one thing. They'll start thinking they're living in the new Hollywood and before you know, they've got all their fancy turquoise jewelry out and they've lathered on extra sunscreen and all that's left for them is a crushing disappointment that would fill the Grand Canyon. So thanks a fucking lot, High School Musical. You've dashed New Mexico's dreams.

-I know that musicals are, generally, supposed to present an sparkly clean, ultra-fab world of shiny happy people but... shit. The characters, setting and general attitude of High School Musical make Hello, Dolly look like Rent. Everyone is squeaky clean, impeccably dressed and chaste to a degree not even realistic in the 50's. Real high school is about trying to get as drunk and as laid as possible and no one, not even those who are participating, give that much of a crap about the Big Game or the Big Play. They're too busy trying to get drunk and laid. Again, I know it's a movie, and a Disney movie at that, but even an attempt at realism would have been nice.

-The main character's dad, I'm pretty sure, is acting in an entirely different movie; one were he's got an immense coke problem.

-What is with all the fucking armpit hair? I don't believe I've ever noticed armpit hair before, even my own, but there are at least four shots in this movie that seem to be framed using the a character's hairy armpit as a focal point. It is disturbing, to say the least.

-There's a scene where they all sing and dance in the cafeteria and, while watching it, I was struck with a sense that I was watching something momentous... yet... I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, it hit me: High School Musical just managed to out-gay Fame. Incredible.

-The basketball team are all members of the official Stomp-sponsored boy band. See:



-In trying to figure who needs to shoulder the blame for this movie, I ended up on IMDB and discovered that the director, Kenny Ortega, was the choreographer for Xanadu. So it was really nice to find my answer.

-The main villain, who's character name is Sharpay (that's not even how you spell it; freaks), appears to be about 28 and is the only interesting thing in the movie. Also, the male and female leads have the chemistry and charisma of a large chunk of sheet rock and a bag of make-up, respectively. And all the songs suck. And the dancing is closer to seizures than anything else. And I'm now tired of thinking about this movie.

-Don't see High School Musical, or, rather, don't see it sober.

Roommate's Smackdown For My Enjoyment

Warning: The following post contains explicit language that is entirely necessary to the plot and, thus, cannot be excluded for the benefit of certain people (my Mother) who have delicate constitutions when it comes to potty-mouths. Besides, we all know that swear words are hilarious.

So I get home last night, rough day, weary is me. Pop open a beer, put on some music and stare into space, broodingly. Then, faintly at first, I hear it; the one thing that could possibly brighten my day and, in one fell swoop, provide me with some much needed entertainment... The first rumblings of a domestic disturbance. And, before you start thinking I'm a horrible person who's getting his ya-yas listening to some lunk beat on his wife, allow me to clarify: What was brewing, one flight down, out on the landing, was a good ol' fashioned, Brooklyn-style, sasstacular ROOMMATE SMACKDOWN!!!

Now, I don't know what the situation is with the people in 3L. I know that there's 3, possibly 4, youngish adults who live there and, apparently, they all hate each other. It's a living situation built on slamming doors, harsh words and a complete disregard for not shouting in public. And it is my favorite soap opera, hands down.

Anyway, back to last night. As soon as I heard them ramping up to full volume downstairs, I immediately turned off the radio and tip-toed to the front door. From the peephole, you can kinda sorta see down onto the landing below; well, you can see their shadows on the wall at least. Which is good enough for me, in a watching-your-screensaver-while-listening-to-music kind of way. So the fight begins...

Loud, Sassy Roommate Who Seems To Always Be In The Fights And Is Probably The Source Of The Problem: (top of her lungs) You fuckin' bitch, you fucking cunt... what's wrong with you! Why'd you do that... what's wrong with you.

Comparatively Meek, But Still Quite Loud Roommate: You need to calm the fuck down... listen to me... fuck YOU, bitch...!

LSRWSTABITFAIPTSOTP: (louder, if possible) Fuck you, you bee-yotch!!! You cunt!!!

CMBSQLR: You're crazy... you got problems...!!!

I'll spare you the Mamet-esque dialogue that followed but, suffice to say, they are both bitches, bee-yotches (yes, they actually used that word) and cunts, according to each other. Amid the haze of flung expletives, I was able to discern the cause of all the commotion. Seems CMBSQLR had, in a rather foolish attempt to get LSRWSTABITFAIPTSOTP to talk to her, unplugged LSRWSTABITFAIPTSOTP's computer while she was using it.

Talk about your social foul.

Usually, I tend to side with whomever LSRWSTABITFAIPTSOTP is fighting with, simply because LSRWSTABITFAIPTSOTP is ridiculously shrill and, as her name suggests, seems to always be the one "starting shit." However, in this particular instance, it seems that CMBSQLR was, in fact, the bee-yotch. You just don't do that. If someone were mad at me and, in an attempt to discuss things, they unplugged my computer to get my attention, they would be almost instantly felled by a series of blows to the face and neck. And I'd have no idea what I was doing due to the boiling hate. So uncool.

They continued to rage at each other for about 15 minutes, actually reaching the Wow-I-might-have-to-call-the-cops point before, finally, cooler heads prevailed and they took it inside their apartment, accompanied by a duet of slamming doors. This, of course, raises the question of why the hell they were fighting out on the landing anyway, but whatever.

I could still hear them, a bit, but it was far too indistinct what with them being surrounded by walls now. So I don't know how it all came out in the end. I'd like to assume that there was some hair-pulling and perhaps even some frantic slapping, but I guess I'll never know.

Until, of course, the next installment.

"Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello

If you find yourself lacking for Ukrainian gypsy punks (and who doesn't?), please direct your attention to this fine band from the Balkans, Gogol Bordello:



These guys are insane live. Em and I saw them open for Cake and they totally stole the show. Of course, that also had something to do with the fact that the lead singer of Cake was a wasted, rambling mess, they were an hour late to the stage, and their set was a paltry 45 minutes. Anyway, should Gogol Bordello come anywhere near where you are, go see them, for real. This video is just a taste of how wild their shows get.

Mets Win!!! Mets Win!!! Mets Win!!!!

...the Division title. Okay, so that's maybe not super-exciting. Especially since they were a minimum of 15 games ahead of any of the other teams in the NL East. Still, I'm pleased. And don't Jose Reyes and David Wright look pleased as well:



Mmmm... the glory of sport. It should be noted that these two strapping lads are a big part of why the Mets are where they are. Their performances at Short Stop and 3rd Base, respectively, were consistantly rock-solid and, on many occassions, down right spectacular. Not to mention the fact that both of them have had not just hot bats, but hot bats at key moments. Which is what it's all about; coming through with a hit at the right time. Anyway, all of the Mets deserve their share of the credit, as well as an extra-large slice of the credit pie set aside for Willie Randolph, who has turned this team around in true Manager of the Year fashion. It's been a great season at Shea and I've been proud to count myself among the numbers in the stands. Cheering, eating peanuts, sipping a beer and looking out over Queens as the Amazin's walked the road that lead them here.

And I suppose there's nothing left to say but a big, hearty, back slapping congratulations to the '06 Mets.

See you in October!

My Hobo Disguise

My girlfriend and I aren't luxurious people. We don't travel the world or eat at fancy restaurants or go see elaborate shows with scantily clad exotic dancers (though I am open to exploring that option). We live fairly simply; cooking at home, occasional meals at a diner or the Chinese place, a movie every now and again, etc. Nothing too high end. However, we do splurge on one thing:

Heroin.

Haha! Just kidding, blog-monitoring authorities! We don't do heroin and, even if we did, we'd get it cheaply from a guy named Wing-Pu in the back room of a Chinatown McDonalds (knock twice and say the word "candelabra"). No, the area in which we do our splurging is laundry. One of the many bricks that fortifies the surrounding walls of my girlfriend and I's relationship is a mutual hatred of doing laundry and the way we've reconciled this fact with our daily lives is by taking advantage of the wonderful "drop-off" service that so many laundromats offer these days. Sure, it costs more. But it beats the hell out of sitting around a dirty, hot laundromat filled with screaming kids and unpleasant, dirty clothes aromas.

The one flaw in this otherwise airtight plan is that, occasionally, you can't get to the laundromat in time to pick up your large parcel of clothing before they close. Which is precisely the predicament I find myself in today. I'm wearing clothes, yes, but the clothes I'm currently wearing are to the rest of my wardrobe what Little Leauge is to the MLB. Sure, it's essentially the same components, but it's a vastly different quality of play.

So let's break down what I've decided shall henceforth be known as my Hobo On A Job Interview outfit:

Socks

I am forced, today, to wear the perennial last pair of socks in my drawer; the wooly ones. They're thick, unwieldy and very, very warm. While the rest of my body is a very pleasant temperature, my feet feel like they're casually resting in a pot of boiling sweat. Also, they keep bunching up around my heels, making me feel like I'm walking on wads of dead hamsters.

Pants

These are a pair of fairly dressy (for me) khaki pants that I found hanging in the back of my closet. They appear to be the khaki's of a much thinner man; Pee-Wee Herman, say. While I've managed to pack my bulk into them well enough to wander around in public without frightening children, I will say that they're erring on the side of uncomfortable in much the same way that the ocean errs on the side of being wet.

Undershirt

An Old Navy t-shirt that never fit me quite right. Apparently, I have a freakishly long torso which, while not always an issue, can occasionally leave me wearing a shirt that, on a normal person, would look just fine. On me, it looks like I'm wearing a bellydancer's "kicking around the apartment" outfit. The effect is shocking, to say the least.

Shirt

This is really a sad case. What was once one of my nicest dress shirts, now it seems has fallen on hard times. While still a puckish light blue, it's now permanently wrinkled, giving the impression that I'd worn this shirt during a three-day bender complete with frequent naps in a ditch. Also, the fabric on the buttons has curled up, for some reason, leaving big planes of my undershirt showing through. While I could view this as giving me the illusion of possessing bulging muscles, I'm pretty sure that most people won't see it that way.

Add to these elements my dirty baseball cap, my scruffiness of face and my Payless shoes that have holes in them and, well, it's a wonder I was even let into my office building this morning. Eh. Well, tomorrow is another day. I'll be freshly dressed and sparkling new. And perhaps I can panhandle some change on the subway ride home.

Manwitch

Em and I went to see The Covenant this afternoon because there aren't, sadly, enough male witches in our daily lives. It was fairly blah; it looked pretty enough, but there wasn't enough special effecty excitement and there certaintly wasn't enough sexy stuff to hold my attention. Very PG-13, though there is a locker room scene that has more man-ass and homoerotic content than 2-for-1 drink night at Stonewall*. Overall, it was one of those movies that really serves no purpose for being. It holds your interest, I guess, and it isn't blatently awful. It just kind of... is. Unless, of course you're into seeing overly-sweaty, pretty men who can't act toss each other around using magic. Then by all means, have at it.

As for me... Eh... the highlight was when, about twenty minutes into the show, a group of teenagers barged in all loud and rowdy. I turned around and told them to "Shut the hell up!" and they actually did!!! For some reason this really pleased me.

Anyway, The Covenant... not impressed. I think it can be best summed up with this line of dialouge, said by the bad guy to the good guy: "I'm going to make you my wee-yotch."

Tells you all you need to know, doesn't it?


*For more on the homo-ness of The Covenant, check out my boy Buzz's review on his site, Camp Blood:

http://www.campblood.org/Reviews/Review%20-%20The%20Covenant.htm

"Lloyd I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken" by Camera Obscura

It is impossibly foul outside today. I hate this rain, where it doesn't come on full bore, but just sort of spits down on you. Like you're being forever misted by a giant spray bottle. Blah, gross and again, blah. If you live in the greater New York area, I'm sure you echo my sentiments. So, to that end, let's all watch a very cheery music video and maybe that'll make us perk the fuck up.



Note: I don't think the lyrics of this song are actually all that cheery. I think, actually, they're kind of depressing. But the video... perkalicious.

Record Store Clerks Singing

So I just finished reading High Fidelity for the third time. It was great again, as I knew it would be, but one thing really bugged me and, if you've read the book or even seen the movie, then it probably bugged you too: Wouldn't the whole story be a lot better, more real, more engaging, if the characters were all singing. If High Fidelity were a musical, wouldn't it just be that much more wonderful?

I am, of course, being deeply, deeply sarcastic but, as it turns out, some other people aren't:

http://www.topfivebreakups.com/

Yes, High Fidelity is coming to Broadway.

For. Fucking. Real.

Watch the music video they have on there of one of the songs; it'll give you a pretty good idea of how badly they've fucked up a great story.

Movie Poster A Go-Go: The Sequel

Let's applaud or mock (mostly mock) other people's graphic design skills...

The Wizard of Gore



See, they had the makin's of a great poster. A cool, even classy background; what says "horror" better than a spray of blood across a pure white sheet? Then they had to get the guy who does the fonts for Megadeath albums. Now they got a great background that's totally marred by a logo that looks like it should be air-brushed on the side of a van. I can only assume that decisions like these will spill over into the movie it's self. Although Crispen Glover is always welcome in my horror genre.

Marie Antoinette



Finally, Teen People magazine has their hands on the 18th century. I really want to like this movie because I am a huge fan of Coppola's Lost in Translation, but... eh... I don't know. If the poster is any indication, and for the sake of this post, it is, we're going to be given a weird mix of historical drama and Pretty in Pink. I don't know if I can stomach something that hip without spontaneously sprouting a trucker hat. My t-shirts aren't ironic enough of this movie.

Fast Food Nation



Now this I like. Certaintly gets the point across, if nothing else. Also, it makes me hungry, but I have a feeling that's not exactly what the filmmakers were going for. One beef (tee hee!), what's with using the same font from Fahrenheit 9/11? Is that the only font available for hard-hitting, quasi-documentaries? Eh... if that's it's biggest crime, I suppose we can let it slide. Especially because I like the tag line. Clever!

The Last Kiss



Okay, now I like Zach Braff. I've watched Scrubs for as long as it's been on and I thought Garden State was one of the best movies of the last few years. However, I don't particularly have the desire to see Garden State remade a whole bunch of times with an ever-rotating cast of pretty girls for Braff to get all mopey over and yet, I have a sneaking suspicion that's what we're getting here. The fact that movie's written by the guy who wrote Crash, a movie I will never stop being angry about, doesn't make things any better. Hrm... guess we'll see. Oh, and Last Kiss... your poster is blah.

The Guardian



What, is that a threat?

The Blogs Of Men I Know

Since I'm entirely blah at the moment, please direct yourself to the blogroll on the right and note the two newest additions to the ZFS! family. And when you're done noting them, go visit them. Here, I'll get you started:

http://upthedownsyndrome.blogspot.com/2006/09/anti-psychotica.html

Great story about taking other people's anti-psychotics. Which, I believe, was also the plot of Jurassic Park. No? Ah, then it seems the fever has cooked my brain.

Also, do stop by http://www.cinemajoel.com. I was just the Best Man in his wedding, which I believe is the traditional Kurdish method for approving of a man's website. So you know I know what I'm talking about. Seriously, do you know what I'm talking about? Because I think I'm typing, but I also might be hallucinating all of this. I am a dragon of might and mystery!!!

Side Note: If you like the fancy-pants ZFS! banner at the top of this page (and you do), the man who designed it is the man behind Up The Down Syndrome. I don't use the word genius a lot, but there, I just used it. What are you going to do about? Huh? Okay, okay... I'm putting down the broken beer bottle. I didn't realize you'd get so angry.

Death Comes A-Knockin'

Whatever it is that's going around has officially shown up at my door, knocked politely, and kicked me square in the gut when I opened up to see who was there. Then it proceeded to trash my apartment, steal my wallet and rabbit-punch me in the back of the head a few times just for good measure. Also, and I don't know if this is related or if this is something all together new and exciting, but my right ear currently feels like it's... "full." I guess that's the bestway to describe it. It doesn't hurt. It just feels... "full." What the hells up with that?

So, in other words, I feel generaly like death. I'll spare you the gruesome details, but rest assured that, no matter what, unless you're in a car wreck or a shark attack, you're having a much more pleasent day than I am.

Anyone wishing to leave me lavish notes of sympathy, please feel free to do so. I will be moved to tears, possibly before but probably after I am moved to barf.

"Nothing but Flowers" by Talking Heads

I don't have to be in to the office until noon today, so I'm currently wallowing in a bit of a lazy morning. While I lounge around, watching the Price is Right and eating Salt and Pepper chips for breakfast, please enjoy some Talking Heads:



This, by the by, is one of my top 20 videos of all time. I know that it's not just a whole lot to look at, but for whatever reason it really does it for me. The Talking Heads have long been a favorite destination on the great spinning globe that is popular music and a big reason why is because they put out quirky, quasi-ironic songs like this. Also, David Byrne is just freakin' weird. I saw him do a book signing a few years ago (he had some kind of art book out) and, though quite funny and personable, he proved in my mind that his whole aura of oddness isn't an act. The dude gave, as part of his discussion of his book, a Powerpoint presentation. Who does that?

It was the hardest rockin' Powerpoint presentation I've ever seen.

How To Remember

Can't really post today without acknowledging the day it's self.

Five years ago, everything changed. Don't need to tell you that though, I suppose. You were there, in one way or another, so you know. Unless, of course, you're a five-year-old with amazing cognitive abilities who's stumbled upon this blog and if that's the case, go ask your mother. Anyway, there's nothing that I can say about September 11th that hasn't already been said by smarter, better looking people, so I won't bother trying to put my spin on it. My "Where were you when it happened...?" story isn't even that exciting; I spent most of the day getting drunk while working at a video store in Austin. Big whoop.

I will say, however, a hearty Fuck You to CNN... in case you haven't heard, they've elected to remember the events of five years past by reairing, in real time, their entire day's coverage from September 11, 2001. Um... what? For one thing, everyone knows that reruns suck. Second, why would anyone want to watch that? I'm fairly certain that all of us were glued to the tv when it all went down and, if memory serves, it wasn't that fun of an activity. I can't really imagine that anyone feels like snuggling down on the couch with a bag of Pop Secret and a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper so that they can relive the horror. Just seems like a wasted effort.

Which is not to say that we shouldn't pay tribute, or memorialize, or even quietly remember. We should, of course. A lot of brave people did brave things bravely that day and a lot of other people died bad, mean deaths that were entirely unnecessary. So light a candle, say a prayer, raise a glass or have yourself a good, long cry.

Do anything but flog yourself with a visual recapping of our nation's most recent darkest hour. That's just not the way it should be done.

My opinion, of course.

To Betsy, With Love

I know this isn't going to mean just a whole hell of a lot to anyone who isn't a total horror nerd (like me), but that lady standing next to my handsome, smiling self is none other than Betsy Palmer, otherwise known as Mrs. Voorhees, Jason's psycho-killer mother from the Friday the 13th films.

I met her tonight at a screening of an old professor of mine's new film, in which she has a small part. Such a sweetheart!!! Clearly just happy to be there, happy to meet the fans, happy to be doing something she loves. On top of that, she was awesome in the movie, proving that the grande scream dames can still tear it up when they need to.

Okay. That's all, suppose. I'll go geek out in private now.

Jesus Camp

Stuck at work, bored senseless, wandering around the internet looking for something to entertain my brain. Instead, while perusing the latest movie trailers, I found something that pretty much scares the shit out of me:



As I've said before, I'm all for people practicing their religion and going about their business, but stuff like this... talking about "God's army"... that's just crazy. I'm glad that someone was brave enough to wade into their midst and make a documentary about these sick fucks because, guarenteed, we need to keep an eye on these people.

Parenthetically, the kid with the gross mullet who appears to be preaching... anybody else getting a Children of the Corn vibe off of him?

Mouse Attack!!!

I had kind of hoped that my girlfriend and I's troubles with the skankier members of the animal kingdom were over but, sadly, it seems that's not the case. Last night, after a pleasent evening of Hot Tuna Noodle Dish and some Shock Treatment (a winning combo if ever there was one), we had another close encounter with nature. The sanctity of our kitchen, a happy place where we prepare our meals, was violated by a tiny, angry, steely-eyed monster who had nothing but evil in his heart and murder on his mind.

I'm talking of course about a mouse.

Our cat, a noted, venerable mouse-killer, had him cornered under the dish drainer on our counter, but don't think the little bastard was hiding. Oh no. He was reloading. Or sharpening his switchblade. Possibly putting more fuel in his chainsaw. Anyway, since he was, for the moment, not running about attempting to claw our achilles tendons, I was able to use a wad of paper towels and every ounce of my intestinal fortitude to pluck him out of his hidey-hole by the tail. Now, as I remember it, he looked exactly like this:



My girlfriend assures me that that's not the case, though when I close my eyes all I can see is the teeth and the hate. But, because I was admittedly too busy hyperventilating to get a really close look, I'm going to grudgingly assume that she's correct in saying the mouse look more like this:



Whatever. Still looks psycho to me. At any rate, we were able to humanly dispose of him by dropping him from the window down to the overgrowth of weeds and bushes below where he, no doubt, immediately went about plotting his revenge. After it was all over and I'd finished weeping softly, we were able to get on with our lives as best we could. Still, I know he's still out there. Waiting. Watching. Possibly purchacing large firearms over the internet.

I know that we will meet again.

Hilarious Hilarity

Okay, first off, I wasn't aware that Cracked Magazine was even still around. Did anyone even really read them back in their heyday, when they were the Malt-O-Meal Fruit Wheels to Mad Magazine's Fruit Loops? Sure, I'd pick one up every now and again, but I always felt really ashamed and guilty about it the next day, like when you wake up hung over next to a young frat pledge named Randy who looks so content and... er... well that never happened! Ha ha, I'm a kidder and also hilarious. I love my girlfriend!!!

Anyway, I stumbled across Cracked Magazine's website today and they had this parody of the current Vanity Fair cover and, to my surprise, it made me laugh my sweet Texas ass off:




The expression on the baby's face just about kills me. Also, Tom Cruise is a tool. So big congrats to Cracked magazine for still being around, despite all logic, and to putting out something actually funny. Close up early and have a scotch.

"Fraud in the 80's" by Mates of State

These guy's latest album, Bring It Back, has been in crazy-heavy rotation at the swinging, hipster scene known as my office cubicle. This is the nifty neato video for the big (in indie terms) single. It's very stop-motiony.

Which is always fun.

The Freedom of 8.89$

Once my rent check clears, I'll have 8.89$ in my bank account until September 15th, when I get paid again. But I do not fret, for he who remains optimistic is one who's a lot less likely to fling himself off the 19th floor of the office building he works at after shotgunning a cheap bottle of Macormick's vodka. So, in the spirit of keeping my chin up, here are the freedoms that I am allowed, having only 8.89$ in my bank account:

-I can now stroll freely through Bed-Stuy at 3 o'clock in the morning. Yes, it's a rough neighborhood and it's likely that I, being doughy, white and about as a menacing as a 5 foot 10 marshmallow peep, will be mugged. But what can they possibly take? Besides, scars look coooool.

-I have the opportunity to find out if that Urban Legend about the college student who ate nothing but Ramen for a whole year and died of malnutrition has any truth to it. Today my Ramen is "Shrimp" flavored. Mmmmmm!

-I can curl up with a good book. And when I finish reading it, I can shred it up and stuff it in my shirt for added warmth.

-When I go to Texas for Christmas, I can look all sullen and unshaved, maybe even a touch gaunt, and I can wow all the folks back home with tales of being a "starving artist" in New York City. They'll all go "Oooooh" and think I'm super-gritty and world weary, like Bukowski without the heroin problem. Or maybe I'll tell them I have a heroin problem. Then they'll think I'm awesome! Also, I'll tell them who Bukowski is.

-I can get "the blues." Possibly, having "the blues" will make me a famous musician. Might need to learn an instrument first.

-It's a law in New York that, when your bank account slips below 10$ (American), you're legally allowed to wander around Union Square park shirtless and scream at pigeons. I'm looking forward to the exercise!

Yeah, life's going to be pretty sweet for the next nine days. Pretty damn sweet indeed.

Jealous?

Play

Despite my aforementioned sourpussedness today, I do have a bit of good news to share with the class. This weekend, after over a year of occasional toil but mostly avoidance, I finally finished the play that I've been writing. This is good because, once I get it cleared by a certain NYC-based theater, I will have the opportunity to actually put the play on in front of a real, live audience. And I can call myself a playwright with out just flat-out lying to people, so that's a plus too. At any rate, I'm really proud of it and I think it's going to go over pretty well. Let's just say that, for a play about a first date, it has a lot of people vomiting blood. Good fun.

I'll keep all you kids posted as events develop, of course. Once we go into rehearsals, things will start moving fast and this blog will pretty much turn into a diary of me banging my head against a wall, trying to get this thing performance-ready. Should be fun, if for no other reason that you get to watch me have a nervous breakdown. Exciting, no?

But for now, a hearty HOORAY, ME!!!

Funk (The Not-Fun Kind)

In a bit of a funk at the moment. Nothing major; I'm not dying or anything, nor is any of my loved ones. Far as I know, anyway. This is just one of those in-general, poor-me, why-am-I-cursed-to-live-this-life-of-misery sort of depressions that everybody gets every now and again. So, to that end, and in the spirit of me being Captain GloomyPants, here's a little of The Cure:



Oh yeah... that's good misery.

Rest In Peace

Steve Irwin, a.k.a. "The Crocodile Hunter" was killed in Australia on Monday while filming a new show called The Oceans Deadliest. He got too close to a stingray; more specifically, he got too close to the stingray's tail, which has a sharp, poisonous barb at it's tip. The barb punctured his chest and stabbed his heart. CPR was attempted, but by the time his crew was able to get him to a hospital, he was already dead.

I actually have nothing funny, clever or snarky to say about this man's death. I'm not immune to the dark humor that comes from a celebrity's untimely demise (you hear me Kevin Federline; I'm waiting...) but Steve Irwin, who always seemed like a good, passionate guy, doesn't really deserve that. The worst that you can say about him is that got a bit over-enthusiastic when it came to his presenting skills, but... that was just how he was. Besides, that's what everyone liked about him anyway.

Personally, though I wasn't ever really a regular viewer, I do consider myself to be a fan. There was a good stretch of my collegiate life where his show seemed to always be on right as I was waking up, or right whenI was getting home from the late shift at the video store. Watching him fool around with scorpions or taunt alligators always seemed to quell my hangover, and for that, I salute him. And I guess the old cliche, "He died doing what he loved" applies here. It would have been a cruel, unjust world that let Steve Irwin die from a stroke, say, or from an ill-prepared piece of chicken. No, he was, I think, supposed to go out among the animals and that's exactly what happened. So that's, in a circle of life kind of way, at least fitting.

Suppose that's it. Not that the comments of a lone blogger amount to much, but my best and thoughts go out to his family and friends. He will certainty not be forgotten.

Rain, Work, and Waits

Rainy, miserable, bleh... that pretty much sums up the the Saturday weather for New York. Hope it's much more pleasant where you're at. The only good thing about it being ass-tastic outside is that I have a legitiment excuse for lounging around in my pajama pants all weekend, breaking the monotony up with the occasional movie, unnutritious meal and attempt at finishing off, once and for all, the play that I've been working on. My girlfriend is hard at work on devising a years worth of lesson plans in three days, so things are rather on the quiet side around the apartment. Work for both of us to do and weather that quashes the need for time outdoors.

So, since I should be focusing my attention on my theatrical pursuits, I'm going to sign off for a day or so. And, just for grins, and because I'm still particularly chuffed with myself for figuring out how to embed videos in this damn thing, here's another music video that is tonally precisely where I'm at.

Mr. Tom Waits; enjoy...

"Woke Up New" by The Mountain Goats

If you're not a fan of The Mountain Goats, then you're missing out on the sweet stuff in life. My personal choice for Best Lyrics, Best Vocals, and Best Overal Band at the music-based awards show that constantly goes on in my head. This is the video from the newest album.

Enjoy:

The Wicker Man

Watched, last night, the original 70's version of The Wicker Man. I'd seen it years ago when I lived in Austin and, I'm fairly certain, was drunk when I saw it, so it was nice to revisit it with a clear head and a sober mind. Semi-sober, anyway. The Wicker Man, actually, is a movie that benefits from a good buzz; it's unfailingly weird, full of bizarre visuals, colorful pagan pageantry and a wonderfully naked Britt Eckland.

Booze only adds.

Anyway, if you haven't seen the original, don't go see the remake. You're just setting yourself up for failure; it's like me buying a 100$ pair of size 30 jeans. It's only going to end in wasted money and heartbreaking sadness. Now, keep in mind, I haven't "technically" seen the remake. I can just tell it's going to suck ass; my CrapDar, if you will.

There's just no way that they're going to recapture the blissed-out, hedonistic strangeness that hovers over the movie like smoke-machine fog at a Vegas magic show. And Nicholas Cage, though I do like the guy, is just way miscast as the morally righteous, devoutly Christian police detective. It'd be like casting Mickey Rourke as a... well, as any part that's not a broken-down alcoholic. And I'm sure they've cut all the creepy/pretty Scottish folk songs that practically turn the original into a musical. And I'll bet there's no sexy pagan dancing either.

You know what, fuck The Wicker Man remake. Go rent the original and buy a six pack of beer.

Savor the flavor of incredibly odd cinema.