Iiiiiiiiiiiii'm 50!

Hello, my friends. Right now, I'm seething over Michigan State's loss to Iowa, so to better settle my emotions, and to avoid damaging property I will have to fix or pay for, I think it's about time for a blog update.

I've been crazy-busy at work, usually getting home with just enough energy to fall asleep in front of the TV, or watch the "Walk It Out (Dystonia Remix Edition)" video on the YouTubes. I must warn you, if you laugh at that video, you will have booked your VIP seating for Hell. There have been several events over the past months that have given me a severe case of rage, but I haven't been focused enough to put my anger into words. Until now...

President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for the things he has promised to do to make the world a better place. The thing that drives me nuts (other than the steering wheel attached to my crotch) is that nominations for the Nobel Prize were made on February 1, 2009. President Obama was in office a grand total of 10 days at that point, but clearly, his effect on world harmony was already felt. I mean, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were over...no, I mean, um...he convinced North Korea to stop its ICBM development program...oh, uh...Iran is calm...no? Shit. Yeah, I guess he didn't do anything in the first ten days in office to deserve a nomination. But since then, everything around the world is better, right? No...Iraq and Afghanistan may actually be worse than when George W. Bush left office. Iran is still dumping money and research into developing nuclear weapons capable of attacking Israel. North Korea is still in possession of nuclear weapons under the control of a stark, raving lunatic.

According to Alfred Nobel's will, the Peace Prize should be awarded to the person who "...during the preceding year...shall have done the most or the best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses."

On February 1, the Nobel Committee came to the conclusion that Barack Obama was the most influential world peace advocate. By campaigning for President of the United States. Not world president, or world king, or something. By campaigning for and winning a national election, he made the world more peaceful? I don't get it.

Barack Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize simply because the world hated George W. Bush. And because he's black. Let's be honest. Would John McCain have been nominated for, and been awarded the same Prize? No. Obama won the award for being the first black President of the United States, and for not being George W. Bush. Do I think Obama will be a better leader than his immediate predecessor? Yes. Do I think he is the magical cure to every ill this country is afflicted with? Absolutely not. I think before the Norwegian Nobel Committee had nominated and approved Obama for the Prize, they should have waited until he did something. At all. Like, help an Iraqi woman cross the street. Spot a young man about to walk across a mine field in Bosnia and say, "Hey, watch out. It's dangerous". Any actual action would be acceptable to me. But no, simply being not-George Bush is enough.

You know what else infuriates me about this whole situation? It has made me agree with Glenn Beck. He Twittered/Tweeted that he won the Academy Award for "Movie I Hope To Make". If promises of future success are grounds for reward, I'd like to have my Marconi Award given now, please.

Other issues: H1N1/swine flu. Stop it. Remember SARS? Bird flu? Those were all supposed to be the end of the world, too. Go take some Robitussin and watch a marathon of The Sopranos. You'll be fine.

Michael Jackson's corpse-rape continues with the release of This Is It, a compilation of concert REHEARSAL footage from just before that androgynous pederast died. Plus, it has re-shot music videos! In 3-D! Because if you think you've seen "Thriller" enough and you haven't seen it in 3-D, well you're just an asshole, and we can no longer be friends.

My parents had to take the family cat to the vet to be put down last week. She was 17 years old, and was really sick. It was sad for my mom and sister, but it was the best thing for the cat. Can't someone do the same thing for Lindsay Lohan? Make it like the conclusion to Of Mice And Men. Take her down to the river, and tell her to look to the other side. She'll ask you to tell her again about the cocaine, George. And how we're gonna start our own coca plant and poppy farm, and live off the fat of the land. No one gives a hoot in hell about us, George. That's why we gotta look out for each other. And I get to tend the rab- [The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again.] God damn it, I'm a nerd.

There may be (hopefully) some new writing projects for me coming in the near future. In The Meantime, Spacehog...if you're a video game fag like me, check out my buddy Nate's site. He's a decent fella who writes words good. I'm a little more calm now, thanks mostly to the video below. If you're not watching It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, then Obama has already won.

No. Please. No More.

Okay. This isn't new territory for me, and it isn't anything you haven't read before. But it must be addressed.

Hollywood sucks.

I have previously discussed Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's career decline into family movie-making stooge. On the flight back from Japan, Northwest Airlines showed Race To Witch Mountain. I refused to watch it, and instead focused my attention on the heathen savages sitting in the seat next to me who apparently have never sat next to a stranger, and tried as hard as possible to biologically meld with me by sticking their dirty unwashed elbows into my ribs for 11 hours.

Ah-hem. Anyway, now The Rock is making his next decent into awfulness with The Tooth Fairy, a movie about a minor league hockey player who for some stupid reason or another is sentenced to serve one week as the real tooth fairy. Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh.

Didn't anyone learn from The Santa Clause? These normal-guys-as-imaginary-heroes movies are NEVER good. The stories are saccharine, there's probably some overly cute kid with a lisp, and at some point an animal will cover its eyes. All three things add up to me making sure that if I ever have kids, the closest they will ever get to a feel-good family movie is Commando. Arnold saves Alyssa Milano, guaranteeing teenage boys will buy magazines featuring her awesome rack 10 years later.

Back to the point: Hollywood blows. Ridley Scott, director of two of the greatest science fiction movies of all time (Alien and Blade Runner) and three great war movies (Gladiator, Black Hawk Down, and Kingdom Of Heaven) is going to direct a movie based on the board game Monopoly. If you are currently smelling apricots and there are none around, go to the emergency room, because that last sentence caused you to have a stroke. In a way, I am intrigued: I'd love to see Rutger Hauer as Uncle Moneybags, or a highly stylized shot of the dog playing piece being hauled off to a desert jail against a blood-red sunset while Allegri's "Miserere mi, Deus" plays. Oh, look: goosebumps.

We've got movie after movie about zombies, each one less inspired, and more ridiculous than the next. George Romero is still trying to convince the world that the undead are the perfect example of social and political satire. No they aren't. Yes, we get it: zombies eat people's brains no matter what color their skin, what imaginary deity they pray to, or what politician they vote for. That doesn't mean we can learn from zombies. Go play in the sun, asshole.

It was announced today that CAA purchased the rights to market Archie & Jughead to film makers. The last time Archie was relevant was when they printed that story line about him battling Spanish influenza. That's a history joke, kids.

Megan Fox keeps getting cast in movies. Now hang on. I'm all for her being in movies. She's hotter than a lizard's back in the Sahara sun. If you took Scarlett Johansson, Kristen Bell, Malin Ackerman, and Jessica Biel and made them all hold a scissoring convention, you could add Megan Fox and I'd probably stab my own eyes out because I'd never seen anything as perfect and beautiful as that ever again in my life. I don't really know what my point was when I started this paragraph.

Diablo Cody keeps writing movies. Juno was sort of entertaining, but it was so quirky, so full of pseudo-trendiness that I think even douchey Ferndale hipsters couldn't take multiple viewings of it. A cheeseburger phone! Holy hot balls! She's so awesome because she listens to indie music! She talks in slang to the convenience store clerk! She's got to be the least popular but most intriguing person ever on Earth! ROFLheartsLOL.

There is hope, children. Sherlock Holmes looks good. Robert Downey, Jr. can do no harm, I believe. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang was on AMC the other day, and holy crap, is that a good movie. Anyway, Sherlock Holmes is a great literary character, and I think a reboot of the franchise would be good, since the only thing I know other than the books is The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes, the 1980s BBC series that I used to watch with my dad on PBS. Doesn't quite connect, though it is good.

Cormac McCarthy's The Road holds promise, though I will see it with trepidation, fearing a typical Hollywood-ization. If Charlize Theron is in it for more than 5 minutes, the book will have been bastardized.

There's other good things in the works: Martin Scorcese and Leonardo DiCaprio are teaming up for a film adaptation of a Dennis Lehane (Mystic River) book, Shutter Island.

I guess what I'm saying is this: stop with the tired formulaic family-friendly movies starring a down-in-his-career action star, and give me more Johansson/Bell/Ackerman/Biel/Fox scissoring scenes. I need a cold shower.

I'm Tired

I woke up this morning at the usual time, about 7. Turned on the TV, it had been left on the channel I was watching last night: The History Channel. So that means the first thing I saw (other than my bathroom) was United Airlines Flight 175 crashing and exploding into WTC's south tower.

I was taken back eight years to a similar morning. Getting up a little before 9 (for a class I probably wouldn't have gone to even if the day continued normally...go college!), I turned on the TV, and saw WTC North on fire. I watched in disbelief, then saw Flight 175 go into the south tower live. That's a sight that'll wake you up in the morning.

Back to today. I didn't feel like watching a recap of an event I'll never forget, so I turned the TV off and fired up the computer. Logging on to my home page, I had 17 news stories dedicated to remembrances and anniversary events of the attacks eight years ago.

Wanting real news, of ANYTHING else going on in the world, I turned on the radio. The show was having a "where were you when..." conversation. Every person said basically the same thing, "I was watching CNN/MSNBC/Fox News and I couldn't believe it."

I am tired of 9/11. I know, I know. One of the most tragic events in American history. Immediately life-changing for hundreds of thousands of people in this country. But I'm sick of it. I'm sick of 9/11 being used as a rallying cry. Politicians (from both the left and the right) use 9/11 as their basis of belief that what they are doing is good and just. Military leaders try to justify war efforts saying that "those people" were responsible for the attacks and "we" must eliminate them to make the world safe. Douche bag conspiracy theorists use 9/11 to sound rebellious and radical, when in reality they are ill-informed and ignore mountains of scientific evidence.

I am sick of thinking of Bobby. He was like everyone else: watched the towers fall, saw the Pentagon burn, and was filled with anger, fear, confusion. He wanted revenge. He enlisted in the Army. They sent him to Afghanistan. His unit was on a night patrol, hunting the Taliban outside some piss-hole village near Tora Bora. A firefight broke out and Bobby got hit in the stomach by a grenade fragment. He died just as angry and scared and confused as that Tuesday morning a few months before.

Wesley, too. He said one time that he liked the care packages his mom sent, because it was a touch of home, but he hated the puzzle books and light fiction. He wanted "good stuff". So we bought porn (DVDs with no disc labels sent in legitimate movie cases), alcohol (poured into Muscle Milk bottles which were super-glued shut), and cigarettes (didn't have to hide those). Packed it all in a box, paid the incredibly high postage for Priority Shipping plus the Customs taxes to get the damn box to Iraq. I think it got to him a month before he was hit after his unit came under heavy fire just outside Tal Afar. I don't know if he got to sell everything (that's why he wanted all the stuff), but it doesn't really matter. Because money won't help when you're bleeding out from a severed femoral artery.

I'm sick of seeing yellow ribbons on the back of cars. While I understand some are there in genuine support, I suspect most are there because it's trendy, and all of your friends in spin class are doing it too, and you don't want your VW Golf to be unlike everyone else's, right?. Stop being vain, trying to show the world that you care more than others. The red, white, and blue-striped half of the ribbon with the yellow on the other side, with a bald eagle in the loop, over the words "Never Forget" should be the cover of Toby Keith and Alan Jackson's collaborative right-wing whack-off album titled America Number-One Raghead Die. If I ever become a soccer mom, I give you permission to chain me to a pipe in your basement and have Zed and Maynard show me how things are done.

Mostly, I'm sick of people reminding me how awful that day was, and how nothing is the same since. That's bullshit. Everything is back to normal, except at the airport. And even that is a breeze to get through if you pack right, act right, and have to proper genetics. The amazing thing about humanity is its ability to adapt to drastic change, and then forget why things changed in the first place, and go back to how things were before.

What's different? Kids still go to school, adults still go to jobs they love and hate, gas prices rise and fall and rise, politicians lie (relax, Democrats, I wasn't talking about Obama...this time), people pay taxes, and the Lions still suck (though I'm keeping my fingers crossed for Sunday). Trust me, I remember how awful I felt that day. I remember telling jokes too soon, as my way of coping with horrific events. I remember wondering what was coming next. I don't need to be reminded via every medium I use to contact the outside world. If I want to watch some History Channel show about that day, I will (and I have).

I love this country. It's one of the few places I know of where I can get away with being such an enormous asshole as often as I do. I have a tremendous amount of pride. At game 3 of the 2006 World Series, when the F-18s flew overhead as Trace Adkins sang "land of the free" I choked up, as did everyone else I was standing with. There's no place else I want to live. And that's all I want from the anniversary of the September 11, 2001 attacks. To feel proud that despite the worst the world throws at us, we're still America. Fuck yeah.

You Have Chosen...Poorly

I haven't felt the need to anger-vomit in a long time. I had almost forgotten what that felt like. But thanks to Nadya Suleman, I remember.

So the Octom...I'm sorry. I can't use that word any more. It's an invention by an obnoxious media to glorify a woman who should be locked up in a light-and-sound-proof room forever.

So Nadya Suleman is regretting her decision to have octuplets with the assistance of fertility drugs. She says she has ruined the lives of her children (she already had six before she decided to become an unholy abomination), is tired of the media spotlight being permanently cast on her, and wants to return to a normal life.

Well. Tough shit, cookie. You should have thought about what your selfishness was going to do to those around you before you hired Beaker & Bunsen to turn your uterus into a clown car.

So because Ms. Suleman is tired of the media spotlight she is going to go into hiding in the Andes Mountains. No, just kidding. She is going to have a reality show on Fox. Because when you want to avoid media attention, and live a normal life, and not be portrayed as some selfish cold-hearted woman, you get a reality show. On Fox.

Of course it's on Fox, by the way. The same classy network that has brought you such gems as The Simple Life, The Princes Of Malibu, Married By America, My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancée/Boss, and Temptation Island. Fox is also responsible for cancelling Arrested Development, one of the greatest television comedy series of all time. So what did you expect from them? They are green-lighting The Cleveland Show, a Family Guy spin-off, even though Family Guy hasn't been consistently funny since shortly after its 2005 return. Fox cancelled Action!, The Ben Stiller Show, Greg The Bunny, and The Tick. Fox has no concept of what is genuinely funny. Fox only brought back Family Guy and Futurama because those shows' respective popularity showed up on basic cable syndication and in DVD sales. Fox has no accurate measure of what makes quality programming. Fox, you suck.

Back to the point: Nadya Suleman should be fed to hungry wolves. No, that's unfair. Like her or not, she is the mother of 14 (holy shit, are we sure she isn't a gerbil or something?) children who depend on her. So anyone who watches this show should be fed to hungry wolves. After being slapped in the face with a cheese grater.

You know, I could say the same for pretty much all reality program watchers. The last reality show I watched in its entirety was probably an episode of The Real World 10 years ago. My only exposure to reality programming is The Soup, and even that drains my patience. Reality shows are for the dumb. I know plenty of smart people who watch reality shows, but I stand by my opinion. The only reason to watch reality TV is so you have zero thinking to do during your viewing time. Turn on any reality show. Then, change the channel to something else. Anything else. I guarantee that whatever comes on your screen has more benefit to your intelligence than reality programming. The test pattern on Public Access at least gives you the opportunity to properly balance the colors on your screen. Stop watching reality TV. There's nothing to gain from it. Ever. At All.

And Nadya Suleman is a self-centered, out-of-touch whore (a person who has compromised principles for personal gain, not the sexual kind).

Let's Get This Going Again

Well.

It's been one week short of a month since I last updated, due mostly to my trip to Japan. Let's recap that time.

Step 1: Fly on a plane for what seems like two days.
Step 2: Sight-see.
Step 3: Drink.
Step 4: Sleep.
Repeat Steps 2 and 3, repeating step 4 sparingly.
Step 5: Fly on a plane for what seems like three days.

If you want more detail, you can check out the pictures I posted on Flickr. If you don't want more detail, you can pucker up and kiss my ass.

I bought a video game, Infamous, where you can choose to follow a "good" or "evil" storyline. I have chosen good, and will replay it on an evil track when I am done. But last night I came to a crossroads in the game. My decision to act in a particular way changed my entire path from Hero (highest good rating) to Infamous (highest evil rating). That decision kept me up last night until about one in the morning. Are you serious? What the hell is wrong with me? I didn't fret this much over whether or not I should quit my job and go live in the woods (that actually was a contemplation four months ago). My name is Gavin, and I am addicted to video games with compelling stories.

Sometimes I really hate white people. On the way to and from Japan, one of the in-flight movies was Dragonball Evolution, in which a white kid plays the lead role of a character named Goku. Also, Chow Yun Fat embarrasses his career in the movie. But really? Hollywood producers had to cast a white kid in the lead? Ugh. I really hate this country's passive-aggressive racism. 21 took a story about Asian MIT students and cast all the roles as white, because it was feared audiences wouldn't go see the movie if all the roles were accurately cast. I'm not saying don't be a racist or bigot, but if you're going to do something, don't hide it. As the queer-o-sexuals say, "Don't be afraid of what God made you." But then again, they also to say it's comfortable to take a weiner in the dumper. So, who knows, you know?

Michael Vick was allowed to return to the NFL, and yesterday signed with the Philadelphia Eagles. I'm glad. I'm so sick and tired of hearing PETA and the other out of touch hippie douchebags saying he should be forever banned from the league. Eat a dick. He was convicted in a court of law, served his sentence, and has admitted guilt and expressed sorrow for his actions. He is working to repair his image, and to help prevent others from participating in the activities that led to his downfall. I hope that if there are any Humane Society or PETA protesters at Lincoln Financial Stadium, they are greeted with fire hoses shooting boiling unicorn blood in their faces. Because if unicorns were real, I imagine PETA would consider them the "best" animal, and slaughtering them to torture PETA members would be a fittingly ironic punishment for being such a hardcore douchebag. Then Michael Vick could punch them all in the balls/wizard's sleeve. Just out of principle.

After reading those last few sentences, I realize I may have emotional issues to work out.

While in Japan, I attended Summer Sonic, a music festival held over three days in Tokyo and Osaka. The group went to Osaka, where I had the privilege of seeing The Flaming Lips play from three rows away on the floor. The frontman, Wayne Coyne, crowd-surfed in a giant inflatable hamster ball. Lots of balloons, ribbons, and confetti were rained down, and we all jumped around and sang for close to an hour. But then...it got annoying. Coyne introduced "Yeah Yeah Yeah Song" by talking about how they used to perform it in protest of the Bush administration, but now it's a celebration of Obama and blah blah blah. I LOATHE when musicians, actors, or any other kind of entertainer thinks that just because I paid to see them perform their craft, I also paid to hear their opinions on the world. No. No I fucking didn't. I paid to hear "She Don't Use Jelly" (which they didn't play). I don't care if you don't like the former President. And for the love of all things holy, why did they have to play "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots" as an acoustic, slowed-down ballad? I like The Flaming Lips a lot. They are one of my favorite bands. But god damn, they dropped a few notches in my book because of that nonsense.

That's about all I've got right now. More to come when I work out my issues with fictitious morality and electronic ethical dilemmas.

The World Of Warcraft Movie Is A Bad Idea

Sam Raimi has signed on to direct a movie version of World Of Warcraft. I'm sure the logic used by the studio executives who came up with this pile of garbage was something along the lines of, "Hey! Millions of teens and young adults around the world enjoy our video game! If we make a movie based on what millions of people enjoy playing, we will make lots of money!" The problem is: games like WoW, Dungeons & Dragons, Magic: The Gathering, etc. never translate well to film. Remember the recent D&D movie with Marlon Wayans? Do black people even play Dungeons & Dragons? I mean, very few of the quests involve searching for the lost pouch of powdered grape drink. Although if your do find the Sacco de Uva Potabile (Latin for "Pouch of Drinkable Grapes"), it's worth like +50 manna. An accurate D&D movie would be two hours of four white kids sitting around a card table playing the game, drinking Hawaiian punch and eating Oreos while listening to Wolfmother and Rush on Pandora. And just to prove I'm not a complete racist, the kids would all have solid private school educations, paid for by married parents with good credit scores, and who will one day grow up to be unable to dance well. See? Stereotypes are fun for everybody!

My point was, fantasy games do not work on film. Most fantasy books don't either. Hell, most fantasy movies don't work period. The human imagination can dream up great things, in better detail, and with more realism than even the most creative director could put on film. As great as Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy was, even he couldn't match the worlds and creatures I dreamed up while reading Tolkien's books. Dragonslayer got the scenery and costuming right, but it was the 80s, so the effects sucked. Reign of Fire modernized the typical dragon vs. knight story, with good effects. But it starred Matthew McConaughey. Without seeing it, you could probably sum it up accurately by saying, "Dragons attack people and McConaughey at some point is shirtless". You win.

The other problem with a WoW movie is the gamers themselves. Let's face it: most gamers are computer nerds. I say this knowing full well that with a little less dedication to my job, I could be a full-on computer nerd. If I could find a way to get paid to play video games all day without having to find bugs and glitches, I would blow up a truck full of newborn puppies with a kitten-bomb. These gamers probably haven't been out to see a movie in years. I mean, the Internet takes away a lot of sales from theaters. If you could get a movie for free, and were willing to sacrifice a little video and audio quality, while at the same time not having to deal with idiots and their screaming children, and what seems like the entire Wayans family talking in the theater, wouldn't you take the free movie? I would. But then again, judging by the tone of this posting, I am an antisocial racist.

Where was I? Oh yeah, WoW movie. Not going to work. Sam Raimi should have learned his lesson with the Spider-Man franchise. He does films best when they are small-budget, or at least, not megasuperhuge blockbusters. Of course, the Evil Dead series is his best work, though Darkman is a very, very close second. He showed that he can't handle big-budget. And make no mistake, WoW will be big budget. Sam Raimi, please. Don't further ruin yourself with this. There was some redemption with Take Me To Hell. But if you do WoW, I will be forced to cast Mordenkainen's Sword. Yeah, I went there.

One Week Until...

In seven days, I will be traveling (with 5 friends) to Japan to visit my buddy Mark, who works there for Toyota. I am beyond excited for the trip, something I have been planning (in one way or another) for about a year. I have some expectations, some hopes, and a few fears for the journey to the Far East:

-I expect to be treated as a great mythical creature. The average height of the Japanese is three feet, four inches (go ahead and use your esteemed sources to say I am wrong, they are collected hogwash). I shall tower over the citizens of Nippon much like Godzilla or Megalon or Mechagodzilla or Mechastreisand. My hope is that I can make it through the first day or so before the army is called out and I am shot into some electrical substation and killed.

-I want to see some of the great temples of Japan. While in these temples, I hope to learn the secrets of the Shinto religion, and unleash the magical powers of the faith upon my return to the United States. I hear that by praying to the spirits dwelling in my wooden coffee table, I can achieve immortality. Offerings left for the spirits in my bathroom are best kept inside with a ventilation fan on for a couple hours.

-Japan is the electronics home of the world. I plan on bringing back a robot ninja dragon dog. He will be called RoNiDr'og, and he will be my best friend. We will take walks together, and I will use him to pick up chicks. Then he will totally cockblock by ninja-chopping their heads off with robot-laser and dragon-fire arms.

-I hope to avoid getting into a debate with a native about complex mathematical formulas. The Japanese are known for their expertise with numbers, and could make my head explode simply by listing algebraic expressions in rapid succession. Luckily, one of my friends teaches calculus, so he may be able to hold out for about 10 minutes before his head a-splode.

-The flight to and from Japan is about 12 hours. During this time, I plan to eat, drink, read, drink, sleep, drink, listen to music, drink, and eat. I still haven't figured out what I am going to do for the remaining 11 1/2 hours.

-I worry that upon arriving in Japan, I will be completely lost. I know about three words of Japanese, and even though English is a prominently-used language there, I have enough trouble getting foreigners here in the States to understand what I am saying. My solution is simple: I will speak slowly and loudly, with increasing volume and frustration, until my point is understood. I will shout about my American citizenship, and proclaim that "my country showed YOU who runs the world 60 years ago, punk!" if my every wish is not promptly granted.

-Speaking of 60 years ago, one of our destinations is Hiroshima. We will be in the city on August 6th. If you don't know the significance of this date, shame on you. In all seriousness, I think being there on that day and seeing the ceremony will be an incredible experience.

-I will hire myself out the Yakuza for the week and a half I am in Japan. I really don't want to do anything extremely illegal. Just enough to get a sword. And some throwing stars. And those glove things with the hooks on the palms so I can scale walls.

-Lastly, I fully expect to see of truly weird stuff in Japan. If I can find a schoolgirl-alien-robot-insect-seizure lights-rock 'n roll-game show-fish movie, my trip will be ultimate success number one! Yatta!

Enough Is Enough

I tried to find an image of Brandon Inge from last night's Home Run Derby. But surprisingly, there were no results found when I Googled "out of place hitter embarrasses home city and team".

Before I start this, I'd just like it to be known that I think the All Star Game, in any sport, is a joke. I do not think they should even exist in their present forms. I have nothing against Brandon Inge as a person, he seems like a decent guy, aside from that awful soul patch.

But can we stop the adoration of Brandon Inge, please? I can not come up with a single reason to get him into The Most Useless Public-Relations Event In All Of Sports. He's not an exceptional hitter (home runs are nice to look at, but how about hitting for average once in a while) and he commits too many errors (10 going into the break, most in the AL). Yes, he has good range and a strong arm. But Inge is on pace to finish his 5th season (out of six) with 17 or more errors. I understand third basemen will have more errors than other positions. But is it too much to ask that Inge at least not be in the top (bottom?) three for errors committed in a season?

I am going to list some hitters similar to Inge statistically. Try to contain your excitement and the numerous Hall Of Famers. Daryl Spencer, Jose Hernandez, Mike Pagliarulo, Don Zimmer. A coworkers summed Inge up well: he's this generation's Rob Deer. A home run here and there when it largely doesn't matter. Sometimes, he'll come through with a clutch hit, or get on base when it matters. But mostly he'll bat poorly, racking up triple-digit strikeouts and sub-.250 batting averages.

Last night was a disgrace. Inge became only the fourth hitter EVER to not record a home run in the Derby. Good thing the city of Detroit casted so many votes to get him into the event, right? I've heard some people (hosts on my radio station) say that even if Inge strikes out twice tonight in the All Star Game, it will be a successful trip for him.

What.

If Brandon Inge goes hitless, or commits a dumb error, or does anything but score the game-winning run, he will have wasted his trip to St. Louis, and wasted the efforts of fans who support him. Inge has a chance to prove he belongs in this collection of baseball's best. I personally don't think he should be representing the Tigers. But I say, If You're Going To The Dance, You Better Bring Some Moves™.

I almost got suckered in. I've heard from so many people over the years that Inge is good. My calls for attention to his spotty plate performance and fielding gaffes were largely ignored. I began to think differently. "Maybe I'm unfairly judging Inge based on the cast of characters he has played with", I would say to myself. "Maybe because of the anger I have towards the Tigers of the late 90s and early 2000s, I am lumping Inge in with some of the worst players to ever don the Olde English D", I would reason. My vision became clouded. I saw Inge's nearly-errorless season in 2008 (no errors in 73 games at Catcher and Left Field, 1 error in 51 games at Third Base) and actually believed things were different. I began to believe Inge was worthy of the adoration felt by fans.

No longer. Inge is a solid baseball player. He has good range at third, but should probably be a full-time catcher. He doesn't really hit that well, but he's got some power, and that will always be valued. He's fan-friendly, doesn't embarrass the team, and rarely puts his ego or personal goals before those of the organization. But to call him anything than a capable everyday player is going overboard.

I still can't believe the city turned out en masse to send Inge to the All Star Game, got him into the Home Run Derby, and he hit a big fat goose egg. Thanks a lot, dick.

These Things Shouldn't Annoy Me...

...but they do.

Folding sheets alone is fine until you get to the one that goes on the mattress itself. That stupid elastic band makes folding a perfect square damn-near impossible. Yes, I am obsessed with making sure my sheets go in the closet folded into perfect squares, or rectangles. It's not weird, you're weird.

My cable box occasionally slows down, and I end up hitting 50 buttons before it unlocks. But it has recognized all the buttons I've pushed, and executes all the commands. Now I've fast-forwarded past the show I wanted to watch, deleted three stored shows, and ordered a Pay-Per-View Tractor Pull event. Eff Em Ell, amirite?

The sandwich place near my work likes to have live music during the lunch hour. When I'm at lunch, I want two things to happen: I want to relax from what is more than likely an annoying day at work, and have my order completed correctly. I can't do that when Douchey McSoulful over there is slaughtering Dear Prudence. I cringe at every missed note, every crack in the voice, every screw-up of the lyrics. I have to repeat my order twice, and then watch over the preparation of my sandwich like the girl is trying to defuse a nuclear bomb, to make sure she doesn't screw it up, because I'm still not sure if she heard me say "no peppers" or mistook that for "put every pepper in this place on that sandwich!". If John Lennon were still alive, I think he'd come down to the restaurant I was at and beat that guy with one of the trendy antiques mounted to the wall. Oh, and I ordered a strawberry milkshake, not a lemonade.

Certain people slam doors and stomp up and down stairs. Other people have respect for their neighbors and make sure they gently close the door. Certain people want that purple stuff.

I drink the milk right out the carton. I'm living by myself, so why dirty a glass? But if I forget to wipe the excess milk off the lip of the carton, and it dries, the next time I take a sip, I feel like I'm kissing a freshly-picked scab. Gross.

Maxim/FHM/Stuff. Stop it. Famous women are not automatically hot because they are famous. Hayden Panettiere is not hot. She's cute, sure. But the New Orleans Saints could play their home games under her forehead. Carlton Fisk would have caught 2,000 more games if he had legs like Hayden's tree trunks. Gargamel created Hayden to destroy the Smurfs. If you catch Hayden, she has to grant you three wishes and give you her pot of gold. Hayden Panettiere will be playing Warwick Davis' role in the remake of Willow. Oh, and it's a little-known fact, but if you leave Avril Lavigne out in the sun for more than 30 minutes, all light from every star in the universe, including our own sun, will be permanently reflected back into space, thus casting Earth into an eternity of cold and darkness. That's how pale she is.

I've had very dream-filled sleep for the past three nights. It always leaves me less refreshed in the morning. I need to just have black-out sleep. But I keep revisiting the past. Then I think about it in the morning. Ugh. Her apartment didn't even look like that, and the cardboard cutout was of Bush, not Obama.

Time to go.

Are We Done Now?

I realize it has been almost two weeks since I wrote anything. I have been completely out of ideas, and it seems all that has happened since June 25th is celebrity death after celebrity death. But of course, no news has been bigger than the wake of Michael Jackson's death. I tried writing some nonsensical entries, but got frustrated halfway-or-less through and gave up.

Before I get into the main point of this entry, I have a couple off-topic questions to ask. First, who made those mini-motorcycles legal? The ones that are about a foot and a half tall? I almost killed two people in the last week, because I can't see them over the hood of my car. I drive an Aveo. Second, do you think constant sarcasm and cynicism are attractive? If so, do you want to hang out sometime? Because apparently, you are the only person on Earth who thinks so, and I would like to have your children. Wait, no. The other way around. I want your children to have me.

Since Michael Jackson died, I watched as the Internet went absolutely bat-shit insane, and the world reacted much as expected. A major pop icon passed away, many people were devastated. 12 people (that I read about) killed themselves after learning of his death. Are you serious? Who does that? You killed yourself because Michael Jackson died? I think that would only be acceptable if his living blood was the ransom keeping you from being brutally violated by Tyrannosaurus Rexes on a nightly basis.

Today was the memorial service, held at The Staples Center in Los Angeles. More than eleven thousand people attended, with thousands more outside and millions watching around the world. It is estimated that the total cost of the service, including all of the security, would exceed four million dollars. Four million dollars. Four. Million.

This was not a President who died. We are not in a monarchical nation, and were not burying royalty. This was a pop singer who danced well. And now the taxpayers of Los Angeles County are going to be asked to foot the four million dollar bill instead of using that money to, oh I don't know, not bounce 66,000-plus children from the California Work Opportunity and Responsibility to Kids Program. But screw the kids (inappropriate phrasing for a Michael Jackson topic?), let's hire fleets of Range Rovers to drive Jackson's casket and family around southern California all day. And take police away from real work so they can block off roads leading in and out of downtown Los Angeles. Oh, and also, Los Angelenos, could you help kick in directly for the cost?

I was at work during the memorial service, and I would guess about sixty percent of the other people there stopped working for most, if not all, of the televised event. I am certain my place of employment was not unique to such a stoppage. How much time and money was wasted on this? And for what? Michael Jackson was a great performer, I have said that before. But he was simply that: a performer. He wasn't a leader, he wasn't an historical figure.

Think about it this way: Elvis Presley was the biggest musical act in history. He changed popular music forever (by stealing from black musicians, but that's beside the point), and when he died, it was a major event. But go up to a teenager today and ask them who Elvis was. Most will know, but how many could name a song? Or explain why he was popular? His appeal has faded as his fans at the time have grown older. Kids now don't care who Elvis was or what The Beatles brought to America (more music stolen from black people and "white-d" up. It will be the same for Michael Jackson in twenty to thirty years. Yes, he was immensely popular in life. But after a while that popularity will fade.

So now that the memorial service is over, and he's being buried or cremated or launched in a rocket to the sun, I ask only this: can we pay attention to something else? Like, getting Tony Jaa to announce a U.S. release date for Ong Bak 2? Watch the French-language trailer below, and try not needing to change your pants after.