There are a lot of things in this crazy world I don’t understand. I don’t understand the military budget of the United States government versus the educational budget. I don’t understand how Superman became so popular, when you’re reading a comic/watching a film about investigative reporters who can’t figure out who this Superman is when it is a guy they have known the whole time (only he takes his glasses off). Continue reading “This is how I imagine MMA to have been invented…”
Dear Dennis Hopper,
A few years ago, I used to be what some would call a “journalist.” I put that dirty word in quotations because I mostly wrote for online publications that no one really gives a shit about. We all know what the internet has done to “journalism” right? Nothing good. But it was during that time that we met. You probably forgot the encounter minutes after it happened. I never will. It was in June of 2006, when some people actually cared about the words I wrote.
I was at the closing party at the CineVegas Film Festival (obviously located in Las Vegas, Nevada). Taylor Hackford was there with his wife Helen Mirren. I think she won an Oscar the following year for something.
Cigars for Hopper (6/2010)
Anyway, I had to leave the party around midnight because I had to catch the redeye back to Orlando. It would be the last time I would ever travel for a film festival. I was walking out to find my ride, down a long corridor hallway at the Hard Rock Casino. I saw you standing there and I pondered what to say for a while.
I’ve met many celebrities I couldn’t give a shit about. You were different. I was/am an enormous fan of yours. Easy Rider changed my life. That was the first film I ever saw that said, “Fuck your cinematic traditions and let’s get real.”
I think you had a cigar in your mouth. You were waiting for someone too. What could I say to you? Should I ask about what it was like to rock and roll with James Dean during the filming of Giant? Perhaps I could tell you that My Science Project is one of the most underrated 80s flicks this side of the Monster Squad. Or that I secretly hate Blue Velvet even though I love you in it. You’re the only thing good about Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and you added a great deal of class to an otherwise mediocre action ride (Speed). I almost pictured myself saying, “I loved you in True Romance and Super Mario Bros.”
I didn’t say any of that. I just introduced myself. You were friendly. Asked me if I liked the festival. I did. I loved it. Vegas is a great town. We shook hands. I felt like the Terminator at the end of Terminator 2, shaking hands with Sarah Connor before lowering myself into the steel. And that was that.
Now you’re gone. So it goes.
I hate that you’re no longer here. You’ve had such a huge impact on me over the years. You’ve affected my general attitude and my overall feelings towards the Hollywood machine. You’re one of the reasons I hate so many films.
Hopefully the next time we meet, we can rock a drink. Then the two of us can team up and punch Brett Ratner in the face.
So it goes.
December was a rough month. Sure, it marks a time of the birth of many of yours Lord, but for me it was a crashing point of sorts. I have a Grandpa who is under constant care. Prior to October of 2009, he still lived at home. But his mind was failing. He started losing touch with things and the only person in the world he trusted was me. So, at the end of October, after a long hard battle, he was put into a hospital and ordered to stay until a new living situation was arranged.
But a few months later, my sister called me in a frantic. Crying, she said, “There is something wrong with him… They think he is dying. They need to know if he has a DNR (do not recessitate) in place.”
Since I had power of attorney over him, it was ultimately my decision if he should be let go from this cruel world or if he should get another shot.
How the fuck does someone answer that? What I learned later is that he did have a DNR in place. They just couldn’t find it. So he is currently alive. Though he shouldn’t be.
A few weeks later, he was moved into an assisted living facility. Nurses come and give him his pills, all 18 of them, each day and check on him. He has a little apartment that isn’t too shabby. My sister now keeps close watch on him, as we moved him to her town. I am still far away from him. I don’t keep such a close eye on him as I did this past year but I still call him every other day.
Sometimes he yells in a cursed rage at me, due to the fact that he is confused about every little thing ever. He just freaks out over things he wishes she still had control of. I understand such sediments, so I just laugh it off. This is how it is going to be for the rest of his life. I get that. So it doesn’t bother me.
Something Wrong with my Brain (2/2010)
On the day marriage should ever fall unto me, some lady will definitely be lucky, I’ve thought up some vows already. One should always be prepared of the future. But this certain vow isn’t even for me. It’s for the lady. She must vow to put a pillow over my face when I turn 63. Why 63? I have no idea. Sounds like a good time to end things. I don’t want to wake up one day not remembering who I was, who I am, and who anyone I know is. I don’t want to shit my pants, or end up like my other Grandfather who can’t speak, eat on his own, talk, or see. What is the point to that sort of life? There isn’t one, no matter what you believe.
I am on my way out the door to take the GRE for the second time. You may remember the last time I took it… Regardless, I feel as if I am a bit more prepared this time than last. Though I still don’t understand a lick of the math, I have a feeling I will get better score than last round. If I don’t, I’m going to be upset.
Some people do shit to their body that is completely unacceptable. Others do shit that is acceptable. For example, the single mother stripper who needs a new set of tits, because years of child births sagged them things down and no respectable wife-cheating business man wants to throw down money on saggy boobs. They simply do it out of need. If their boobs don’t pass the test, no one will make it rain for them.
Anna Faris does not fall into this category. She was perfectly fine a few years ago. Everything was good. Sure, she is no Meryl Streep as far as acting is concerned, but she isn’t fucking as emotionless as Summer Glau for testicular sake. She seems to land about 2 movies a year and has no problem doing so.
So what the fuck happened to her lip?
I tried watching House Bunny (a sure-fire Oscar contender) and I couldn’t look past it. What happened to her top lip man? Does she have a leprechaun punch her every morning before work or did she actually get work done?
Move Over, Julia Roberts (4/2009)
Last year, I recalled a rather touching conversation I had with an ex-girlfriend about the amazing power of the Day of Fools. This year, I decided to keep that up. The following phone conversation took place.
Mike: Hey Sally. It’s Mike.
Sally: Mike who?
Mike: Come on, you really have to ask that?
Sally: Good Christ, what the fuck do you want?
Mike: I was just calling to check on you; see how you were doing. How goes it? How has life been treating you since we last spoke?
Sally: Are you fucking kidding me? I haven’t heard from you in 5 years. You just disappeared. Where did you go?
Mike: My wife found out about our relationship and she threatened to walk out on me unless I ended it. So I ended it.
Sally:… (I could hear her thinking)
Mike: Are you there?
Sally: …You were married?
Mike: Yeah. Funny, huh?
Sally: We went out for over a year, and you never told me? You told me you loved me.
Mike: I know, hilarious, right?
Sally: What the fuck are you telling me this for?
Mike: It’s part of the 12-step program… you know, calling people, and apologizing for shit.
Sally: You’re an alcoholic too?
Mike: Oh yeah, that’s why we got a divorce. I can’t see my kids without supervision. I was an angry drunk.
Sally: You have fucking kids too? Jesus fuck, what the hell else do you want from me?
Mike: I was just calling to ask for your forgiveness. To let you know I am sorry.
Sally: I wondered what happened to you for 5 years, and this is what I learn? I hope you drop fucking dead asshole…
Mike: Okay, wait… calm down, I have something else to say!”
Sally: No, no, no… you’re going to listen to me asshole. If I ever see you again, I will fucking kill you, you got that?
Mike: But wait, don’t you know what today is?
Sally: No, and I don’t care. This conversation is over. I will fucking skin you alive if I see you again, you got that? Don’t ever call me ever a-fucking-gain.
Mike: But wait… April Fo….
Ghost of Fool’s Past (3/2009)
And before I could finish, she hung up. I guess she never got the joke.
So this is a tale, my good readers; one that will surely stretch the threads of your imagination. But you must realize it to be true. I would never steer you wrong, especially when you’ve been so kind to me throughout the months. No matter how strange this story seems, you have to understand that it really happened. I was there and I witnessed it in its entirety. I was at a gas station sometime last year. There was a line and I was in it, bored, looking around at things. There was a man behind me, probably aged 35. I couldn’t see his legs – they were invisible – so I could only deduce that he was wearing camouflage pants.
I happened to notice that right under the counter above was a display for gift cards. This gas station had gift cards for every store/restaurant ever – it was a amazing. They had them for Blockbuster, AMC Theaters, Regal Theaters, Home Depot, Chili’s, Applebees, Olive Garden, Wendy’s, iTunes, Rhapsody… this list goes on an on. They had an amazing selection of gift cards for being just a simple gas station. I thought people only went to gas stations to get gas, beer, smokes, and beef jerky. Learn something new every day.
There was also a gift card for Barnes and Noble. Without even thinking, I commented outloud, “Barnes and Noble gift cards? Who comes to a gas station to get a gift card to a book store?” That funny man I described earlier, who was standing behind me, started to laugh a bizarre, mentally challenged-sounding laugh. Some of the other patrons laughed to. Perhaps they were laughing at him? I don’t know. But it’s about this time when the unthinkable happened. Something that took me by surprise. I should have known then, however, that living in Florida brings out the oddest treats.
This guy – I call him Cletis every time I tell this story – then said, “Man, I ain’t ever read no book in my entire life.” He said that proudly, as if he was the smartest man in the universe and he got that title without ever having to read. But I didn’t believe him.
We Don’t Need Education Dollars (3/2009)
I quickly retorted with, “So you’ve never read Green Eggs and Ham or The Cat in the Hat?” I thought the suggestion of Dr. Seuss classics would jog his memory because who hasn’t read these? “No man,” Cletis said. I shot out some more simple childhood titles but he still denied me. “How did you get through elementary school without have to read anything?” I asked.
“I didn’t get too far in school.”
That was it. He was done laughing. All he wanted now was to purchase his Natural Light brew and go home to his trailer or whatever to party. Poor Cletis. Part of me wanted to teach him to read right there in the gas station, the other part of me wanted to destroy his existence.
I’ll never forget that story. Was he lying? I don’t know. He was pretty convincing. But why would he brag about something like that? Finding out a 30 year-old man, who is clearly allowed to have his driver’s license, can’t/won’t read. I guess being able to read stop signs should be enough for me. Clearly it’s enough for him.
And yet our government keeps taking away money from education. If these results are yielding such fine products as Cletis, what will happen to the rest of us in the future? It’s only going to get worse. Who gives a fuck if we have plenty of people to man fast-food jobs. Who is going to be able to handle anything else? That movie Idiocracy may have presented the closest thing to an actual future I can figure.
Two ladies were down the aisle from me at the store the other day. They were in conversation. I was looking for some sort of tomato sauce. I wish I was listening to them, especially after one of them said, “He looks like he’d be a bad father.”
Somewhat intrigued, somewhat puzzled, I looked over to get a good look-see at the ladies providing such brilliant commentary. I needed to know who would say something like that about someone, especially in the cultureless wonderland. My brief look didn’t provide me with the same amount of relief as the comment. They were two somewhat older ladies, plain in clothing choice, and unappealing to the eyes.
I continued looking for the sauce of my craving when it hit me. I had no idea who they were talking about. Who looks like they would be a bad father? I stopped looking for sauce and jolted down the aisle, passed the two ladies. When I reached the end of the aisle, I looked to the left and to the right. No one. Not a soul.
Then I contemplated something somewhat scary. Were they talking about me? Hmm. Wait… I just looked up and Friends is on. Maybe I would be a bad father.
I then continued around store. I didn’t believe that they were talking about me, so I wondered what kind of person looks like they would be a bad father. I looked out for this guy but I never ended up finding him.
Fatherhood with Tentacles (9/2008)