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.