Blog Upstart...

Hi everyone! I have a favor to ask. I'm in the process of starting up a new blog completely dedicated to retro cookbooks and their recipes. I have the blog set up, but I need to finish tweaking a few things.

In the meantime, I have set up a poll to see what types of recipes future readers would most be interested in. If the subject matter interests you, please go to Jam Handy and participate in the poll. Thank you!

A Darker Shade of Mommy

WARNING: The MP3 hyperlinks included in today's post are extremely disturbing. Listen at your own risk.

The other day, while responding to all the comments left on my Mommy Blog post, Cheeky Prof mentioned that she'd happened upon a Mommy Blog with an "entire link and page dedicated to her stillborn child." I responded with "That's healthy. Can you imagine what the people who actually read it are like? Funville." I also told her that I could top that (just like Teen Witch!), and I can.

A few weeks ago, I first heard about this cuckoo bird named Lil' Markie, on the Howard Stern radio show. Not much seems to be known about Lil' Markie, either because he doesn't want to be found or no one wants to admit they even knew who he was. All I've been able to find out about him is that he appears to have been a ventriloquist/puppeteer named Mark Fox, head of Mark Fox Family Ministries. Fox briefly had his own public-access kid's show in the late 60's/early 70's where he preached/sang his songs via his doll (thus the creepy voice).

The song he's become most infamous for is called Diary of an Unborn Child, which is a creepy parable from the fetus' POV, cataloguing its' developmental stages, leading up to it being aborted. If you listen to the track in it's entirety, which begins with a long-winded reciting of diary entries (as dictated by the fetus), it eventually does actually break into song. Here's the chorus, so that you can sing along:

Why did you kill me, mommy
When God made me special for you?
I really wanted to see you
And put my little arms around you.
Why did you kill me, mommy
Because I thought you really cared for me.
And I wonder what I would have grown up to be?
I guess I’ll never know, 'cause mommy, you killed me.

Ask anyone I know, and they'll confirm that I don't get creeped out too easily. However, listening to this song did creep me out. Not so much the subject matter or on any guilt-laden moral grounds (which was the sole purpose of the song), but knowing that someone this obviously mentally unstable (AKA a serial killer waiting to happen...can you say John Wayne Gacy?) was out and about among society. Preaching the word of God. Who knows how many people he infected with his evangelical dementia? That's the creepy part; his disciples. Unborn Child was followed up by Story of an Alcoholic Father. Click on the title of either song title to hear an MP3 of that particular song. I'd say listen to them during the daytime, but daytime or nighttime, they're still unnerving.

See, Cheeky? I told you I could top that. *wink

The People in Your Neighborhood: Vol. III

[1] This nameplate is for one of the women who wait on me at the post office. She's really nice. However, whenever I see her name plate unattended (like so), I always wanna grab some nearby Liquid Paper and change it from AMRIT to ARMPIT. Yes, I'm 8 years old.

[2] David Crosby mails a letter. Oy. I will never understand the appeal that some aging men have with maintaining a ponytail. It must be a generational thing. I call it the Richard Grieco Syndrome (AKA Steven Segal Syndrome). If it is a generational thing, keep watch for MY generation to be sporting A Flock of Seagulls hair in about 20 years. Retarded.

[3] This woman, apparently going through her Witness Protection Program phase, was so fabulous and impatient that I wanted to grab her fuckin' tapping foot and snap it in half like a breadstick, while she waited in line.

Apparently she had sent a package to someone in France (fabulous!) and they hadn't received it yet. As it turns out, the dumbass she sent it to never thought to check the fuckin' POST OFFICE for the package. DERR! And somehow this was the U.S. post office's fault. Her defense was that France has multiple post offices and she didn't know which one to go to. Wow. Viva la Difference! Idiot. I so wanted to laugh when the woman at the counter advised her to tell the addressee to call information and find out what branch was nearest to her location. DUH! The woman, realizing what a dumbass she sounded like, still was in the mood to argue about it, though. Moron. P.s. Her feet were crustier than the sourdough bread at Macaroni Grill.

[4] This asshole is another example of the self-proclaimed "Mover & Shaker." This particular post office is SMALL and this jackass talks at full volume for the entire duration of his wait in line, spouting such pretentious business lingo as "Oh, it's a done deal. It's just a matter of taking him to lunch to seal the deal." Whatever, asshole.

[5] Make room for Impatient Woman AND her polka dot pants! This woman had the patience of Starr Jones at Jack in the Box. I swear to God, the post office BREEDS these type of people.

[6] I saw this guy at the post office, attempting to use the new self-serve postal machine. I thought he was hot. I have a thing for older men, though. Niiiiice legs. I had to restrain myself from vaulting over the counter and frisking him. I'm so lonely.

[7/8] Meet DJ Conner's aunt, PJ Conner. Jesus Christ. Does she really think that hairstyle looks good? I snapped the first picture just as she was about to sniff a red bellpepper that she's dropped while unloading her cart. WTF? Why would you smell it after it fell on the floor?

[9] And last, but not least, this woman. I call her Limburger Loins. I went with Derik recently to the local Movie Trading Company and while I was walking around browsing, I had the misfortune of crossing this woman's path. And whatta path it was! Initially I assumed a sewage line had broke somewhere in the vacinity. I even went so far as to check the bottoms of my shoes. My eyes were burning like someone pepper sprayed me. Goddamn! Either this woman was a zombie (which would explain the noxious odor wafting from her sphincter) or she has some dire intestinal issues that need medical attention, ASAP! Someone get this bitch a diaper and some toilet paper.

*Read Volume I & II.

Humpday Comics

I thought I would take a cue from Loup, but instead of a "Humpday Hottie," I'd post some of my favorite comic strips. These all made me laugh for one reason or another and include favorites from Get Fuzzy, Moderately Confused, Broom Hilda, The Born Loser and Pearls Before Swine . *Note: Panel 2 of Broom Hilda made me think of my friend, Terri, while panel 4 of Broom Hilda made me think of my friend Renee. Enjoy!

[ Click Images to Enlarge ]

Gay Porn? Watchoo Talkin' 'bout?

Let me preface this post by saying that I'm one of those people that when I see someone I think is attractive, talented, cool, etc. in some random episode of some TV show I happen to be watching at the time, I jot down their name and look them up later, on IMDB. I'm interested as to whether or not they are still working and if not, what they did last. It's always interesting to see where their career took them (or didn't).

This post is really more about how we make some of the strangest connections with seemingly unconnected things, more than about actual gay porn. Allow me to elaborate. A few weeks ago I was watching an early episode of Different Strokes. It was the episode titled "Willis' Birthday," in which Willis thinks that no one remembered his birthday. As it turns out, it's quite the contrary and when Mr. Drummond asks what he'd like for his birthday, Willis says a birthday party in Harlem with all his old friends.

Fast forward to the birthday party. At one point, upstairs neighbor, Luther is out on the fire escape watching the party going on inside before he decides to climb in through the open window and join the festivities.

When I saw Luther (AKA Scorpio) I thought to myself "Rowr, he's pretty hot. I wonder who he is and if he went on to do anything else?" So, I looked him up on IMDB. As it turns out, the only other things he did was gay porn. Pretty surreal, huh? Naturally, I had to try and find the video covers of his various gay exploits, but was only able to find 3 out of the 6 that he did. I noticed that his last film was in 1986 and that he passed away at the age of 46. Dying at what I consider to be a relatively young age, I can't help but wonder if it was somehow AIDS-related.

So, being me, I went about trying to find more information on who he was and what happened to his career. In the process, I stumbled across this blog entry, that said: "Whatever Happened to Scorpio? When I would hang at "The Bar" on Second Avennue and East 4th Street in the 1980's, I'd often chat with the afternoon bartender named "Scorpio". Scorpio was a famous porn star at the time, and would moonlight doing happy hours... and we always had interesting talks. Am wondering whatever became of him?? The current staff at The Bar is clueless (new owners). IMDB reports on Scorpio's contemporaries: Leo Ford died in a motorcycle accident, Lance passed in the early eighties, and Jack Wrangler is still going strong. But whatever happened to Scorpio? Enquiring minds are dying to know..." Isn't it strange how some people just kind of slip away into oblivion? I guess this is kind of a weird post, with no real rhyme or reason. It just makes me kind of melancholy knowing that people can so easily fade from existence.

I've included some screen captures from the episode of Different Strokes: (1) Oh Scorpio, you loveable scamp! (2) Edna gets her swerve on! (3) Scorpio lookin' for a "dancin' queen."

Fleeting Thoughts and Inner Dialogue

...while walking in the park:

• I smell celery. Weird. I swear to God, this area of the woods smells just like celery.

• God, I would so be dead if I got lost in the wilderness. I just know I'd end up eating something poisonous. On my deathbed I'd be all "It smelled like celery."

• Ech. Another Dasani water bottle. People who litter suck ass. I hope a raccoon bites them on the ass.

• Yeah, keep looking at me like I'm gonna jump your bones at any moment. Yeah, I'm comin' to rape you lady, head for the hills. You paranoid asshole. Trust me, your pussy is the farthest thing from my mind.

• Is this dog going to bite me? I hope not. Aw, he's/she's a sweetie-face. Still, I wish people would keep their dog on a leash. They always freak me out a little at first. What am I worrying about? God, Kirk, have you ever met a mean dog at this park yet? Embrace your fear. Pat the dog. Make kissy faces. Okay, on second thought don't make kissy faces. People already think you're a weirdo.

• Wow, the forest is really dense here. Jason Voorhees would love this shit. Jason. *shiver*

• Jesus Christ, I think I just saw the ghost of Karen Carpenter in hot pink jogging shorts. I swear she weighs MAYBE 97lbs. Darting little ferret. So damn fast. She'd survive fleeing from a escaped psychopath. Unlike you, who'd get winded in 20 minutes and just stop and say "Let's get it over with."

• Hmmm. That makes me start thinking about all those slasher movies that take place in the woods. Creepy. Now I'm envisioning the killer's POV...darting glances, quickly concealing theirself behind a tree before being seen, heavy breathing. God, the heavy breathing is creeping me out...oh, that's just me. Close your mouth dumbass, you want people to think you're dying?

• Geez, did a horse shit in the woods? Why don't people pickup after their dogs? Lazy bastards.

• One of these days I'm gonna lean on this dock railing and go crashing into this disgusting-looking water. Pretty. Ech, just the thought of getting that water in my mouth disgusts me. Turtle poop.

• That pig cop. I will not smile at him as I pull into the parking lot. He's always here every morning, hidden away like some trapdoor spider with a speed gun (AKA "lidar"). That prick. I hope no one is speeding so he'll have to find another location to fill his quota. Sneaky bastard. Typical.

• God, I feel like fuckin' Pocahontas going on safari. Do I have enough shit in my pockets? Digital camera, cell phone, Walkman, car keys, pepper spray. All I need now is a friggin' picnic basket. I'm such a dork. A prepared dork, but still a dork.

• Once I get out of sight of anyone who can see me, I'm gonna try jogging or sprinting, like some of these people who are passing me by. Okay, here's my chance. I don't want people to witness me looking like a giant, flouncing asshole. Here goes...ow...shin splints. Ack! Too much shit bouncing around in my pants...heh heh, that sounded dirty. You know what I mean, Kirk! Quit acting like you're 8 years old: You're carrying too much shit in your pockets and it's bouncing all over the place and making your shorts fall down. One of these days you need to try the walk without all the shit. Maybe you can jog then.

• Wouldn't it be awful if I rounded a blind corner and some hidden killer, concealed behind a tree, hit me in the face with a rake? That would make a good scene in a slasher movie. Very 80's.

• I really love The Cars. I always think the soundtrack to my "exercising" should be Techno or something really hi-energy, but The Cars always put me in a good mood. Martha & The Vandellas, too. God, I'm such a homo.

• Creepy. I wonder what dug that freako hole. It looks deep. Walk faster. Killer badger. KILLER BAD-GER!

• What's with all the cobwebs in these trees? It's kinda freakin' me out. I'm sure it's just some kind of caterpillar or something, but my first thought is "Spiders!" Webs creep me out. Especially when they are so thick. Blech.

• Nice people always catch me off guard. Like that lady on the bike that just whizzed by and said "Have a nice day!" And like a retard, I'm like "skronk" WTF was that?

Happy Animal FunTime Vol. 2

*Awww. When you see these cutie faces you gotta wonder how people can be mean to animals. Click here to see Volume 1
** The puppybutts in pictures #1 and 24 belong to Cheeky Prof. The French Bulldog is Zuzu (the one with cherry Kool-Aid lips!) and the Mini-Bull is named Linus.

And Now for Your Feature Presentation

Woo hoo! Not since Silver Surfer bestowed me with the SS90 Blogger Award, earlier this year, have I been this excited! Kate over at Kate's Ramblings and Wanderings has decided to begin a new feature on her blog called Friday's Featured Blog, and I have the honor of being her first featured blog. Click the button below to go to her blog and read more about how to become one of her FFBs. Thanks a lot Kate, I'm flattered!

P.s. Kate is also responsible for teaching me (via one of her recent blog posts) how to finally create my own favicon for my blog! If you are using an older version of InternetExplorer, you may not be able to see it, but if you're not, it should appear in your browser's address bar. Thanks again, Kate! I never knew it was so easy!

Deferred Success is for Failures

LONDON (Reuters) - The word "fail" should be banned from use in British classrooms and replaced with the phrase "deferred success" to avoid demoralizing pupils, a group of teachers has proposed.

Members of the Professional Association of Teachers (PAT) argue that telling pupils they have failed can put them off learning for life.

A spokesman for the group said it wanted to avoid labeling children. "We recognize that children do not necessarily achieve success first time," he said. "But I recognize that we can't just strike a word from the dictionary," he said.

The PAT said it would debate the proposal at a conference next week.

*Thanks to Terri for the heads up on this current bout with retardery.

Release the Flying Monkeys!

For as long as I've been blogging I've been aware of what I like to refer to as Nature's Nytol: The Mommy Blog. And also as far back as I can remember, someone was arguing about them, defending them, and/or getting offended by the mere suggestion of the label. Like the old saying goes: Hate the mommy, not the blog. Oh wait, maybe that's not an old saying. Maybe I just made that up. Oh well, either way, here's my stance, in a nutshell, to start off this blog about all things Mommy.

I don't like 98% of Mommy Blogs, under whatever guise(s) they chooses to refer to themselves as. A Mommy Blog is a Mommy Blog is a Mommy Blog. Put another way, if the blog is overly vagtastic, my interest plummets. And if you have to ask what that means, I'll clarify. I deem a blog vagtastic when it consistently contains 1 or more of the items below:

1) Your child/children's photo has been incorporated into your blog template.
2) Your child is your profile photo (this says so much on so many levels)
3) One or more photos of your child/children can be found on the first page of your blog, in your archives and/or in your sidebar.
4) Your blog entries regularly delve into well-worn territory about diaper changes, eating without utensils, the baby's first ice cream/snow and/or solid bowel movement. I hate to break this to you, but Erma Bombeck (who I love, BTW) has beat you to it...and is better at it.
5) Your template has multiples of animated sparkles, pixie-ish/waif-ish Bratz-type anime, flowers, teddy bears, faeries, women encased in wispy fabric, hearts, sand dunes, everything short of a tampon string (Think Lisa Frank with a pad strapped to her head...and I don't mean memo).
6) Memes out the ass, adorably-generic lists about chocolate, goddesses, etc.
7) Posts about finding their "spirit," self-discovery and/or assorted rehashed Oprahlicious-type fodder.

Now this isn't necessarily to say that I don't like the person writing the blog, I'm just saying I find the subject matter uninspired. I have never been a fan of babies and/or children. There is no magic there. Quite simply, I find them undisciplined and insufferable. Sure, there's the rare exception, but they are few and far between (and naturally, every parent thinks their child is the exception, and I think we both know that's usually not the case). As I've mentioned before, I actually prefer the more mature mommie's blogs, whose children have grown up and left home. I find their (re: mature mommies) brand of blogging much more palatable. They have a wisdom to offer that I find considerably lacking in the typical Mommy Blog's supposed "anecdotes."

As I've mentioned to people before, I find it surprising just how many women have said they find the Mommy Blog label "offensive." Why's that? Oh, because they are "so much more" than just a Mommy. Well, if that's true, where are all the posts not about their children? I don't seem to be finding those. But wait, here's a picture of little Bicardi, with a sucker in her hair, sitting inside an empty TV box holding the cat...again. Gee. My point is, don't use motherhood as an excuse not to talk about things other than your child. Put simply, it's a choice. No one put a gun to your head, like you were the Golden Goose and said "Replicate!" (and if they did, I'm truly sorry). You made the conscious effort to have that child/children, so don't act all surprised when you find out it cuts down on your "Me Time." Don't be surprised when you lose touch with your single friends because you've ceased to have a life outside of your child. And don't be dismayed when people find Mommy blogs mundane.

It's a given that all parents think their child is some kind of gifted prodigy. Yeah, you know what? My mommy thinks I'm the most talented, smartest, nicest, cynical, blasphemous, 30-something faggot with high cholesterol on the planet. Isn't that just precious? Would you like that in wallet size? What I'm saying is, short of your immediate family, cowed employees under your husband's tutelage and cornered strangers whose teeth aren't sharp enough to gnaw off their own foot, your opinion of your child is pretty much just that: Your opinion. So, don't take it so personally, when someone yawns or their eyes glaze over during yet another "impromptu" photofest at their expense. Believe it or not, not everyone cares what little Dodge Stratta did the other day or wishes to see the documentation and/or a re-enactment.

So, the next time you find yourself feeling "sorry" for someone that openly admits to not liking children and/or family (or Mommy Blogs, for that matter), ask yourself why a conflicting opinion is making you feel threatened. 'Cause, let's face it, that's what it is to you; a threat. Believe it or not, not everyone wants to skeet a fetus outta their uterus. Not all women feel the need to be "completed" by getting married, having a baby or even finding a man. In a time when not jumping on the family bandwagon is highly frowned upon and perceived as some kind of deviation, I commend those people that aren't afraid to give their honest opinion, take responsibility for their choices and/or maintain their individuality, whether they are a parent or not. When all is said and done, it all boils down to this: If you don't like it, don't look at it...associate with it...read it...eat it...believe in it...buy it...like it. In short: It's all about choices.

The Disgruntled Pasta Whale

First off, allow me to preface this post by saying I realize I am no dainty thing in peril of being blown away by a stiff gust of wind on any given day. HOWEVER, I do possess basic courtesy and etiquette skills when it comes to dining out in public, regardless of the "level" of the establishment. i.e. everyday-type-place vs. foo-foo-type-place. In addition, even though I'm pretty much a judgemental asshole, I do have my limitations and would never make fun of someone who's handicapped (most of the time, it really depends on the situation), down-and-out or overweight, since I, myself am "big boned." HOWEVER, when you're a fat jackass, you make the conscious choice to release the floodgates and no longer have my empathy as your refuge. Let's proceed, shall we?

I recently had a hankerin' for the delicious pizza of the nearby Nizza Pizza, who I've mentioned in past posts. When I got there to order, the place was packed (as usual...they really do have the best pizza in town), so I knew I was gonna have to wait, which was no big deal since I'd had the forethought to buy a newspaper. I placed my order and was told it would be about 20 minutes, so with all the normal waiting area seating filled to copacity (benches), I asked a man seated at one of the tables, who appeared to be waiting for his to-go-order also, if he minded if I sat at the same table. He said no. I take a seat and one of the waitresses immediately comes over and offers me something to drink while I wait, so I get some water.

Meanwhile, seated directly behind me is a landmass family of three, apparently waiting for their food to arrive. I begin to read my newspaper and soon thereafter the waitress comes by with their food. Hippo Mullet (shown) immediately says something about the wait and the waitress apologizes and explains that all the ovens are full, thus the wait (which I suspect probably wasn't that long, knowing how long the wait normally is). The woman literally grunts and the waitress leaves them to consume.

So, being me, I eavesdrop while reading, but there is such a din in the filled room, that I can't really pinpoint what exactly they're saying, but it's obvious she's still mooing about the penne pasta dish she ordered. Whatever the problem, it must not have been too bad, considering the frantic sounds of fork scraping against empty dish. Go for the gusto, Nicholas Nickleby.

So, the waitress comes by in a little while to see how everything is, and Orca with a mullet says in this lackluster/unimpressed voice "It's okay," to which the waitress asks if there's a problem with the food and the woman (get a load of this) complains about the size of the portion. WHAT?! To this I wanna say "Yeah, whatever, Tiny. Would you like another trough of garlic bread? We were all outta wok-sized serving bowls, okay?" The waitress apologizes, kinda stammers and says that they have set portion sizes that the cooks go by, but the woman continues to grumble about how unusually small the portion was. Shyeah, I think "portion size" may be part of your problem there Bullwinkle.

The waitress apologizes again and goes to get their drink refills. When she returns she asks if anyone wants dessert and when everyone says 'no,' I almost let out a "HA!," but manage to contain myself. THEN, though the food was merely "okay," they request take-home containers. Hmmm. Mysterious, huh? Why would you want to take home food that was merely "okay?" P.s. They didn't leave a tip either. Like it's the waitresse's fault Tugboat Annie didn't get full. Whatever.

Ech. Fuckin' donkey families piss me off.

Jesus Christ! This is Newsworthy?

Oy vey. Leave it to the Bush administration to coincidentally have all kinds of hard-hitting "news" stories surface just as he's labeled a Waffler over the whole CIA/Karl Rove fiasco. Gee, imagine that. Time for another Terror Alert!

Lacrosse Team Sparks White House Flip-Flop Flap

CHICAGO, Illinois (AP) -- There's a flip-flop controversy at the White House, and this one has nothing to do with President Bush and John Kerry.

A photo of Northwestern University's national championship women's lacrosse team, taken during the athletes' visit to the White House last week, shows four of the nine women in the front row wearing flip-flop sandals along with their dresses and skirts.

The choice of footwear has prompted a mini-controversy -- a flip-flop flap, if you will.

A front-page story in the Chicago Tribune included the headline "YOU WORE FLIP-FLOPS TO THE WHITE HOUSE?!" inspired by an e-mail sent to player Kate Darmody from her older brother after he saw the photo on the team's Web site.

Family members of other players expressed similar dismay, insisting the summer footwear staple was too casual for a visit with the president. "Don't even ask me about the flip-flops," said the mother of player Aly Josephs. "It mortified me."

During an appearance Monday on NBC's "Today," Darmody and teammate Shelby Chlopak said players planned to auction off the flip-flops they wore to the White House, with the proceeds to go toward a fund for a 10-year-old girl with a brain tumor.

The women have defended their attire, arguing they wore a dressier version of the casual sandal. "Nobody was wearing old beach flip-flops," said Josephs, who wore a $16 brown pair with rhinestones.

Darmody, 22, added: "I tried to think of something that would go well with my outfit and at the same time not be that uncomfortable. But at the same time not disrespect the White House."

Recent DVD Purchases

Here are June and July's DVD purchases to date. A little info on some of them:

• Though I bought the NC-17 version of John Water's A Dirty Shame, I like the picture of Johnny on the rated version's cover, better (shown).

• The Spike: Love is Hell DVD is a Best Buy "exclusive."

• Though not mentioned on the package, both Teen Witch and Love at First Bite have their original movie trailers! I don't know about you, but that is a major selling point for me. And though I LOVE LaFB I am more than a little pissed that A) The original music from the discotheque scene, "I Love the Nightlife" is in the trailer, but has been changed for the movie!! That was my favorite part of the movie. My best memory of going to see it in the theater. VERY disappointing.

• My friend Nathan made me an amazing DVD-R of Modern Girls, which is still not available on DVD. He even included the Depeche Mode music video from the movie AND the original movie trailer (not to mention half a dozen more 80's movie trailers!). How cool is he?! I just love it.

• I highly recommend that you see Wilbur (Wants to Kill Himself). It's such a great movie. I included both the DVD cover (the one on the left) and the original movie's poster art (on the right). I wish more DVDs would use the original poster art for their covers.

• Cursed [2005]
• Airplane II: The Sequel [1982]
• Mystery Science 3000: Boxset- Volume 7 [1988]
Episodes:
• Prince of Space [1959]
• The Killer Shrews [1959]
• Hercules Conquers the Moon Men [1964]
• Hercules Unchained [1959]
Bonus Shorts:
• Assignment Venezuela
• 21st Century Calling
• A Case of Spring Fever
• Be Cool [2005]
• Nobody's Fool [1986]
• Love Object [2003]
• Spike: Love is Hell [1988]
• St. Elmo's Fire [1985]
• Teen Witch [1989]
• Love at First Bite [1979]
• Blackball [2003]
• Modern Girls [1986]
• Wilbur (Wants to Kill Himself) [2002]
• A Dirty Shame: NC-17 Edition [2004]

The Incredibles

I finally got around to renting the Disney movie, The Incredibles. At the risk of sounding elitist, I had kinda been putting it off because 1) It didn't really interest me to begin with, when it was at the theater.
2) Thanks (?) to BlogExplosion, I've surfed waaaaay too many mommylicious blogs out there about how wonderful it was and
3) Usually when the general masses like something, it has an adverse affect on me.

So, I rented it and it wasn't bad. Though I see why most of middle America loved it, that's precisely the reasons I didn't. Oh, I'm not saying I hated it, but I am saying it's not something I'd add to my DVD collection.

Pros:
1) The choice of actors/actresses to do the voicework was great. I love Holly Hunter. She has a great distinctive voice that lent itself perfectly to the character she played. I have to admit, though, with the look of the character 'E', I'd have thought it would have been better suited to the voice of Linda Hunt.
2) The overall look of the film's computer-generated animation is great. It almost verges on a new millenium Claymation.
3) The musical score lent itself perfectly to the fast-paced action of the film. Great job by the composer.

Cons:
1) The movie has the feel of one of those schmaltzy PSRs that seem to be rotating every 30 minutes on the Nickelodeon and ABC channels, about the importance of taking time to eat dinner with your family. 'cause you know, if you DON'T your kid will become an out-of-control drug addict/alcoholic and have pre-marital sex. They may even *shudder* develop their own opinions! *GASP!* In other words, the movie is extremely famililicious and was definitely made with that demographic in mind. Thus it's appeal among the aforementioned masses.
2) The baby gimmick. Esp. at the end (saw that one coming a mile away).
3) The end product didn't live up to the hype.
4) The inevitability of the straight to DVD sequel(s).

So, my basic complaint is that I could have lived without the kids. All that was missing was the dog and grandma. From an aesthetic standpoint, the movie was beautifully executed. From a plot standpoint, the movie was too contrived and chock full of Family Values. It was like a flashback to the Dan Quayle years all over again. Don't come back to the five and dime '88-'92. Oh. Too late.

So, in short, if you are a parent, a grandparent or will watch just about anything that flies out of Disney's butt, then The Incredibles is for you! Otherwise, rent The Rescuers or The Great Mouse Detective, neither one of which have a toy deal with McDonald's.

Good Things Come to Those Who Don't Fuck it Up

You know that saying that goes "All good things must come to an end?" Well, for those of you who eat at Subway and take advantage of their Sub Club stamp card, today is the last day to use it. Apparently some turd stole rolls of stamps and sold them on eBay. Wonderful. I love how it just takes one dumb asshole to ruin it for the rest of us:

For instance, the Nestle Wonderball, the short-lived American version of Kinder Surprise. The Nestle Wonderball, which is still being manufactured in a much lamer version, was a round plastic ball (imagine a round version of our classic, plastic Easter eggs) that was coated with chocolate and contained a small, plastic toy surprise. When I was buying them, they contained various Disney characters. I still have my toys from Hercules, Aladdin and 101 Dalmations

The Nestle Wonderball was basically a rip-off of the popular Italian (now worldwide...except in America) version, called Kinder Surprise, which originated in 1974 and is still as popular as ever, verging on a cult phenomenon among discerning adults.

Now, here's where the retardery (and the point of my post) kicks in: Kinder Eggs are sold all over the world; except in the United States where the FDA has banned the toys, due to safety concerns and regulations against non-food products within a food shell. Kinder Eggs are available, but only in a form filled with small candies and queer stickers the size of your fingernail. whee.

A form filled with small candies. So, because American kids are apparently too retarded to not ingest something plastic and/or their parents are too retarded to not read "Kinder Eggs containing toys are not suitable for children under the age of three due to the small parts which may be ingested or inhaled." the assumption is the rest of us are too retarded to handle their obvious space-age complexity. I find it fascinating how children overseas (and in Canada) have somehow managed to resist the temptation of choking on them, yet here in America, the kids are all emergency tracheotomies waiting to happen. Oy, so since mommy's little genius can't be supervised and/or deterred from ingesting fuckin' plastic, the rest of us have to settle for an inferior version. Thanks fer nuthin' 'tards.

And that is just one of many, many things over the years that some moron somewhere ruined for those of us.

I got over the loss of Denny's free meal on your birthday, so I'm sure I'll get over this too. Oh well, I still have Hollywood Video's free movie rental on your birthday, at lest until someone finds a way to ruin that too.

By the way, while I'm on the topic of Subway, I recently saw this commercial with Jarrod, where he's pissing and moaning about how "other places" batter/fry their chicken, while Subway doesn't, then goes on to talk about how great Subway's chicken is.

Well, you know what, Jarrod? Subway's chicken may have less calories, but everytime I've ordered it it's always had some cheap-ass, disgusting gristle/fat shit in it, that once I've bite into it, ruins the rest of my meal for fear of hitting another cartilicious piece. No wonder you're able to suppress your appetite. You also neglected to mention the "oven-roasted" chicken gets nuked in the microwave, you four-eyed toiletmonkey.

Bad Cinema and Assorted Beautiful People

As promised, here are the few books and assorted goodies I found while shopping in Dallas. I also found some CDs, but I'll be posting those in my "What I'm Listening To" post at a later date.

The majority of the items listed here today are well under $5, so I've added hyperlinks to the ones that Half.com currently has in stock. Incidentally, Starburst magazine is still in production (going strong since 1977!). Though they initially billed themselves as "The Magazine of Cinema & Television Fantasy," they are now primarily dedicated to Sci-Fi.

• The 50 Worst Films of all Times: : (And How They Got That Way) by Harry Medved and Randy Dreyfuss. © 1984. Softcover
Comments:
I'll definitely be talking more about this book at a later date, listing all 50 movies and debating at least one of them that I can't believe is on the list.

• Starburst magazine. © 1981
Comments:
This was a no-brainer (no pun intended). Once I saw the great Scanners cover and saw that the inside contained articles about other movie favorites (i.e. The Bride of Frankenstein, etc.) I HAD to buy it. I just love all those old horror/sci-fi magazines of the 70's and 80's.

• The Mad Weirdo Watcher's Guide by Tom Koch. © 1982. Paperback
Comments:
I bought this one for the great cover art. Plus, I've always been a fan of Mad.

• Totally gay hunkalicious magnet I bought while in gay town. Stop looking at me that way. I'm only human.

• Young Frankenstein. © 1974. Paperback
Comments:
I couldn't resist buying this paperback of one of my all-time favorite movies. PLUS "16 pages of fabulous photos from the smash movie!"

• Body By Jake: The Don't Quit Exercise Progam by Jake Steinfeld. © 1984. Hardcover
Comments:
I have to admit, during my formative years, I had a major crush on Jake Steinfeld. Sure, he's got a bit of a gopherpuss, but he looks mighty tasty in that tight shirt. I distinctley remember seeing him ONCE with his shirt off in a photograph, but as a general rule, it is virtually IMPOSSIBLE to find a picture of him without a shirt. Go on. I dare ya to find one!

And, if I remember correctly, he was on some special or talk show with Charo and she kept on and on and on about him taking off his shirt and flexing and he repeatedly rebuffed her. It was painful to watch (though, I secretly wished he would, too! Lol!). So anyway, my point is, there are multiple images of Jake in the book shirtless, so that alone was my motivating factor in buying it. Also, I love all the cheesy photos that separate each chapter, of him with some big-name (circa 1984) "celebrity." Hilariously awful!

No to mention, the book is autographed inside by Jake, himself! The inscription reads: "Hey Wayne, Thanks For the Help! "Don't Quit" Jake" Ah, can you smell the cheese?

• The Beautiful People's Diet Book by Luciana Avedon and Jeanne Molli. © 1975. Paperback
Comments:
When I saw this book on the shelf, I thought "Why, that's ME!!", then I pursed my lips and made my Zoolander face. Whatever. LMAO! The photos in the book, alone, are priceless! Actually, it made me think of my friend Derik first, which also cracked me up (he lives in Dallas, the self-proclaimed land of "the beautiful" (insert eye roll here). Dallas is also the land of the maxed out credit card and botox injection. I promise to keep you posted on any fabulous secrets I may unearth while reading this book. Kisses.

• Love at First Bite FotoNovel. © 1979. Paperback
Comments:
I LOVE FotoNovels!! I have one for The Incredible Hulk, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (thanks, Nathan!), Saturday Night Fever and now one of my all-time favorite movies, Love at First Bite!! For those of you who didn't grow up with these, a FotoNovel is basically a paperback version of a movie, done completely in stills from the movie, with little word bubbles for the dialogue. They're so great, and there are tons more. I'm still hoping to find the one they did for Grease. They are kinda hard to find, esp. intact, since they tend to not be bound all that great to begin with. Still, they are totally worth seeking out, if you get the chance!

• The Witches of Eastwick by John Updike. © 1987. Paperback
Comments:
The Witches of Eastwick is one of my favorite 80's movies. I remember being SO psyched about it at the time (1987). I went crazy cutting pictures out of magazines about it and went gaga over Nicholson's pink trench coat that he wore in the movie (I bought 2...still have them). Having watched the movie recently, I decided to finally read the book. Though the book is set in the 60's (an era I so don't dig), I'm determined to read it. I've been meaning to for ages and now I can see how the two compare.

"I Saw a Mountain Lion."

And thus began my descent into Hell. If you're a regular reader you already know two things about me 1) I am in the process of "exercising" lately by walking at a nearby park and 2) I am a magnet for squirrels, and I don't mean the fluffy-tailed variety.

So, there I am on the last leg of my morning walk as I reach my turning point towards the end of the trail. Listening to my Walkman as I approach, I see a woman coming around the bend, nod hello, turn and start heading back. Before I realize it, she's caught up with me, keeping pace with me, side by side. I look over and see the lovechild of Sandy Duncan and a stick of beef jerky, wearing a Simplicity 1 Hour Dress. I flash a quick "hi/bye"-smile and that's when I notice she's talking to me. Assuming she's the atypical person I pass on a regular basis, I respond with an automatic "good morning," keep my earplugs in, and continue with my walk. But nooo. She's so much more.

I take out my ear plugs to hear what she's saying to me and she looks at me with her good eye (one was darting off in another direction...no doubt trying to escape the impending insanity) and says in a drawn-out, twang-y voice: "I saw a mountain lion." Alternating inside my head are the "cuckoo" sound along with "I tawt I taw a puddy tat," while images from the Disney movie Clarence the Cross-Eyed Lion float through my psyche. But I respond with: "Really? Scary!" Determined to breeze by this nutcluster unscathed, I pick up my pace and go to put my earplugs back in. Alas, it was not meant to be.

Here's the dialogue that ensued: (*Note: For the remainder of this post, I will be referring to her as Leatherface)

Leatherface: Uh huh. I got down on my knees and prayed, 'cause I come here every morning and pray, for God to help me. And when I opened my eyes I was face to face with the mountain lion. He was just starin' at me.

Me: Yikes.

Leatherface: Yeah. I was so afraid. I prayed to God that he'd save me. And I know it was a mountain lion and not a bobcat because bobcat's have those little short tails and this was a mountain lion because he had a real long tail.

Me: Wow. Mountain lions are bad.

Leatherface: I know. So, I called Park Services and then Channel 5 News sent out a helicopter and they saw him walking through the woods, heading east.

Me: Really. Well, walking is good cardio.

Leatherface: Uh huh. And they told me that he must have been stalking me because he didn't run away. They usually run away, you know, when you approach them. They said he must have been looking for breakfast. I thank God he didn't make me his breakfast.

Me: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Leatherface: Oh I know.

*Then it goes from bad to worse.*

Leatherface: Can I ask you a question?

Me: What's my phone number?

Leatherface: What? No. What do you think it takes to get into the Kingdom of Heaven?

*long pause*

Me: Um...wow. That's a tough one. Let me think. Besides being dead? I dunno. Being a good person, I guess.

Leatherface: Well, The Scripture says that being a good person isn't good enough, that to get into Heaven you have to have F.A.I.T.H.

Me: Like George Michael. *said with a straight face*

Leatherface: What? No. Each of the letters in the word faith stand for something. May I tell you what each letter stands for?

*At this point I'm laughing internally because A) She's not paying attention to a thing I'm saying, so the sky's the limit and B) I can tell by her breathing that she's getting winded keeping up with my brisk pace, but I say to myself "Fuck it. Let her work for it."*

She then goes on to tell me what each letter in the word FAITH stands for. I continue to feign interest all the way back to the parking lot, where I begin to get my keys out and head towards my car. Then she says:

Leatherface: Would you pray with me?

Me: Um no. I don't feel comfortable doing that. Bye, though.

Leatherface: What's your name?

Me: Kirk, but my friends call me The Big Bopper.

Leatherface: Hi Kirk, I'm Thelma. You know, Kirk, if you died today and you haven't accepted Him as your Lord and Saviour that you might not go to Heaven.

Me: That's the breaks. Have a good day.

Leatherface: Before you go, can I give you something?

Me: As long as it's not a kiss.

Leatherface: What? No, I wanted to give you these booklets to read.

Me: Okay.

*she pulls out a trio of mini Cap'n Crunch-sized cereal premium comic book-sized booklets and begins to explain what each of them are*

Me: Oh, I already have that one, but I'll take those two.

Leatherface: *flipping through the one with the cartoon of a baseball player on the cover* This one's funny, it's like a comic book. About a baseball player.

Me: That's hot. Bye.

The End...or is it?

Movie Heaven Meets Book Nirvana

[1] Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for city skyline pictures. I know I posted a similar picture once before, but I couldn't resist. Besides, since it was raining, this time the skyline was virtually smog-free!

[2-4] The is the interior of Premiere Video. At the risk of being overly graphic, I nearly soiled myself when I first entered this story. O M G, it is a movie lover's wet dream, I swear to God. I think I literally skipped over to the Classics section.

You can rent anything and everything at PV. If you look at the first horizontal picture of the interior of the store, you can see the thousands of OOP (Out-of-Print) VHS titles they carry. It's INSANE. I loved that they even had a section dedicated entirely to Film Noir! How cool is THAT?! If I lived closer to Dallas, I would SO rent there! My friend Nathan would have just DIED. He's huge cinemaphile as well.

[5] I caught a glimpse of this great little piece of urban art, out of the corner of my eye as I was getting in the car. I fell in love with it immediately and had to take a picture of it. Just love it!

[6] This was some foofalicious store in the gay part of Dallas, known as Oaklawn/Cedar Springs. The store is called NUVO and though my friend Derik loves the place, I feel uncomfortable in pretentious places that sell $60 ballpoint pens and $20 greeting cards. I mean it is a pretty store, just not my scene. I mainly took this picture because they had some dynamite photos of Johnny Knoxville in the two frames in the bottom right-hand corner of the photo. They know a good thing when they see it.

[7] I am not much of an appetizer-type person, but I was starving and the cheese sticks looked particularly good! (and they were, too!)

[8] We had lunch at Good Eats (one of my favorite places to eat). I love eating there because I always order the same thing: The Honey Mustard Chicken Sandwich. It's perfection: Grilled chicken breast with melted swiss on top, served open-face-style on a toasted bun with a side of honey mustard (which I apply liberally). Perfection.

[9/11] This is the interior of the monstrously-huge Half Price Books in Dallas. If I had to guesstimate size, I would say it's roughly the size of a Super Target. It's SUCH a great store. They have EVERYTHING (LPs, 45's, books, CDs, tapes, VHS, DVD adn more!). *See what I actually bought, this Friday.

I esp. like the bank vault they have in one corner of the store. It's literally an old bank vault, complete with one of those Gilligan's Island-type ship steering wheel thingies on the front. VERY cool. It's where they keep all the vintage magazines and board games. It's so fun just stepping inside to browse. I'll have to remember to take a picture of it next time.

The store's interior is like a huge labyrinth of wooden book cases and is decorated with great retro pieces like rollerskates, office chairs, mannequins, etc. Check out their website, sign up for their mailing list and they'll send you valuable coupons to use on future shopping trips!

[10] You're probably looking at this picture and thinking "It's official. He's got a screw loose." However, I love the tile at this restaurant and the bathroom is just so nice and clean. Plus, I fell in love with the "corkboard." It's literally made out of assorted wine bottle corks cut in half lengthwise and glued inside a wood frame. How awesome is that? SUCH a great idea!

Grocery Store Moment #37

Scene: Grocery store- Lunchmeat section. Plenty of room to push your cart behind me and/or see the contents of the case.

Woman with 3 kids: Uh, there's someone behind you.
Me: Uh, then I'd move.
Woman with 3 kids: You're rude.
Me: You're typical.
Woman w/3 kids: *confused look on face*

This episode of Theater of Life was made possible by a grant from The Society of Talking Vaginas.

Johnny Knoxville: Hottie Hazzard

For any fellow fans of sex personified, Johnny Knoxville, he's on the cover of both the new issue of Genre and Premiere magazine alongside his Dukes of Hazzard co-stars Jessica Simpson and What'sHisName (AKA "butterface"...so not interested).

As a rule, I generally steer clear of über gay magazines like Genre and Out, simply because they are, well, waaaay too gay. If you had no concept of what a gay man was 'about' and had to go by either of those 2 magazines, you'd think that every gay man on the planet loves to travel (esp. gay cruises), has 2% bodyfat, is a hunky AIDS survivor, leather daddy or drag queen. Plus, there's enough ads for skin products, lubes and rainbow candles to choke a horse. No thanks, but I'll pass. I'll take Giant magazine any ol' day. It's my new dream magazine! Enjoy the Johnnycandy!

P.s. If you're a fan of that maraca with boobs, Jessica Simpson, you might be interested in the centerfold in this particular issue. FYI.

P.s.s. If you want to see the hottest picture ever printed of Johnny Knoxville, buy the Genre issue. Triple ROWR!

Currently Reading...

• A Massive Swelling : Celebrity Re-examined as a Grotesque Crippling Disease and Other Cultural Revelations by Cintra Wilson

Synopsis, courtesy of Donna Sherman at the American Library Association: Warning: do not read this book at a wake, on a precipice, or with a full bladder. Unless you're a humorless fan of Cher, Michael Jackson, Barbra Streisand, or Mick Jagger, Wilson's turbo, heat-seeking essays about fame, the bane of our commodified culture, will induce bent-double, breathless laughter. A columnist for Salon and the San Francisco Examiner, Wilson, a latter-day Dorothy Parker without the self-hate, writes about the psychoses the lust for fame induces in the stars, their fans, and countless pathetic wanna-bes. In writing about boy bands, like the New Kids on the Block, Wilson reports on the disturbing fan mail they receive from women old enough to be their mothers. Excessive cosmetic surgery in pursuit of perfect bodies elicits blisteringly hilarious commentary on the likes of Courtney Love and Celine Dion. Smart, supercharged, ethical, and talented, Wilson also takes on the ersatz worlds of the Oscars and Las Vegas, and the malignancy of racism and sexism in Hollywood.

Comments: Being, well, ME, I was initially drawn to this book because of it's pop culturesque cover. I know, I know. They say "don't judge a book by it's cover," but I can't help it. I do. Anyway, once I found out what the book was about and read the entire title, I knew I would enjoy it. And I am! A really fun read so far, I know this will be one of those books I'll keep in my collection and recommend to friends.

• Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life
by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

Synopsis, courtesy of Daphne Durham: Rosenthal has collected a lifetime of thoughts, observations, and decisions, and created an alphabetized personal encyclopedia, complete with cross-referenced entries and illustrations. Rosenthal reveals the minutiae of her life, from pumping gas ("Every. Single. Solitary. Time I go to get gas I have to lean out the window to see which side the tank is on"), to witnessing her son's accident ("I saw with front-row-seat clarity, just how quickly, randomly, and mercilessly your child can be taken away"), and engages the reader in effortless and stimulating conversation.

Comments: A friend of mine recently sent me this book (thank you very much!). Written on a postcard inserted inside were the words "You could do better than this!" And you know what? I could! Don't get me wrong, the book is a lot of fun to read and is well organized, but after a few pages I can't help but think "Why didn't I think of doing something like this?" It's totally something, had I had the forethought...dedication...wherewithal, that I could have written myself. It inspires me to want to give writing a book a chance, just to see what I'd come up with. Unfortunately, I've convinced myself that I can't be "truly creative" until I acquire one of those (now defunct) Tangerine iBooks. Lol. Sad, ain't it? The things (read 'excuses') that hold us back. My justification is that if I had one, I could take it with me and write whenever the mood strikes. Oh the crazy things I convince myself of.

HulPRICkamania

Well, I followed through with watching the first (and subsequently my last) episode of Hogan Knows Best, as promised. All I can say is "Wow. What a train wreck." For those who didn't waste their time like I did, here's the basic synopsis of the particular episode I saw:

Hogan has a 14 year old son and a 16 year old daughter. His daughter, Brooke, is invited to Busch Gardens by a friend of their son Nick's, named Adam (What kind of 14 year-old has a 22 year-old friend in college? And Hogan's obsessing over the 6 year age difference, compared to his daughter? Whatever.). Hogan reluctantly allows Brooke to go out on the date with Adam, with the proviso that he meet him before the date.

So Adam shows up to meet Hogan, who's acting like a spoiled turd from the beginning, trying to intimidate Adam by asking him personal questions about his sex life (is he sexually active) to if he's had an AIDS test, all of which is completely irrelevant and none of his fuckin' business. In short, Hogan's a prick who apparently is used to being a bully and throwing his weight around to get his way. I revel in the fact that Adam didn't get rattled by Hogan's ignorant bullying technique and didn't elaborate on any of his answers. Naturally, Hogan labels this as "cocky" and doesn't like him (gee, what a surprise). In other words, when things don't go his way he throws a tantrum and lays blame anywhere but at the true source. What do you know, he is a "Real American."

Naturally, Hogan doesn't trust Adam (or his daughter apparently), so he and Nick go and have a tracking device installed in Brooke's car (unbeknownst to anyone in the family, except Hogan's bootlicking toady, Nick), which he insists that they take on their date as opposed to Adam's car.

Adam arrives, picks up Brooke and they're off after Hogan informs her that she needs to call every hour to keep him posted. Almost immediately after Brooke and Adam leave, Nick conveniently remembers all kinds of negative things about his "friend" Adam, that he magically forgot to mention previously. Such things as:

• Adam has his nipples pierced (this news sends SHOCKWAVES through the Hogan household...Jesus Christ, gimme a break already)

• Adam has liquor in his apartment and pictures from past parties on his fridge.

• And the most horrific bombshell of them of all, Adam took Nick to a gay beach once (which he also conveniently forgot to mention at the time). This news puts Hogan's machismo to the test and he becomes infuriated that Adam not only has taken out his 16 year-old daughter on a "date" but apparently he's also "taken his 14 year-old son out on a date to a gay beach." Oy vey. Can it get any more bigotlicious? Oh yes. It can and it does.

So Brooke and Adam go to Busch Gardens and are then supposed to be on their way home (according to Hogan, who evidently has some SERIOUS mental issues), when Hogan notices, via the newly-installed tracking device that, that they are not on their way home. So, naturally, Hogan calls Brooke AGAIN and checks in. He claims he told her to be back before dark (a convenient lie), though he said earlier that curfew was 8 o'clock. Brooke begs him to let them go get something to eat and he responds with "hurry."

Brooke arrives home where they entire fuckin' family (dogs included) greet them at the goddamn door (what is this, The Beverly Hillbillies?). Brooke and Adam say goodnight and Hogan grunts and mugs some more for the camera before retreating inside.

Fast forward to scenes from next week's episode, which leaves me screaming foul. Apparently at 14 (2 years YOUNGER than Brooke), Nick has a girlfriend (?). WTF is that about? He can have a girlfriend at age 14, but Brooke can't go out on a goddamn simple date? Gimme a break. Typical fuckin' double standard. I mean Brooke's good at kissing daddy's ass, but she'll have to grow a penis and learn to back stab like her little bro, before she can get any equality, apparently.

Like I mentioned earlier, this is the first and LAST time I'll be watching this redneck garbage. If I wanted to see dysfunctional families with issues I'd just as soon read a V.C. Andrews book. I have lost all respect for Hulk Hogan, be it as a human being, personality or pop culture icon. Good riddance to homophobic, conservative whitetrash. Let's hope that Hogan gets a life so that his daughter can have something that resembles one, 'cause at this rate he's priming her to be one resentful adult.

What Would We Do, Baby, Without Us?

Holy Suburban Commando, Batman! I hope you're sitting down. The people at Vh1 are at it again. Bringing us more reality TV that we didn't even know we wanted (not to mention, didn't ask for). First came The Surreal Life, Celebrity Fit Club, Strip Search, and the short-lived Celebrity Colonoscopy. That was all just a warm up for their new show Hogan Knows Best. Can you smell what the Hulkster is cookin'? (Don't worry, it's just Malt-O-Meal) Here's a synopsis of the new show:

Hulk Hogan's not only the world's most famous wrestler - he's also a very traditional suburban dad who just so happens to live on a 20,000-square-foot estate in Clearwater, Florida. Daughter Brooke (16) wants to be a pop star, and son Nick (14) wants to be a race car driver. As Hulk and his wife Linda watch their kids grow up before their eyes, they're more committed than ever to protecting them from sex, drugs, and the other evils of modern life. Watch as Hulk wrestles with the everyday struggles of Brooke, Nick, and Linda -- and also celebrates their triumphs. Somehow, he and Linda have tapped into the secrets of good parenting. So don't mess with the Hulkster - or his family. Grrrr!

Aye carumba. And there's more. My eyes had the displeasure of browsing through the assorted photo galleries located on the site (click the Vh1 hyperlink above...if you dare!) and I gotta tell you, you must check out the shitbomb pictures of the interior of their home. Yeah, yeah, they have they obligatory big screen/flat panel TV that seems to be the extension of every American male's dick these days. And yes, I'll admit the pool area does look cool. BUT, what is WITH the kitchen (decorated a la Charles in Charge, circa 1984), their country-crafty boudoir and the plethera of godawaful silk plants? Their home is my worst nightmare. It just goes to show you, you can't buy good taste. Oh sure, you can pay for someone else to give you the illusion of good taste, but you can't actually buy the innate skill.

And don't even get me started on his daughter, Brooke. Just looking at her, I can tell she's destined to stay in the ol' "family biz." Which, I'm sure will come as a shock to her, seeing as how she has her hopes set on Daddy's networking skills transforming her into the next Pop singing sensation. Do I doubt she'll ever cut an album? Heck no, I'm not saying that. I'm just sayin' it'll have the WWF logo on it somewhere and sit somewhere collecting dust alongside the Hulkster's "albums" Hulk Rules, Pile Driver and his hit single Real American (complete with pecalicious music video!). Put the cookie cutter back in the drawer.

With all that said, I'll admit I have to tune in tomorrow, when the show premieres (check local listings for time and channel). Judging from the gallery alone, this is one televised whitetrash nightmare I can't afford to miss! Thank goodness it doesn't conflict with my Blue Collar TV watchin'. Hyuk! I'm going to go vomit now.

Gianni Scardigno

Here's some eyecandy I wanted to share with you. Well, I guess 'share' isn't really the right word as much as I thought he was hot, made a collage and posted it here. I wish I was organized enough to have a specific topic/theme for each day of the week, but alas, I am not. So, until that happens, these type of collages will continue to periodically happen without warning (sorry dudes).

This is Gianni Scardigno and he's an Italian bodybuilder who's been training for 10 years now. He's placed in the top 10 in past German bodybuilding competitions.

I've seen plenty of men I consider attractive, but I think this guy has the total package: The eyes (very Young Elvis), the mouth and I LOVE his nose (I already told you about my fetishes, remember?). Sigh. Perfection.

Panic

"Panic on the streets of London
Panic on the streets of Birmingham
I wonder to myself
Could life ever be sane again?"

-Morrissey/The Smiths

The Three Faces of Peeve

If you're remotely familiar with my blog, then you know I, as a rule, hate 99.9% of people who use cell phones in public, while driving, etc. And yes, I do own a cellphone, but you know what? I've had it since 2003 and I think I've made maybe 9 calls total. It's just something nice to have in case my transportation gets a flat, begins to stall or otherwise fucks up in general (and believe me, it has). In other words, I'm no hypocrite. I don't talk on my phone every breathing moment of my existence. I can get through an entire trip (with or without traffic) to the grocery store, gas station, post office, video store, lunch, etc., all without feeling compelled to reach out and touch someone. Let the blogging commence.

• See this waste of organs? I wanted to chop his head off and make soup with it, but then I realized the head would be completely devoid of delicious brain matter. He was talking so loud that the woman behind the counter couldn't conduct business. I was directly across the counter from her and I couldn't hear a word she was saying. We went back and forth saying "what?" and "I didn't hear you," for the entire duration of my transaction. Naturally, he was conducting some make-it-or-break-it business deal, because he's just that important.

• And speaking of important, meet Mr. Mover & Shaker. He was so terribly important that he couldn't even take the phone away from his fuckin' ear, in order to buy groceries. Why bother giving the clerk your undivided attention when you can simply grunt, motion, and eyebrow your way through the transaction? How did he even find time to come to the store, pick out his groceries and wrangle them into a shopping cart? I think this may actually be the most hated type of cell phone user, for me.

I see self-involved assholes like this sit through entire lunches at restaurants, regardless if they're with someone or not, and have "important" conversations for the duration of the meal. I am always baffled as to why their lunch date (when they have one) puts up with this bullshit? I've seen women sit and look around the room, grimace and do everything short of breaking out the semaphore flags, and I wonder "why?" Why would you sit there and allow someone to literally ignore you for an entire meal? What's the point of being there together? Why even go through the motions if you're going to be this self-important? THIS is exactly why I wish every public place had cell phone signal blockers. And don't give me that "But, what if it was an emergency?" horseshit, either. When was the last time you overheard an emergency phone call taking place? And no, whether or not "we have milk at home" or "what movie should I rent?" does not constitute an emergency.

• Which brings me to Lola Schizoid here. She was at a small outlet store I went to recently, parked in the middle of an aisle, oblivious to those around her (natch), blowing a gasket because some clothing store neglected to put some clothes on hold for her granddaughter. And when I say blowing a gasket, I mean blowing a gasket. She was furious...and loud...and obnoxious...and would not let up! When I see things like this taking place, I go into a simulated fugue state, where I envision myself grabbing a random loaf of bread and calmly smacking her in the face (hard), sending both her glasses and her cell phone (and possibly a few teeth) rattling to the ground. Then calmly, placing the bread back on the shelf and continuing my shopping. Of course, real life is never as imaginative or as exciting as my imagination and I end up just coming home and blogging about it to get it out of my system. Ah, sweet blog therapy.

So, the thing that really clinched this particular cellphone experience is how ol' Lola went from Hyde back to Jekyll in the sweep of a hand. So, picture it, she's red-faced, bitching, extremely irate, chewing someone's ass out, one minute. Then once she reaches the counter, in a matter of seconds, she did a total 180 and she's all "tra la la la la ." WTF? I swear, you could hear little birdies chirping, a la a scene right outta Snow White. She's all chatty and upbeat and giggly with the clerk. FA-REAK! And here we are labeling people who look suspicious and/or act eccentric as "crazy," meanwhile people like this heffer go unchecked. Man, I don't wanna be around when she snaps.

So, there you have it. My tale of The Idiot, The V.I.P. and The Drama Queen. Stay tuned for future chapters of this ongoing saga. For more information, may I suggest:

• Cellphone Etiquette Guide
• The Ten Commandments of Cellphone Etiquette
• The Buzz on Cellphone Etiquette

The Snacks of Life

About a month ago, I started a lame attempt at losing some weight. It lasted for about 3 weeks before I broke one of my cardinal rules of "no eating after 6." 6 became 7, 7 became 8, well, you get the picture. So, with that said, I am trying to get back on track and recently started the part of the whole routine that I hate the most: "exercise." That is, if you consider walking exercise. It's funny how as we get older, things that were once everday occurences, get transformed into exercise. Lol! Sad, ain't it?

So, anyway, the whole point of this post is to show off some photos I took during my walk. I walk at a park that's relatively close to where I live. I didn't really dread the walking part of it as much as I dreaded the possibility of forced socializing (thus the sunglasses and Walkman). That's why I go in the morning before it gets too hot, in hopes that most people won't be around. I was wrong. Oh well, it wasn't that bad, just had to dodge some cyclists and crotch-sniffing dogs (precious). Forget the smell of napalm in the morning, I love the smell of fresh piles of dogshit. NOT! People who don't pick up after their dog(s) suck.

Question: Does anyone know the rules of the park walkway/bike path? Am I supposed to jump out of the way everytime someone on a bike comes up, hot on my heels? And while we're on the topic, is it just me or when people are cycling where there is traffic, aren't they supposed to be traveling AGAINST the flow of traffic? So as to be aware of oncoming traffic, rather than WITH the flow of traffic where their back is to oncoming cars? It makes sense to me, but a friend of mine and I are forever arguing this point. He thinks that cyclists should be traveling WITH the flow of traffic, which sounds dangerous and makes no sense to me. BTW, I'm referring to when they travel on the shoulder of the road, not actually ON the road. Think rural areas/neighboroods.

Back to the walkway/bike path situation. The main path has traffic going east/west. It's my understanding that people walking west stay on one side and people walking east stay on the other. Therefore, leaving the center of the walkway (it's pretty wide, BTW) open to rollerbladers, cyclists, go-kart enthusiasts, etc. So, why the hell are people ding-a-linging their bike horn as they swoop up from behind? WTF?

Also on my mind is: Have you ever done something incredibly stupid...in hindsight? I did when I went to the park last week. At the park there are 2 paths. One that winds through the wooded area and one that is out in the open, that swings by a pond-side dock with benches on it. This next part may sound odd, but I LOVE looking at the lush green grass that surrounds the dock. It's just so lush and beautiful. So, anyway, wanting to really capture the lush greenness, so as to show you here on my blog, like a total RETARD, I lean over the railing and hold my digital camera in ONE hand and take a picture (the 2nd photo in the collage) of the grass, so as not to be obscured by the railing! Everything turned out okay, but as I was walking away, it hits me: What if I'd dropped the camera? I'd been SOL! God, I really piss myself off sometimes.

I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy

I apologize for this belated 4th of July post. On the one hand, since I don't really get into the whole observation hoopla of this particular holiday, so I didn't really have that much to say about it. On the OTHER hand (no pun intended), I saw this great photo opportunity and had to take it. I wanted to take it and post it on the 4th, but there were too many people outside milling about, so I didn't. I'm one of those people that would rather just take the photo and go, rather than approach the people, do the obligatory pleasantries, explain, etc.: Basically sidestep all the BS that I would've had to go through in order to get the photo if I'd gone through all the "proper" channels.

So, anyway, I saw this and immediately thought of my friend Sarah, whose blog profile picture, up until recently, was this exact same image: The red, white and blue PEACE sign. I thought this inflatable lawn ornament was just great. It just felt like the 4th of July to me. It had a very 1976 bicentennial feel to it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The Artistry of the WPA

Today I thought I would talk to you about The Works Progress Administration (later abbreviated WPA). The WPA was created as a "make work" program that provided jobs and income to the unemployed during the Great Depression. WPA projects primarily employed blue-collar workers in construction projects across the nation, but also employed white-collar workers and artists on smaller-scale projects, and even ran a circus.

With unemployment figures falling fast due to WWII-related employment, Franklin D. Roosevelt shut down the WPA on December 4, 1943.

From a design standpoint, I find the artistry of their posters to be exquisite. It's really hard for me to find one of their posters that I don't like. With that said, I thought I would showcase a few of my favorites here. The originals are currently in possession of The Library of Congress, but you can buy 11 X 17 reproductions as cheaply as $10 on eBay or assorted other online outlets. With posters touting such subjects as work safety, the perils of syphallis to the advantages of drinking milk, the spectrum of the poster's subject matter is abundant.

To see more of the posters and/or read more about the WPA and its' influences, check out:

• Collection Highlights
• Zazzle.com
• WPA Poster Art
• The WPA
• About the Collection

Tooth or Consequences

I get bags of mail. I get e-mails. All from my legions of fans who want to know "Hey, what's up? How's your quality of life?" Okay, okay I'm lying. I don't really get letters and/or e-mails. Well, I DO get mail, but it's usually marked 'occupant' or 'final notice,' but that's neither here nor there. It's really just my way of justifying this otherwise mundane post. I apologize in advance.

First off, I recently participated in a random survey conducted over the phone (I told you I have no life). After answering a bunch of questions about my television, music, Internet, dining habits, I was told that they would be sending me compensation for my time as well as a packet to fill out and return. They thanked me and 3 days later I received my packet. It contained a S.A.T.-sized booklet, 1 week TV diary and a letter with $7 glued to it. How cool is that?

Secondly, I ordered something from television. The OneSweep. According to the infomercial as well as the web site, the OneSweep "is tough enough to clean ceramic tile, even concrete, without wearing down. And, OneSweep’s bristles are also soft enough for wood floors." What I was most impressed with though (and what spurred me to purchase it) was the fact that it was touted as being able to get deep down, where a normal vacuum cleaner can't, and gather all the old dust and hair left behind.

Being the cleaning product whore that I am, I ordered it, it arrived, I quickly assembled it and got to work on one of the 3 large rugs in my home. The one in the living room looks dirty and dingy in front of the area where the couch is. In other words, it's a "high traffic area." The rug has a large geometric pattern of squares within squares, so I did one length of the carpet from top to bottom. And you know what? It really worked! I was so excited (I know, I'm a dork). I've been putting off renting a rug shampooer because they are so cumbersome and expensive. Little did I know that the "dirty" look was because of all the embedded hair/dust! The rug even felt different under my feet.

Being excited about the job it did on the rug, I went to sweep the bathroom, where I have ceramic tile. It also worked really well on the tile, collecting more dust and hair. It's insane! Apparently it conducts static electricity and that in turn helps in collecting the hair, dust particles, etc.

Anyway, I just thought it was cool. If you click on the bar of images of the OneSweep in action, it will show you a close-up of the pile of hair and dust that it collected.

And last (and least), much to my mother's delight, I finally made a dentist appointment and went to get my teeth cleaned. I had no idea that (according to the dental hygienist) my last visit was in 2003!! OMG. I am usually really good about going ever 6 months for a cleaning. And, knock on wood, I normally get a clean bill of dental health, with the exception of the occasional filling. No such luck this time.

According to the dental hygienist, I have the early stages of gum disease and will have to have my gums scraped. Not cleaned, not a a new dental regime, but scraped. Jesus Christ. Shoot me now. Apparently food/bacteria get trapped beneath the gumline, which in turn, inflame the gums and need to be cleaned. The only way to do this apparently is to clean up, beneath the gumline. They do this by rubbing some magic gel (which I already don't trust) on your gums to numb them, then go in with some dental instrument (I don't even wanna think about what it looks like) and scrape the gums. This takes 2 hours. Not 45 minutes. Not one hour. Not an hour and a half, but TWO hours! You don't know how much I am dreading this. For the love of God, BRUSH YOUR TEETH! Go tell it on the mountain. Hallelujah! Amen.

Anyway, that's about it for now. I added a final triptik, which consists of a few photos I took while at the dentist. It's the Cavity Creeps! They make holes in teeth! Ever noticed how the swivel light that hangs over the chair looks an awful lot like those alien spacecrafts in the original War of the Worlds? I keep waiting for it to zap me. And speaking of getting zapped, the last picture is of the front counter, where you pay on the way out. As I was leaving the room where my checkup was conducted, the dental hygienist caught me and said "Here's your goodie bag!" My "goodie bag." For $135 I want to make out with the dentist's son for 15 minutes, no holds barred, and fondle his goodie bag. Okay, not really, but he is a hottie {the son}, though the dad's not bad, for someone who plays golf and whose idea of "getting wild" is probably not turning the lights off while having sex. Geez Louise, no wonder more and more people aren't going to the dentist. And by the way, yes, those are suckers (lollipops, whatever you wanna call them...lollipops always sounded so queer to me)...sugar-free, of course. And the little weirdo ceramic bird contains vitamin C tablets. Dentists.