Loose Ends and Split Ends: Your Weekly Blog Supplement

Hey everyone! Do I know how to post spontaneously or what? Nothing for neigh on 12 days, and then bam! A post Wednesday, a follow-up Thursday, and another coming Friday. It seems there was a good deal that I left out of my last post . . . well, maybe two things. But more importantly, there’s words need be said, and new stuff, too.

First off, an announcement: I have come to the decision that I will purposely remain single for a little while. Many factors, not the least of which is my overall poor relationship attaining skills, have caused me to reconsider the whole "Rich needs a girlfriend thing." I suppose that now-passed phase was due to post-Jess loneliness, trouble at home and abroad (school), seeing many friends in relationships, and the fact that I know so many amazing women. And a coupla amazing fellas (winks at Jason Frank). So, sorry people, but this stud’s gallopin’ solo for the time being. For the most part . . . .

I finished The Watchmen today. I gotta say, Alan Moore, that shaggy haired British bastard followed that premise of de-constructing the world of super heroes to a bitter end. One of the worst ends I’ve ever seen . . . for anything. It didn’t just further obscure the already hazy line of right and wrong, it beat the crap out of said line, hurled it out a window, and then blindfolded the reader and spun him or her around in circles while playing disorienting music. Suffice to say, the "villain" "wins" and one of the few "likeable" characters ends up exploding in Antarctica. Oh well it was a fun read up until the frustrating conclusion. I need another graphic novel. I seem to have developed an addiction for them.

Okay, got one. Got 5, actually. At Barnes & Noble today I entered the world of the BPRD, the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. The organization of which Hellboy, the Satan and Nazi-spawned working man’s hero, who just happens to be the greatest paranormal investigator in the world, is an agent. These five Hellboy graphic novels, perfectly written and drawn by series creator Mike Mignola (thanks, Mike, for proving an artist/writer combo can work. In your face, Todd MacFarlane!) Trace the action-packed and disturbingly creepy, if at most times tongue-in-cheek funny exploits of the big red guy and his friends at the agency as they travel the world fighting severed heads in jars, cyborg gorillas, mad Russian sorcerers, Nazis, demons, frog men, werewolves, space ghosts (no, not the talk show hosting kind), ghouls, goblins, and giant worms. With some of the most original, interesting, and innovative characters and art in comic books today, these are truly good reads. Not all wordy and depressing like The Watchmen, but well written enough to be respectable. Here’s how you make a Hellboy comic book. Take two parts X Files, three parts H.P. Lovecraft, one part Superman, one part Batman, one part Hulk, a pinch of Homer Simpson, a dash Steven Segal, and about three tablespoons of Mr. Ranstrom’s course, and voila! There you have a great time-passer. I suggest you try them.

I recommend you give The Crow a looksy, too. The graphic novel, done in tasteful, morbid black and white, with a sickeningly cartoonish style, is like a dark, revenge-themed Looney Tunes episode. Think of it as The Simpsons meets Kill Bill, in b&w. The movie is much better than the graphic novel in this case, as it has more likeable characters and cooler villains (Hurray for raspy-voiced, sword-wielding Michael Wincott), plus better action scenes. Action scenes so good, that you might say they’re to die for. Oh, that was in really bad taste. I’m sorry Brandon, we all miss you. And say hi to your dad for me. So, while Brandon Lee shooting a gas main with a shotgun full of wedding rings, or sword-fighting Top Dollar on the roof of a cathedral, are much more enjoyable to watch, seeing the comic book version of him slice off a thug’s feet from the ankles down, and then sit and talk with him as he bleeds to death, or causing a criminal’s car to crash, badly breaking his legs, and then asking him, as he struggles to pull himself out of the wreckage, "How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" "I . . . I-I don’t know." "Well. Depends on the tune." then beating him to death with a hammer, are admirable as well. Not an enjoyable read, by any means, but cool enough to look over.

I believe Dan, Tony and Steve are the only people I know who understood most of those last three paragraphs.

I failed to mention the purpose of my NoHo visit with Steve in the last post, and subsequently forgot to mention one of the best movies . . . or at least "coolest" movies I’ve seen in a while. Steve and I went to Northampton to see the hilarious indie gem Napoleon Dynamite. The movie has been called "plot-less" in much the same way that Seinfeld was a "show about nothing." The film revolves around the misadventures of an awkward junior high schooler with the unlikely name of Napoleon Dynamite. He lives with his older brother, grandmother, and llama, telling whopping lies to kids at school about his amazing life while seemingly gliding blissfully through life in his semi-voluntary isolation. When his grandmother injures her back in a dune-buggy accident, the boys’ uncle Rico must come to babysit, and Napoleon’s life begins to go through some unexpected, sometimes sad, sometimes uplifting, always hilarious changes. It’s as if they took the bare bones plot of every teen movie, and reconstructed the muscles, sinews, and skin of the creature into a perfect portrayal of ‘90's school life. The main character, a gangly, open-mouthed, bespectacled outcast is someone we all recognize, because we knew him growing up, and, in some ways, were him. The movie is just funny enough to avoid being depressing, but has a good deal of hilarious moments, and also an unexpectedly happy ending. So, Pedro for President, that was a good film.

Another good thing about the trip, aside from the energetic company of El Steve-o, was the theatre we saw the film in, Pleasant Street Theater, which may replace The Towers as my favorite place to see a movie. Steve and I went to the lower theatre, which is actually just a brick walled basement, long and thin, with the seats placed in a strange "s" formation, and a screen, the smallest I’ve seen in a movie theatre . . . or the largest home theatre . . . added at the end. It would be an awesome place to standup, for there is indeed a small stage immediately in front of said tiny screen. It’s the only theatre in which having a front row seat (one of 5) isn’t a bad thing. Plus, they sold ginger ale! Isn’t that awesome!? I must go there again.

I bought yet another DVD. The Ref, starring Denis Leary as a cat burglar with a bad temper that takes a bickering married couple, Anne Hathaway and Kevin Spacey, hostage. The movie would be a whole lot funnier if the performances weren’t so real. Everyone is perfectly cast, with one exception: they don’t seem to realize the film is supposed to be a comedy. But, it’s almost enjoyable to watch.

I just finished watching Charlie’s Angels on ABC. I like that movie. I realize it doesn’t want to be taken seriously with the insane stunts and fight scenes and characters, so it’s all fun. The one thing I don’t like about the movie, one thing, is how the Angels run around and fight in heels. Big heels. Damn, that’s gotta be painful, and not at all possible. So what if it makes the girls’ already breathtaking asses look that much better? It ain’t worth it! But boy oh boy! What I wouldn’t give to be a criminal they’re after. It would be so cool to fight with, and eventually get the spit beaten out of you by three sexy women. Or have Lucy Liu massage you with her feet . . . damn, Tim Curry, you get all the luck!

That reminds me of my favorite making-fun-of-movies line. In an action film, when the hero has to get out of an impossible situation by doing something impossible, I say, "Quick [Insert action film star (Jean Claude, Steven, Arnold, Sly . . .)] ignore science!" Or, "defy the laws of physics!" And then they do something absurd, like leaping off of a building, or shooting a helicopter and making it explode, and all is hilarity.

I was recently introduced the band Sugarcult. I had heard their songs before, but didn’t know who they were. I gotta say, I like their angst-filled pop-punk.

I skipped work today and saw Alien versus Predator. I thought that this film . . . uh . . . what’s the word I’m looking for? Kicked ass. It had amazing visual and sound effects, but you weren’t really aware of them. The film makers kept it well under control, not letting it get ahead of the interesting, if simple story, and simple, yet not very cliched dialogue. The location was original; a temple in the Antarctic. And, while the film took elements from both Predator films, as well as Jurassic Park, The Thing, and all four Alien films, it didn’t feel derivative at all. The action was especially bad-ass, though the gore kept to a tasteful medium. And I appreciated the way the film makers bent the routine film archetypes. One of the most refreshing aspects was the level of emotion showed by the slightly less "pussy-faced" ultimate hunters. I recommend it to one and to all.

I then went to see Caitlin, on her final day at Atkins (Congrats, Kat) and we had a nice chat in between her helping close to half a zillion customer. Seriously, that many. I counted. I bought a dozen Atkins doughnuts, and let me tell you, those are the most filling mutha— Shutjo mouth. I was only talkin’ ‘bout Atkins doughnuts. Oh, we can dig it. Anyway, you eat one and you feel bloated and moody. I thought I was having my . . . okay, for the sake of not alienating all of my female readers I will not go on. Suffice to say, they’re tasty, but you better be hungry when you eat one.

Kudos to Amy, friend of Andrew, and publish-tress of the widely acclaimed livejournal, http://livejournal.com/users/catinthegrass/, which critics call a "smart, sexy piece of MHC girl life," "the crossroads of cynical and adorable," and "witty, insightful, and endearing." For, you see, she opened my eyes to the best way to say South Hadley. I had been calling it "SoHo," as Northampton is "NoHo." But, then, wouldn't Southampton be "SoHo?" Amy solved that centuries old enigma with the trendilicious term "SoHa." Perfection! While not as fun as the Caitlinism "Shadley," it is nontheless cool, and much less of a mouthful for those busy folks on the go.

Okay, I think that’s it for this supplement. Catch you cats tomorrow with another boring sentimental post. If I can get it in before Mike’s party. Which reminds me, I better get off before Mike’s party, I don’t want to be pointin’ at people. That’s rude. (Everyone get who’s gonna get it? Good)

See you later.

Current Mood: I feel pretty good. But I feel even prettier when Im naughty.
Current Music: Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead, by Warren Zevon. (That one’s on the mix, Tones) (Which reminds me, I gotta see that movie . . .)

Floods of Water, Creative Drought

As I sit here, clad in only a green towel, dripping with water, my hair a lank, twisted curtain shielding my view of the keyboard, I am in no mood to write this blog. Feeling as sad and dreary as I look, all that’s missing from the scene is the "out-of-luck music," (Wahp Wahp Waaaaah). I’m not the only thing that’s wet. Due to recent water main breakage, my cellar became flooded to Biblical proportions. A restoration team was called in, and they immediately began unfinishing my finished basement. Now the carpets are gone, the furniture moved out, and dehumidifiers running non-stop. It’s reasonably spooky down there with the lights off, like the laboratory of some mad scientist. I have had no desire to actually write this post, although I have had plenty of thoughts to put in it. I am now at the point where I’m updating because it’s been too long since the last entry, not because I want to.

But don’t despair, all is not tears and Grumblecakes. There are silver linings in all dark tunnels, and lights at the end of every cloud, or something of that nature. And the lights and silver linings I’ve experienced over the past few days have been magnificent. So, let’s get straight to the blog, shall we? Before I loose the little motivation I have now.

I know what would make me feel better!

Drugs!
Let’s talk about some I would not do. I would never smoke pot. I can’t stand the smell, I dislike the brain damaging side effects and memory loss, and I’m lazy and giggly enough already. Another drug I’d never do is cocaine. It seems far too harsh and scary. And crack? I would never smoke crack. I would never do a drug named after a part of my own ass. (Thank you, Denis Leary.) Crack is way too dangerous. I wanna get high, I never said anything about having my nose bleed, my testicles shrivel up, and heart explode. Heroin is way too extreme as well. I’ve known heroin addicts and it is not a pretty addiction. It’s an amazingly strong addiction as well. Opiates in general I might try. I was given a shot of morphine once . . . uh . . . in ‘Nam. (Not really. When I broke my arm falling down a flight of cement stairs outside the NoHo town hall). And it didn’t do much for me. It did make me lose my equilibrium and my lunch, though. And opium sounds like a lark. Once or twice. I don’t wanna go shoot Texas Rangers or witness the crimes of a deranged British serial killer. (References to Tombstone and From Hell respectively.) I suppose that’ll do for now. On to less illegal ramblings . . .

I went with my perennial good buddy Steve to Northampton (or as I have dubbed it, NoHo . . . I hope that catches on.) on Saturday and was given plenty of material over the course of the night for two entertainment updates.

Music: I bought some CD’s at Turn It Up which have little in common with each other except for one adjective that can rope them all in: cool. The music may not be for all tastes, but the techno-jazz beat/pop infusion of Soul Coughing is undeniably hip. The rocking insanity, upbeat music to violent lyrics, of Warren Zevon is unquestionably and respectably awesome, and the wide-eyed, neon percussion art of The Blue Man Group is publicly accepted as neato to the extreme. Styles, themes, appearances all differ among my chosen CD’s. And they may not be liked by everyone. But everyone must say that the music, be it the head-nodding, smile-broadening rock of Zevon, the grim-mouth smirk strut inducing jazz pop-sicle that is Soul Coughing, or the funk-tacular robot-dancing beats of The Blue Man Group, is cool.
I also picked up some other new stuff. Del Amitri, pop-rock from 1982 Glasgow, Des-ree, empowering black femi-music, and two bands I hadn’t heard of but found while perusing Miscellaneous F (that’d be a cool name for a band). Farmer Not So John, bitter country rock, and Forest For the Trees. This last one . . . uh . . . yeah. See, a while ago I was thinking about what an ethnic orchestra would sound like. By that I mean a group of musicians playing country or region centric instruments, sitars, from India, bag pipes, from Ireland and Scotland, castanets and maraccas from Mexico. I got my answer in this weird techno-Indian spiritual-contemplative/rap/ pop. With bag pipes. It needs to be heard to be believed, especially the track with the babbling brook, the cow bell, and the goat. Yes, a goat is one of their instruments.

And now onto Movies! I recently bought a hefty stack of DVD’s for my now booming collection. Some are popular, like Suicide Kings and The Boondock Saints. Some are liekable or goofy, like the Impostors or Reefer Madness. But some are not appreciated properly by the human collective. I speak mainly of the action-comedy Last Action Hero, starring Arnold Swartzennegger. Let me try to explain the plot for those of you who have never seen nor heard of this masterpiece of American cinema. Teenage film buff, Danny Madigan (Austin O’Brien, of My Girl 2 fame) spends more time in a rundown old theatre in New York City than he does in school or at home with his hard working single mom. He does this to escape the depressing reality which surrounds him. Now, the lad’s favorite films are big budget actioners starring Arnold as a "super-cop he-man" named Jack Slater. Well, at the screening for the latest Jack Slater film (Jack Slater IV: They killed his favorite second cousin, big mistake! Blammmmo!) Danny is given a magic ticket by his only friend, the theatre’s eccentric old projectionist, Nick. Nick was given the ticket by Houdini, the night he played at that very same theatre back when it was a vaudeville stage. The ticket allows Danny to travel into the world of his hero, and amongst flying bullets, explosions, and car chases the two become friends and learn to see their respective worlds in a different light. I like this movie. I feel it is very original and well done. And I thought that this is the kind of movie that the HCHSFTCT would make, if it was given proper funding by the cinematic branch of the Umbrella Corporation. It has action, comedy . . . lots of comedy . . . likeable characters, an interesting concept, heartwarming scenes, lots of fire and plenty of lapses in logic, and some of the best and most likeable satire I’ve ever seen. The film is a delicious send up to all big budget action films, and the world of movies in general. I suggest everyone sees it.

However, I doubt whether most will like or appreciate it. For, you see, I’ve come to a conclusion recently. As I sat watching Andrew suffer through two hours of explosions and plot holes with Last Action Hero, and earlier, as he tried to like Soul Coughing, I realized that of all the people I know, I have the most unique tastes. In music, film, and sexual adventures, at least. I know "most unique" sounds funny, but I don’t know how else to say it. I won’t say that my tastes are "better" than anyone else’s, because that’s not true, and more importantly, I’m not that conceited. Nor will I say that my tastes are more inclusive, although that is true. You see, my friends like certain music, film, comedy, things of that nature, and I can appreciate or like almost all of what they do. But when it comes to the things I like, it seems that many of them are enjoyed solely by me. I have what Brendan Smith would jokingly call "horrible taste." I don’t like having such unique likes, it’s actually a bit lonely. But I can’t change what I feel drawn toward.

Another thing I have discussed with Andrew is the concept of entertainment. Andrew has an admirable notion that all entertainment should have an underlying message or point. I see it differently. After 4 irritating years of being told to "read into things" and "take it down a level" (pauses here to throw an explosive dart at a picture of Sr. Marlene) I am tired of trying to find meaning in things. I don’t want to see metaphors and symbols and allusions in everything I read or listen to or see. I don’t want to apply everything to a current understanding. I want something that’s a story for stories’ sake. I want a song with no deeper meaning than a guy admiring a sunset, I want a movie with more fight scenes than religious allusions. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy critical reading, looking deeper into things. I only feel that it’s overdone. I think we need to sit back and admire things for their surface value. Stephen King make a point of this in his book IT, which, ironically enough, has several levels of depth to it. I think I’m done with this rant.

Another good movie I’ve seen recently is the madcap period comedy Oscar. Based on a play by the same name, this film show one hectic day in the life of a ‘30's Chicago gangster, Angelo "Snaps" Provolone as he tries to give up his life of crime and go straight in accordance with his dying father’s wish. Sylvester Stallone makes a good comic debut as the frustrated "Snaps," and gets plenty of help from a great ensemble cast.

This made me think: This movie’d be great for the HCHS Performing Arts Club. It’s based on a play, it has comedy and a wide range of characters, simple sets and I guarantee it would be as fun to watch as it would be to be in.

Another play that might work . . . if someone adapted it for the stage, is the Princess Bride. It doesn’t have as many characters, but it has easier sets and costumes, comedy, romance and plenty of action, and some great lines. It’d be like The Clearing, only happy, and with more sword fighting.

I am currently doing something I don’t ever do: Reading more than one Book at once. I am enjoying the continued adventures of Bertram Wooster and his clever valet, Jeeves in Life With Jeeves, at the same time that I am delving into the mind of an addict in Go Ask Alice. Meanwhile I am struggling through the surreal Graveyard for Lunatics, by Bradbury, and witnessing the deconstruction of the super hero image in The Watchmen, a graphic novel by Alan "From Hell" Moore and Dave Gibbons. I urge all fo you to read all of them. Or, at least, some of you to read some of them . . . .

The Way of Rich: Not much, today, other than the obvious: I don’t like to look into things that much, and I think that training is important. I feel every human being should build his or her tolerances to heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and pain. I try to do this every so often through various methods.

And now for another completely unnecessary continuing segment:

Rich’s Hot Celebrities of the Week:

Marissa Tomei,
Nicole Kidman,
Lucy Liu,
Halle Barre

And now, a conversation with my readers:

Hey guys, how are you doing? Sick? With what? Sounds exotic. Is it contagious? Oh, good. Me? No, I’m good. Except for the bear incident. No. No not really. Well kinda painful. No, to shreds, actually. Yeah, I guess. Well, needless to say that popsicle came in handy. Oh, say. Did you remember to diffuse that bomb I planted? No, not that one, the one in that place. No, it’s not, it’s right near you. Right there. You’re looking at it. You didn’t diffuse it? Uh-oh. In that case, can I have your CD player? Oh, no reason . . .

That was a conversation with my readers.

Blog News:
As you know, my blogs have been getting less and less frequent, and exponentially longer with each post. So, I have come up with a solution. I will try to post daily, or at least every other day, and will lessen the now absurd length of my posts by rotating my returning segements. As of now, the segments are:

Friends
Drugs
Entertainment
-Movies
--Casting Call
-Music
-Books
The Way of Rich
Sexy Celebs
Joke Corner

As of Friday, the new schedule will be:

Day 1: The Way of Rich, Friends
Day 2: Drugs, Entertainment, Joke Corner, Sexy Celebs

This will rotate. So, it’ll be Friday = 1, Sunday = 2, Tuesday = 1, Thursday= 2, Saturday = 1 . . . and so on, and so on.

Each will have it’s own mini update concerning my life and any random thoughts I’ve had. In addition, I will unveil the long-awaited "Loose Ends and Split Ends" weekly blog supplement.

This way, if I ever need to make a quick post out of the schedule, I can do it officially.
I think that’s all for now. Next Time: Friends: Brendan Smith, The Way of Rich: Jainism, and my thoughts on high school, life, and moving on.

Current Mood: Tired, disappointed it’s not a better post. Tired.
Current Music: Soft Serve, by Soul Coughing

Hair Apparent

Good news for all those hair enthusiasts out there: I will not be cutting my hair come the end of this month. Several reasons, including the lavish praise from Mike Pytka, have made me reconsider cutting my curly mane. I have become accustomed to having this great golden briar patch on my head, and am loath to remove it. So, for a little while, anyway, I’ma keep it. Don’t fret, though. It will eventually go to Locks of Love, but this way I’ll have more to give. Also, I fear I’d end up like Samson, in that if I cut my hair, I’d loose my freakish strength.

Some of you may be asking, "Wait, how can Rich be keeping his hair and going into the Air Force? It makes no sense! Ill kill myself if I can’t figure this out! Aaaaaahhhh!" Well, don’t fret, little friend. I’ll explain it all. You see, I won’t be going into the Air Force. Yep, simple as that. Here’s what happened: The first guy I went to see about my Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps told me that the scholarship I was getting would be a "full-boat" scholarship. This means it would pay for da woiks: fees, books, room and board, tuition, meals; everything. When I got the letter about what it would actually pay for, fees, books, and room and board were not included. Well, now! That’s okay, it was still a great offer. The first guy (an officer in the Air Force) I saw also told me that at any time I wanted I could transfer to another school, and/or switch majors. I thought that was great. The second guy I went to see was also an Air Force officer. When I asked him if could transfer or switch majors, he said sure, no problem. I thought, "Great, I know what I’ll do." I was signed up to major in chemistry, but I wanted to be a meteorology major. WNEC didn’t offer that program. I figured I take the scholarship for WNEC, for the chemistry major, go for a year, and then transfer to a school that offered a meteorology major. Sounded fine to me. I was told by two separate Air Force officers that I would be able to transfer and switch majors. I even outlined my plan to the second guy and he approved it. I went several months believing I’d be fine. "This is the US government," I reasoned. "They wouldn’t lie to me." I know what you’re thinking, "Rich, your stupidity goes beyond anything most people can imagine." Well maybe. But I had faith. Then, about a month ago, this cocksucking bureaucrat named Gregory Smith calls me up and says that chemistry is not an approved major at WNEC, through the program. He then explained that I’d have to chose a new major. Fine, I said. I’ve been told chemistry was acceptable by two different people, but that’s okay. What majors do I have to choose from? He gave me four: computer science, electrical engineering, mathematics, and mechanical engineering. I only chose chemistry because I had to pick a science. I want to be a journalist. I hate science and math and know I'd be miserable pursuing a career in one of those fields. So then I asked him if I could pick a major from that list, then transfer to another school with a greater range of offered majors, and finally switch majors. He said "No. There is no switching majors and no transferring to different schools." Well, that was the last straw for me. I’d had enough of being jerked around. I sent him a scathing e-mail, accusing him and the officers of heartless incompetence, and declined to take the scholarship. Please know that I wanted to be in the military. I longed for the prestige the rank would bring. I wanted the experience and I wanted to make a difference in that system. I did not decline because I was afraid of service or basic training. I turned down the scholarship because I was tired of being mislead and poorly treated. So now I’m free in four years instead of 8 (although I hope to get a doctorate, so not really free) and I can keep my hair and won’t have to attend weekly meetings or be put in danger overseas. So all in all, it’s probably for the best.

I’d like to share a . . . revelation I’ve had. You see . . . *adjusts sinister sunglasses* Morpheus, girls are not actually offended by the sexual comments I make, be they blatant advances or clever innuendoes. I believe that girls . . . and guys, I suppose, are not as bothered by my off-color commentary as they seem to be. On the contrary, they are in reality more flattered than offended. And who wouldn’t be? I mean, while the prospect of having someone eat a piece of cheesecake off of your ass may be slightly disturbing, you can’t help but be flattered when someone says they’d like to do so. I mean, when you get right down to it, it’s actually quite the compliment. The same way, if a girl wears a provocative outfit, she only feigns being angry at stares. That’s what she wore the outfit for in the first place. So, if I ever say that I’d like to do something freaky with you, don’t be mad; be glad! It’s my way of saying "You’re all right!" (Paid for by the Please Stop Suing and or Insulting Rich Foundation)

Right about now I’d like to list the drugs I would consider doing over the course of my life. First: Nicotine. That’s right, good ol’ fashioned cigarettes. They’re a crucial part of vintage Americana, and they make you look cool . . . if you’re slightly cool to begin with. They also help when you gesticulate. No pipes, I’m not a detective living in turn of the century England, and no cigars, I’m not that pompous. No tobacco, either, I’m not that rugged. Next on the list: Alcohol. Booze, beer, bottles a’ wine and lots of ‘em! I think the only beer I’d try as of now is Corona Extract, the others seem a bit bitter and . . . uncouth. If that applies. Wine can be cool, in a sophisticated way, and the drink has been around for a while. Easy to seem cultured when drinking wine. Champagne is a bit pretentious, but maybe on certain occasions . . . it’s more of a celebratory drink, anyway. High balls! Those are fun! There’s such a wide array of them, they’d be fun to sample. Help develop a character for yourself by picking one. And then plain ol’ booze. Scotch, vodka, gin, bourbon . . . you name it. A bit hard to swallow, literally, but it seems like everyone should hold an "on the rocks" glass at some point in there life and sip moodily at a drink. Maybe I’ll stop there with the legal ones . . . I’ll make this a continuing segment! I haven’t got enough of those already.

Last Friday I was on my way to work in Hatfield. It was a perfect 65 degrees outside. Huge clouds ballooned in the blue sky. A breeze was up, and on it came the rich, refreshing scent of Autumn. Every song I heard on the radio was just right. I didn’t change the station once, Thank You, WRNX and Dave Sears. The day seemed so perfect that I drove to the job site, ahead of my crew, and then paused for a moment and turned around. The drive home was just as lovely, and I stopped to take pictures along the way. It was the best experience I’d had in weeks.
I wish I could’ve taken the perfect drive with a girl I care about, but it was maybe best to do solo.

Another thing I’d like to do with a girl, sleep. Not sleep with her as in sex, just fall asleep with her. Holding each other at that moment of surreal comfort between dreams and reality would be bliss.

Here’s something I think is cool: When you have a diverse, multi-talented group working for the same goal. It may be overused, that situation in which you have a this specialist and a that specialist, all with different perspectives and personalities and appearances, cooperating, but it still gives me a good feeling to see.

I’d like to wish a very happy one day belated Birthday to everyone’s favorite Powell, Evelyn!


Happy Birthday! Woooo! (Shame I wasn’t invited.)


Movies: I forgot to mention the most provocative movie I saw over the course of collecting material for my last blog post, The Bourne Supremacy. Based on the book of the same title by suspense legend Robert Ludlum, it continues the adventures of an amnesiac spy, pursued by the CIA and a deadly assassin in the employ of a Russian gangster. The movie, like the first, is disturbing to the point of nausea, due to the heavy performances and subject matter, extreme violence, over the top suspense, and Matt Damon’s ruthless efficiency. The sequel is harder to watch in one more aspect. The cinematographer felt the need to use one camera angle every second, making the film a jarringly erratic spectacle. In any given scene, the point of view flashes twenty times, from close ups to far off shots, looking up, looking down, from the right, left, front, or behind. It makes one’s stomach turn and one’s eyes ache in protest. That said, the movie is tight and tense. As a thriller, it is expertly crafted. It drives at you with all the kinetic force of a bullet . . . and all the warmth of an icicle. Damon is perfect as the heartless killer longing to lead a normal life, only to be sucked back in to the world of international intrigue. A sort of American james Bond, minus all the charm and humor, but with a great deal more skill and intensity to make up for it. Brian Cox and Joan Allen also excel, as feuding CIA directors with nebulous motives. The car chases and fight scenes, though intense, are startlingly beautiful, in their way. And it’s refreshing in this post-Matrix world to see two people fight without leaving the ground in absurd acrobatic slow motion leaps. So, if you have the stomach, definitely take the time to watch this one.

I believe I have discovered my favorite genre of films . . . (if you can call it a "genre"). I don’t even have a word for it. I’m thinking of crime-comedy, as opposed to romantic comedy or crime drama. The movies that are included under it’s umbrella are varied. Very varied. So much so that they could be all different genres. Let me give you an example: Pulp Fiction. That’s right, Quentin Tarantino’s violently hip masterwork. However, Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs also fits into the genre, despite how it replaced ‘Fiction’s funny cool with simplicity and violence. There are ethnic entries, such as Ordinary Decent Criminal, with Kevin Spacey, about an Irish crime lord; goofy comedic entries, like Who Is Cletus Tout?; quirky entries, like The Zero Effect. There are marital bliss parody entries, like The Ref; there are jittery twisters, like Suicide Kings. Guy Ritchie’s films are included as well, Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. How about hip, quality, big name cast remakes, like The Italian Job and Ocean’s 11? Or the ultra-smooth dialogue-based Heist, by David Mamet. They can be part horror, as in From Dusk Till Dawn, or all "What the fuck?" as in Kill Bill. I suppose at it’s most radically comedic form the genre could stretch to include Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, and at it’s most primally criminal and violent, films like Natural Born Killers, but I wouldn’t take it to either extreme. A perfect medium, with all-around high scores in characters, plot, suspense, comedy, action, hip dialogue, and soundtrack are hard to come by, but last night I saw a film which came close. Boondock Saints, about two Irish brothers living in America who become vigilantes in their home town of Boston, scores a perfect ten in almost all categories. The brothers are loveably cool, in a violently self-righteous kinda way, there comedic Italian partner is funny in so many ways it makes me wince, and somehow pulls off cool/funny/and loser-trying-to-be-cool funny all at once. Willem Dafoe is awesome as one of the most unorthodox characters I’ve ever seen. The movie is great, especially in the development of the characters it does have (I’ll ‘splain later), soundtrack, action, and dialogue. And the plot is interesting, albeit with a disturbing message.
Here are my problems with it: 1) This one applies to the genre. There are no good female characters. It seems to be a rule of thumb (inside historical joke) that these films are drenched in machismo violence and suavity, and completely lacking in any feminine influence or charm. The genre as a whole, and this film is no exception, would benefit from some strong female characters. Pulp Fiction manages it, with Uma Thurman’s sexy strong willed Mrs. Wallace. 2) It is difficult to make all the characters cool, sometimes writers and directors try and fail, sometimes they don’t try at all. The character base that loses out the most next to women are villains. You see, in a action movie, you’re pretty much guaranteed a cool villain, horror movies, the same, and even in comedies there’s always the hateable jerk. But in many of these films, the villains are just boring and one dimensional. What’s worse, they’re not at all scary or competent. That gets tiresome. It’s a shame when the best villain a film has to offer is the inept, though perfectly sleazy, Ron Jeremy as a mob underboss. Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs had cool villains, mainly because every character in both movies was arguably a "bad guy." Snatch I believe has the best antagonists. Brick Top and Boris the Blade are two of the scariest, funniest characters in the genre. And the knew what the hell they were doing.
3) This film didn’t allow Billy Connolly to be funny. That, amigos, is a terrible crime. Perhaps the film will redeem itself for these transgressions in the upcoming sequel, All Saints Day. Until then, it’d make an awesome graphic novel series. (Provided they can get a hot girl, a badass bad guy, and give Billy Connolly’s character some friggin’ jokes.)

And now for More on Movies . . . or Moron Movies:

Casting Call:
Pat Dandrea: Matt Damon
Mr. Goddu: Rutger Hauer
Mr. Paul: Billy Drago
I realize you film philistines probably don’t know who either of these last two actors are, but if you do know, or if you are decent enough to look them up, then you’ll realize their both cool and scary, respectively, and ideal picks.

After some serious thought . . . and by that I mean getting drunk and going to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror at the Towers on Saturday with Tony, I have been witness to the next unavoidable evolution of Casting Call. You see, I had envisioned Casting Call as a way to compliment or insult my friends and show my knowledge of film. Now, I’m takin’ it in a whole new direction: I will now use it as a way to compliment or insult my friends and show my knowledge of film! A ha! You see, I’ve have been, up until now I have been picking actors to play my friends and enemies in a film about our lives, but that presents many problems. Namely the shortage of teen actors and the fact that I can only judge potentials by films they were in and thus one, maybe two dimensional personalities, while my friends have complex personalities and unique traits. It’s almost insulting to say that someone could be convincingly like them. Nay, this was the wrong way to go about things. But now I have it! I will cast my friends as actors to play parts in films! You see, the ol’ switchy swatchy swapperoo. So, I will take a film, eliminate the cast, and put my friends in the place of the actors. Let me give you the example that started it all: The Rocky Horror Picture Show!

Brad: Andrew LeTellier
Janet: Meg Lynch
Dr. Frank N. Furter: Richard Sugrue
Riff Raff: Tony Celi
Magenta: Merilee Brakey
Columbia: Caitlin Szewczyk
Eddy: Sam Sugrue
Dr. Everett Scott: EJ Massa
The Criminologist: I’ma hafta go with Tony again. No one pulls off "stuffy British guy" like him.
Rocky Horror: Steve Konefal

Music: A favorite topic of my friend Brendan’s is how lousy the Dave Matthews Band has gotten over the past few years. Especially Dave himself. Brendan’s theory is that the band’s (Dave’s) lack of originality, and the interdependent factor of his getting over his cocaine addiction (an addiction that obviously lead to some kickin’ songs) has brought the quality of the music into a downward spiral of overused themes and images, and boring music. I say to this: Not so! Granted, Dave’s music was amazing when he was on crack, and hadn’t started re-using many of his Dave-stinctive images. It was unlike anything out there at the time. He deftly captured a range of emotions and a wide array of stories, messages, events with his uniquely rhythmed music and the lyrics that fit perfectly into it. And granted, his music seems a little less dizzingly drug-like. But still, anything by Dave is touched by a singular coolness, evident in the way he turns a simplistic song with The Blue Man Group (Sing Along) into a hip skat anthem for non-conformity, or in his subdued and moody solo debut, Some Devil. So what if he uses the terms "crazy," "grey," "blue," "man," and "plan" ad infinitum, as long as he keeps pumping out songs like Save Me (a nifty take on the story of Jesus’ temptation by the Devil), Dodo ( a ballad for uncertainty), and Stay or Leave ( a tear jerking look at a beautiful relationship) his music is still fine in my book.

I took a trip a few days ago to Turn It Up Cd’s in NoHo, with ma good buddy Andy LeTellier. I bought, as my friend Tony would say, a "crapload" of CD’s, most for under 10 dollars. I found some good ones, let me tell you. First off, from the One Dollar Rack: Unconditional, by Shawn Somethin, a nifty lil’ pop album with a couple innovative songs. Then Wicked Good Sampler, courtesy of Universal Records. This one has many awesome songs, specifically the first track, Woke Up This Morning, by A3, also known as the Sopranos theme song. But it has songs by Semisonic, Smashmouth (early), Blink 182 (early), and other decent groups. Then I got me a Blue Man Group CD, Complex. As well as Genius, The Best of Warren Zevon. (It has Werewolves of London!) I got The Bad Boys soundtrack, which has some decent hip hop tracks, but I purchased it mainly for KDFM’s Juke-Joint Jezebels. I then went on to buy Soul Coughing’s debut album, Ruby Vroom, a hip acid jazz number. Finally, at the counter, I spied a 4 disk set of The Rocky Horror Picture Show Soundtrack. This I readily bought, with my own two hands. And presented it as a gift to one whom we shall come to later in this blog post.


Listening to one of my favorite albums, Ghosts That Haunt Me, by the Crash Test Dummies, I was brought back to one of the high points of my senior year, The Clearing. You see, one of the songs strongly reminded me of one of The Clearing’s best characters. Do you want to know what it shwas? Alright, I’ll tell you what it shwas. The song is a traditional Irish ballad called Thick Necked Man. And it reminded me of that character we all loved to hate, Sir Charles Sturman. His verse of the song goes a lil’ sumthin’ like this:

Talkin’ ‘bout a thin necked man inna three piece,
Killing from his office desk,
Many places he has been to,
Many more he’ll visit yet.

Well without his mommy’s pride and kisses,
Without his country’s confidence,
Without the dying man’s permission,
Without no guilt nor consequence.

This bloody-minded son of a bitch has not a wound to mend,
And all I can do is pray to God
He’ll get one in the end!

As depraved and maniacal the character in the play was, the crazy Italian Ninja who played him was even more so. That’s right, we’re talking about everybody’s favorite zombie-huntin' Samurai inspired party host, Anthony Celi, Tony, as he is more famously known, or Tones McKenzie, to some Friends. The first time I noticed Tony at Catholic, (though I had seen him in Shadley public schools, and had a CCD class with him) was one day in mid-Freshman year, when I was bungling Python quotations and I heard Tony down the other end of the hallway correctly telling them to someone else. At this point I thought, "Oh crap. I need a new quirky British series to rip off." For Tony was at our school the unquestioned authority on all things Python. No one I know has so warped his or her ethnicity. Tony is an American of partial Italian descent. He makes this well known. He is also obsessed with the way of the Japanese stealth warriors, the Ninja. He practices Samurai sword training techniques, acts as a pirate on occasion, and plays out British comedy skits. When he has his friends blissfully confused, he throws a party over his house for half of the friggin’ school (the cool half). Tony has an intriguing and most times comforting view of the world. His beliefs are liberal enough to show he’s a compassionate person, well aware of the need for change, and just conservative enough to show he still has a place in his heart for good ol’ fashioned family values and American ideals. Tony has been my outspoken comrade in words against the tyrannical censorship which has infected ‘Catholic. He was the co-founder of the HCHSFTCT, and most likely the best writer that divinely hilarious organization will ever have. We worked side by side on two of the most successful skits in our school’s history, and side by side as well on the ill-fated (as of yet) Undying Love TV series. Through all of this, plus two triumphant public showings, Tony has demonstrated his amazing sense of humor. I did a blog on the subject of humor, I believe. In it I explained that it was an odd quality to have, and must be a product of an open mind, sound intelligence, and a light-hearted spirit. Tony has the greatest sense of humor of anyone I have ever known (not by much, mind you; all my friends are funny) but Tony’s is near perfect. He can integrate any foreign comedy into his own repertoire, use random, improvised, or rehearsed jokes with ease and effect, and appreciate the humor of others. Tony is hospitable and ingratiating. One must admit, he threw the best parties of anyone at Catholic. Tony may seem abrasive at times,but it's part of his charm. He makes up for it by being giddily cuddlesome other times. And I love the way he can switch from Droopy-eyed mumbler to frenetic lunatic in a mere second. But most importantly, Tony possesses a strength of character that is very rare in these times. The one word that comes to mind when I think of him isn’t welcoming, or funny, or even kind, though he is very much all of those things. The word I think of when I think of Tony is Honor. Tony, more than any other friend of mine, seems to be the most honorable. He’s always willing to do something because it’s right, not because it’s practical or popular. Because of this, it’s easy to picture Tony as one of the super heroes in the comics he collects, brooding over his computer in his well equipped basement lair, running on 3 hours sleep for 4 days, the loveable insomniac, his deadly disk shooter close at hand in case of trouble, working on his tremendous blog (one of the very best on the net) and steadfast, fighting a never ending battle against evil and hypocrisy. Yet, it is also easy to picture Tony stepping out of his Fortress of Solitude to welcome you in, a PS1 controller in one had, a can of Pepsi in the other, ever the smiling host. This makes Tony the perfect comic book crusader, and forever my hero.

I’d like to close this blog with a message to all my friends out there, a la Sting. You know who you are. (If you’re reading this, this applies to you.)

You could say I’ve lost my faith in science and progress.
You could say I’ve lost my belief in the Holy Church.
You could say I’ve lost my sense of direction.
You could say all this and a whole lot worse, but
If I ever loooose my faith in you,
There’d be nothin’ left for me to do.

Some would say I was a lost man in a lost world.
You could say I’ve lost my faith in the people on TV.
You could say I’ve lost my belief in the politicians,
They all seem like game show hosts to me.
If I ever looooose my faith in you,
There’d be nothin’ left for me to do.

I could be lost among their lies
Without a trace.
But every time I close my eyes
I see your face!

I know that any miracle of science
Can go from a blessing to a curse.
I know that with any militr’y solution
We could end up with somethin’ worse.
Let me say this first:
If I ever loooose my faith in you.
There’d be nothin’ left for me to do.

No matter what has gone on in my life, one thing has remained constant: My friends. Throughout a tumultuous four years at Catholic, with everything that has happened to me, my friends have always been there. I owe you guys a good deal. I would not be anything close to the person I am today without your help, encouragement, and support. So, while I may have become disillusioned with the world, may have been angered at the injustice and stupidity at our school, may have been saddened by quarrels at home, may have lost my faith in The Church, in God, in teachers or family members, I never once lost my faith in you. Thank you for being the steadfast, unflinching boulders that kept me safe in a world of harsh uncertainty and grave hypocrisy. I love you all.

Current Music: Blue Man Group's gnarly percussion jive
Current Mood: Antsy . . . but well rested.

The Tao of Steve

It has been said that I update this blog about once every blue moon. Well, that’s right. Saturday night’s sky was indeed graced with a blue moon. For those non-astronomer types out their in Internet land, a blue moon is not, as its name suggests, actually blue. All we mean by that phrase is the second full moon in one month. You see, it use to be that a month was determined by the cycles of the moon, one full moon per month. But when Julius and Augustus Caesar created the calendar that is the basis for ours today, which they did when not busy conquering other lands and murdering relatives and friends, they did not correctly align the lunar cycles with their new monthly cycles, and, as a result, there are seven extra full moons in every nineteen year period. Although the phrase originally had to do with the color blue, meaning something so absurd it would never happen (think "When pigs fly"), it gradually came to signify the extra full moon, meaning something that happens every once in a great while, or two and a half years, whichever comes first. But, enough on that. It’s so freaking boring my hands fell asleep while typing it. On to more exciting things.

Here’s a disturbing thought I had last night: It came to me in the throes of a heady endorphin rush following a seriously kick-ass work-out I had with Andrew, Tony, and mi hermano. I used to masturbate like, twice a day every day for weeks on end. I got pretty good. I also got pretty addicted. I couldn’t concentrate without doing it. However, it has recently lost all its once quaint charm. I hope the slight melancholy I have fallen into will be short lived, but while it’s here, I can’t play with myself to save my life. Anyway, here’s the thought. My sex-drive decreases greatly as I gradually realize that there are less and less people who would ever think of sleeping with me. I used to fantasize about celebrities, but then, at age 16 or so, I wised-up to the fact that I had absolutely no chance with them. Then I was down to strangers: people I see in public places that I thought were attractive. But having sex with them would involve tracking them down, meeting them, and going through the trouble of remembering their names for some period of time. So then I was down to people I know. But, as that well of potentials has all but dried up, I am faced with the fact that I got nothin’ to keep me going. For, while I would still think about celebrities while snappin’ the ol’ carrot, I at least had the thought that someone out there will eventually replace my right hand. Now, all can think is "What’s the point?" Oh well . . . . Maybe this all just stems from this current sadness I got inside-a my heart-type place. Sorry if I creeped some people out with that rant. Some people may even say I’m naive. But what can you do? Just be nice to them in spite of that, I guess.

How about some better thoughts? Ones that aren’t both sickening and saddening? Gotcha, here we go:

There are some skills in life that are practical to have, like a working knowledge of medicine, automobiles, or electronics, or some degree of problem solving skills, carpentry skills, the ability to speak another language, or the ability to move around a decent amount of weight. I daresay I have that last one. There are other skills that make up for being only slightly practical to have by being cool to have. These are the ones I’m interested in. Things like basic drawing skills, knowledge of massage or another language, specifically read braille or speak sign language. One of these that I’d really like to have is bartending skills. Two of my uncles have lived pretty cool lives as successful bartenders in New York City. They eventually moved up to being managers of restaurants and are in the process of opening their own lil’ place in the Big Apple. And my mom used to tend bar in college. Anyway, the ability to mix exotic or classic drinks, even though I don’t really plan on drinking that much, plus learning to be quick with your hands and your wit, is very appealing, and seems to me to be something cool to learn. As of now, I can make one drink: a Shirley Temple. This is easy: Ice, GINGER ALE (not Sprite, you dopes, Shirley Temples are older than Sprite), Grenadine, and Maraschino Cherries. There you have it. I think I’m well on my way to being skilled in the bartending arts. I could be like one of those chicks from Coyote Ugly . . . yeah . . . .

I feel I’ve misjudged Jamie Foxx. I used to think him a vapid and crude jerk. Now I realize he’s genuinely smart and funny, and seems like a nice guy. His comedy transcends the usual boundaries between black and white stand up acts. He and Tom Cruise were a riot on the Tonight Show a few nights back. They both seem like decent, fun-loving guys, and they seemed to really like and care about each other.

I caught my first episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Addition last night, and allz I gotz ta say is Day-yam! Damn, baby! It was so good it made me change my "hate all reality TV" vow. It truly is a fantastic show. As I watched it, as I watched this diverse group of specialists working ‘round the clock on cool projects while being filmed, I realized how awesome it must be to be doing something challenging and fun and creative . . . while being filmed. Being able to record the jokes you make to your fellow workers, or the slick or stupid tricks you pulled off in the process. Then I thought, sonnuvabitch, we shoulda filmed our HCHFTCT meetings, and, more importantly, the times we worked on the art projects. Cait, Andy, you’re with me on this, right? Imagine how cool it would have been to have done those things in front of a camera? And how great it would be now to watch the proceedings? Man . . . man oh man . . . .

And now, to rant about wasted potential in the entertainment world.

How many of you are familiar with the band Smashmouth? They’re reasonably well known. Well, let me explain why they anger me. When the band broke onto the scene in ‘97, with the "smash" hit Walkin’ On the Sun," they had what is known as potential. Their first album, Fu Shu Mang, showed their undeniable alt punk Cali surf rock cool. With quirky songs like Beer Goggles and The Fonz, they proved they could be both respectable and fun. If they tweaked their image a little bit, given the band time to get an identity, they could’ve grown to have been a more hard edged, less friendly version of the Bare Naked Ladies. This was back when they seemed kinda dangerous. When frontman Steve Harnell looked scary. Now they’re frauds and sell-outs, and Harnell went from shark-grin, lanky punk rocker to a chubby, less frightening version of Uncle Kracker. While the music they produce is still catchy and hip for a day or two, after you hear one of their songs on the fifth movie soundtrack, and see them in the third chip or beer commercial, you realize that they’re the biggest sell-outs in the music world today, and that makes them both annoying and as uncool as possible. Damn you, Smashmouth, damn you.

Here’s something else I hate: Last summer, whether any of you noticed it or not, had a total of about 3 original movies. There were more sequels, prequels, remakes, historical pics, bio pics, and comic book movies than you could hurl a bag of stale popcorn at. With the assembly line pumping out of comic book movies, film makers managed to make the general public fear rather than relish the thought of comic book movies. Here’s my opinion on comic book movies: The characters and stories in many comic books are so well crafted, either with age, like in Batman or Superman, or because they take a new, cool angle on the same old stories, like many independent comic books. Thanks to films like Batman and Robin, The Hulk, The Punisher, and Daredevil movie going audiences dislike the idea of basing a movie on something as sophomoric as a comic book. There are only two things that get me angrier than a poorly made comic book movie. They are, 1) a person who doesn’t know the first thing about the rich mythos of the comic in question. I feel that some stories in comic books are interesting enough, and have enough literary merit, to be as well known to the general public as classics of film or literature. 2) a poorly made comic book movie that completely ignores the rich mythos of the comic book in question. Take Catwoman, for instance. The cocksucking execs behind that one must have met somewhere and said, "Hey, let’s do another cookie-cutter comic book film."
"Yeah, great idea, but which comic should we ruin now?"
"How about a female super hero? There aren’t a lot of female super hero movies. And the ladies love it when they can act tough . . . stupid whores."
"Okay, let’s try Catwoman."
"Sure, but I’m not crazy about the whole Batman thing."
"Yeah, and no Gotham."
"And Selina Kyle? That’s not a cool name. How about Patience Phillips?"
"And how about she’s not an exotic thief, instead she does something intriguing, like work at a cosmetics store?"
"And ditch that stupid old costume that everybody likes and that makes sense. Let’s give her shredded leather pants and impossible stiletto heals to fight crime in."
"Yeah!"
"Yeah!"
"Yeah!"
"Hail Satan, our Dark Lord and Master!"
At which point they would kill a goat on top of a pile of money while screaming in Latin.

This is roughly the same meeting that went on before filming commenced for Steel. Granted Judd Nelson got to play almost as cool a badass as he did in the Breakfast Club, but it was still pretty horrible.

You wanna know my idea for a comic book? It probably wouldn’t work that well; it might be slightly boring, but here it is: I’d want to see a super hero team in which the member have only one power each, and the powers aren’t anything ridiculous. The comic book would be as realistic as possible. The team would work for the UN, or maybe for themselves, as mercenaries, or maybe for an eccentric old billionaire, and they’d travel around the world fighting international crime. So, they’d all be like the secret agents you see in the movies, like James Bond, but they’d be of mixed ethnicity and both genders. So, as highly trained operatives they would rely more on their skills and expertise than on their meager super powers. One agent may have heightened senses, or another X-ray vision. Maybe one could become invisible, or have slightly super-human strength, agility, speed, or intelligence. Maybe one could open portals in time as far back as like 1 hour, or have slight telepathy or telekinesis. Nothing nuts like insane speed or strength, invulnerability, pyro kinesis, laser vision, or flight. And only one power per member. They’d kinda be like the X-Men/X-Calibur character Peter Wisdom, a British Intelligence Operative who’s only power is the ability to create knives of energy from his fingertips. Compared to control of the weather or complete manipulation of the electro magnetic force, that’s a pretty insignificant power. But in the real world, it’d be a great advantage for a secret agent. It’d also be interesting to switch the common stereotypes. So, no cool American, brainy Chinese, aloof, cultured French person, big, strong Russian. How about a nerdy American, who isn’t the leader. A hotheaded Asian. And the team leader could be an Irish girl. I dunno . . Sounds cool to me.


Watching the Democratic National Convention last week made me wish Clinton could be president again. His funny, inspiring speech showed that he truly is a good politician, and say what you want about his character, he’d be fun to talk to and he did a great job as leader of the U.S. Now, I also realized that Bush may not be evil. He might just be a simple, good-natured jerk who is the puppet of one of the worst villains in this country’s history: Dick Cheney. The rest of the convention was great, too. (There were some hot girls at the DNC, especially John Kerry’s eldest daughter.) But the second best part was Kerry’s 46 minute long acceptance speech. It was impassioned and inspiring. It showed he did have convictions and will be a strong, yet compassionate leader. If one tenth of what he said he’d do is true, then he’ll be 10 times the president Bush is. He’ll be like some divine incarnation of both Kennedy and Lincoln, here to save the country in a time of need. He was spiritual and pro-science. He was against war, but wanted to strengthen the military. He wanted to protect us and restore our freedoms. And he made it work. I don’t think Bush has much of a chance in the next election.
Now, the best part of the night was when he ended his speech, and the 200 some odd pounds of confetti and the 900,000 red white and blue balloons rained down on the joyous crowd, and U2's Beautiful Day started playing. That was amazing. Then the song switched to "What Dreams Are Made Of," and Kerry, shaking hands, turned and saw that his running mate John Edwards had come down from his balcony seat (so quickly he must have been running) and the two men embraced heartily and with sincerity. Then they went to shake hands. Then their wives joined them, and their children. And tall, handsome, dark Chris Heinz, Kerry’s step-son, picked up little blonde Jack Edwards, a boy of 5, and put him on his shoulders. And Jack reached for a balloon, the music playing ("We belong, in a world that must be strong.") a smile on his rosy cheeks, ("‘Cause that’s what dreams are made of!"). Kerry picked up a young Asian girl, and she tapped his shoulder. He leaned in, and you could see her mouth the words "Nice speech." Kerry shook hands with Rev.’s Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. He warmly hugged his former opponent, Howard Dean, whom he had mentioned in the speech, and thanked, and called to help him and the country. The whole scene was so inspiring and heartwarming, I felt chills, and was near tears, but had a big smile on my face. About this time "Johnny Be Good" started to play. I was won of the greatest events I’ve ever witnessed.

Now, I don’t wanna come off as some sentimental sap, but let me say a few things. 1) Even if the Democrats staged most of those scenes, and are liars and cheats, they’re better than the current administration, and so good for America. 2) Fake or not, it made me feel good, it made me feel safe, and hopeful, and proud. And that’s enough for me.


I’d like to do a very special send off tonight. A few weeks ago I lost someone very close to me. We had been through a lot together, and, though I only knew him personally for two years, and only by his nickname, he forever changed my life.
Good-bye, Pachuco!
It’s so sad to see him go, but we had some good times and he did donate his chasis to science. So, Rock on, Tough Guy. We’ll miss you. *Salute* *Single tear runs down face*



R.I.P.
Pachuco.
(1987-2004)
Devoted friend and automobile.


On to brighter things . . . .



Casting Call:

Me: Matt Damon
Andrew: Ben Afflec (I know we’re both better looking than the actors playing us here, but I’m willing to settle.)
Caitlin: Kirsten Dunst
EJ: Joaqin Phoenix

Movies: You wanna see a good one? Rent The Zero Effect, about the world’s greatest, but most neurotic private detective, Daryl Zero (Bill Pullman) and his smooth talking associate, Steven Arlo (Ben Stiller). It’s funny and really interesting, if slightly quirky and fragile. I’d like to see a continuation of the characters in book, film, or TV. Or Hellboy, it’s weird, gross, enjoyable fun, with cool characters and some heartwarming scenes. How a comic book movie should be. Or Blade II, another comic book movie. See the first one first, though. I never noticed, but there’s very little vampirism in the second one, as it’s all implied. I like this movie. As far as comic book movies go, it’s pretty good, and it’s a near perfect action-horror film. That said, let’s make fun of it. Isn’t it odd how all the vampires explode when hit by sunlight, garlic, or silver, and yet they all explode at different rates in different ways? And isn’t it odd that Blade is half human, half vampire, but thought would logically be slightly weaker and slower than actual vampires, is in reality far superior physically to nearly all of them? And ain’t it odd that none of the vampires seem to have fangs? And that the German villain speaks with an American accent? And that Kris Kristopherson shot himself in the head after being bitten by a vampire, so he wouldn’t turn, but he turned anyway, healing despite the silver in the bullet and the bullet in his face, and yet, after being submerged in a vat of blood, which always heals Blade, his limp still wasn’t gone? And isn’t it weird that Blade doesn’t count mortality as a weakness? This is actually kinda cool, though. See, he can stand sunlight, garlic, and silver, which kill vampires, but he is as strong and as fast as any vampire. The only downsides to this are a thirst for blood and the fact that he ages like a human, not slowly like a vampire. So, as he only has another 40 years, tops (and he’ll probably be gruesomely killed before then) he is in effect fighting a losing battle. There’s no way he can stop the spread of the vampire virus before he dies. That makes him either stupid or admirable. Onto other movies! Open Range was slow, but okay. I hated Old School and The Big Bounce. I, Robot was much better than anticipated. Will Smith flexes his acting chops as well as his biceps. I dunno you want a good film, decide for yerselves, you sheep! But take my advice on one thing: Do not see The Village! M. Night Shalaman has reached a terrible low point. The "twist" at the end of this one was so predictable that I had it figured after the first preview for The Village that I saw. It turns out that the creatures in the woods are really the ghosts of super-powered aliens. No, sorry, nothing so interesting, I’m afraid. The last half of the film ruins the first half, which is genuinely interesting and scary. The ending would work on an episode of the new Twilight Zone, but not a Shalaman film.

While my mind was punching itself in the face while walking out completely dissapointed during the credits, an idea came to me. *Kerclick* (That’s Andrew’s idea noise.) The new film by M. Night Shalaman: Paper Tiger. You see, everyone in this town has no hands . . . and their letters are all red . . . so, here’s the twist part: It turns out that their mail boxes are actually tigers. Huh? You like it? Great non-sensical twist, right? Sheesh. That’s another thing. In The Sixth Sense, Shalaman subtly used the color red to point out clues. I thought, "Great idea, do it in another movie. But not exactly the same, maybe a sound, maybe another color, but keep it subtle. Two minutes into this I’m bombarded by RED RED RED! The bad color! Evil! Thanks, real subtle. And then it turns out that the color has nothing to do with the film. Ooops. Don’t wanna ruin any part of the great ending. I meant to say, turns out that maybe something is not what I expected.
Damn you, Shalaman, damn you.

Music: I’ve been likin’ Green Day and John Mayer lately. Any country duo is good stuff: Brooks and Dunn (There Ain’t Nothing Bout You, Red Dirt Road), Rich and Little (Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy), and Montgomery Gentry (Speed, Hell Yeah). I need a Foo Fighters cd, and a Police cd as well. Lyrics, you say? You cry for lyrics? Here are some good ones courtesy of Brad Roberts, frontman of the Crash Test Dummies:

There’s a skeleton
In everybody’s closet,
I can think of one or two in my own room.
But I would like
To introduce them both to you,
You’d shake their bony hands and so dispel the gloom.
‘Cause you’re so kind
I know you would not mind.
You’d send away the ghosts that haunt me now.
Yeah the things I fear just wouldn’t seem so near.
I could stroll out late at night,
There would be nothin’ rattlin’ at my heels.

That’s one of my favorite love songs. What? You clamor for more lyrics? Howzabout some Mike Doughty? This is song is called "Rising Sign," but I re-titled it "Steve’s Love Song to Katherine," because it makes me think of them, and because I like to intrude on others’ relationships.


Your back curves like a creeping vine,
With the answers in the fluid in the stem of your spine.
In the black-coffee bowl of your eye,
Why do you overestimate the size of the lie?

I've seen the dangers of your rising sign.
But I swear I'd like
To drink the fuel straight from your lighter.
It's all inside the wrist, it's
All inside the way you time it.
I resent the way you make me like myself.

My nerves jump like a boiling pan.
Like a skillet full of oil spits,
Rattling on the burner,
When I stumble onto the thought
Of the match you lit and dropped and set the dial to slow yearn.

I've seen the dangers of your rising sign.
But I swear I'd like
To drink the fuel straight from your lighter.
It's all inside the wrist, it's
All inside the way you time it.
I resent the way you make me like myself

Can I spell it out?
Should I spell it out?

Yeah I've seen the dangers of your rising sign.
But I swear I'd like
To drink the fuel straight from your lighter.
It's all inside the wrist, it's
All inside the way you time it.
I resent the way you make me like myself.
I resent the way you make me like
Myself.


I like that song. It has strong lyrics and a good sound to it. I also appreciate the alliteration that abounds within. It makes me think of Steve mainly because of the lighter line, but I know he cares a lot about Katherine, and the words to the song convey a blind, reckless adoration. Also, the key part, "I resent the way you make me like myself." I know that Katherine has a good effect on Steve. She makes him like, as in "have fond feelings for," himself. This makes him happy, which makes everyone around him happy, unless he has a can of butane. She also makes Steve a better person. But, since he is a great person, one could say she makes him "like himself," as in "as himself," as in "feel like my old self again." See the double meanings? So, now that we’re on the subject ("Great segue, Rich." "Thanks, I just came up with it right now, while typing." "Really?" "Yeah, I’m that good.") of Steve, let’s examine him a mite more closely. What makes everyone love this deranged prankster, this careless, apathetic jerk who has been known in his spare time to light the shower curtains of close friends aflame? Good question, lad . . . or lass, as the case may be. I do have a large female reader demographic. You gotta keep them in mind. Can’t offend ‘em. They get pissy so easily . . . I didn’t just type that, did I? Anyway, good question. Let’s think.
An obvious answer would be that Steve is cool. Of all my friends, Steve is the quote unquote coolest. He’s the life of most parties, he plays guitar, he smokes, he doesn’t care about his appearance, but still looks good, and he does these things effortlessly. This makes him cool. He’s quick with a perfect line. He has the right attitude for a cool person. He’s in a band. Steve is a reckless, fun-loving prankster. This involves being brave. Brave equals cool. He once stole a stool out of the art room and ran down the halls of the school with it, while Ms. McDonald was watching. She chased him down, he promised he’d return it. It’s still in the Bio lab. That’s another cool thing about Steve. He pulls these stunts for the right reasons. Ms. McD had stolen a cart from Mrs. Sullivan, so Steve avenged the loss. He did a similar thing mentioning me over the PA system after I was banned from it. He then ran down the hall yelling "She’s after me!" When choosing a pronoun to which Fuhrer Connie or Planet Allyn is the antecedent one should use "it," but the act was cool, nonetheless. Steve’s so cool his very presence starts fires and makes girls quiver . . . with mirth or passion, take your pick. He’s so cool that speeding cars don’t run him over, he runs over them. He’s like the Fonz, only genuine.
But there’s more to it than that. For Steve is a good person. He’s compassionate and understanding. Deeply understanding. He empathizes well. However, his natural apathy makes sure that he doesn’t go overboard, and that he prevents others from wallowing in grief. I love how Steve can go from insulting you to being instantly interested and honest in what you have to say. I like that fact that though he appreciates random humor, his humor is almost never random. Steve has a good musical sense. Nay, a great musical sense. He’s the most open-minded person I know, musically and otherwise. He can be a jerk at times, and he can make you angry. But Steve never judges you on what’s important, your relationships, your beliefs. And Steve, though lazy as hell sometimes, is always up to trying new things if you but ask him. Through his apathy and cynicism, or should I say realism, Steve keeps us grounded, while his feats of daring do, his naturally bright, mischievous smile, his desire to buck authority in all forms at all times, despite the costs let us soar through life laughing insanely, and his compassion and understanding, his gentle, unspoken way of letting you know he’s there for you and it will be alright, will pick us up mend our wings if we fall. And now, in his honor, a requested tribute:

He’s an asshole
ee-ole
ee-ole
ee-ole
A
S-S
H-O
L-E!
Yeah, he’s an asshole!
He’s an asshole, and we love him for it.

No Way of Rich Today, I’m too fucking tired. I will just tell you some things. I strive to keep a balance between cynicism/depression and trust/hope. It rarely works out. Also, I can’t read people’s desires, oddly enough. Some can, but I am deaf and mute when it comes to that unspoken language.

Get out your penicillin, ‘cause it’s time for my favorite infectious disease: laughter. It’s your Joke Corner (Democrats call it "The Daily."):

A skeleton walks into a bar and asks for a bottle of beer and a mop.

Every time his neighbor came towards his house, Mr. Edgars new he was going to borrow something. One day, his neighbor showed up at the door. "He wants to borrow something,"said Edgars to his wife, "but he won’t get away with it this time. Watch this"
He opened the door.
"Hey, Ed," said the neighbor, "I was wondering if you’ll be using your power saw this morning."
"As a matter of fact I’ll be using it all day. Sorry."
"In that case," asked his neighbor, "Can I borrow your golf clubs?"

A man walked into a bar and ordered three shots of vodka. He lined them up and drank them. Every Friday for a month he did this. The bartender finally asked him why he drank like this. "Well," he explained, "I moved here a month ago from Poland, and my two brothers said, ‘When you get there, have a drink for each of us.’" This continued for another month. One day the man walked in and ordered only two shots of vodka . The bartender asked solemnly if something had happended to one of the man’s brothers. "What do you mean?" asked the man.
"Well, you only ordered two shots," explained the barkeep.
"Oh," said the man, "that’s because I quit drinking."

What does a dominatrix give her clients at Christmas?
Gag gifts.



Current Mood: Tired. Is that a mood? I dunno. Saddened . . . disappointed . . . happy I published this Goddamned blog.

Current Music: CTD (Crash Test Dummies)