It's been awhile since I (or anyone else for that matter) has posted ANYTHING on this and I was struck by the desire to do something about that:
"Anything."
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Games of the 29th Olympiad
As I type this, I am red eyed and filled with that empty, bottomless feeling that comes from almost two weeks of exhaustion. The world is moving by at a hazy pace; I feel disconnected and out of touch that can only be attributed to a total lack of sleep. My absence from the land of REM cycles and dreams has only one cause: the games of the 29th Olympiad.
I've always been a fan of the Olympics. I find them to be an uplifting experience, a short span of time where humanity shows that in the end, we're worth saving. Maybe. We are, after all, the species that keeps giving Shia LaBeouf movie roles and developed the concepts of war, murder, and racism, acts which are equally heinous (though, I'd lean towards Transformers leading to a greater degradation of society).
The games are when we shine the brightest. It's where we accomplish things that were thought to be impossible. It's where we set aside differences and show our pride for both our nations, but also for our humanity. And there have been some great Olympic moments in my lifetime. The lighting of the torch by bow and arrow in Barcelona. The Dream Team. Kerri Strug completing the vault on only one leg. Derek Redmond limping to the finish line with his father helping him along. Michael Johnson becoming a runner for the ages. All good stuff.
But for some reason, I have been utterly unable to tear myself away from these games. They have electrified me in a way that I have not felt about an Olympics in...well, ever.
Maybe its the challenge that it poses to watch these games. Because of the time difference, you're almost forced to stay up until the wee hours of the morning to watch the results of the competitions. It's a DARE to stay up, peeling back your eyelids in order to see who will be deemed the fastest man on the planet, or if the women's relay team will make it to the wall first. Fuck work, I've got to see if Dara Torres won!
Maybe its the fact that its in CHINA. China, a forbidden land of mystery and history and lots of other "y's." It's a land of Communism, something that is just so weird to think about, and ideology that was defeated in the Cold War but still remains intact. It helps that a FIFTH OF HUMANITY lives there to keep the Commie faith alive. It's a country that could easily go towards disaster or great triumph. It's a country that has made huge mistakes, all in the world public view, but is now attempting to atone for them.
Maybe (read that as probably), it's Michael Phelps. There's been enough superlatives heaped upon this fish-man to make the Great Wall look small by comparison. Maybe it's Dara Torres, or Nastia and Shawn. Maybe it's "Lightning" Bolt. Maybe it was the grandness of the opening ceremonies, the almost acid-trippiness of it. Maybe it was seeing a fifth of the world say "Hey, we're here too and you better take notice of us."
And maybe it's the fact that we, the World, THE PLANET EARTH, need these games more than ever. We need to know that even though there is global warming, global famine, global disease, global war, global poverty, global suffering, and global despair, there is still a something more. It's not a big thing. It's not something that you can go out and buy, (though I'm sure many manufactures would have you believe otherwise). It's not something that can necessarily change the world, but if applied the right way can topple all of the fear and the pain and the sense of loss that is going on today.
It's called hope. Hope that one day, the petty struggles between nations will be nothing more than a game of volleyball. Hope that one day, warring brothers will kick back and cheer on the same water polo team. Hope that one day, the damage we've caused to this planet will be a distant memory as we marvel at swimmers swimming faster than ever before. Hope that one day, everything will be alright. Hope that one day, we will all be Olympian.
I've always been a fan of the Olympics. I find them to be an uplifting experience, a short span of time where humanity shows that in the end, we're worth saving. Maybe. We are, after all, the species that keeps giving Shia LaBeouf movie roles and developed the concepts of war, murder, and racism, acts which are equally heinous (though, I'd lean towards Transformers leading to a greater degradation of society).
The games are when we shine the brightest. It's where we accomplish things that were thought to be impossible. It's where we set aside differences and show our pride for both our nations, but also for our humanity. And there have been some great Olympic moments in my lifetime. The lighting of the torch by bow and arrow in Barcelona. The Dream Team. Kerri Strug completing the vault on only one leg. Derek Redmond limping to the finish line with his father helping him along. Michael Johnson becoming a runner for the ages. All good stuff.
But for some reason, I have been utterly unable to tear myself away from these games. They have electrified me in a way that I have not felt about an Olympics in...well, ever.
Maybe its the challenge that it poses to watch these games. Because of the time difference, you're almost forced to stay up until the wee hours of the morning to watch the results of the competitions. It's a DARE to stay up, peeling back your eyelids in order to see who will be deemed the fastest man on the planet, or if the women's relay team will make it to the wall first. Fuck work, I've got to see if Dara Torres won!
Maybe its the fact that its in CHINA. China, a forbidden land of mystery and history and lots of other "y's." It's a land of Communism, something that is just so weird to think about, and ideology that was defeated in the Cold War but still remains intact. It helps that a FIFTH OF HUMANITY lives there to keep the Commie faith alive. It's a country that could easily go towards disaster or great triumph. It's a country that has made huge mistakes, all in the world public view, but is now attempting to atone for them.
Maybe (read that as probably), it's Michael Phelps. There's been enough superlatives heaped upon this fish-man to make the Great Wall look small by comparison. Maybe it's Dara Torres, or Nastia and Shawn. Maybe it's "Lightning" Bolt. Maybe it was the grandness of the opening ceremonies, the almost acid-trippiness of it. Maybe it was seeing a fifth of the world say "Hey, we're here too and you better take notice of us."
And maybe it's the fact that we, the World, THE PLANET EARTH, need these games more than ever. We need to know that even though there is global warming, global famine, global disease, global war, global poverty, global suffering, and global despair, there is still a something more. It's not a big thing. It's not something that you can go out and buy, (though I'm sure many manufactures would have you believe otherwise). It's not something that can necessarily change the world, but if applied the right way can topple all of the fear and the pain and the sense of loss that is going on today.
It's called hope. Hope that one day, the petty struggles between nations will be nothing more than a game of volleyball. Hope that one day, warring brothers will kick back and cheer on the same water polo team. Hope that one day, the damage we've caused to this planet will be a distant memory as we marvel at swimmers swimming faster than ever before. Hope that one day, everything will be alright. Hope that one day, we will all be Olympian.
Monday, July 21, 2008
spell checker just might ruin the world...
The spell checker. The great tool that lets any writer on a computer be just that, a writer. No longer are we afraid to send a draft to a teacher/professor/friend/peer, for we have spell checker!
Now you can stray from using just word document programs in your writing. When typing online posts, such as this entry right here, an email, or a simple query on Google, a spellchecker will automatically reveal any misspelled words! This is great! No more feeling like a dumb dumb! A red squiggly line appears under your shameful attempt of literacy and all you have to do is a right click followed by a left click and BOOM! you've aced every spelling test since kindergarten!
I truly do love this technology. While I'm not the worst speller, I am far from the best. However, the following scenario has crossed my mind:
Technology with computers/internet seems to double in speed and performance every year. Technology is also becoming integrated into daily lives with the average joe oblivious to its presence. So under my theory the average joe will right click and change his misspelled word with the first word on the list that looks right (if none are available or do not look right, he/she will change the word completely. yes i am guilty of this.). There is no shame in this technique other than the fact that one typically will not pay attention to the correct spelling or true meaning of the word. So fast forward to 2080. The internet is now available for viewing via contact lenses(most likely will be done using lasik surgery, who am i kidding) so you dont even need to use handheld devices! It will also be connected to your thought process. Therefore, while you're writing that timed essay for SATs, every word will be spelled perfectly since your thoughts are being calibrated and perfected milliseconds prior to the graphite marking the surface. Everyone will become equal! and of course this technology will mend into speech as well! Every time a person speaks, their speech will be flawless in pronunciation, and articulation!
Hollywood has it all wrong. The humans are not destroyed by the robots. The humans become the robots.
*over 15 words were corrected using spellcheck in this article.
Now you can stray from using just word document programs in your writing. When typing online posts, such as this entry right here, an email, or a simple query on Google, a spellchecker will automatically reveal any misspelled words! This is great! No more feeling like a dumb dumb! A red squiggly line appears under your shameful attempt of literacy and all you have to do is a right click followed by a left click and BOOM! you've aced every spelling test since kindergarten!
I truly do love this technology. While I'm not the worst speller, I am far from the best. However, the following scenario has crossed my mind:
Technology with computers/internet seems to double in speed and performance every year. Technology is also becoming integrated into daily lives with the average joe oblivious to its presence. So under my theory the average joe will right click and change his misspelled word with the first word on the list that looks right (if none are available or do not look right, he/she will change the word completely. yes i am guilty of this.). There is no shame in this technique other than the fact that one typically will not pay attention to the correct spelling or true meaning of the word. So fast forward to 2080. The internet is now available for viewing via contact lenses(most likely will be done using lasik surgery, who am i kidding) so you dont even need to use handheld devices! It will also be connected to your thought process. Therefore, while you're writing that timed essay for SATs, every word will be spelled perfectly since your thoughts are being calibrated and perfected milliseconds prior to the graphite marking the surface. Everyone will become equal! and of course this technology will mend into speech as well! Every time a person speaks, their speech will be flawless in pronunciation, and articulation!
Hollywood has it all wrong. The humans are not destroyed by the robots. The humans become the robots.
*over 15 words were corrected using spellcheck in this article.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Ben
While watching "America's Got Talent" last night (yes, I watch it, and we'll get to that at another time), I realized something that had escaped me for years on end. And all it took was a little boy named David Militello to help.
David was a very cute kid that sang the Michael Jackson classic "Ben" to the delight of the judges, audience, and nation. You could actually feel the collective heart of the nation melt at the same time. The kid OOZED cuteness. The kid POURED sweetness. He was a sticky, gooey, saccharine package of a 9-year-old. I was moved.
As he sang "Ben," I began to listen to lyrics to see if he was getting them right. And he was, he sang every note perfectly and got every word correct. I'd never really listened to the words of the song before. You know, REALLY listened to them. Sure, I'd heard it and I knew right away when the opening notes were played that little David was going to be singing about an unending, incorruptible friendship. Something puzzled me about the song, however; I don't know what, and I don't know why, but something about it made me get this little curiosity itch in the pit of my stomach.
I quickly ran to my computer to see what to make of this song. Who was MJ singing about? Why was this "Ben" so important to the Gloved One? And this is what I found...
...THE SONG IS ABOUT A FUCKING RAT!
...Not kidding...
...And not just a rat: A MOTHERFUCKING KILLER RAT...
...Am I the last to know about this one?
Apparently, "Ben" is the title song to the 1972 movie BEN, which was a sequel to the movie Williard, which was remade a couple years ago with Crispin Glover. Williard was the story of a man who becomes friends with a bunch of rats that eventually do his bidding and kill all of his enemies. BEN is the story of a small, lonely, shy boy (insert little David here) who becomes friends with Ben, who is the leader of the killer pack of rats from the first movie...
...Gotta love 70's filmmaking...
Anyway, the song is supposed to be about the kid from the movie singing to his best friend in the world, really his only friend when you come to think of it. Here's the rub: HISFRIENDISAFUCKINGKILLERRAT!
The song was nominated for an Academy Award that year (mind-boggling). I understand its a good song, and up until this revelation I thought it was a wonderful testament to friendship. It's forever tainted, however, by this knowledge. How can I ever take that song seriously now, knowing what I know? It's like finding out Manilow's "Mandy" was about his dog, or that the nursery rhyme "Jack and Jill" is a cautionary tale about fucking around on your spouse, or that the soothing sounds of Bing Crosby came from a man who beat the shit out of his kids.
A fucking rat...wow.
I wonder if little David Militello knows that the song is about a rat. I also now wonder if his song for the next round will be Templeton the Rat's "A Veritable Smörgåsbord" from Charlotte's Web or "Flying Dreams" from The Secret of N.I.M.H. I mean, hell, someone's already sung "Somewhere Out There" from An American Tail.
I'll be forever shaken by this (ok, that's an overstatement; when I find out that "Imagine" is about the joys of nuclear armament or that "What a Wonderful World" is really about ethnic cleansing then I'll be shaken). Still, I really liked that song and I'll never be able to take it seriously again and that irks me to no end.
I used to say "I" and "me,"
Now it's "us", now it's "we."
Ben, most people would turn you away,
I don't listen to a word they say.
They don't see you as I do,
I wish they would try to.
I'm sure they'd think again,
If they had a friend like Ben...
Sigh.
David was a very cute kid that sang the Michael Jackson classic "Ben" to the delight of the judges, audience, and nation. You could actually feel the collective heart of the nation melt at the same time. The kid OOZED cuteness. The kid POURED sweetness. He was a sticky, gooey, saccharine package of a 9-year-old. I was moved.
As he sang "Ben," I began to listen to lyrics to see if he was getting them right. And he was, he sang every note perfectly and got every word correct. I'd never really listened to the words of the song before. You know, REALLY listened to them. Sure, I'd heard it and I knew right away when the opening notes were played that little David was going to be singing about an unending, incorruptible friendship. Something puzzled me about the song, however; I don't know what, and I don't know why, but something about it made me get this little curiosity itch in the pit of my stomach.
I quickly ran to my computer to see what to make of this song. Who was MJ singing about? Why was this "Ben" so important to the Gloved One? And this is what I found...
...THE SONG IS ABOUT A FUCKING RAT!
...Not kidding...
...And not just a rat: A MOTHERFUCKING KILLER RAT...
...Am I the last to know about this one?
Apparently, "Ben" is the title song to the 1972 movie BEN, which was a sequel to the movie Williard, which was remade a couple years ago with Crispin Glover. Williard was the story of a man who becomes friends with a bunch of rats that eventually do his bidding and kill all of his enemies. BEN is the story of a small, lonely, shy boy (insert little David here) who becomes friends with Ben, who is the leader of the killer pack of rats from the first movie...
...Gotta love 70's filmmaking...
Anyway, the song is supposed to be about the kid from the movie singing to his best friend in the world, really his only friend when you come to think of it. Here's the rub: HISFRIENDISAFUCKINGKILLERRAT!
The song was nominated for an Academy Award that year (mind-boggling). I understand its a good song, and up until this revelation I thought it was a wonderful testament to friendship. It's forever tainted, however, by this knowledge. How can I ever take that song seriously now, knowing what I know? It's like finding out Manilow's "Mandy" was about his dog, or that the nursery rhyme "Jack and Jill" is a cautionary tale about fucking around on your spouse, or that the soothing sounds of Bing Crosby came from a man who beat the shit out of his kids.
A fucking rat...wow.
I wonder if little David Militello knows that the song is about a rat. I also now wonder if his song for the next round will be Templeton the Rat's "A Veritable Smörgåsbord" from Charlotte's Web or "Flying Dreams" from The Secret of N.I.M.H. I mean, hell, someone's already sung "Somewhere Out There" from An American Tail.
I'll be forever shaken by this (ok, that's an overstatement; when I find out that "Imagine" is about the joys of nuclear armament or that "What a Wonderful World" is really about ethnic cleansing then I'll be shaken). Still, I really liked that song and I'll never be able to take it seriously again and that irks me to no end.
I used to say "I" and "me,"
Now it's "us", now it's "we."
Ben, most people would turn you away,
I don't listen to a word they say.
They don't see you as I do,
I wish they would try to.
I'm sure they'd think again,
If they had a friend like Ben...
Sigh.
Friday, May 23, 2008
I've Hitched My Wagon to a Falling Star...
...and that star is called Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
WARNING: This contains spoilers.
FURTHER WARNING: The movie spoiled the series.
I've always thought that I had a good read on what was going to be good and what was going to be bad. What was going to be a lasting trend or what was going to be a passing fad. My finger was on the pulse of what was meaningful and relevant and important.
I'll admit, I've had my screw ups. I have a wonderful collection of POG's and I am willing to play anyone that for some reason or another still has them. I'm still waiting for them to bring back Pepsi Clear. And I'm holding out hope for Corey Feldman to win an Academy Award. But over all, I think that I've got a good read on pop culture.
I was on to Napoleon Dynamite long before it went on to become an indie darling and the most annoyingly quoted movie ever. I was on board with Kayne way before the video for "Through the Wire" came out. I had the good sense to jump off the "Dane Train" when that no talent fuck gave up stand up for shit movies.
But I didn't see this one coming. I hitched my wagon to what I was certain was going to be a sure thing. I hitched my wagon to a falling star.
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is 2 hours and 6 minutes of disappointment wrapped up in failure packaging and topped with a mediocrity bow. Our country's love of the average, the mundane, the watered-down, and the downright dull has finally reached the greatest action/adventure hero of all time.
I don't even know where to begin. Maybe I'll start with the plot (Um...was there a plot?); maybe I'll discuss the acting (Harrison Ford phoned that performance in); maybe I'll mention the special effects (or the lack of them in the movie); or maybe I'll discuss Karen Allen (Great to see her return to the series...but what the hell was she there for? A completely pointless plot device...or a way to rake in more money?).
But no, I'll stick with just three things. The first of which is the horrible villain, played in a rare showing of awfulness by Cate Blanchett. Cate, you're an amazing actress, you really are. Your performance of Bob Dylan in I'm Not There belongs in a time capsule. Your performance in this movie belongs at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, never to be witnessed again. Nice Russian accent...when you decided to stick with it.
I'll next mention Shia LaBeouf. Shia, oh Shia. You peaked at "Even Stevens" and "Holes." Now, you are a plague. You are a hack. You have become Death, Destroyer of Worlds and Movies and Hopes and Dreams.
"I never had much use for school, but I'm good with a blade."
Good with a blade, huh? That's quite the skill, you dickless pussy. Your character, "Mutt" (let's all have a good cry over that name, shall we), is a lame amalgam of Brando, Dean, and Elvis that tries to be hip and witty, but ends up being ridiculous funny in the end. And not funny intentionally. Funny like how watching someone else get kicked in the nuts is funny. Only this time, it was me getting kicked in the nuts while I watched your clown-like performance.
Finally, I'll discuss the ending.
Aliens.
Really? Really? REALLY?!
Really.
The "Crystal Skull" is apparently the skull of an alien who's race taught early humans culture, math, farming, and all that jazz. Thanks, Aliens, y'all are really helpful! It was removed by conquistadors and hidden for hundreds of years. And now the Soviets want it. Why? Because it'll provide them with power, obviously.
The thing is, the only power I saw it wield was the ability to blow up the temple where the rest of the Alien skeletons were sitting around. Maybe thats why the U.S.S.R. is no more...
And what were they doing sitting around anyway?! Did they see the conquistadors come in, and just sit by as they took the head of one of their buddies?
"Man, did you see that fine human chick over by the corn pile...wait, what are those guys doing? HOLY SHIT! THEY TOOK CHARLIE'S HEAD! We should totally stop them...but fuck, we're made out of FUCKING CRYSTAL! Let's just sit tight, maybe they'll bring it back..."
Come on now, seriously? Is that the best you can come up with? ALIENS?! Indiana Jones is not about aliens. He's about fighting Nazis and the supernatural and going on digs and finding lost artifacts. I can buy an element of the paranormal in the Indy adventures; I'll even buy the guy staying alive after his heart gets ripped out in Temple of Doom (which was previously the worst installment of the series). What I won't buy is Aliens. Give me a fucking break.
Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Harrison Ford had 19 years to work on a masterpiece. They had a tall order to fill, sure, but they have the talent to come up with something far better than this trash. The air has been let out of my tires, the wind is gone from my sails, my hero has become a joke.
As excited as I was to see a new Indy adventure, I see now that it was just a ploy to line the pockets of people who's pockets have no need of lining. I can only hope that the iconic image of Indiana Jones, Sala, Marcus Brody, and Henry Jones Sr. riding off into the sunset in The Last Crusade was the true ending of the story, and that the shitfest that has been unleashed on multiplexes is all just a bad, bad, bad dream.
I'll try to hitch my wagon to that star of an idea, and hopefully this time, that star won't fall...
WARNING: This contains spoilers.
FURTHER WARNING: The movie spoiled the series.
I've always thought that I had a good read on what was going to be good and what was going to be bad. What was going to be a lasting trend or what was going to be a passing fad. My finger was on the pulse of what was meaningful and relevant and important.
I'll admit, I've had my screw ups. I have a wonderful collection of POG's and I am willing to play anyone that for some reason or another still has them. I'm still waiting for them to bring back Pepsi Clear. And I'm holding out hope for Corey Feldman to win an Academy Award. But over all, I think that I've got a good read on pop culture.
I was on to Napoleon Dynamite long before it went on to become an indie darling and the most annoyingly quoted movie ever. I was on board with Kayne way before the video for "Through the Wire" came out. I had the good sense to jump off the "Dane Train" when that no talent fuck gave up stand up for shit movies.
But I didn't see this one coming. I hitched my wagon to what I was certain was going to be a sure thing. I hitched my wagon to a falling star.
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is 2 hours and 6 minutes of disappointment wrapped up in failure packaging and topped with a mediocrity bow. Our country's love of the average, the mundane, the watered-down, and the downright dull has finally reached the greatest action/adventure hero of all time.
I don't even know where to begin. Maybe I'll start with the plot (Um...was there a plot?); maybe I'll discuss the acting (Harrison Ford phoned that performance in); maybe I'll mention the special effects (or the lack of them in the movie); or maybe I'll discuss Karen Allen (Great to see her return to the series...but what the hell was she there for? A completely pointless plot device...or a way to rake in more money?).
But no, I'll stick with just three things. The first of which is the horrible villain, played in a rare showing of awfulness by Cate Blanchett. Cate, you're an amazing actress, you really are. Your performance of Bob Dylan in I'm Not There belongs in a time capsule. Your performance in this movie belongs at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, never to be witnessed again. Nice Russian accent...when you decided to stick with it.
I'll next mention Shia LaBeouf. Shia, oh Shia. You peaked at "Even Stevens" and "Holes." Now, you are a plague. You are a hack. You have become Death, Destroyer of Worlds and Movies and Hopes and Dreams.
"I never had much use for school, but I'm good with a blade."
Good with a blade, huh? That's quite the skill, you dickless pussy. Your character, "Mutt" (let's all have a good cry over that name, shall we), is a lame amalgam of Brando, Dean, and Elvis that tries to be hip and witty, but ends up being ridiculous funny in the end. And not funny intentionally. Funny like how watching someone else get kicked in the nuts is funny. Only this time, it was me getting kicked in the nuts while I watched your clown-like performance.
Finally, I'll discuss the ending.
Aliens.
Really? Really? REALLY?!
Really.
The "Crystal Skull" is apparently the skull of an alien who's race taught early humans culture, math, farming, and all that jazz. Thanks, Aliens, y'all are really helpful! It was removed by conquistadors and hidden for hundreds of years. And now the Soviets want it. Why? Because it'll provide them with power, obviously.
The thing is, the only power I saw it wield was the ability to blow up the temple where the rest of the Alien skeletons were sitting around. Maybe thats why the U.S.S.R. is no more...
And what were they doing sitting around anyway?! Did they see the conquistadors come in, and just sit by as they took the head of one of their buddies?
"Man, did you see that fine human chick over by the corn pile...wait, what are those guys doing? HOLY SHIT! THEY TOOK CHARLIE'S HEAD! We should totally stop them...but fuck, we're made out of FUCKING CRYSTAL! Let's just sit tight, maybe they'll bring it back..."
Come on now, seriously? Is that the best you can come up with? ALIENS?! Indiana Jones is not about aliens. He's about fighting Nazis and the supernatural and going on digs and finding lost artifacts. I can buy an element of the paranormal in the Indy adventures; I'll even buy the guy staying alive after his heart gets ripped out in Temple of Doom (which was previously the worst installment of the series). What I won't buy is Aliens. Give me a fucking break.
Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Harrison Ford had 19 years to work on a masterpiece. They had a tall order to fill, sure, but they have the talent to come up with something far better than this trash. The air has been let out of my tires, the wind is gone from my sails, my hero has become a joke.
As excited as I was to see a new Indy adventure, I see now that it was just a ploy to line the pockets of people who's pockets have no need of lining. I can only hope that the iconic image of Indiana Jones, Sala, Marcus Brody, and Henry Jones Sr. riding off into the sunset in The Last Crusade was the true ending of the story, and that the shitfest that has been unleashed on multiplexes is all just a bad, bad, bad dream.
I'll try to hitch my wagon to that star of an idea, and hopefully this time, that star won't fall...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bar...
I'd like to relate to you a story about my adventures last Sunday night while I was attending a professional conference for admissions counselors in Columbus, Ohio. I know that it is not a true blue reflection of or reaction to pop culture, but nevertheless, I feel as though the world should hear this story.
First off, I was supposed to fly up to Columbus on Sunday morning. Friday evening, while I was enjoying the final season premiere of Battlestar Galactica, I received an email from Skybus saying that I could check in 24-36 hours before my flight. Five minutes later, I received an email from Skybus saying that at midnight, all operations were canceled.
That must have been a really disastrous five minutes.
Anyway, because of the short notice, I was forced to drive the 7ish hours from High Point to Columbus. I get there around 4:30pm and meet up with all of the counselors that I've hung out with over the year. We're a rowdy bunch, so we get right to the business of alcohol and good times. There's a social that night, a "Favorite Band" themed social. You were supposed to wear your favorite concert t-shirt. Mine was a green Weezer shirt, proclaming "I have a Weezer in my pocket, and I'm happy to see you."
Anyway, we're all getting drunk and dancing and having a grand old time. A group of people I've just met say they're going out to another bar. I'm having too much fun at the hotel, so I tell them that maybe I'll meet up later. I keep dancing and drinking and I go to different room parties. Eventually, the night at the hotel stalls and people go to bed. It's around 1am, and I'm still jazzed and in Party Mode. I don't want to go to bed. I want to meet up with the Bar People.
The problem is that I can't remember the name of the bar that they said they were going to. But I THINK I can remember the bar they went to.
Here's where the night takes a turn for the worse.
I go down to the front desk and ask everyone there where "Havana" is located, not the one in Cuba, but the club in Columbus. They look around at each other, and say it's in Short North. This means nothing to me, but then they say it's about a 20 minute walk or a 5 dollar cab ride. I slur a thank you and stumble out to a cab.
Habeeb the cab driver doesn't speak a lick of the King's English. It's about a 15 dollar cab ride because of the wrong turns and misunderstandings. But whatever, you can't put a price on fun. We finally get to Havana, and I leap from the cab and head into the bar. Success, I think, time for round 2!
The first thing that I notice is that the inside of Havana looks like Miami Vice. The walls are slippery tiles, there's a weird blue light illuminating the bar, and throbbing techno-music blares from the speakers. The second thing I notice is that there are a LOT of guys in this place. Almost totally guys. Total sausage fest. And a lot of them are in just their underwear. And a lot of them are making out with each other...
...And thats when I realize that I've accidentally gone to a gay bar.
I must stress that I have no problem with the GLBT community. I support their rights and their cause and I think they are wonderful people. I would also like to say that I've been to gay bars before...but with a group of people. I didn't intend to go by myself...wasted...wearing a t-shirt that says "I have a Weezer in my pocket and I'm happy to see you."
Maybe they're in the back, I think to myself about the people I want to meet up with. Right Lars, sure. Keep a hold of that dream. I begin to wander through the bar trying to find my new friends. I have to stop myself from asking a guy balls deep in another guy if they can help me find the back. That, I think, would not be a great question to ask at this juncture.
I also decide that buying a drink would be bad too. Because after awhile I know that my friends aren't there. I also think that maybe this bar is a seedy place, not a nice gay bar but one where drug deals go down and the cops are just minutes from busting it. And what if I'm there when they busted. I will be arrested at a gay bar, and that will be my life. Nothing I've said or done up until this point will matter. I stumble out of the bar.
And thats when I realize that I wasn't just in a gay bar. I was in a gay district. There are fanny-pack displays in shop windows. Drag queens are getting off of their shifts and out of their make-up, so they look blasted out and undead. Men are strutting up the street wearing fishnets and tank tops. I feel a bit out of place.
I don't want to pay another 15 bucks for a taxi to get back, so I decide to walk. They said it was only 20 minutes, right? If anyone reading this knows of my directional abilities, they will know that this is very, very wrong.
It takes me over an hour to get back to my hotel. The main cause of this is that I get lost on one particular street. The name of the street, I'm not kidding, is Gay Street.
...
I found out later that Gay Street used to be a one way, but now it runs both ways.
...
Not kidding.
I stumble into the hotel finally, and everyone is still at the front desk. "Did you enjoy the bar?" they ask. Furious, I say "Yes," to cover the "WHATTHEFUCKDOYOUTHINKTHANKSFORTHEHEADSUP?!" that wanted to erupt from my mouth. I go to bed and pass out.
The next morning, I see the group that I had wanted to meet up with and I go over to them.
"Where did y'all go last night?!" I ask.
They're all hungover, and say, "We don't know man, we drove around, we don't know where we went."
One of the guys asks, "Did you go out last night?"
Pause.
"Yeah man, I came out last night."
First off, I was supposed to fly up to Columbus on Sunday morning. Friday evening, while I was enjoying the final season premiere of Battlestar Galactica, I received an email from Skybus saying that I could check in 24-36 hours before my flight. Five minutes later, I received an email from Skybus saying that at midnight, all operations were canceled.
That must have been a really disastrous five minutes.
Anyway, because of the short notice, I was forced to drive the 7ish hours from High Point to Columbus. I get there around 4:30pm and meet up with all of the counselors that I've hung out with over the year. We're a rowdy bunch, so we get right to the business of alcohol and good times. There's a social that night, a "Favorite Band" themed social. You were supposed to wear your favorite concert t-shirt. Mine was a green Weezer shirt, proclaming "I have a Weezer in my pocket, and I'm happy to see you."
Anyway, we're all getting drunk and dancing and having a grand old time. A group of people I've just met say they're going out to another bar. I'm having too much fun at the hotel, so I tell them that maybe I'll meet up later. I keep dancing and drinking and I go to different room parties. Eventually, the night at the hotel stalls and people go to bed. It's around 1am, and I'm still jazzed and in Party Mode. I don't want to go to bed. I want to meet up with the Bar People.
The problem is that I can't remember the name of the bar that they said they were going to. But I THINK I can remember the bar they went to.
Here's where the night takes a turn for the worse.
I go down to the front desk and ask everyone there where "Havana" is located, not the one in Cuba, but the club in Columbus. They look around at each other, and say it's in Short North. This means nothing to me, but then they say it's about a 20 minute walk or a 5 dollar cab ride. I slur a thank you and stumble out to a cab.
Habeeb the cab driver doesn't speak a lick of the King's English. It's about a 15 dollar cab ride because of the wrong turns and misunderstandings. But whatever, you can't put a price on fun. We finally get to Havana, and I leap from the cab and head into the bar. Success, I think, time for round 2!
The first thing that I notice is that the inside of Havana looks like Miami Vice. The walls are slippery tiles, there's a weird blue light illuminating the bar, and throbbing techno-music blares from the speakers. The second thing I notice is that there are a LOT of guys in this place. Almost totally guys. Total sausage fest. And a lot of them are in just their underwear. And a lot of them are making out with each other...
...And thats when I realize that I've accidentally gone to a gay bar.
I must stress that I have no problem with the GLBT community. I support their rights and their cause and I think they are wonderful people. I would also like to say that I've been to gay bars before...but with a group of people. I didn't intend to go by myself...wasted...wearing a t-shirt that says "I have a Weezer in my pocket and I'm happy to see you."
Maybe they're in the back, I think to myself about the people I want to meet up with. Right Lars, sure. Keep a hold of that dream. I begin to wander through the bar trying to find my new friends. I have to stop myself from asking a guy balls deep in another guy if they can help me find the back. That, I think, would not be a great question to ask at this juncture.
I also decide that buying a drink would be bad too. Because after awhile I know that my friends aren't there. I also think that maybe this bar is a seedy place, not a nice gay bar but one where drug deals go down and the cops are just minutes from busting it. And what if I'm there when they busted. I will be arrested at a gay bar, and that will be my life. Nothing I've said or done up until this point will matter. I stumble out of the bar.
And thats when I realize that I wasn't just in a gay bar. I was in a gay district. There are fanny-pack displays in shop windows. Drag queens are getting off of their shifts and out of their make-up, so they look blasted out and undead. Men are strutting up the street wearing fishnets and tank tops. I feel a bit out of place.
I don't want to pay another 15 bucks for a taxi to get back, so I decide to walk. They said it was only 20 minutes, right? If anyone reading this knows of my directional abilities, they will know that this is very, very wrong.
It takes me over an hour to get back to my hotel. The main cause of this is that I get lost on one particular street. The name of the street, I'm not kidding, is Gay Street.
...
I found out later that Gay Street used to be a one way, but now it runs both ways.
...
Not kidding.
I stumble into the hotel finally, and everyone is still at the front desk. "Did you enjoy the bar?" they ask. Furious, I say "Yes," to cover the "WHATTHEFUCKDOYOUTHINKTHANKSFORTHEHEADSUP?!" that wanted to erupt from my mouth. I go to bed and pass out.
The next morning, I see the group that I had wanted to meet up with and I go over to them.
"Where did y'all go last night?!" I ask.
They're all hungover, and say, "We don't know man, we drove around, we don't know where we went."
One of the guys asks, "Did you go out last night?"
Pause.
"Yeah man, I came out last night."
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The Average Termite
I just watched a commercial for a termite control service which claimed:
"The average termite chews 24 hours a day, 7 days a week."
The average termite??
Come on.
Either every single termite has a perfect record, or we got some other termites picking up the slack putting in 25 hour days... and I find both scenarios hard to believe.
Monday, March 24, 2008
inner child
This evening a bowl of cereal went soggy, for a plastic robot was discovered in a box of Cheerios.
Random Thoughts While Drifting Through the Stations
89.9 FM
Classical music reminds me too much of Bugs Bunny cartoons to actually be taken seriously. I enjoy it, but I can't help but picture Bugs with his feet on Elmer Fudd's head pretending to be the Barber of Seville.
94.1 FM
Casey Casem sounds the same when he's hosting the American Top 40 from 1967 as he does when he's hosting the American Top 40 from 2008. This is because he is a robot. An ageless, musical robot sent from the future; not to destroy us, but to save us all with the glory of pop music.
98.7 FM
"Toto" by Africa is the greatest song ever recorded by humans.
99.9FM
I will never understand country music. Some of it is ok, but the vast majority of it is un-listenable music. How did the stoic and iconic image of the American Cowboy, something so ingrained in the pop-culture fabric of society, get bastardized and mass produced and morphed into Kenny Chesney?
102.1 FM
I will never get a girl with apple bottom jeans. Or boots with the fur.
102.7FM
Static.
107.5FM
Dear American Idol,
For the love of God, stop.
Love,
Lars
88.5FM
Car Talk is the only good show on this whole God-foresaken station. National Public Radio is the audio equivalent to watching grass grow.
102.9FM
Christmas music should be socially acceptable to listen to all year long.
103.1FM
Static.
94.1FM
The song "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon is ridiculous. Carly, you're chastising this gentlemen, calling out all of his qualities that make him so vain. And then you say that you bet he thinks the song is about him. Well it is! The song is about him! So why shouldn't he think it's about him when it is, in fact, about him! James Taylor did the right thing when he dumped your ass.
107.5FM
Radio DJ's have the easiest job on the face of the planet, and a microphone in which to share their ridiculous thoughts, banter, and experiences to the world. I want their job.
Classical music reminds me too much of Bugs Bunny cartoons to actually be taken seriously. I enjoy it, but I can't help but picture Bugs with his feet on Elmer Fudd's head pretending to be the Barber of Seville.
94.1 FM
Casey Casem sounds the same when he's hosting the American Top 40 from 1967 as he does when he's hosting the American Top 40 from 2008. This is because he is a robot. An ageless, musical robot sent from the future; not to destroy us, but to save us all with the glory of pop music.
98.7 FM
"Toto" by Africa is the greatest song ever recorded by humans.
99.9FM
I will never understand country music. Some of it is ok, but the vast majority of it is un-listenable music. How did the stoic and iconic image of the American Cowboy, something so ingrained in the pop-culture fabric of society, get bastardized and mass produced and morphed into Kenny Chesney?
102.1 FM
I will never get a girl with apple bottom jeans. Or boots with the fur.
102.7FM
Static.
107.5FM
Dear American Idol,
For the love of God, stop.
Love,
Lars
88.5FM
Car Talk is the only good show on this whole God-foresaken station. National Public Radio is the audio equivalent to watching grass grow.
102.9FM
Christmas music should be socially acceptable to listen to all year long.
103.1FM
Static.
94.1FM
The song "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon is ridiculous. Carly, you're chastising this gentlemen, calling out all of his qualities that make him so vain. And then you say that you bet he thinks the song is about him. Well it is! The song is about him! So why shouldn't he think it's about him when it is, in fact, about him! James Taylor did the right thing when he dumped your ass.
107.5FM
Radio DJ's have the easiest job on the face of the planet, and a microphone in which to share their ridiculous thoughts, banter, and experiences to the world. I want their job.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Multiple Personalities: A National Concern
I feel that with I should take a moment today and discuss a problem that has swept the nation and has taken center stage in the pop culture of this country. This problem is multiple personalities, or, in the Latin, splitus mentalius.
This is not a new problem. Over the years, multiple personality disorder has reared its ugly head in all sorts of forms. From Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde to Cybil; from Michael Caine in Dressed to Kill to Woody Allen's character in Zelig. One can also make a corollary to the desire to obtain an alternate identity, exemplified by David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust), Clark Kent (Superman), and Emperor Palpatine (Darth Sidious).
Something is happening now, however, that has made this kind of behavior more mainstream. I'm talking, of course, about Miley Ray Cyrus and her alter-ego, Hannah Montana. Their "Best of Both Worlds" tour was the highest selling of the year and their albums are flying off the shelves. This Disney princess has made good, coming out from behind the mullety-shadow of her father, Billy Ray. Miley recently presented at the Oscars, and Hannah's show is going strong.
Here's the thing though...THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON.
The Best of Both Worlds tour touts that both Hannah and Miley perform songs. It's a double-bill to die for (read "to die for" as "leap off something high instead of watch"). How is this possibly an amazing feat? Every time Hannah performs its actually Miley anyway! This Best of Both Worlds tour is just an excuse to milk more money from poor saps that can't get enough of cheesy, shitty music.
Dear teeny-bopper kids, your parents, and the Walt Disney Corporation,
Knock it the fuck off.
Love,
Lars
P.S.: I'm sure that Hillary Duff is kicking herself when she sees that all it takes is a wig change to double your profits for one show.
Ziggy Stardust didn't walk out on stage halfway through his show and say "Hey everyone, you all know I'm David fucking Bowie, who are we kidding. I'm just gonna take this shit off and I'll sing the rest of my normal songs."
Clark Kent didn't fly around Metropolis without first stopping in a telephone booth to change into his blue tights and red cape.
The Emperor didn't show his true colors until his plan had fully come to fruition.
Are Miley Ray Cyrus/Hannah Montana this generation's answer to Bowie and his Stardust? It'll break my achey-breaky-heart if that's the case.
This is not a new problem. Over the years, multiple personality disorder has reared its ugly head in all sorts of forms. From Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde to Cybil; from Michael Caine in Dressed to Kill to Woody Allen's character in Zelig. One can also make a corollary to the desire to obtain an alternate identity, exemplified by David Bowie (Ziggy Stardust), Clark Kent (Superman), and Emperor Palpatine (Darth Sidious).
Something is happening now, however, that has made this kind of behavior more mainstream. I'm talking, of course, about Miley Ray Cyrus and her alter-ego, Hannah Montana. Their "Best of Both Worlds" tour was the highest selling of the year and their albums are flying off the shelves. This Disney princess has made good, coming out from behind the mullety-shadow of her father, Billy Ray. Miley recently presented at the Oscars, and Hannah's show is going strong.
Here's the thing though...THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING PERSON.
The Best of Both Worlds tour touts that both Hannah and Miley perform songs. It's a double-bill to die for (read "to die for" as "leap off something high instead of watch"). How is this possibly an amazing feat? Every time Hannah performs its actually Miley anyway! This Best of Both Worlds tour is just an excuse to milk more money from poor saps that can't get enough of cheesy, shitty music.
Dear teeny-bopper kids, your parents, and the Walt Disney Corporation,
Knock it the fuck off.
Love,
Lars
P.S.: I'm sure that Hillary Duff is kicking herself when she sees that all it takes is a wig change to double your profits for one show.
Ziggy Stardust didn't walk out on stage halfway through his show and say "Hey everyone, you all know I'm David fucking Bowie, who are we kidding. I'm just gonna take this shit off and I'll sing the rest of my normal songs."
Clark Kent didn't fly around Metropolis without first stopping in a telephone booth to change into his blue tights and red cape.
The Emperor didn't show his true colors until his plan had fully come to fruition.
Are Miley Ray Cyrus/Hannah Montana this generation's answer to Bowie and his Stardust? It'll break my achey-breaky-heart if that's the case.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Hey, I like babies too.
MURDERER. HELLBOUND. SOULLESS. NAZI!
This is just a small sample of adjectives in which a certain group of people on campus would describe me. For the first in my life, I felt not only uncomfortable, but offended when I was standing in front of the pro-life tent on the USF campus. Day after day, it is not uncommon for there to be one or two die hard crazies roaming about Tampa wearing warning signs of damnation, or corduroyed clipboard people asking for money and signatures to stop suburban sprawl. So this type of in-your-face approach to have your voice heard is not uncommon. Unfortunately in this case I could not just turn up my Ipod and keep my stroll on. This is PRO LIFE.
Walking from the Library, I was intrigued by a black sign with splattered red paint, reading "WARNING, DISTURBING IMAGES AHEAD". Naturally, I walked farther. 2nd sign read: "GENOCIDE PICTURES AHEAD"... how could I turn around now?
As I turned the corner, there stood a monster display of red, white, and black. Oversize images of human beings piled together in a mass heap of flesh, atop which stood a Nazi flag, next to other images of alike horror. Littered in the holocaust of images were pictures of babies, either happy and smiling, or dead and fetus-y. Throw a couple of = signs between the two, flash a couple "pro-choice" labels, and there you have the Tampa, Florida pro-life awareness stand that haunted me for the rest of the day.
I don't understand.
Am I a Nazi?
I don't think I'm a Nazi.
I'm Jewish.
But I am pro-choice?
Isn't pro-choice Nazism?
I stood in front of this as I thought myself in circles for too long, trying to comprehend the logic behind this master display.
I understand that they don't approve of abortion. I understand that they like babies. I understand that they don't want them dead. I understand that they think anyone who supports choice also supports Nazi's and Genocide and the slaughtering of over 6,000,000 people. But I don't understand why the extent of in-your-face graphic vulgarity. Are they trying to convince me that I am a Nazi? Is this to make me feel guilty, and partly responsible for the Holocaust? Because I don't, and I'm not. Or is it a ploy to make other people think that about me? Because if that's the case, then fuck you.
My ultimate conclusion is that these people have an opinion, which is good. Opinions are an aspect of humanity that gives each special person something that separates him/herself from everyone else. It's beautiful. Except these people, in addition to having their opinion, aren't satisfied with just having an opinion. They need their opinion to be shared by everyone, and try to persuade with good a modest serving of FEARRRRR. I've seen this style of persuasion before, as I'm sure we're all familiar with the old guy we find on campus those special days wearing the billboards around his chest yelling at people walking by about how they are going to hell, no matter what... unless they confide in Jesus.
Relating that guy to the people I was standing in front of today lightened me up enough to turn around and get on with the day. I decided not to take offense to them, but instead be proud that not only do I have an opinion, but I have the grace to not shove it in people's faces as they're trying to walk to class.
This is just a small sample of adjectives in which a certain group of people on campus would describe me. For the first in my life, I felt not only uncomfortable, but offended when I was standing in front of the pro-life tent on the USF campus. Day after day, it is not uncommon for there to be one or two die hard crazies roaming about Tampa wearing warning signs of damnation, or corduroyed clipboard people asking for money and signatures to stop suburban sprawl. So this type of in-your-face approach to have your voice heard is not uncommon. Unfortunately in this case I could not just turn up my Ipod and keep my stroll on. This is PRO LIFE.
Walking from the Library, I was intrigued by a black sign with splattered red paint, reading "WARNING, DISTURBING IMAGES AHEAD". Naturally, I walked farther. 2nd sign read: "GENOCIDE PICTURES AHEAD"... how could I turn around now?
As I turned the corner, there stood a monster display of red, white, and black. Oversize images of human beings piled together in a mass heap of flesh, atop which stood a Nazi flag, next to other images of alike horror. Littered in the holocaust of images were pictures of babies, either happy and smiling, or dead and fetus-y. Throw a couple of = signs between the two, flash a couple "pro-choice" labels, and there you have the Tampa, Florida pro-life awareness stand that haunted me for the rest of the day.
I don't understand.
Am I a Nazi?
I don't think I'm a Nazi.
I'm Jewish.
But I am pro-choice?
Isn't pro-choice Nazism?
I stood in front of this as I thought myself in circles for too long, trying to comprehend the logic behind this master display.
I understand that they don't approve of abortion. I understand that they like babies. I understand that they don't want them dead. I understand that they think anyone who supports choice also supports Nazi's and Genocide and the slaughtering of over 6,000,000 people. But I don't understand why the extent of in-your-face graphic vulgarity. Are they trying to convince me that I am a Nazi? Is this to make me feel guilty, and partly responsible for the Holocaust? Because I don't, and I'm not. Or is it a ploy to make other people think that about me? Because if that's the case, then fuck you.
My ultimate conclusion is that these people have an opinion, which is good. Opinions are an aspect of humanity that gives each special person something that separates him/herself from everyone else. It's beautiful. Except these people, in addition to having their opinion, aren't satisfied with just having an opinion. They need their opinion to be shared by everyone, and try to persuade with good a modest serving of FEARRRRR. I've seen this style of persuasion before, as I'm sure we're all familiar with the old guy we find on campus those special days wearing the billboards around his chest yelling at people walking by about how they are going to hell, no matter what... unless they confide in Jesus.
Relating that guy to the people I was standing in front of today lightened me up enough to turn around and get on with the day. I decided not to take offense to them, but instead be proud that not only do I have an opinion, but I have the grace to not shove it in people's faces as they're trying to walk to class.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Greasy Spoon
My job requires me to travel to areas that are normally not tourist hotspots. Places like Medina, Ohio, or Tusculum, Tennesee. Blips on the map, places that you only accidentally drive through and can miss in a blink. I'm constantly moving from one cookie cutter hotel room to another, rooms that look so much alike that it feels like I've never really left the one before.
The only thing that I've found really ties me to these out of the way places I go to are the places where I go to eat. 9 times out of 10, I throw out the little complimentary list of eateries that are handed out to every hotel guest and go to the local gas station. There, I ask the clerk where the local greasy spoon is, and eat there instead.
The greasy spoon is something that I feel is an important part of this country. They are places that can be found on roads called Turkeyfoot Lake Road, places with old neon signs that are slowly fading. Places that don't use fancy computers to type in orders, but instead still rely on old waitress pads and the furious scribble of food shorthand. They are places with menus that look like they were printed in the 1970's at the latest, with an ambiance to match.
And I love them. I love them for their greasy food and their daily specials and for the America they represent. Because that's what I see in them whenever I step through their doors. I see America. I see Elk Lodge meetings being discussed, I see trophies from Little League teams that these places have sponsored. I see local people, real people, blue collar people that have just gotten off from the kind of jobs that used to be respected in this country but now seem antiquated. People that want to get out of the cold and enjoy a hot bowl of chili or the best hot wings in the county.
I don't get that feeling at a chain restaurant, and I don't like that. I don't like that I can walk into an Applebee's and get the same Fiesta Lime Chicken in Cleveland that I can in New Orleans. I don't like that there's the same Southwestern Egg Rolls being served in Chili's from San Fransisco to Boston. I don't like that a Grand Slam is a Grand Slam is a Grand Slam at any Denny's you go to at any point in this country.
I feel homogenized. I feel boxed in. I feel like I'm out of options. I feel trapped.
And I feel like I've lost something. I feel like ALL of us, in fact, have lost something. It's the thing that made a group of rag-tag Vikings leave their cold Scandinavian shores and head for greener lands. It's the thing that made people cross the land bridge from what is now Russia to what is now Alaska, thus peopling this continent. It's the thing that made Spanish conquistadors and explorers defy what was known: that the world was not flat and that there was something out there. It's the thing that made a group of Puritan settlers seek a new life in a new world; it's the thing that made millions upon millions of people come to these shores. It's the sense of adventure. It's the sense of wonder. It's the sense of exploration.
And we don't have that anymore.
We've lost that when this country got too fast for its own good. We lost it when Manifest Destiny brought us across this land, full of courage and purpose, only to find the real edge of the world waiting for us. We lost it when we found out the even though the world wasn't flat, there really was an end to it and we gave up looking for something beyond it.
Think about it. How many people refuse to go see a movie based on the opinions of critics? How many people won't pick up a new album or try a different kind of music because there is a certain kind of label or stigma attached to it? How many people make choices now simply by appearance? How many books are now judged by only their covers?
We're scared, and so we retreat to our sure-thing Tom Hanks movies and our American Idol CDs. And we seek refuge from the wild and wooly world in Bob Evans, and in Olive Garden, and at the Outback. We do this because it's safe, because we know that no matter where we are, the biscuits will be good and the bread sticks will be never ending and the onions will be bloomin'.
I'm gonna make an effort to not be afraid. I'm gonna make an effort to try new things. I'm gonna listen to music I never thought I would. I'm going to unplug my GPS, which I, like many others, have become addicted to, and try the back roads. And I encourage you to do the same. Explore. Look around. Take the long way. Skip shortcuts. Get lost. Get found.
And if you ever find yourself on the outskirts of Akron, OH, take a turn down Turkeyfoot Lake Road and head to MT Pocket's Pub and Grill. It's right on the cold and frozen waters of Turkeyfoot Lake, but the people are nothing of the sort. They're warm and happy and friendly. They'll let you in on their local jokes. They'll let you listen to their stories. And they'll call you by your name when you leave, like you've been coming there for years.
Go there. And try the reuben. It's delicious.
The only thing that I've found really ties me to these out of the way places I go to are the places where I go to eat. 9 times out of 10, I throw out the little complimentary list of eateries that are handed out to every hotel guest and go to the local gas station. There, I ask the clerk where the local greasy spoon is, and eat there instead.
The greasy spoon is something that I feel is an important part of this country. They are places that can be found on roads called Turkeyfoot Lake Road, places with old neon signs that are slowly fading. Places that don't use fancy computers to type in orders, but instead still rely on old waitress pads and the furious scribble of food shorthand. They are places with menus that look like they were printed in the 1970's at the latest, with an ambiance to match.
And I love them. I love them for their greasy food and their daily specials and for the America they represent. Because that's what I see in them whenever I step through their doors. I see America. I see Elk Lodge meetings being discussed, I see trophies from Little League teams that these places have sponsored. I see local people, real people, blue collar people that have just gotten off from the kind of jobs that used to be respected in this country but now seem antiquated. People that want to get out of the cold and enjoy a hot bowl of chili or the best hot wings in the county.
I don't get that feeling at a chain restaurant, and I don't like that. I don't like that I can walk into an Applebee's and get the same Fiesta Lime Chicken in Cleveland that I can in New Orleans. I don't like that there's the same Southwestern Egg Rolls being served in Chili's from San Fransisco to Boston. I don't like that a Grand Slam is a Grand Slam is a Grand Slam at any Denny's you go to at any point in this country.
I feel homogenized. I feel boxed in. I feel like I'm out of options. I feel trapped.
And I feel like I've lost something. I feel like ALL of us, in fact, have lost something. It's the thing that made a group of rag-tag Vikings leave their cold Scandinavian shores and head for greener lands. It's the thing that made people cross the land bridge from what is now Russia to what is now Alaska, thus peopling this continent. It's the thing that made Spanish conquistadors and explorers defy what was known: that the world was not flat and that there was something out there. It's the thing that made a group of Puritan settlers seek a new life in a new world; it's the thing that made millions upon millions of people come to these shores. It's the sense of adventure. It's the sense of wonder. It's the sense of exploration.
And we don't have that anymore.
We've lost that when this country got too fast for its own good. We lost it when Manifest Destiny brought us across this land, full of courage and purpose, only to find the real edge of the world waiting for us. We lost it when we found out the even though the world wasn't flat, there really was an end to it and we gave up looking for something beyond it.
Think about it. How many people refuse to go see a movie based on the opinions of critics? How many people won't pick up a new album or try a different kind of music because there is a certain kind of label or stigma attached to it? How many people make choices now simply by appearance? How many books are now judged by only their covers?
We're scared, and so we retreat to our sure-thing Tom Hanks movies and our American Idol CDs. And we seek refuge from the wild and wooly world in Bob Evans, and in Olive Garden, and at the Outback. We do this because it's safe, because we know that no matter where we are, the biscuits will be good and the bread sticks will be never ending and the onions will be bloomin'.
I'm gonna make an effort to not be afraid. I'm gonna make an effort to try new things. I'm gonna listen to music I never thought I would. I'm going to unplug my GPS, which I, like many others, have become addicted to, and try the back roads. And I encourage you to do the same. Explore. Look around. Take the long way. Skip shortcuts. Get lost. Get found.
And if you ever find yourself on the outskirts of Akron, OH, take a turn down Turkeyfoot Lake Road and head to MT Pocket's Pub and Grill. It's right on the cold and frozen waters of Turkeyfoot Lake, but the people are nothing of the sort. They're warm and happy and friendly. They'll let you in on their local jokes. They'll let you listen to their stories. And they'll call you by your name when you leave, like you've been coming there for years.
Go there. And try the reuben. It's delicious.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The St. Valentine's Day Massacre
It's become the norm nowadays to take a shot at today, being St. Valentine's Day. People have labeled it such things as "Single's Awareness Day" and have taken to boycotting it. It's become a shame, a fraud, a corporate bastardization of a celebration.
And I feel like I should throw my two cents into the mix.
For 364 days (or 365 in the case of this year), people can go about their lives and not care about love, relationships, or the fact that they are pointlessly with someone or hopelessly without them. Life goes on, the wheel keeps turning 'round, light spreads through the day, gradually fading off into night.
And then today happens. And "love" is crammed down our throats.
I put "love" in quotations because its not really love. It's an excuse. Thats all Valentine's Day is, an excuse. It's a male "get-out-of-jail" free card. A guy can be a dickcockdouchebagfuckface the whole year, but if he shells out enough to buy some flowers and chocolate he can somehow convince his girl to spread her legs and let him get up all in dem guts.
Ladies, it's also an excuse for you to believe that your relationships aren't a farce. It's a way for you to hold onto the notion that you're living in a Kate Hudson movie and Hugh Grant is coming in to sweep you off your feet. Two things: you're not and he would probably just shag you and never call you again. I know thats what he did to me...
And let's talk about the flowers for a second. Nothing says "I love you" like a unique bouquet of flowers that you thoughtfully picked out. You can read "unique" as "mass-produced" and "thoughtfully picked out" as "double-clicked on at the FTL website because it was on special". Here ya go honey! A special bouquet just for you...and all the other girls that got the same one.
Now, for all you that go around smarmily shouting that its actually "Single's Awareness Day"...go fuck yourselves. Honestly, whats the big deal with being single?
Think about it. You didn't have to go to a store today and read card after mind numbing card and try to pick one that sums up how you feel in your relationship. (Here's an idea: Just buy a blank one and write "Fuck Me while you're ripping out my soul" because thats really what you want to say anyway).
I guess my "bitterness" (if you want to label it that) stems from today being everywhere. You can't escape it. So here's my plea. If you're in a relationship today, wonderful. Good for you. I'm happy for you. But this is the thing: NO ONE ELSE GIVES A FUCK. Nobody cares how sweet he was for you. No one cares how great she looked in that thong (ok maybe I do somewhat care on this point). If you're in love keep it to yourself. And also, celebrate that love everyday of the fucking year, not just when it's on sale at the CVS.
And If your single today, revel in your singleness. Be glad that you can buy a case of beer and get shithoused. Be glad that you can curl up with your favorite book or tv show and not worry about anyone else. Be glad that you can order a bunch of hot wings and be a slob on your couch and let the buffalo hot sauce drip all over you.
Maybe that's why you're single afterall.
And I feel like I should throw my two cents into the mix.
For 364 days (or 365 in the case of this year), people can go about their lives and not care about love, relationships, or the fact that they are pointlessly with someone or hopelessly without them. Life goes on, the wheel keeps turning 'round, light spreads through the day, gradually fading off into night.
And then today happens. And "love" is crammed down our throats.
I put "love" in quotations because its not really love. It's an excuse. Thats all Valentine's Day is, an excuse. It's a male "get-out-of-jail" free card. A guy can be a dickcockdouchebagfuckface the whole year, but if he shells out enough to buy some flowers and chocolate he can somehow convince his girl to spread her legs and let him get up all in dem guts.
Ladies, it's also an excuse for you to believe that your relationships aren't a farce. It's a way for you to hold onto the notion that you're living in a Kate Hudson movie and Hugh Grant is coming in to sweep you off your feet. Two things: you're not and he would probably just shag you and never call you again. I know thats what he did to me...
And let's talk about the flowers for a second. Nothing says "I love you" like a unique bouquet of flowers that you thoughtfully picked out. You can read "unique" as "mass-produced" and "thoughtfully picked out" as "double-clicked on at the FTL website because it was on special". Here ya go honey! A special bouquet just for you...and all the other girls that got the same one.
Now, for all you that go around smarmily shouting that its actually "Single's Awareness Day"...go fuck yourselves. Honestly, whats the big deal with being single?
Think about it. You didn't have to go to a store today and read card after mind numbing card and try to pick one that sums up how you feel in your relationship. (Here's an idea: Just buy a blank one and write "Fuck Me while you're ripping out my soul" because thats really what you want to say anyway).
I guess my "bitterness" (if you want to label it that) stems from today being everywhere. You can't escape it. So here's my plea. If you're in a relationship today, wonderful. Good for you. I'm happy for you. But this is the thing: NO ONE ELSE GIVES A FUCK. Nobody cares how sweet he was for you. No one cares how great she looked in that thong (ok maybe I do somewhat care on this point). If you're in love keep it to yourself. And also, celebrate that love everyday of the fucking year, not just when it's on sale at the CVS.
And If your single today, revel in your singleness. Be glad that you can buy a case of beer and get shithoused. Be glad that you can curl up with your favorite book or tv show and not worry about anyone else. Be glad that you can order a bunch of hot wings and be a slob on your couch and let the buffalo hot sauce drip all over you.
Maybe that's why you're single afterall.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Seriously, anyone else but you
Everyone in the world has things they don’t really like about themselves. Thoughts and feelings that deep down they know are irrational, egotistical or just plain childish. I have such thoughts and feelings on a regular bassis. For instance I cant stand it when something that I really like becomes popular, overused and then ultimately deemed “uncool”.
For example when I first saw the trailer for the movie “juno” I couldn’t help but notice that it used the moldy peaches song “anyone else but you”. At first I thought this was awesome. The song was one of my favorites to listen to and since it's made up of just two chords, also one of my favorites to play on guitar. Then the movie became a huge hit, thus making the “indie” soundtrack (which recently reached #1 on the u.s. album charts) the cool thing to listen to. The moldy peaches are now re-releasing the song as a single, and have played it on the morning talk show "the view". It's also well on its way to becoming one of the most covered songs in history.
I know I shouldn’t feel any ownership towards something that I had absolutely no part in the creation of, but in a weird way I still do. If something is good sooner or later its going to become popular, weather its an instant hit or it gets discovered 30 years down the road. I guess sometimes you just have to except the fact that you are listening to the same music as girls in junior high. Even if it is a bummer.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Go Rake Your Leaves.
I feel as though 9 times out of 10, when you ask the question: "What's your favorite season?" people answer Fall/Autumn.
I feel as though 9 times out of 10, when you ask the question: "What's your favorite season?" people are liars.
Why fall? The colors of the leaves? The weather? I can somewhat see that, but by the end of Fall those tree's are bare. And with everyday that gets colder from September to December everyone becomes increasingly more annoyed and wishes it was still summer. No one can deny this. Fall is damp, wet, and dreary. It's the prelude to the holidays which are full of stress and worries. It gets darker earlier! Fall usually entails the end of the summer, which I would also argue is the utmost favorite season of nearly everyone in the world, but they refuse to admit it due to feeling cliche.
I think I should change my favorite season to summer, but like you fall lovers, I don't want to be that cliche. But why not? No one is stressed it seems in the summer, you go out everyday and night and it still feels like you're missing out on everything and there is never enough time. No one hates summer.
Spring is my favorite for the following reasons.
1. I ski, you get the best of skiing in the beginning of Spring with the best winter conditions, and by the end of Spring you're in prime warm skiing soft snow weather.
2. The days are warm and nights are cool. I like it when all I need is a t-shirt and a sweatshirt if it gets chilly.
3. no mosquitos.
4. no humidity.
5. first freak rain-showers/thunderstorms. fun at first, by end of summer they're played out.
i could argue more points, but it would just be rather trite and what i really am trying to find out from this post, is why people do in fact love fall. I've heard countless answers but I've never heard a convincing argument.
I feel as though 9 times out of 10, when you ask the question: "What's your favorite season?" people are liars.
Why fall? The colors of the leaves? The weather? I can somewhat see that, but by the end of Fall those tree's are bare. And with everyday that gets colder from September to December everyone becomes increasingly more annoyed and wishes it was still summer. No one can deny this. Fall is damp, wet, and dreary. It's the prelude to the holidays which are full of stress and worries. It gets darker earlier! Fall usually entails the end of the summer, which I would also argue is the utmost favorite season of nearly everyone in the world, but they refuse to admit it due to feeling cliche.
I think I should change my favorite season to summer, but like you fall lovers, I don't want to be that cliche. But why not? No one is stressed it seems in the summer, you go out everyday and night and it still feels like you're missing out on everything and there is never enough time. No one hates summer.
Spring is my favorite for the following reasons.
1. I ski, you get the best of skiing in the beginning of Spring with the best winter conditions, and by the end of Spring you're in prime warm skiing soft snow weather.
2. The days are warm and nights are cool. I like it when all I need is a t-shirt and a sweatshirt if it gets chilly.
3. no mosquitos.
4. no humidity.
5. first freak rain-showers/thunderstorms. fun at first, by end of summer they're played out.
i could argue more points, but it would just be rather trite and what i really am trying to find out from this post, is why people do in fact love fall. I've heard countless answers but I've never heard a convincing argument.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Yo BIG BLUE
As I just have returned from a weekend in New York City, I thought I would take a second to post about a thought I had upon entry into the city on Friday and another I had leaving the city today, Monday.
If you haven't read the previous post from Larzman, and have no interaction with anyone or any media source, but yet still found this article...Well the '07-08 Patriots lost their precious perfect season and are now known as the team that was "almost perfect".
What struck me the most on my way into the city about this Superbowl match-up, was how the roles were reversed. I'm talking about the eternal rivalry between Boston and New York; more exclusively about the past few years, with the almighty pristine military fashioned Yankees against the down and dirty rebellious Red Sox.
,
The Yankees have always been this team with all the money and power that perform how they are expected to, until recent years when the Red Sox started giving them a run for their money in 2003, and again in 2004 in which they became the World Series Champions. The Yankees always would be on and off the field, clean-shaven and never showing emotions. While the Red Sox were notorious for their dirty helmets, beards and long hair.
Now, the New England Patriots seem to appear very much so like the New York Yankees. They are off the field and into the locker rooms in rapid fire after games. They keep their interviews formal, and seem to keep a well-mannered appearance. When the Giants won the NFC Championship however, they seemed to be much like the Red Sox in the sense that they were caking each other with champagne and ecstatic with emotions of making it that far.
I am upset for the Patriots, more in the sense that they came so far and were one game away from it all. How does one not think about that everyday for the rest of their life? At the same time I find the Giants deserving of the victory. And I like to witness upsets.
If you haven't read the previous post from Larzman, and have no interaction with anyone or any media source, but yet still found this article...Well the '07-08 Patriots lost their precious perfect season and are now known as the team that was "almost perfect".
What struck me the most on my way into the city about this Superbowl match-up, was how the roles were reversed. I'm talking about the eternal rivalry between Boston and New York; more exclusively about the past few years, with the almighty pristine military fashioned Yankees against the down and dirty rebellious Red Sox.
,
The Yankees have always been this team with all the money and power that perform how they are expected to, until recent years when the Red Sox started giving them a run for their money in 2003, and again in 2004 in which they became the World Series Champions. The Yankees always would be on and off the field, clean-shaven and never showing emotions. While the Red Sox were notorious for their dirty helmets, beards and long hair.
Now, the New England Patriots seem to appear very much so like the New York Yankees. They are off the field and into the locker rooms in rapid fire after games. They keep their interviews formal, and seem to keep a well-mannered appearance. When the Giants won the NFC Championship however, they seemed to be much like the Red Sox in the sense that they were caking each other with champagne and ecstatic with emotions of making it that far.
I am upset for the Patriots, more in the sense that they came so far and were one game away from it all. How does one not think about that everyday for the rest of their life? At the same time I find the Giants deserving of the victory. And I like to witness upsets.
Monday, February 4, 2008
And the hits just keep on coming...
If you noticed from my previous post, it just kind of ends. Thats because I accidentally posted it before actually finishing it. Wonderful. One more thing in a list of things that makes me think life, humanity, and existence has all been one big joke that no one gets and even the hip, chic kids that understand the "undergroundness" of its comedy can't laugh at.
Fuck.
I digress.
There are three things that I would like to discuss this go around. First and foremost, let's talk about the Pats. They blew it, there's no way around that one and Patriots fans need to accept it. I unfortunately count myself among you, but I have come to terms with the fact that we just didn't bring our game that day, and that the Giants made the plays when it counted. I mean for fuck's sake, how can you not tackle Eli Manning. The guy looks confused every minute he's on the field.
But hey, they won, good for them and all you Giants fans out there. And I mean GIANTS fans. Not fucking Jets fans that wore a Namath jersey at the Superbowl party that I was at but still rooted for the upset (I know you're probably not reading this, douchebag, and I don't care. After this, I will feel better because it's off my chest, but you sir will ALWAYS be a douchebag fuckface cuntwhore).
If you're a Jet's fan, you don't root for the Giants...PERIOD. I don't care if it's the Giants versus Hitler, Satan, Osama Bin Laden, and Lord Voldemort. If you're a Jets fan, looks like you're into killing Jews, living in Hell, hating freedom, and being so EVIL that you can't even be named.
The Patriots were the most hated team in the NFL this year because for some reason, the pursuit of perfection is something that should be despised instead of honored. What's wrong with this country? Why couldn't people with no vested interest in the game (meaning non-Pats, non-Giants, non-fans of teams that are rivals of the Pats) cheer for a team that is striving for the impossible? The answer is that mediocrity is the name of the game. We are a nation that has settled for doing as little as possible to get by. Hooray for apathy, being average and under-achieving.
Secondly, the film epic "Meet the Spartans" opened at number one at the box office. I really don't have a comment for that, other than to say if you encourage these filmmakers, they will continue to poison our cinemas with this shit.
Finally, I was at a store the other day called Steve and Barry's. For those of you that are unaware of this place, its a discount clothing store where nothing is over 20 bucks. The clothes are chintzy, but hey, for what you're paying it's not that bad (see, even I've succumb to being ok with average).
Anyway, I'm about to head out when I hear the jubilation of a child. There are few things in this despair filled, bleak, hopeless world that can part the clouds and let the sunshine in like the happiness of a child. And this kid was motherfucking Moses with those clouds, he was making them part and the sun was shinning down upon Sarah Jessica's new clothing line. I wondered what was making the kid, which I placed around 5 or 6 years old, so fucking happy. I moved in to investigate.
The kid, a moonfaced child with a head too big for his body and eyes that bulged from their sockets, was standing in front of a rack of WWE t-shirts. And he was in heaven. Couldn't believe that such a thing existed. Yelling over to his mom, he wanted to show her his favorite.
"OH...MY...GAWD!" the boy drawled with southern perfection, "MOM! Take a looook at this wun! It's the BEEEER DRINKIN' CHAMPYUN! STONE...COLD...STEVE...AWESTIN! He's...the BEEEER DRINKIN' CHAMPYUN!"
Taken aback, I figured the mother would reprimand the child, or at least tell him that life isn't a drinking contest and there are more lofty goals to obtain. Instead, what I got was:
"I know hunnnnny! He's soooo great at drinkin' beer! Now thats a REAL champyun right therre!"
And that's the problem with this country. It's not that there are people that flip-flop and want to squash perfection, or people that make shitty movies number one, or people that idolize a skill that most college kids take for granted instead of hard-work, education, and classiness.
No, it's that these people are breeding.
Fuck.
I digress.
There are three things that I would like to discuss this go around. First and foremost, let's talk about the Pats. They blew it, there's no way around that one and Patriots fans need to accept it. I unfortunately count myself among you, but I have come to terms with the fact that we just didn't bring our game that day, and that the Giants made the plays when it counted. I mean for fuck's sake, how can you not tackle Eli Manning. The guy looks confused every minute he's on the field.
But hey, they won, good for them and all you Giants fans out there. And I mean GIANTS fans. Not fucking Jets fans that wore a Namath jersey at the Superbowl party that I was at but still rooted for the upset (I know you're probably not reading this, douchebag, and I don't care. After this, I will feel better because it's off my chest, but you sir will ALWAYS be a douchebag fuckface cuntwhore).
If you're a Jet's fan, you don't root for the Giants...PERIOD. I don't care if it's the Giants versus Hitler, Satan, Osama Bin Laden, and Lord Voldemort. If you're a Jets fan, looks like you're into killing Jews, living in Hell, hating freedom, and being so EVIL that you can't even be named.
The Patriots were the most hated team in the NFL this year because for some reason, the pursuit of perfection is something that should be despised instead of honored. What's wrong with this country? Why couldn't people with no vested interest in the game (meaning non-Pats, non-Giants, non-fans of teams that are rivals of the Pats) cheer for a team that is striving for the impossible? The answer is that mediocrity is the name of the game. We are a nation that has settled for doing as little as possible to get by. Hooray for apathy, being average and under-achieving.
Secondly, the film epic "Meet the Spartans" opened at number one at the box office. I really don't have a comment for that, other than to say if you encourage these filmmakers, they will continue to poison our cinemas with this shit.
Finally, I was at a store the other day called Steve and Barry's. For those of you that are unaware of this place, its a discount clothing store where nothing is over 20 bucks. The clothes are chintzy, but hey, for what you're paying it's not that bad (see, even I've succumb to being ok with average).
Anyway, I'm about to head out when I hear the jubilation of a child. There are few things in this despair filled, bleak, hopeless world that can part the clouds and let the sunshine in like the happiness of a child. And this kid was motherfucking Moses with those clouds, he was making them part and the sun was shinning down upon Sarah Jessica's new clothing line. I wondered what was making the kid, which I placed around 5 or 6 years old, so fucking happy. I moved in to investigate.
The kid, a moonfaced child with a head too big for his body and eyes that bulged from their sockets, was standing in front of a rack of WWE t-shirts. And he was in heaven. Couldn't believe that such a thing existed. Yelling over to his mom, he wanted to show her his favorite.
"OH...MY...GAWD!" the boy drawled with southern perfection, "MOM! Take a looook at this wun! It's the BEEEER DRINKIN' CHAMPYUN! STONE...COLD...STEVE...AWESTIN! He's...the BEEEER DRINKIN' CHAMPYUN!"
Taken aback, I figured the mother would reprimand the child, or at least tell him that life isn't a drinking contest and there are more lofty goals to obtain. Instead, what I got was:
"I know hunnnnny! He's soooo great at drinkin' beer! Now thats a REAL champyun right therre!"
And that's the problem with this country. It's not that there are people that flip-flop and want to squash perfection, or people that make shitty movies number one, or people that idolize a skill that most college kids take for granted instead of hard-work, education, and classiness.
No, it's that these people are breeding.
Dear Humanity,
There are times in one's life where disbelief, annoyance, and frustration all converge into one, a "perfect storm" if you will.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
I'll finally know how the story ends...
Like many of you out there, I love a good story. Whether it be in print, on the stage, or on the silver screen, a cracklin' yarn is something that puts joy on my face and a smile in my heart. The works of Leo Tolstoy, the films of Ingmar Bergman, the plays of Arthur Miller. I need a good story in order for my life to be complete.
Which is why I was truly upset about this particular story. First off, I must say that it held me in a hypnotic trance for the entire film. The class struggles and the inner workings of the characters were so compelling that they nearly brought me to tears. I'm talking of course, about the film "Step Up."
I wanted to know more however. What happened after Tyler went to the Maryland School of Arts and Nora goes off with that professional dance troupe. Instead of answers, I was left with many sleepless nights. Tyler...Nora...what has become of you.
But NOW I can relax. They've done it. They've answered my prayers. They've fulfilled my dreams. They've made "Step Up 2 Da Streets." Not only is it the most anticipated film in the history of cinema, it may in fact have the cleverest title ever recorded by man. I'm literally shaking with joy that I'll see what happened to the two greatest, star-crossed lovers since Romeo and Juliet.
Who knows how it will end up. I just know that I will be stepping up to see this film classic in the making, and I will STAND up and cheer!
Which is why I was truly upset about this particular story. First off, I must say that it held me in a hypnotic trance for the entire film. The class struggles and the inner workings of the characters were so compelling that they nearly brought me to tears. I'm talking of course, about the film "Step Up."
I wanted to know more however. What happened after Tyler went to the Maryland School of Arts and Nora goes off with that professional dance troupe. Instead of answers, I was left with many sleepless nights. Tyler...Nora...what has become of you.
But NOW I can relax. They've done it. They've answered my prayers. They've fulfilled my dreams. They've made "Step Up 2 Da Streets." Not only is it the most anticipated film in the history of cinema, it may in fact have the cleverest title ever recorded by man. I'm literally shaking with joy that I'll see what happened to the two greatest, star-crossed lovers since Romeo and Juliet.
Who knows how it will end up. I just know that I will be stepping up to see this film classic in the making, and I will STAND up and cheer!
I Want Answers!
Questions that have been on my mind:
Will the wristwatch become obsolete? Think about it, people used to carry along pocket watches until the wristwatch came about and blew that sucker out of practicality. Now, cellphones have entered the game, displaying the time on the screen. At parties you hear "what time is it?" and automatically everyone dives into their pockets for their cellphones. With the younger generation so reliant on cellphones, it wont be long till wristwatches are a thing of the past.
Is Heath Ledgers untimely death going to serve his career the justice he always wanted? Why wouldn't it? He is getting more recognition for this weird untimely death then anything. With so many variables involved, (Mary-kate, masseuse, films in production) it means that this is going to be in the news for awhile; especially with The Dark Knight coming out this summer. All this does is create more time for us to analyze this mans career, which certainly showed promise in his latest roles. So will this man become immortalized in the likes of celebrities such as: Chris Farley, Kurt Cobain, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, 2pac and Biggie?
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