Conpsiracy Theorist

In Santa Monica, my roommate Tassa would often watch CNN. And during the eve of the election, he would, more often then not, get worked up about what he was watching. Here is a snippet of a completely run-of-the-mill conversation that might have conspired in our living room:

Tassa: You ever wonder about Palin? I mean REALLY WONDER about Palin, bru?

Ollie: In what way.

Tassa: I mean like, look at this woman, this woman who supposedly was picked at random to be in this presidential campaign...

Ollie: Well it wasn't random, I mean, there are a lot of decisions that went-

Tassa: No, but I mean how in the world could they have found someone way up in bum-f@ck Alaska! I mean if you really THINK about it bru... there's something else there. Something else BEHIND the curtains.

Ollie: O.K.

Tassa: You see what I'm saying - I mean I watch this 'woman' on TV all the time and there's something in her smile that -YOU know what I'm talking about.

Ollie: I think you're going to have to spell it out for me.

Tassa: Bru, you can't tell me that you don't think Palin has been part of some nefarious deeds. Deeds that may have brought her to her place right now. Next to that wrinkly old man. I'm talking blackmail.

Ollie: Oh, so Palin blackmailed McCain for that position.

Tassa: Yeah, or, you know something like that. I just have this feeling in my gut bru, you know, whenever she gives that f@cking little wink of hers, that wink that makes me want to kill someone. You just know that she's done something to get there.

Ollie: Can't really say that I've thought about that... but... yeah, you never know I guess.

Tassa: But can't you see that?

Ollie: I don't like her wink, I guess.

Tassa: Exactly. And have you ever wondered WHY?

Ollie: It's condescending.

Tassa: No, it's the wink of a conspirator. She's doing it just to piss off McCain.

Ollie: I don't think I can agree with that.

Tassa: I'm telling you bru, that's what it is.  I've got this GUT instinct. I just FEEL it. Just you see, in fifty or sixty years, it's all going to come out. I'm telling  you. I'm TELLING you.

Ollie: Yeah, we'll see I guess.

Tassa: Oh man. What a bitch.

Owens: Romo Took My Last Diet Coke

DALLAS, Texas - In a recent press conference, famously outspoken NFL wide-receiver Terrell Owens parlayed his displeasure with yet another Dallas Cowboy.  Owens claims that the Cowboy quarterback, Tony Romo took the last Diet Coke in the team cooler when "it was obvious that it belonged to [Owens]".

"T.O. always leaves a Diet Coke in the fridge for when T.O. gets thirsty! And Romo knows that!" Exclaimed Owens, who was wearing a fur coat at the privately-held meeting with the press in Dallas. "I thought Romo was my boy, but it's hard for me to ignore this level of person aggression. There is no respect for T.O. and what T.O. brings to this team."

Coach Wade Phillips responded via text message to our network giving an official response from the incident.

"well, terell is a spcl man. if he wnts a D.C. then, i believe that i should ask jerry jones about that. i think that terell has a valid point and next week we will make sure to have more of his favorite beverage. thnx for asking my opinion. do you want to be my friend?"

The seemingly inconsolable Owens harped further on the latest incidence after the initial volley of questions.

"I mean I even said yesterday - I really like Diet Coke, don't you Tony? I specifically remember saying that to him. And he nodded. No respect man."

Romo was found for comment studying film for the upcoming game against New York.

"Why would I take his stupid soda? I hate Diet Coke." 

Romo then leaned in as if to imply secrecy, 

"unless, of course, I did it just to fuel that paranoid, loud-mouthed, complaining, 8-year old head of his."

The Dallas quarterback smirked, and then went back to studying receiving patterns that don't involve wide-receivers.

This incidence has been the latest issue with Owens, with his previous grievances aimed at other players, the head coach Wade Phillips, and other quarterbacks in the league. Most famous, was his tiff with Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb, where Owens claimed that McNabb kept shaving off small layers from the bottom of his 'pimp cane' until it became too small to use.

That's All She Wrote

Have you ever experienced a sitcom-induced paradigm shift? No. That's probably a good thing.

But something happened to me that's never happened before when I was watching the new Office this week. I got bored. For those of you who know me (as opposed to everyone else who reads this), you could say that I am a 'fan' of the show. A fan only in the sense that I own all the DVDs, have seen all the extra footage, written two spec episodes myself, and plan on naming my first born Dwight.

But, along with my disenchantment of the LA entertainment industry, comes a breakdown of my interest in all of it's progeny. There are outcasts, of course, but they are rare, and only emerge as happenstance and a stroke of genuine luck. Most new shows and projects are only green lit with one requisite: that they will garner ratings - which in turn gets advertising dollars.

Because it's hard (for any show!) to have a successful first season, the powers that be have started a growing trend. Borrow something else that is already proven to be successful in another country. American Idol, The Weakest Link, The Office, Kath & Kim are just a few, but there are many more. 

The point is that the big networks are businesses, not artistic studios. And for that reason, and the reason that money is what makes the cogs turn - artistic integrity has fallen off the map.

So as I am watching Steve Carell, Jenna Fischer, and John Krasinski go through the motions, just waiting for their much anticipated 100th episode that will put them into syndication - I just can't help being reminded that the show has lost so much of what made it a hit.

The raw, realistic, mockumentary humor is all but lost this season as characters fall back time and time again on catch-phrases, over-the-top gags, and misplaced humor. By misplaced, I mean when Andy stepped in the manure in Dwight's kitchen. It was funny, I laughed, but it proves my point that they are borrowing out of other comedy playbooks just to get some yuks. It wasn't true to the show bible. It was something out of Airplane!, Hot Shots, or Naked Gun.

What made The Office so good was the slightly hopeful, but awkward tension of Jim and Pam, the new guy Ryan, the pathetic boss who just needed friends, and the nerdy sales rep who reminds everyone of someone they know. So my original captivation by The Office has worn so thin that it is now gone. And maybe, *sniff*, maybe,  I'll learn to love again.

Until then I am going to live in the fairy-tale BBC/Ricky Gervais world where all things have a beginning and ending, and shows only last two season... and end because the story was finished, not because they ran out of money or episode ideas.

Wanted.

I can't really think of anything very interesting to write tonight, partially because I'm tired, but mostly because I just watched Wanted on DVD and I feel like I need to take some sort of deep-cleansing procedure to purge myself of the experience.

First of all, did anyone see how many parallels there were to the Matrix in there? The faster-than-normal mode. The boring desk job. The hot girl in leather who recruits the nerd. The venerable black actor playng the leader. The role of destiny, and the ridiculous search for identity. EVEN the shit that little Mr. Atonement was wearing while he was 'training' was straight out of the Matrix. 

Despite the glaring intellectual copyright infractions, and the complete and steadfast adherence to the textbook 'epic action/adventure movie' plot - it was really really bad. If you disagree with me, I'm sorry. You are wrong.

But not me! A movie is supposed to be entertaining! And I was entertained, so I liked it!

No. Just shut up. There was a magical loom that printed the future in a non-G-Rated movie. Enough said. Who should we kill? Lets check the Persian in the living room.

My heart beats 400 times per minute, could I be an assassin?

No. You are a cardiac timebomb. Fill out your will immediately. And do not get behind the wheel of a car.

But you get to see Angelina Jolie's butt in the movie!

Get the internet. You can see a lot more than that.

So please don't see it. Please. And if you do - then watch it with friends so you can make fun of it. Otherwise it breaks down the very fabric of my respect and hope for mankind.

Phew. Man, I love bitching about movies.

Gainfully Employed

I'm completely exhausted after my second day of shoveling dirt. It's been the first actual job that I have had in the past... six months. Wow, that's kind of embarrassing. I'm not including, of course, writing car reviews, or my chop-shop career that lasted 1.5 days.

So here I am, in San Carlos, CA - up by San Fransisco - staying with my aunt and doing manual labor down the street on some millionaire's estate. His back yard is a multi-level, terraced menagerie of gardens, decks, walking paths and outdoor furniture that wraps around the house (and the second house right behind it) and hugs the creek that defines the back of his property.

So while he is inside his second house, bustling about on the phone, running off to meetings and no-doubt raking in tons of money, Eddie and I are out back shoveling dirt. Literally, we are just moving dirt from one spot to another.

Having a complex and ornate backyard is great for aesthetics, and maybe fancy-shmancy dinner parties, but, man, it's a bitch to get around with a wheel-barrow. Its a rigmarole of ramps, sharp curves, and tight passages from the back (where the dirt is coming from) to the front (where the dirt is going). Eddie told me that he has moved this dirt three, maybe four times already. Back and forth, back and forth. Depending on the project.

I told him that moving dirt sucks, especially now that we were hitting the muddy clay near the creek, and he agreed, but said 'Hey, at least it's work.' I made a mental note not to tell him that I've been unemployed for the past half-year. But I would personally shoot somebody, without remorse, for making me move dirt that many times.

FUN FACT: Sometimes Eddie and I will be shovelling the same chunk of dirt and, near the end, our shovels - after getting close and closer - will clank. It's kind of like the Lady And The Tramp, except Eddie is a 40 year old Mexican, and there's no Italian music.

Time to rest the ol' back, go into comatose-mode for the night, and hope the ibuprofen will get me over the hump tomorrow. And maybe pack a gun in case the millionaire starts to get second thoughts about his dirt placement.

Overdue

I've been putting off editing this footage for a while - just waiting for the right song to come along I guess. Who would have thought that I would hear it in a Gears of War 2 commercial...



Eastward Bound from Oliver Garrison on Vimeo.

Temporary Blogging Hiatus...

Wahoo!

What an amazing night. Despite the fact that I am sick, huddled up with four layers on the couch, watching TV, having driven to two different polling stations today, having spent 3.5 hours in line waiting to vote, and still unemployed in Santa Monica- I watched tonight's events unfold like a Hollywood plot.

I have NEVER been moved to tears before, watching CNN - maybe bored to tears - but never touched (let's say 'misty-eyed', for the sake of preserving some semblance of manhood). Sure, it could have been the cold, the crazy South African jumping and cheering next to me, or maybe the vodka tonics, but I was moved by three things tonight.

1) McCain's speech. It was honest, respectable, and a complete 180 from the way he has been running his campaign. It was the most maverick thing he has done in a long time, and I commend him for his class.

2) Obama's acceptance speech. Man, that guy can give a speech. I would paraphrase it, but I would be doing it an injustice.

and mostly, above all things,

3) The rise from the political sleaze-smog that had seemingly engulfed our country. Suddenly, because of what has happened in the past decade, and perhaps even long before then, politics seems to be real again. The issues aren't tainted through the Rove-like politicking and demographic hunting that was the growing trend, but suddenly things are much clearer.
Tonight everyone from the news anchors, from Brit Hume, to Roland Martin, and both McCain and Obama actually said REAL things. They spoke like real human beings, not marketing androids. It was quite refreshing.

And for me, and I assume most other Americans, it's what I've been waiting for - for a long time.

Vitamin D And The BBB

There are a lot of reasons that I am out here in LA right now. Specifically, the main reason is to pursue writing, through taking classes at UCLA. But also, living here lets me see what it would be like to live in LA if I were somehow successful in breaking into the TV ranks. The biggest plus so far: sunshine.

I mean, unmitigated, all-day, pure UV goodness, warming your face every time you walk outside. It's great. Score 1 for LA.

But I did have an experience on Friday that left a very sour taste in my mouth. I've been trying to get a job for about a month now, so I jumped at the opportunity to answer phone calls at a job recruiting firm right down the street from me. It was perfect - get up early, answer some phone calls, and head out by 3PM - done for the day.

The pay was pure commission, comprised of two possible sales: $5-6 if you get them to register for $33.95, and another $10 if you get them to accept a promotional sales booklet that they could return for a refund if they didn't like it. It was easy. In my first three hours I made about $50, so I was pretty psyched that I found a job that was pretty easy and paid enough for me to pay the bills and have some breathing room (something I have not had for a long time).

On Friday, I was talking to a nurse from North Carolina on the phone who was very wary of paying to register for our service. She kept asking for things like placement percentages and placement guarantees - things that I was told by coworkers to skirt around and avoid. So I did. My boss wasn't in the office at the time, and I told her I would call her back Monday after I spoke to him so that I could give her a better idea of our placement numbers. After I took down her information, I turned around in my chair and asked another sales guy what our placement number actually are, ballpark.

He looked at me like I was from Mars. "What do you mean?"

I was kind of frustrated, I thought I made my question quite clear.
"I mean - how many people that we register actually get jobs?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, 0%, 1%? Nobody. We don't do that." I kind of stared at him for a second to try to understand what he was saying. "Do you see anybody here making phone calls to companies right now?"

I didn't. And I guess I never really thought that the four people in the office answering phone calls WAS the whole company. There was no back end. It was all register-register-register. And then once we got these people signed up, there was no follow-through.

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. I guess something inside me never really even considered that the company was illegitimate. My phone starts ringing again. More callers. I answered the phone three more times that day, and each time I pushed for them to use our free service site, and didn't try to upsell anyone. All I could think about were the people I had spoken to before that were telling me their story about just being laid off after 30 years at a Ford Company, or the people who had to check their bank account before they gave me their card info, just to make sure they had enough money.

What this company is doing, is preying on the most helpless, last-resort type of people that they can find. It's unforgivable. So I left that afternoon. Unemployed again. Looking for work again. But at least I can go to sleep at night.

I did some research on the company when I got home, and it appears that it very hard to cancel the service, or to return the 'sales course' packet and get a refund.

www.americansalesnetwork.com

Blech. -1 for LA. I need to go outside and get some sun and maybe I'll feel better.

Boston Challenges The Phillies To A 'Pick-up' Game

BOSTON (AP) - Unofficial clubhouse spokesman of the Boston Red Sox - Jason Varitek, reportedly contacted at least ten separate members of the Word Series Champion Philadelphia Phillies last night. Varitek left multiple voice mails and text messages challenging them to a pick-up game. Any time, any place.

"It wasn't so much of a challenge," Varitek said "as much as, just kind of a fun game - you know - just to see who wins." The team captain already had his catchers chest-protector and signature eye-black on, and was really hoping "to get in some [ball] before spring training."

Teammate Dustin Pedroia shared his captain's sentiments. "OK, I know we lost to the Rays in the ALCS, but, I just kind of want to know if we could have won."

The second baseman made it clear that he was happy for both Tampa Bay and Philadelphia for making it to the World Series, but thought "[It] would be cool to at least see if we could have won, you know, if we beat the Rays." To which Pedroia pounded his fist into his glove and shouted "Common Phils! Best of seven!"

While no other teammates have stepped up verbally and joined in the challenge, team rookie and shortstop Jed Lowrie reported that he could play if they "needed someone at short," and if he could "[Get] a ride with Dustin."

Red Sox manager Terry Francona, the skipper than lead the team to two championships in the past four years, brushed off the comments made by Varitek with a frustrated laugh. "Tek does this every year" Francona said. "You should have seen him when Chicago knocked us out in 2005. Ozzie Guillen had to change his phone number."

Some say that Veritek, and now Pedroia, just have a problem with losing, but they see it another way.

"No, you don't understand, we just want to see if we could have won." Pedroia remarked "We know we lost, we get it, whatever, season's over. But common, I just know we can beat the Phillies. Just one game. Common man!"

Say Hi To Your Motha

2.0

There's a very bizarre twist coming to light that intertwines two seemingly opposite social forces: the internet and reality.

That sentence took me five minutes to write - Jesus. If you understood it, hats off to you, because I'm not sure I do.

What I am trying to say, is that isolation is the new congregation. Going into your room is like going out.

Because of Web 2.0 and all that the buzz word might entail, internet social networking provides seemingly more contact than real life ever could. More and more people are spending time talking these days, chatting on IM, seeing photo albums on facebook - allowing one person to contact friends from all parts of the globe - simultaneously.

Suddenly leaving home these days isn't really leaving home as long as you have a computer. You have your virtual home right on your lap. People, finances, information, entertainment all one mouse-click away.

I find myself spending more and more time on the computer - and for the strangest reason ever: I want to stay connected with other people. If I'm lonely I can see who is on gChat, or read a friend's blog. Maybe peruse facebook and see what people are up to, who is in what relationship and what events people are attending. You can even play fantasy sports. It makes me feel - in a limited way - involved.

The issue that I am now starting to understand, is that Web 2.0 is creating Society 2.0.

Society 2.0 is a society where face-to-face encounters are more rare, where personal connection comes second to texting, IM-ing and emails. Where - like it or not - you're online avatar is the new face of your real self. And I don't mean a literal avatar from Second Life or Sims, I mean the compilation of traits built through facebook, blogs, myspace, texting, iLike, your iTunes library, and any other information you share online.

The great thing about this system is that it provides for greater connection and communication throughout the globe - throughout friends, families, businesses and everyone else who can turn on a computer.

What scares me, though, is what Society 2.0 leaves out. How much can really be communicated through the complex relays of ones and zeros? How much is lost in translation? I honestly don't know. What I do know is that there is an inherent gush of resignation when I sit down at my computer sometimes - only to be sated with this dreaded Web 2.0. At times it feels like I am just sucking on a fake Nicorette inhaler that doesn't quite do it.

Position Opening: Assistant to Mailroom Bitch

We are looking for a bright, do-it-yourself, go-getter to act as a personal assistant to our mailroom bitch. We are a A-list talent and literary agency located smugly in Beverly Hills, serving many high-profile film and TV clients.

Our Mailroom Bitch Assistant must have immaculate references, attended an Ivy League school, have intimate knowledge of postal codes, superior phone skills, eleven fingers, and 10-12 years of industry experience (writing or directing in a major motion picture is a plus!).

You must also have tough skin, two reliable cars (in case one breaks down), a helicopter piloting license, and the ability to alphabetize letters and correspondance.

Please do not waste our (or your) time by sending a resume if you do not meet ALL of our requirements! Do NOT call us. Do NOT email us. We have NO fax machine. Your resume should show up mysteriously without us ever seeing you. Good luck.

Sal. $21-22k

O for Vendetta

I had the chance last week to sit down with the one and only Barack Obama. I am a person who has to see to believe - to really delve into conversation before I can start to know someone - and my press credentials were the golden ticket.

After the string of debates and increasingly pointed attack ads, I wanted to ask some tough questions. I wanted to get to the bottom of what drove this man. Who is the real Barack Obama?
He obliged to meet me for a one-on-one, but only if I brought a signed copy of my book. I told him that I've never been published. He nodded solemly.

"Remember remember the 4th of November" Obama said, seemingly out of nowhere.

"As in, don't forget to vote?"

"Not only that, but what it stands for." He slyly added "You must be wondering who I am."

"Absolutely not" I said, but he introduced himself anyway-

"By the voracious nature of our virulent and violent government, a very volatile situation has created verily a vengeful vicissitude of verbiage. Vast is the veteran vermins ignorance in voreign policy. But you can call me --- O"

"Did you say voreign policy?" I asked - but he shushed me with his index finger to my lips.

"What is your name, my son?"

"Ollie"

"Do you believe in coincidences Ollie?"

"Oh because of the 'O' thing? Umm, not really. I'm guessing you've probably been interview by a lot of peo-"

"Neither do I, Wolly." Obama said casting a slow sidelong gaze to his left. "But tell me this - are you prepared to die for your country? To live without fear!?"

"The second part sounds alright I suppose."

Obama then stood up, pulling a cape over his a suit and tie. He touched me kind of awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Remember Wolly -"

"Ollie"

"Ollie. Remember remember Ollie - the 4th of November." And with a swish of a Blackberry he was gone.

I looked down at the table we were sitting at to see a knife pinning down a small piece of paper. It was a voter registration form with the letter 'O' dashed across it with a Sharpie. I looked at my watch. Wait a second! That guy still owes me twenty minutes of face-time!

Major League Conclusions

Sunday marked the end of another storied MLB season. It's wrapped up now; the players head to Florida, Arizona and the Dominican to get in a good tan and gain 20-30 lbs for spring training (Prince Fielder is an exception, with the addition of 30 lbs. causing his stomach to cover the entire strike zone). The grounds crew at the stadiums are looking for seasonal jobs in landscaping or snow-removal. Yep, it's in the books. Finito.

Well - except for the World Series. They still haven't played that yet, I guess. Whatever. OK, so two teams are still playing, but whatever. Its over for all of the cool teams. Angels? Out. Mets? Out. Red Sox? (arggg) Out. A's? Out. I mean, the season's done! Twins? Out.
Oh who am I kidding, the Twins aren't cool.

The Twins are respectfully proficient, but the coolness factor is seriously lacking. I'm pretty sure the players parking lot is full of Silverados with tackle boxes in the back (Joe Mauer), and crappy cars with college bumper stickers on them from rookies who still haven't signed a contract (don't worry, when contract time comes, you'll get shipped off somewhere else!). The Twins are like that guy who shows up to the swanky party, and keeps asking the catering staff if the hors devours are free, and then getting really excited cause it totally saves them from buying dinner that night. I have to like the Twins though, not only because I lived in the great state of Minnesota for six years, but also because that guy I just described at a party is, in fact, me. Whaddup tangent!

OK, OK, the season isn't REALLY finished. so if you really NEED to watch baseball, you can tune into the World Series where the Phillies are playing the 2012 Red Sox/Yankees/Mets starting lineup. Hope you enjoy.

If we learned anything about this season, it's... it's... it's - don't leave your last, clenching, air-gasping, chance of survival in the hands Jed Lowrie.

• Oh, and the Angels have no heart.
• The Cubs fold like a house of cards at the prospect of winning something.
• The Yankees aren't as good when they don't throw money around willy-nilly. That's right, I said 'willy-nilly'.
• I really feel bad for Baltimore fans.
  
• The Giants are suffering from the curse of the Balco.
• The Royals will always be that little team that can't.
• The NL West has a secret $10,000,000 side-bet of who can have the worst record.
• Finishing last for 10 straight seasons to compile a starting lineup solely comprised of #1 draft picks suddenly looks like a good idea.
  

'We're Just Plain Better' Says Europe

London (Reuters) - In an international survey conducted during the 2008 United States Presidential Election cycle, many European denizens found themselves not only siding with the Democratic Obama-Biden ticket, but scoffing in general at the people, government, education, and pretty much everything else in the States. Conducted in not only mainland Europe, but also Scandinavia, Russia, and the United Kingdom, the independent polling organization found what some are calling "startling results".

Of all the countries polled, scoffing was the highest is France and England, with levels tapering off in Lichtenstein and Switzerland. Many in England used the free-form poll as a way to express their feelings not only towards he election candidates, but also towards the country itself.

"I hate to be rude, I really do, but Americans are just not well educated" states Liverpool native Donald Hughes, a senior-level VP at a local Microsoft engineering branch. "Most people in America couldn't even tell you who won last year's Premier League Championship." Hughes, with a doctorate in computer science from the University of London, has repeatedly applied for a California-based upper-level Microsoft position to no avail. "I try as hard as I can to simplify my resume for them, but maybe I'm not dumb-ing it down enough." Similar sentiments were voiced in France.

"All they do is stereotype us," says Pierre LeJaques, a baker and wine connoisseur, taking a slow and passionate pull from his cigarette. "It is not le-fair," Pierre then went on to fill out half of the survey and then walked away in apathy to put in hit comedy DVD Dodgeball starring Ben Stiller.

The Nordic countries seemed to focus more of their attention on the political questions. Jens Larson of Tromso, Norway seemed to be unimpressed by Sarah Palin's qualifications.

"Alaska's kind of cold, I guess. But I don't think she can use that for bragging rights." Larson noted, through his multi-level anorak while wearing a headlamp. "To think that she would be one heartbeat away from the presidency of the most powerful, and cocky country in the world is frightening. What we need to do is to get the Americans on the right track, and get them educated, and then maybe us Europeans might be able to stand the sight of them," concluded Larson, before shooing out the reporter and taking his family to lunch at McDonalds.

It seems that the anti-American sentiment still runs strong in the blurry, inconsequential 'rest of the world', and with a new leader eminent on November 4th, there is a lingering doubt as to whether those fat, uneducated, loud, obnoxious and egocentric prudes can even be saved at this point.

Oy'd Loyk to sweep yo chimn-eye!!

I used to be a huge David Letterman fan. I really did. And now, I just feel like if I met him, he would be a huge dick. Apologies for the imagery. Maybe he is just too grumpy, or maybe it's the way he always casually dismisses his guest's responses, or maybe it's the way that he is clearly always waiting to get to the next question. Each interview I watch on the Tonight show seems rushed, the banter is limited to a strict format, and even when Letterman laughs, the smile never lingers.

Maybe I've just seen him on bad nights, or maybe I'm just a bigoted Conan fan. My style of humor is exactly whatever Conan seems to do. A clever, self-depreciatingly endearing personality that, when jokes fail, pulls out a Cockney accent and does a chimney-sweep impression. Never fails.

As long as I'm listing off talk show hosts I don't like, I should probably mention:

• Carson Daly (fabricated out of thin-air by the marketing department at MTV)
• Doctor Phil (thinks he could take a shit on the couch, and that shit would be a better parent than you)
• Tyra Banks (actually dumber than Doctor Phil's piece of shit)
• Howard Stern (not only embodying, but encouraging everything that is wrong with this country. *NOTE: he does get points for sheer honesty)
• Anything that Craig Kilbourn or Bob Sagat has ever, and will ever do. I can't begin to explain how much I don't like these two people.
• Jim Rome (If that's the way he talks all the time, I think he must get punched in the face a lot. *NOTE: extra points for vigorous Just-For-Men beard application)
  

So-So hosts:

• Craig Ferguson (funny accent, decent delivery, but there's...something...not quit right about him)
• That's it I guess

Good Hosts:

• Jay Leno (The one-liners are so old-school they come across as endearing and nostalgiac, but can still get some laughs)
• Letterman (I said I didn't like him, but the program still has great guests, and Paul Shaffer entertainingly reminds me of albino mole playing the keyboard)
• Jimmy Kimmel (I mean Jimmy's funny, but he's almost too laid back.)

Great Hosts

• Conan O'Brien (You guessed it.)
• Oprah (I'm afraid if I DIDN'T put her on here, I might be assasinated by the local Oprah Book Club Chapter President... she is way too powerful - I mean GREAT!)
  

Troughs and Peaks

Highs and Lows of my craigslist experience so far:

Low: Couldn't find an apartment that wasn't either $1,500 for a room, or in the dreaded 'valley'.

High: Found a motorcycle!

Low: Motorcycle was too far away to risk the trip.

High: Found another motorcycle - and bought it! Who cares, i just need a way to get around.

Low: Realized that the fact that the motorcycle not starting when I looked at it might have been a red flag.

Low: Trying to fix my new motorcycle.

High: Found an apartment!

High: Moved to beach town Santa Monica, yay!

Low: The rent is how much? Oh well, my complete reckless abandon of logic and all-things-responsible has taken me this far! Lets try my luck!

Low: Nobody replies to these damn job postings... do I have a typo in my resume?

Low: Resending updated resume to businesses.

High: Got a metal-frame, glass topped Ikea desk for $50 and then talked him down to $10!

Low: Got an Ikea bed frame for $40, but she talked me up to $80.

Low: Got a missed connection from leatherloverman69 three times in one day. the missed connection was in front of my apartment.

Low: Can't find taser in the immediate area for a good price.

Don't Vote

If you haven't seen the original - here it is.

Here is our response:

Dear Penthouse,

Imagine living on a small island. Easy beach life, the quiet tranquility of the open sea. Blue, sunny skies every day. World class scuba diving, marlin fishing, and snorkeling. But there are no women.

That’s more or less the life that my friend Nate lives – in a bungalow 300 feet from the beach on Catalina Island. And for someone who is looking for a girlfriend, those two opposing factors seem to be constantly at odds with each other. It’s not like the mainland where you can just go out to a bar or a show and meet other people in your area who like to do the same things. Anybody you meet is usually from somewhere else, and is on vacation.

So imagine what was running through Nate’s mind when he finds out the girl he is dancing with, on the island’s biggest holiday (Buccaneer Days), is a Playboy model. For those of you who know Nate, you know exactly what was running through his mind. For those of you who don’t – it’s the exact same thing running though your mind right now.

So I wandered across the outdoor dance floor, weaving through Jack Sparrows, Captain Hooks, and every sort of pirate conceivable, finding Nate with this nice young lady. He tells me a little bit of her back-story from what he could hear over the music while I shake my head solemnly in utter respect. I have much to learn from this one.After I was introduced, Nate points behind him and tells us that he has to go to the bathroom.

Little did he know, but this bathroom trip will be burned onto the fleshy tablet of his heart. Because when he got back, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed… she was gone. “I’ll be right back” she said. But then, isn’t that what they always say?

Breaking the news to Nate was like telling a child that Santa isn’t real. Or even worse – that Santa is real, but he just died from a long battle with stomach cancer, and the elves decided to sell the North Pole to Donald Trump, who is building a 10,000-acre Trump Ice complex. Either way, the message was brutally cutting, and the messenger was hoping not to get punched.

“What do you mean ‘left’” Nate said, suddenly as sober as a Monday morning.

“That’s all she said” I said, cringing, half expecting his drink to end up in my face. “I’m just saying, if I were you, I’d do a quick couple laps around this place and look for her”. Which was, in fact, what he did.

I just stood there, waiting like an outpost buoy in the middle of the dance-floor, smirking. Sure, if you don’t put yourself out there you’ll never meet the right person, but you also won’t develop long-lasting sleep apnea over the playmate that got away.

Michelle Manhart

Introduction to the Fellowship

I just added a buddy, Sean Noonan to the blogroll to the right ->

After adding it, I decided to introduce each of you to these bloggers, cause they are all great in their own right, and I read each one. They are sorted in order of the most recent post from top to bottom.

I'll try to list these in the order that I added them to my own blog:

1) Tales From The Golden Zeppelin - notabovethat.blogspot.com

For some reason, Feedburner won't let me directly put his blog on my blogroll, so while it was my first link, it isn't there right now - hopefully back up soon. The blog is by Ryan Nash of MLPS who writes funny shit about whatever pops into his twisted mind. He also posts samples of his sci-fi writing, which is always entertaining to read.

2) That Familiar Burn - Jake Boyce's site for cyclists and Duluth enthusiasts alike. A fellow skier that posts some cool pictures and crazy workouts that I no longer have the ability to do. Read this if you want to motivate yourself to get off your fat ass.

3) A Writer's Life - Written by Hollywood writer Lee Goldberg. At first I thought it was a great recourse for an aspiring writer. Now I just think he comes across as kind of an asshole. SELLOUT! Yet, there he is, still on the blogroll...

4) By Ken Levine - Another retired sitcom writer (MASH, Frasier, etc...) who blogs daily about life, Hollywood, and his job as a Dodgers Radio Reporter. This is usually a good read... my favorite one is here. GPS

5) T A Y L O R - Taylor Jenkins and her ever-entertaining personality comes through vividly in her blog, with snippets of jokes, and... random shit.

6) Kodaika Neil - Neil Hutton, Of Olaf fame tries to defeat the Indian people by infiltrating their education system and planting pro-American propaganda. Wait, no, that's Mike D. Neil is a nice guy.

7) Mike D. In Japan - The most laugh-out loud blog I read, or have ever read. Please read it if you have time. He is teaching in Japan, and...and... cannot be described as anything but Mike D.

8) Out Of Context - Colin Rodger's blog about things he likes, doesn't like, or finds feminine about himself. He declared blog war, and already has more hits on his site than I do. DAMN!

9) Andy Newell - One of my favorite athletes in the US. The best US skier, a cool dude, and he puts some pretty cool movies on his blog from time to time.

10) Andy's Web Page On The Internet! - Sounds exciting. Andy works for Disney, so he needs make things sound fun and exciting!

11) The Noo-Noo Blog - Sean Noonan, biker and Carleton student is down unda' doing some cycling and possibly other stuff... He likes to comment on how many typos I have in my blog.

That's it for now, but I'm sure I'll add more-

Dynasty Intro

Me and Fausto, Down By the Lumber Yard

Well I can kiss that last job opening goodbye. Because of the vast amount of copying-and-pasting I've been doing on my craigslist binge, I replied to an admin. assistant job an an investment firm by telling them in my cover letter "... and I would be excited to be a part of your fast-paced tutoring company". And, of course, the skill set they are looking for highlighted 'attention to detail'.

Job hunting is kind of like recess in elementary school when you are lining up to play kickball. At first you are hoping that the good captain picks you, and maybe you can play first base. But then after a few rounds of drafting, you think to yourself, maybe it doesn't matter which team I get on. And then as you stand there timidly next to the kid with crutches and the only girl, you just start praying to God Himself. Oh please let me not be last! I don't care what team drafts me anymore, I really don't! First base? I'll take right field, hell, I'll even catch. Oh Jesus, there goes the girl, now it's just me and the handicapped kid. What if I don't get picked at all, is that even possible! I was just kidding about first base! HAHA, I can't even catch that playground ball without spraining my wrists! I can't handle this kind of rejection, NOOOOOOO - there goes hop-along. Fuck it, I'm gonna go join the nerds and play Magic.

And now here I am, twenty years later, thinking the same thing about a job. It started at writer's assistant. Then it was just anything in the entertainment industry. Now it's just anything in the assistant industry. Soon I'm going to be lined up next to the Mexicans at Home Depot, hoping for an under the counter landscaping job. Damnit, there goes Pedro. Is it just me and Fausto! He can't even speak english!

zzzzz...

I'm writing this entry crouched over my computer which is placed on a 2-foot high couch end-table, sitting in an old desk chair depressed to its lowest possible height setting, with a alarmingly cluttered mound of my belongings to my left and the futon (my bed) to my right. All my earthly possessions in about 20 square feet. Living the dream. And my back hurts.

But Wednesday is a big day. I move in to a place with a dude named Tassa (South African) in Santa Monica, which brings me dangerously close to the beach. So close, in fact, that I might have to suffer through endless nights of sea-breeze related injuries and maladies. I also start one of my classes. One which has a couple prerequisites, which I have - in no way or form - taken. I'm too tired write more now, but more updates and stories to follow. I have to finish my review of the Chevy Silverado 1500, before I get fired from the only source of employment I have. There's a very fine line between living the dream and dreaming the life. You just gotta have good balance.

OMG PATRICK DEMPSEY!!!!

omg every1, i just sers. freaked out bc i was on the abc lot today visiting bff andy, and guess who i totally jst saw! mcdreamy! for sers!!

like i am totally frkng-out rt now. lol!iI think he evn looked at me!!! ;) he could stufy my greys anatomy.

and i was tttly eating a tuna snwch when i saw him, and wz like, LMIRL! and then i wz like, we R in RL! OMG - LOL!!! and my mouth was full of tuna, and i spat everywhere. i almst choked!:( good thing he's MD!! :o

bet you wish you were there, i just wntd to tell him how I love his hair ;) and in season 2 - ep 4 when he almst died, i tttly stopped eating fr a week!!! I wz getting sups fat anyway.

OMG PATRICK DEMPSEY!!!

loving h-wood - kisses!

20 inch Rims On My Honda Civic

L.A. = Land of Accessories.

Everything out here is customizable. Cars, hair, clothes, rims, dogs, dog's clothes, you name it.

In truth, all these things are customizable everywhere else as well, but it seems that only LA has realized the full potential of self-expression through accessories. Knee-high socks say that you are a skateboarder, crazy hair and tight clothes mean that you are a hipster, 20" rims mean that you are a bad-ass, and accessorizing your hand with another guys hand while walking down the street means you're gay... I think.

It's not an exact science, and I'm still trying to piece it all together. If you think that I'm joking about the gay guys holding hands, you should have been there a couple nights ago when Andy, Alex (Taylor's boyfriend) and I were walking back from a restaurant. Four guys came out of the shadows holding hands in a row with, what seemed like, full intention to clothesline all three of us with the power of the WWF superstar tandem - The Rainbow Four. I wasn't sure whether to call 'red rover', or drop the People's Elbow, so we ended up scattering o avoid a Jets-Sharks type altercation.

But don't worry mom, I'm safe. What I haven't figured out yet, is why they get those tiny little white Yorkie terriers buckled into tiny little camo vests. Graham, if you are reading this, you are either white-knuckled with anger, or laughing hysterically. Either way, take a deep breath and try to assuage the immediate urge to drop-kick something.

It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To

If somebody told Salvador Dali to create a city by combining San Fransisco, Universal Studios, and Tijuana, it would be a dead-ringer for LA. I've had a couple not-so-normal experiences thus far, with a birthday party I went to yesterday taking the cake (I'm not sure if the pun is intended).

Andy was kind enough to invite me to his friends birthday party which was at a state park (wow grass! I haven't seen this stuff for a week!) so I headed over there and met the birthday gang in the section of the park that inhabited the remnants of the old LA Zoo. So we had a couple of picnic tables, covered in plastic happy birthday tablecloths, a grill and some beer, and we were enjoying it all in the old lion's den (I did a quick look-around to make sure they didn't leave any behind). I try not to question things anymore. Grilling in a lions den? Sure, why not?

The birthday celebration for this 25-year old gal included a balloon toss, a three-legged race, and probably a lot of other fun/strangely-immature activities that we never had the chance to get to. The balloon toss went off without a hitch, but my partner and I ended up winning. This was kind of weird for me because I saw that she bought gifts for the winners to pick out. So here I am, some random guy that just showed up, and now I'm taking her party favors. I considered, for a second, grabbing my silly-putty prize and bolting out of there (Haha! Suckers!). But I didn't. And I made a promise to myself to lose on the first round of the next activity.

In hindsight, I should have run away, because five minutes later, three Park Ranger SUVs screeched up to our den, literally out of nowhere, and unloaded the most vigilantic Park Rangers I have ever seen. Shit, I thought, first weekend in LA and I'm headed to Chino.

I can't tell you how lucky I am that I attended a dry campus in college. My learned and practiced cat-burglar like reflexes came into play as I quickly slid my beer away from myself at the table and adopted a glazed-over 'screw you cops' look on my face.

Captain Fun-kill came up to me and Andy (we were in the middle of a very serious game of ball-twapping with our newly won sticky-hands prizes) and looked me squarely in the eye and pointed to the drink in front of me.

Is this drink yours?

No. (mine was right next to it)

Then he asked Andy the same question. Andy said no. Andy got written up and recieved a court summons for proximity to an open alcoholic container in a state park. There was absolutely no method to this guys madness. But I was safe, so I didn't care as much after that.

I felt really bad for the birthday girl who was in tears at this point, and not because her party was absolutly ruined, but because she had two friends who were trying to argue legal rights with the park rangers, armed with iPhones and a stubborn tenacity embued by two-to-three Coors Lights.

So as the party was divided into two groups; one getting citations for drinking liquor, and the other waiting for this all to finish up because they were better liars, and the birthday girl crying in the consoling arms of her boyfriend, I had the sudden urge to start singing.

Haaaaapppyy Birthday toooo yoouuuuu....

Palm Trees and Pomeranians

So I made it in one piece. The sun is bright, the weather is hot, and I don't know much else because I haven't left the apartment yet. My knowledge of LA is primarily, but not solely, limited to my google maps experiences.

Things I have learned so far in LA.

1) There are an insane amount of stoplights.
2) They always turn red right before I get to them, making me slam on my brakes.

That's about it so far, but I'll keep you updated as I learn the city more. My only adventures thus far have been battling the ever-powerful craiglist. The problem with the LA craigslist is that, being in such a big city, the apartments go really fast. If you don't reply to someone within 24 hours of their posting, forget about it. Hi, excuse me, I saw that you just posted a room for rent, and I... it's already taken?....How is that possible? you just posted it five minutes ago... no, I'm not a female anyway.

Thats another thing. EVERYONE is looking for a female roommate. Give me another week of futile cragslisting, and I am going to change my name to Svetlanka and say I am a Russian body-builder with a high testosterone level. What, are they going to check my genitals? If it's in West Hollywood, probably.

I'm still a little jet-lagged and still very much culture-shocked, so my levels of wit and story structure are a little lacking. I'll leave you with Zach Galifianakis's favorite joke.

Guy goes to the doctor, and the doctor says, "Sir, you've got to stop masturbating." And the guy was like, "Why?" And the doctor says, "So I can examine you."

Coast2Coast

Zodiac, Shmodiac

So I'm a Virgo, and I actually find that I am embarrassed by it. My birthday falls on August 23rd, so I am on the 'cusp'. But Virgo sounds so much like 'virgin', I can't help but but be wary of the connotation's strength. So I always say "Oh, I'm a Leo, but I'm on the cusp" (I make sure I chuckle heartily and do something 'manly' - like punch someone - when I say this), when in reality I'm just afraid to tell someone that I've been predestined to never get laid. I have been! I swear! Plus, Leo sounds a lot cooler.

All the other signs sound cool. Sagittarius, Pisces, Gemini, Taurus, Escort, Windstar.

Except Cancer. That one kind of sucks too.

-What are you?
-Oh, I'm a Cancer.
-A cancer on what? society?
-No, that's my sign.
-Oh, I'm sorry. At least you aren't Virgo.

Taurus gets the powerful bull, Leo is the brave lion, Capricorn is a... umm, a sea-goat, Cancer is the slightly creepy side-stepping crab, and Aquarius is a 'water-carrier', which sounds pretty lame (and laborious) but the 5th Dimension wrote a sweet-ass song about them. But I'd take any of them over Virgo - our song is by Madonna.

If us Virgos are going to have to live with this damned appellation, we might as well have a vote in who our mascot should be. And if it's going to be a virgin, I think that there is only one clear choice.



P.S. next post will be brought to you in Pacific Time...

Tim Allen The Science Guy

The internet has practically taken over my life; it's quite scary. I have websites I browse for news, entertainment, sports, and anything else you could think of (that's right, I said anything). I also have quite a few go-to websites that I use in case of emergency*.

*emergency: (n)

1.	a sudden, urgent, usually unexpected occurrence or occasion requiring immediate action.

2. when I have a lot of stuff to do and need to procrastinate to prevent anything from actually happening

Some of these are located in my blogroll to the right under 'Fellowship Of The Blog'. Others are random sites like msnbc, and fasterskier.com. So one really, really busy day, I was on youtube watching a particular episode of Inside The Actors Studio with James Lipton (nothing kills an afternoon like nine-part youtube clips) and I saw that Tim Allen's episode had been uploaded. After seeing almost every episode of Home Improvement, I was excited to get to see the real side of the Tool Man. What was it like? Answer: Depressing as hell.

He is riddled with issues and guilt, and as some celebrities tend to do, he used James Lipton as a very public therapist. He did say something, however, that piqued my interest. Tim wrote a book called I Am Not Really Here in 1996, which is - get ready for this - the Toolman's attempt at Quantum Physics. Oh, but with some humor thrown in too. In the interview, he claimed that he wasn't actually standing there, and that none of us where actually here either. Crazy? Maybe. But with this particle collider getting warmed up over at CERN right now, and my penchant towards philosophy and physics, my curiosity was instantly piqued.

I'm not really sure what I expected when I grabbed a book from the shelf that had a comedian holding forward a photoshopped picture of a atom. Enlightenment?

Anyway, the book, like most academic papers, meanders back and forth from his research to comical reasons as to why women (like photons and muons) are always rushing about from place to place.

I actually had genuine interest in the book and his forays into quantum mechanics, but couldn't get past his TERRIBLE transitions. The man was a standup comedian, so I can see where he got it, but the editor should have known better.

So as I stood there waiting for my shower to warm up, it reminded my of how it takes a while for a woman to warm up to a man, coincidentally, the same laws apply in the world of quanta!!

Jeesh. Lesson? Get your comedy from comics, and you science from scientists. And if you're really, really busy, get your procrastination here.


I don't think so, Tim
-Al Borland

These Aren't Fantasies, These Are Options

Meet Chris McDaniel. The Boy Wonder. The Star Wars Kid. Possibly even Jesus Reincarnate.

I'm going to come right out and say this first: I just bought another deck of magic cards at Newbury Comics. There. It's out there.

Now I just want you to get over that fact, and appreciate with me, that I got a Magic: The Gathering Pro Player Trading Card with my deck. And my pro player is Chris McDaniel.

I mean, just look at that steely scowl. That imposing stature, and those deep penetrating eyes that you know, deep down, are asking you to teach him how to talk to girls. Who wouldn't want one of these cards?

On the back of the card it gives the players stats and a bio that tries ever-so-hard to make them sound bad-ass. The best they could come up with was that his nickname is the Star Wars Kid. Oh well. He has $25,000 in winning so far, so I can't laugh too hard. But I can still laugh. Picture him posing at Topps, next to Terrell Owens...

Since I am leaving soon, I try to spend more time with the brohams, and that usually means playing magic. It is all-inclusive (no athletic handicap), it's easy to set up, it's competitive (important), and it pisses the hell out of my mom when we don't do anything but play cards all day. All pluses!

On the back of my Pro card it has an 'action' picture. Which looks about as ridiculous as it sounds. Chris's still has him slouching in a chair and tossing a do-you-know-who-I-am look over at his opponent. They don't show it, but I would be willing to bet they are sitting at a foldable card table in a dingy high school gym, surrounded by an acne level so high, that Neutrogena reps flew in all the way from Norway.

What this card has given me, besides a good laugh, is the seed for a new dream. A seed that, if planted, might blossom into a glorious new career.

Happy 100th Blog!

Hi Ya'll

I would like to invite you to share in my 100th blog celebration! I had a speech prepared, but I can't find it right now. Hold on, I think I found it. No, that's just a receipt. Well, it went something like this.

I could not have gotten here without all of your help. Thanks to countless hours of boring work, boring Boxborough, Itunes, my comfy chair, and my 15-30 anonymous readers per day! None of this would be possible without you. In actuality, the blog was intended as a satirical-picture website upon its conception. Here are a couple of samples from when I started it in 2006.

http://seeandsigh.blogspot.com/2006/12/mi-casa-es-su-casa-mexican-congress.html

http://seeandsigh.blogspot.com/2007/11/amid-turmoil-devastation-man-finds.html

The URL 'seeandsigh.blogspot.com' was a description of my reaction whenever I read a slightly clever pun, but it wasn't quite funny enough to laugh at. I also titled it Iron-E because I couldn't think of anything better to put up there. If my name was Eric, or Edmund, or Zach Effron, it would have been a lot more clever.

After about a week, my interest subsided and I didn't pick it back up until a year from then when I boredom-induced vertigo would hit me so frequently at work, I would just arrive in the morning with crutches so I would survive the day without collapsing of ennui.

You're exaggerating, you saying. Nobody has that much free time at work. Oh yeah? I wrote a trilogy about how I bought my alarm clock last February. Go ahead, check the archives.

Seriously, THANKS for reading, and I hope that the blog gets even more entertaining (like that's possible!) in a week when I make like Fievel and move out west.

Music starting to play...

Oh crap. I'd also like to thank my HP, blogger.com... um... I wish I had that damn paper.

Music playing louder...

Oh here it is! Welcome to the 100th blog, I'd like to take this short time to th-

Britain's Beastie Boy

See I reckon you're about an 8 or a 9,
Maybe even 9 and a half in four beers time.
That blue top shop top you've got on IS nice,
Bit too much fake tan though - but yeah you score high.

But there's just one little thing that's really really,
Really really annoying me about you you see,
Yeah yeah like i said you are really fit
But my gosh don't you just know it

-Mike Skinner (The Streets)

I can't figure it out. I have listened to The Streets album over and over in my car for about three weeks now. And I have no idea why. The beat is manufactured, I don't understand half of what he says, and the lyrics are really bad. In fact, they aren't lyrics, really. It's basically a story that is told over a beat. Sometimes I wonder if he even hears the beat.

So what is it? What makes me keep listening to a song about waiting at a club for a girl, or about this guy hitting on a girl, or another one about him complaining about his girl? It's not his lyrical diversity, that's for sure. Maybe it's some inner desire to understand the blue-collar rebellious youth of Birmingham, England. Maybe it's my perverse interested in seeing how far rap can travel from its original roots. Or maybe, being a white dude, I'm just displaying Wes Welker Syndrome (cheering for the only white guy in a situation where he is the minority [it never happens, so we try to celebrate our newfound underdog-ness]). You ever watch the track events at the Olympics, and see the single white guy standing at the starting blocks for the 100m finals? You just look down and shake your head, don't you. We appreciate your effort dude, but we all know what's gonna happen. 5th? Nobody blames you.

I digress.

So it took me three weeks of listening to this seemingly ill-communicating Birmingham 'lad' to realize that I liked about him. I liked his honesty.

I liked that he said exactly what he was thinking. I liked how he told his stories in HIS vernacular. And I liked how, in his own way of being so specific and pigeon-holed, he painted a clear vivid picture with most of his songs. Some are rubbish, don't get me wrong. But he said what he wanted to say, he said it in his own way, and he didn't let a little thing like, for example an overabundance of musical talent, get in his way.

If you want musical talent, listen to Outkast, the Roots, Mos Def, hell even Kanye. But Rap, like almost all music, acts as a venue of expression, and Mike Skinner expresses himself flawlessly, and it appears that a lot of people identify with that.

I'll leave you with a sample, and then two more that I like. I'll try to mix it up and be obscure, so don't expect 50 Cent.

I actually like how this music video is different from the original song lyrics that take place in club


Bad-ass BMX-ing mixed with Australian rap... Can it get any better?


And Mos Def, sans cue cards.

MyList

In my search for a life out west, it's important to take a deep breath from time to time, and realize that I cannot control everything. There are forces out there beyond my control that I must yield to, and bid for passage through, in order to truly get settled out there. You may know of what higher power I am speaking of (Hint: It's omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent and Omni-theater).

You guessed it: Craigslist.com. Quite possibly the website with the most life-altering power. It tells you where you can live, who you can live with, where you will work, and if you missed any opportunities to meet that gay guy who was ogling you at the gas station. Being one who has moved my fair share of times, I have ridden the bucks and kicks of the website, and come out on top. So I have compiled a simple list for everyone else.

How to successfully use craigslist:

1) Sacrifice a small animal (hamster/gerbil/jack russell terrier) and use their blood as war paint while doing a shaman dance around your hard drive.

2) Pray in the direction of San Fransisco each morning, afternoon and evening.

3)Never look craigslist directly into the URL. It might attack you.

4) When looking for an apartment:

• Be aware of people looking for renters who are 'cute'. They probably have a few two-way mirrors installed in the house.
• Be aware of landlords that post naked pictures of themselves and their wife, looking for someone to share in their lovely experience. It's not as lovely as you think. Trust me.
  
• Access to highways = under a highway. Access to shopping = in a shopping mall. Access to the beach = underwater.

5) When looking for a job, just keep you head down and plug away. Send out as many resumes as you can, and be prepared not to have any replies. If someone does reply, consider it a scam, and report it to the craigslist authorities.

6) Order craigslistPro! for $39.99.

7) Don't try to find out who Craig actually is. It's a long and dangerous road, that will ultimately get you assassinated.

8) The "2-5k-2" rule for used cars. Add 2 years to its age, 5 thousand miles to its odometer, and 2 mice that have nested in the rear seat cushions/engine compartment.

9) Don't forget to pray.

10) Always close your browser when you are done with craigslist. If left open for more than an hour, it will start posting random items in your room for sale.

If you follow all of these rules, you yourself could be a great craigslist browser one day. Good luck and may the Force be with you.

Northern Departure

So I have recently made the very difficult decision to move to L.A.

After living in Massachusetts, Norway, and Minnesota, L.A. will be more than a departure from the ordinary. It will be a departure from friends, family, seasons, skiing, and an earthquake-free home. There are countless things that I will miss about about the north. And the good thing is, that if I miss them too much, I can always move back.

But, to my anxious, semi-adventurous personality, I need to find out if I can make it as a writer. And it just happens that TV writing gets done in LA.

You know that movie that you've seen about a hundred times, but never finished it? You've seen bits and pieces, but for some reason, never in completion? For me, that movie was High Fidelity. A movie about a complaining, relationship-killing, solipsistic guy living in Chicago. And it wasn't until last month (when I started my rent-and-burn DVD borrowing initiative from the local library) that I finally saw the whole movie through from start to finish.

And as I watched Rob Gordon, drenched in rain (a metaphorical film technique that was beaten like a dead horse in that movie*), ambling from one doomed relationship to another, he poignantly said something that was exactly what I needed to hear.

"I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things, like thinking about my future and... I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments."

One of the truest things I've heard. So off I go, in the hopes that commitment will open more doors than it closes. And for this all to work, all I need is a job, a place to live, and some money to get started in time for classes. In four weeks.


*That could be the first time I've used a double-metaphor.

Klatu Verada Nicto, or something like that

Things that I love about Army Of Darkness:

• Ash calling his Remmington a boomstick
• Ash's metal hand
• Ash's chainsaw-hand (that click's into place mid-air!)
• This quote: Well hello, Mister Fancy-pants. Well, I've got news for you pal, you ain't leadin' but two things right now: Jack and shit... and Jack just left town.
• The plastic skeletons that are thrown at Bruce Campbell during the fight scenes.
• Seeing the cables carrying Bruce Campbell into the wormhole.

The entire movie is a cinematic gem. It's hard for me to think of any other film that can be so incredibly bogus and slapstick, but with such success. It's one of those movies that the academy would never, in a million years watch, making it all the better. What this movie does so well, that echoes in the best comedies I have seen, is that the comedy isn't immediately apparent.

At first glance, Army Of Darkness just appears to be the worst horror/action-movie ever made. Scenes are over the top, lines are cliche and catchy, and the the main character over-acts like his life depends on it. As soon as you accept these 'flaws', and start to actually look for them in the movie, it becomes hilarious. It forces you to embrace the utter ridiculousness of it, similar to The Office, or Extras, or Meet the Parents.

Random Thoughts

Have you ever convinced someone to watch a comedy special on HBO, and they sit through the whole thing without laughing. I find that really embarrassing. It's happened multiple times.

Have you ever wondered why America, the action-loving, full-throttle, 30-second attention span country has a national pastime of baseball? 9 men standing still for three hours?

Have you ever looked at a thread of internet comments and watched as they got progressively more and more offensive? Until at the end, they are both shooting one-liners back and forth. The best part, I think, is that the newest comments are at the top, so you always read the end of the argument and work back down in reverse order, like Memento.

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To spanks_a_lot:

I'm retarded? fuck you, you little fag! Go suck my nuts!
-cheeze_breath

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To cheeze_breath:

You're retarded. Everyone knows that a Northeastern Weeping Willow far outnumbers the White Conifer on the eastern seaboard! Go read an Audubon book you gay!
-spanks_a_lot

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To spanks_a_lot:

While I see you're point, and I must respectfully disagree in accordance with your population study. I spent fifteen years documenting the seeding patterns of the great White Conifer tree, and have written several books about the experience. Where did you get your P.H.D.? Brown? Ha!
-cheeze_breath

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Place To Be

The shuffle that Apple uses is not very good. In fact, it's quite terrible. Even though I have 5,000+ songs on my computer, I think that I only hear about twenty of them in a loop (Bubba Sparxxx again??).

But sometimes, the shuffle god(s) shine down upon you and play a song you haven't heard in a long time. Fetched from some forgotten cobweb-ridden file in the depths of your hard drive. And when you hear the song you're like "ohhhh, right, I forgot about this song!" I love that, it's like finding $10 in your winter coat when you put it on for the first time in December. Or the time I found a bloody finger wrapped in a napkin in my glove compartment with a ransom note (but that's another story altogether).

Sometimes, though, that forgotten song hits you and brings you back, via time-warp, to the first time you heard it. I just recently heard Nick Drake - Pink Moon, and was whiplashed to the first week of school freshman year at St. Olaf College. While most of my contemporaries had said their prayers, adorned flannel pajamas, and sipped a glass of warm milk before bed, my roommate and I went out hunting. Hunting for the elusive drop of alcohol on a "dry Lutheran campus".

Our adventures took Knut and I to the seedy and mysterious Rand hall, where upperclassmen lived down deep and cavernous staircases. I have a hard time believing this now, but we would literally walk into rooms with 'party sounds' coming out of them, introduce ourselves, and try to score some booze.

There is a point here, I swear. One of the guys I met had an electric violin on a stand by his bed. Having taken many years of violin lessons, I figured I could play a couple of songs and earn our keep, but I heard the owner say that he was a member of the college orchestra. Maybe I shouldn't. I later celebrated my decision not to show off, when I saw the orchestra the next year and this gentleman was first chair violin.

On his playlist that night, though, was that song, Pink Moon. And as I heard it, I recognized it as a song that I had been searching for off-and-on, for years, after I had heard it in a VW Cabrio commercial. Nick Drake, he said, you should download some of his stuff. And I did. And hearing this song just the other day on my computer brought back the whole experience, like it was just yesterday.

I bet, if you have even read this far, that you are looking for a point. But there really isn't one. Maybe the point is that the power of song is an integral part of out lives. Maybe songs are the soundtrack (cliche alert!) to out lives. Maybe you should always dust for fingerprints before you open you glove box. The point is, I don't know, OK? Apple should just fix their damn shuffle program.

Just Do It

The best commercials are made by Nike. In 30 seconds, they can make you go out for a run. Or maybe ask your boss for that raise. Or maybe just try to be a better person. It's amazing.





and, lastly my inspiration for countless grueling workouts:

Audition Tape

Hello,

I saw on your website that you have a space for a booking this Saturday. I am emailing to let you know: your problem is solved. Wynnum Sunday to the rescue. You may have heard about our band through the local 'buzz', but if not, let me try to capture our 'essence' (like it could be captured, ha!).

OK, close your eyes and picture this. Closed? Oh right. OK, well keep them open to read this, but IMAGINE you're surrounded by thousands of pumped-up concert-goers, cheering at peak of their vocal chord capacity: WYNNUM-SUNDAY!

And then, Ka-Blam! Fireworks, pyrotechnics, and dry ice fog like you've never seen it before, and the curtain slowly raises. The incendiary wail of the guitar hits you in the face like a Mac truck, as Marc Rogers, sans shirt, gets lit up by the spotlight. The crowd goes wild. He may stand still as plank, make rude gestures at the crowd, offend most women, and be medically diagnosed as tone-deaf, but this man can ROCK!

But then, out of the back, comes the most complex and bad-ass beat you've ever heard. Hit spotlight! It's Ollie Garrison, drummer extraordinaire. He's going to town on his four piece set, mouth slightly agape as he tries to concentrate, raising his arms awkwardly in between hits. This is Rick Allen if he had two arms, and then broke them so they didn't work quite as well.

And when you think it can't get any better, a voice, the likes of which you have no comparison hits you. John Lennon? Chump. Neil Young? Pussy. Bono? Fuck Bono. Bono sounds like a cat being run over by a slow moving train compared to our frontman Colin Rodger (no relation to Marc). Women instantly buckle at the knees and faint. Men turn gay. This Scotsman redefines the word 'music', and then respells it as m-a-g-i-c.

Picture that. I hope to hear back from you soon. I have enclosed our demo video. Hold on to your seat, Mr. Promoter. I hope that you and Shady Grove Estates are ready to bring the house down this Saturday. Also, we play for free.

Wynnum Sunday.

Lost In Translation

I think that it's getting harder and harder to meet people from New York. Not that it is far away, or that it's irreconcilably different than Boston, but because of the language barrier.

I happened to meet a New Yorker just the other week through a mutual friend. We were at a bar, and we were introduced. "Hi" I said, and offered my hand to shake.
"Hi" they said.
But I heard "Jeter." A strange thing to say upon introduction, so I said,
"What?"

"Hi" repeated the stranger.
I heard "A-Rod."

I looked over at our communal friend who didn't seem notice.
"My name's Ollie"
"My name's Pat"
I hear: Aaron Boone, Tino Matinez, who's your daaaady!
"Let's not talk baseball!"
"What??"
I hear: Buckner!!!

"THAT'S IT!" I yell, and dive across the table taking a swing. Luckily I miss, because I would have felt really bad if I connected. She was only out to have a good time.

I Get No Respect, I Tell Ya

I want to thank Emily for coming along with me, I hope it wasn't too awkward, because it kind of was for me.

I saw an interview with Dave Chapelle where he retold his experiences as an emerging stand up comedian. He said that before he even stepped foot on stage, he would go watch open mics with comedians both good and bad, taking notes on what worked and what didn't. This way when he went on stage himself, for the first time, he would have some idea of what not to do.

I figured that this was a great idea, and even if I didn't have any immediate plans to be a stand up comedians (I certainly don't any more), it would be a great resource for my writing. After all, an open mic night is just a bunch of guys standing up, telling jokes and seeing if people think they are funny. Jokes 101, right?

Maybe, but a crowd can be brutal. And by crowd, I mean fifteen people, myself included, sitting in the corner of a small bar. I was hoping to slip into some club, somewhere in the back, and take notes while sipping my beer. Instead, after Emily left, I was the only person there who was not a performer, noticing that everyone was talking to each other, and looking at me like I was some spy from NARC-land, sent to make the room un-funny. It reminded me of one of those vampire movies where the dude is dancing at the club, and just having a great time, and then realizes that the chick he is with has fangs, and then looks around to realize everyone's a vampire.

Interrupting the brotherhood of not-so-funny-men, I was the clear target of jokes for the 'headliner' at the end. It seems that he was just going to 'say things and hope they were funny'. Well, they weren't, jokes are planned, and take a long time to make funny. And maybe because I wasn't laughing, I was singled out. I was suddenly the 'guy' in the audience who gets pointed out. Shit. Where's my garlic and silver cross? I took a quick peek behind me, hoping that there was some pointdexter behind me. Blast. I was that pointdexter. Just play it cool, he'll get bored and move on. If not, I'm going to have to fashion a wooden steak out of this bar stool.
I wish there was a Gidgeons Bible within reach.

The night ended awkwardly and uneventfully, with the emcee 'freestyling' what were clearly inside jokes, because only one girl in the back was laughing. All in all, I would not reccomend that experience to anyone, unless they are prepared to preform themselves. And I promise, if I ever do, I'll post it on here, so you can laugh at me. Notice I said 'at'.

There's nothing funny about stand up comedy.

Chill Win-ston...

Opening Ceremony.
Fantastic.

By far the best Olympic Opening Ceremony that I have ever scene, and trust me, I have seen a lot. I come from a family that buys cable right before the Olympics, and then cancels it right after. None of the HBO series are on anymore from the last time I had cable, I wonder what happened to the Sopranos?

I do think that Bob Costas and company had a little bit too much time to interpret the ceremony. They had the script, they had their interpreter, and they had a full week to think up shit to say for five hours. But due to the exensive preparation time, I feel like they delved a little too deep into the symbolism of the ceremony. There was a lot of talk about harmony, there was a lot about talk about the contrasting of opposites, there were a lot of random dancing children. When Matt Lauer started comparing the 2,008 gentleman running in circles with blinking vests on to the Chinese new era of openness, I was like... OK, but you're starting to push it.

I also thought that it was very suspect that the announcers were not actually being shown throughout the evening. Ten bucks says that Costas pulled out a Jamaican fatty from his breast pocket as soon as the fireworks started going off, and passed it to the rest of the guys.

Matt- That was, like, freakin insane, Bob.
Bob- It took them seven years to choreograph this dance Matt. Can you believe that shit? Seven years!
Matt- Whoah.
Bob-What!
Matt- Whoah, for a second there, I though you were, like, really far away from me.
Bob- Seven years! Man, there are SO many people in China!

Ready For Action

Sorry for the inordinate amount of youtube clips, but this was way too funny to pass up.

Dark Horse Comic

Even though it's still early August, the blockbusters of summer seem to be a distant cinematic afterthought. And lately, the blockbuster list has been dominated by comic book characters (if you include Hancock, which is basically a character from The Watchmen). DC and Marvel have raked in millions of super-dollars in the last ten years, as Hollywood scours the back helves of comic book stores for the next cash cow.

This year, there was one clear stand out. One movie that showed how much a fictional character could affect a country. One movie that seemingly broke the boundaries of the projection screen and permeated the psyches of a nation, possibly even a world. Yes, you probably guessed it.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army.

Haven't seen it? Think I'm crazy? You should. And you're wrong. Nothing against Christopher Nolan, or Batman, but they can't hold a candle to Guillermo Del Toro's mandatory weird-character-who-has-eyes-in-weird-places. I'm willing to put down serious money that Golumn's eyes will not be in the correct place in the upcoming Hobbit.

What I like about Hellboy, as with any good superhero movie, is that it takes itself seriously... but not too seriously. The Dark Knight tried, with every dark breath, to maintain a realm of realism that comes shattering to the floor when I see the police commissioner talking to a man in a bat suit. A BAT SUIT!

If you want to see, in my opinion, one of the best comic book adaptions in a long time, go see Hellboy II, where the characters are creative and intriguing, and the dialogue is witty and sharp, and plot is secondary to character development. Oh, and Ron Pearlman gets to say the line "You just woke up Big Baby" while pulling out a handgun that weighs more than me.

Embittered Epstein trades Ramirez to 'Bodgers'

Boston, MA - In the final chapter of a long and turbulent punch-for-punch relationship with Manny Ramirez, the Boston Red Sox seem to have delivered the last hit. At 3:55 EST on the last day of July, only five minutes before the trade deadline, Red Sox GM Theo Epstein, the young executive who has made his name through last-minute blockbuster deals, orally finalized a three way deal with the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Bodgers.

"I was about to call up [Colleti] in LA" says Epstein at a press release. "but then I realized I finally have Manny where I wanted him. I just suddenly remembered that series last week when he wouldn't play and I started to get sooooo mad." The Red Sox GM, usually known for his cool demeanor, elaborated on his decision.

"How do you feel now Manny?" laughed Epstein wildly, "you never should have waived your 10-5 rights!"

There is still speculation on who owns Ramirez's contract, but several entities have stepped forward. A grocery chain in Oklahoma, Bodger's Grocers, claims that Manny would be a great asset to their staff, as long as the Red Sox fronted the majority of this remaining contract.

"I'll pay whatever it takes" says Epstein, "this is Manny being a bag boy." Jested the smirking 35-year old GM "I only had, like, five minutes left until the deadline, so I said the first thing that came to my head, luckily [Scott Boras] thought I said 'Dodgers.'"

Ramirez was unavailable for comment, but his agent, Scott Boras was vocal about the recent trade.

"I'll get you next time Epstein, next time!" after which, he slammed his fist onto his desk and escaped his lair via his Boras-submarine.

If picked up by Bodger's Grocers, Ramirez would be one of the highest paid grocers in the industry, second only to Ricky Henderson who was traded to Texas-based Piggly Wiggly in 2001.