A while ago, I learned of this great article from The Frisky: “Girl Talk: Pooping Is a Feminist Issue”. Though it’s presented with a humorous voice, I’d contend that it’s not a trivial issue. Women poop just as much as men, but they’re not supposed to acknowledge it, and we go so far as to pretend that they don't. It’s no wonder that society has trouble granting women reproductive rights when we still shame them for the same biological functions that they share with men.
As a child, I developed a potty mouth thanks in large part to a few female friends who shared a love of poop jokes. I sent them an email with the link to the article, commending them for tackling a feminist issue before they even knew it was one. What follows is the abridged email conversation. Part of me wants to warn you that it’s graphic, but the other part of me feels that that’s a patriarchal response to women talking about poop.
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FEMALE 1
BAHAHAHAHAHA!!! that article is hilarious and true. I'm trying so hard to suppress my laughter at work that I'm afraid a big gas is going to come out instead!
FEMALE 2
Hahah hilarious!!!
So wait - the article says if you hold your poop or fart, it will come out in their sleep. I have farted in my sleep and its woken me up but I'm proud to say I have never pooped in my sleep! But now I want to know - who has pooped in their sleep?!
I have pooped my pants when laughing in cape cod. Yikes.
KEVIN
oh, wow, FEMALE 2, that might be too much information. What a good feminist you are… I don't remember this incident.
FEMALE 2
I think I wa sin 8th grade? We were in chatham with [redacted]. We were at their place (not their usual cottage they would rent though) and I laughed and then farted and realized I had pooped my pants. [redacted] was not pleased and you kids all thought I had gotten my period since I was in the bathroom forever.
FEMALE 1
Geez, Kevin, I remember that story! Don't you remember how embarrassed [redacted] was b/c FEMALE 2 called out to her from the bathroom window, saying, "[Redacted]! I pooped in my pants!"
FEMALE 3
I just go back from class and had like 10 e-mails with the subject heading "Poop." A banner day!
I have not pooped in my sleep, although I once woke up from a nap and saw brown sticky stuff on my thighs. (Well, first I saw it on the toilet seat, then on my thighs). I then realized that I had fallen asleep with a bowl of oatmeal and melted chocolate chips. I immediately IMed FEMALE 2 about it and got a message back, "Hi, this is [FEMALE 2’s MOM]."
Also, when FEMALE 1 was 1, she was in her crib for a nap, and when her mom went to wake her up, she discovered that FEMALE 1 had opened her diaper, gotten poop all over her hair, and finger painted with it all over the walls. I think many comments were made that night about "shampoop."
FEMALE 2
Haha both great stories! Don't think I remember hearing when FEMALE 2 finger painted with her own poop. That must have been the start of her real painting. What a great way to get in to it!
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These women are pioneers, true feminists. Now let’s all get shit-talking – and I mean that in the most jovial sense possible.
2012-03-19
2012-03-16
To Tell the Truth
Mike Daisey is in hot water today following reports that he fabricated details in his This American Life report on the working conditions in Apple factories abroad. Take into account the Kony profiteer getting busted for masturbating publicly, and it’s a bad day for fraudulent activists.
I’ve known of Daisey for five years now thanks to another publicized controversy with which he was involved. While Daisey performed a one-man show, 87 audience members got up and walked out of his show due to the “offensive” content, with one man stopping to dump a bottle of water on Daisey’s script. (See the video above.)
These 87 audience members were students and staff on a school trip from a public high school in a conservative area of Southern California. It’s worth mentioning that I was a teacher at a public high school in a conservative area of Southern California five years ago. I don’t like giving too many professional details on my blog, but it’s also worth mentioning that I am very, very familiar with these students and staff members. You can draw your own conclusions!
In their departure from the theater, one of the school authorities identified themselves as a “Christian group”, which is neither an appropriate nor legal label for a public school. That may have been the community’s general attitude, but not all of the students were Christians, like it or not. And objecting to the language used? Kids at that school hear the word “fuck” from their peers at least a dozen times a day – that’s not even a detention-worthy offense. Furthermore, the sexual content may not be in line with the school’s abstinence-only policy, but I think the number of pregnant students showed how well that was working.
To be clear, Daisey was not the controversial part of this incident. That can be chalked up to my dear acquaintances who proved that their “moral outrage” was entirely hypocritical by not only disrupting the show, but trying to destroy it on their way out. How Christianly.
This story was just one of many I included in my award-winning Masters thesis about why I didn’t want to be a teacher anymore. It really did win an award. I think the Education professors thought they were being progressive by recognizing a thesis that poo-pooed on their profession, but the plaque I received fell apart within an hour of them giving it to me if that tells you anything. My advisor even encouraged me to publish it, but I couldn’t do that, mainly because I had fabricated an interview with a student’s parent. I couldn’t get the parent to talk to me, my university told me it was a graduation requirement and to find a way to make it happen, so boom, I added some sentences and pretended I met with a parent I never met with.
I don’t feel that bad about lying in this instance because I was put into a corner, but I also wouldn’t have that work disseminated to the public knowing that it contained a lie. Never mind that it contained a lot of truths that I think would be valuable for those in the education profession to consider – by including a lie that could be uncovered, it discredits the whole piece.
And that’s where Daisey went wrong. His intentions were probably good, and his Apple factory piece is still probably mostly true, but no one can trust it anymore, thus undoing any of the good it did. We all have that friend who is a chronic exaggerator whose stories we can’t even take seriously anymore. We all have moments where we find ourselves so caught up in the story that we’re telling that we start adding hyperbole without even realizing it. But we shouldn’t let exaggeration get in the way of something when the honest-to-gosh facts can do the job alone.
If you look at how Daisey captions the earlier YouTube video, he says that the Christian group “physically attack” his work. He’s overstating what actually happened, even though the video speaks for itself. I suppose we should have seen this exaggeration coming.
2012-03-15
The Lorax
The Lorax is a great book with a great message, but I preemptively soured on the movie version when I learned that the film had over 70 corporate promotional tie-ins. Calling it hypocritical for a book that is anti-corporation and pro-environment to lend its characters to a car commercial is an understatement. Viewing it as willfully ignorant of Dr. Seuss's central thesis, I was so apprehensive to see the movie, that I insisted on getting three sheets to the wind first.Maybe I was liquored up enough to be forgiving, but I'm pleased to report that the movie itself is not a bastardization of Seuss's work. Evidently the marketing team didn't bother to watch the movie when they took over, but as far as the screenplay goes, it clearly illustrates unrestricted capitalism's destruction of the planet.
My friend Alex argues that it's important to look beyond the hypocrisy and just be thankful that big companies are still willing to make a movie about environmentalism at all. While the issue is a little more gray than that, I can agree that I'm glad that this message is out there. I say that as someone who got so worried about the earth that I had to leave a K-Pop night club early this past weekend. My friends were having a discussion about how much longer the human species could survive with the way we're destroying our own planet (consensus except for one: we're screwed soon unless we act on a massive scale, like, yesterday). I'm not upset the conversation happened, we need to talk about these things more often, actually, but I couldn't transition back into a place of "let's do shots and laugh at Korean pop music videos."
We're polluting, destroying our own food and water supplies, and using plastic like it's not a major problem. We protect the right for a small number of individuals to make money over our collective right to live. Today's big shots seem to forget that you can't make history if we don't have a future. Plus, even though we'll face an overpopulation epidemic soon (which I suppose climate change, famine, and disease will wipe out in time), this country is still subscribing to beliefs that make practicing birth control immoral and global warming is propaganda. We need to come together and use our intellectual capacities to solve these problems rather than listening to the fictions of the elite, but even that is increasingly unlikely as we let our educational system erode and promote a society that is discouraged from thinking critically.
I feel like the more I pay attention, the more depressed I get. I'm definitely not as "fun" as I used to be. It's a weird situation where I know I could just choose willful ignorance and have a relatively good, happy life. I could live in the now and let future generations deal with the problems that will hit them even harder. However, I can't shake my sense of responsibility. The Lorax is right, it's time we all start caring a whole awful lot.
2012-03-12
Where Do Broken Hearts Go?
Oh my goodness, I found the best video on the internet, y'all.
So I've been thinking a lot about Whitney lately, which in turn made me remember Me First and the Gimme Gimme's cover of "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". If you're in the mood for pop punk, their version still holds up. Which led me to this YouTube vid...
There's something about the pairing of these images with the song's lyrics that led me to laugh out loud several times. Sometimes they're clever. Sometimes they're stupid. And sometimes I have no idea what the videographer was thinking. But I do admire running the credits in the middle of the song. Way to decolonize how we think about credits. And I especially admire the images he chooses to represent the word "me" - the first time it's a tribal dancer or some sort, and the last time it shows some nerdy dude cuddling with a bear statue. Which one is the real him? I'd like to think they're both aspects of his clearly bizarre personality.
Which is your favorite lyric - picture pairing?
2012-03-09
Naked M&M
Dear Mars Incorporated,
As a Christian father, I am outraged at your latest commercial portraying an M&M in a state of undress. I generally monitor the television my children watch, but didn't think there'd be any offensive content in an M&M commercial. Imagine my shock when I heard my young daughter ask, "Daddy, daddy, is that M&M naked?" My daughter is not yet at an age where I can explain anatomy to her, let alone candy anatomy.
This same ad also features a song by the band LMFAO. I would like to notify you that I researched this series of letters by typing it into Yahoo and found that the phrase this acronym stands for includes not one, but two curse words.
Unfortunately, I cannot make my daughter un-see a male M&M gyrating nude beside a female M&M, but I can help her to never think of it again by no longer giving her M&Ms. If I were looking to corrupt my children with candy, I'd buy the suggestive-sounding Skittles, or Mike & Ikes, which appear to promote a homosexual agenda. Meanwhile, until this naked M&M scandal is resolved, I will be providing by family with something else that melts in their mouths and not in their hands.
Disappointed,
Ronald Jackson
P.S. If the people who do your commercials are the same guys who make those the ads about bears with toilet paper stuck to their butts, please tell them I'm disappointed in their obscene content, too.
2012-03-08
Why Facebook Is Like the Zombie Apocalypse
The impending doom of having to get a Facebook Timeline stresses me out. Being on Facebook is like living through a zombie apocalypse. Every time I look, a new friend has been turned. "Not Brian!" "Damn, they got Terri, too." As much as I want to grieve these perfectly good Facebook Friends who have been taken to the dark side, with zombification happening on such a massive scale, all I can really do is be thankful that the Timeline hasn't infected me yet.
But it will eventually get me - the writing is on the wall… the Facebook Wall. These zombies have made it clear that we will all be Timelined one day. In the meantime, I'm going to keep trying to evade getting bitten while watching my friends fall by the wayside. Some of these friends have stupidly done it to themselves, agreeing to the transformation since it's inevitable anyway. Others have been infected without their consent, and unfortunately there's nothing I can do to help them.
Although I wish the zombie apocalypse were not a reality, I do perversely find pleasure in outlasting my friends. The longer I go without being Timelined, the more I feel it speaks to my survival instincts. I'll consider it an accomplishment if I can be one of the last to keep my profile from mutating.
Granted, I have already considered what my top banner photo will be when my time(line) comes, but don't mistake that for being in any way excited. It's akin to me choosing the music I want played at my funeral ("Turkey in the Straw" played on banjos): I'm just making the best of a bad situation.
But it will eventually get me - the writing is on the wall… the Facebook Wall. These zombies have made it clear that we will all be Timelined one day. In the meantime, I'm going to keep trying to evade getting bitten while watching my friends fall by the wayside. Some of these friends have stupidly done it to themselves, agreeing to the transformation since it's inevitable anyway. Others have been infected without their consent, and unfortunately there's nothing I can do to help them.
Although I wish the zombie apocalypse were not a reality, I do perversely find pleasure in outlasting my friends. The longer I go without being Timelined, the more I feel it speaks to my survival instincts. I'll consider it an accomplishment if I can be one of the last to keep my profile from mutating.
Granted, I have already considered what my top banner photo will be when my time(line) comes, but don't mistake that for being in any way excited. It's akin to me choosing the music I want played at my funeral ("Turkey in the Straw" played on banjos): I'm just making the best of a bad situation.
2012-03-07
Joseph Kony: An Update
I'm hearing that the specific charity the video I posted last night promotes is a dubious one. Can't say I'm surprised. As I pointed out before, the video lacks concrete facts and relies mainly on an emotional appeal. When I went to the website last night, I was like, damnnnn, that's a lot of money for "supplies" - I'm going to need to know where this money goes before I do anything like that. Reports say that they give only 31% of proceeds to the actual efforts, meaning that some people are profiting big-time off this cause. That's reprehensible. Maybe not Kony-level reprehensible, but come on.
We've got to beware wolves in charitable clothing. Have you seen those Bank of America ads that portray itself as a philanthropic organization? Never mind that their charitable giving is a piddly amount compared to what they take from us. Never mind that its reckless practices are largely responsible for this country's financial woes, that it regularly takes homes from people through illegal foreclosures, that it nickels and dimes the poor with bogus fees. Ultimately, people want to believe that BoA is good when it tells us it's good, so we don't bother to question it.
I, too, should have explored this Kony video more before sharing the video. I got caught up in my passion for mobilizing the masses via viral video rather than bothering to give a sniff test to this particular cause. Mea culpa. But that doesn't mean we need to give up on the Kony cause altogether. All of those methods the video outlines are still relevant, minus the giving money to a branded Kony 2012 campaign. Tell your friends, make your own posters, and tweet it out. I stand entirely behind my previous post, but it deserves a disclaimer to be wary of the Invisible Children "non-profit" itself.
I just hope a bitch glitch like this one doesn't in any way derail people from new media activism in the future.
We've got to beware wolves in charitable clothing. Have you seen those Bank of America ads that portray itself as a philanthropic organization? Never mind that their charitable giving is a piddly amount compared to what they take from us. Never mind that its reckless practices are largely responsible for this country's financial woes, that it regularly takes homes from people through illegal foreclosures, that it nickels and dimes the poor with bogus fees. Ultimately, people want to believe that BoA is good when it tells us it's good, so we don't bother to question it.
I, too, should have explored this Kony video more before sharing the video. I got caught up in my passion for mobilizing the masses via viral video rather than bothering to give a sniff test to this particular cause. Mea culpa. But that doesn't mean we need to give up on the Kony cause altogether. All of those methods the video outlines are still relevant, minus the giving money to a branded Kony 2012 campaign. Tell your friends, make your own posters, and tweet it out. I stand entirely behind my previous post, but it deserves a disclaimer to be wary of the Invisible Children "non-profit" itself.
I just hope a bitch glitch like this one doesn't in any way derail people from new media activism in the future.
2012-03-06
Internet Activism
KONY 2012 from INVISIBLE CHILDREN on Vimeo.
Hey, watch this video. It’s pretty good, focuses on an important topic, and is something that made me cry.
Granted, I can get nitpicky about the film. I feel like I still couldn’t tell you enough about who Joseph Kony or what’s specifically going on in Uganda, but I’m nonetheless convinced that it’s awful and that this movement is a righteous one. Also, do we really need a cute white kid to hypothetically put in harm’s way to illustrate the point that the situation in Uganda is inhumane?… Maybe we do, it is an effective technique.
The main reason I recommend the video, however, is that I want to see this succeed. As much as the video is about using the most influential nations’ sway to arrest Kony, its thesis actually seems to be about activism in the new millennium. It’s about how the general population, made to feel unimportant by societal design, has the ability to make demands when its voices unite. I have no doubt that we can stop Kony through this crowdsourcing, just as I have no doubt we can use this same approach to tackle other injustices.
Make no mistake, this is why we’re beginning to see bills like SOPA and PIPA surface. Social and new media is changing the game, and those with power want to squash what is a clear and present danger to their elite standing. It’s not that they mind these tactics being used to oppose Kony - by now it should be obvious that they don’t give a damn what the outcome is in regards to him - but best believe that they know they’ll be the target of similar activism down the line. They see the writing on the wall, and they want to eliminate that threat before we even have a chance to realize just how threatening we can be.
The internet itself is a populous movement. The internet has the ability to educate and liberate us. Let’s start here by ending the terror in Uganda, and then let’s keep the ball rolling.
UPDATE: Be wary of the specific charity advertised in this film. See further explanation here.
2012-03-03
How Michael Jackson Perpetuates Pedophilia from the Grave by Having a Hot Daughter
Yo, we have a problem. Michael Jackson's daughter, Paris Jackson, is a total fox. It's not that I'd do anything illegal with her (because gross!), but it's obvious that she's going to grow up to be a stunner. The fact that she's already objectively one of the most attractive people I've seen in a while at only 13-years-old is definitely disconcerting.
Do you suppose that this is Michael's punishment for (allegedly) touching little kids? Having a daughter so attractive that he's got to be paranoid about other ChiMos (allegedly) like him?
In addition to the whole Whitney Houston fiasco in Las Vegas the other week, I played blackjack with a Michael Jackson impersonator for a while. He was a fun dealer because he'd make us sing MJ's iconic high-pitched "Hee Hee" when we got 21 and he enjoyed punning back and forth with me with song titles.
While I played, some guy came behind me and contemplated sitting down next to me, but couldn't decide. "Play with me!" Michael said in a child-like voice. Trying to help, I added, "You can't pass up an opportunity like this, usually Michael Jackson only wants to play with children." Upset, Michael slapped my hand hard. "That's not what I meant by 'Hit me.'" I told him.
Surprisingly, the man opted not to sit down with us.
Soon after, Michael dealt me four twelves in a row, which is not a good blackjack hand.
"Why do you keep giving me twelves?" I asked.
"It's 'cause you think that's what I like," he snapped back.
Touche.
Overall, though, I was winning a lot of hands and more than doubled my money. It was almost as if I was a real child - play with Michael Jackson for a while, and you're bound to walk away with a lot of dough as settlement. Unfortunately, my friend Matt lost a bunch of money at Jackson's table. His girlfriend, Jessica, noticed his depleted collection of chips and expressed concern. That's when Michael, in a squeaky evil voice, informed her, "I fucked your boyfriend."
I cracked up, but Jessica was not pleased with Michael's statement. I thought it was pretty obvious that he meant he fucked Matt by taking his money, but Jessica took it as some sort of threat to her relationship. It seems to me that a pasty, cosmetically-butchered Michael Jackson lookalike would only be a threat if Matt had some unlikely history of being attracted to Jacko impersonators.
Oh wait, you mean to say that Jessica has impersonated Michael Jackson before? Innnnteresting. Well in that case, we can only hope that if Dealer Michael were to have "fucked" Matt, it would result in a kid half as beautiful as Paris.
2012-02-29
Leap Year Birthdays
I intended to write about Leap Year birthdays today, but am slightly deterred now that Parks and Recreation already covered that topic this past week. (Side note: I'm going to a Parks and Rec-themed party tonight, can you think of anything better to do with your bonus day?) All the same, I did once have a friend, Chris, who was born on a Leap Day, so let's do this anyway.
Birthdays are everything when you're little, so considering that, Chris was pretty good-natured about only having a proper birthday every four years. Things would have probably gone better for him, however, had my first grade teacher not taunted him for it. I distinctly remember her leading the class in a chant of, "Chris is only one! Chris is still a baby! Chris is only one! Chris is still a baby!" As six-and-seven-year-olds, it was fun to laugh at a baby.
I used to love my first grade teacher, but looking back, I think I loved her out of fear. She was like an emotionally manipulative dictator. She had a cardboard box known as "The Whiners' Box" that you'd have to go stand in if you were caught crying or complaining (which is the natural result of a teacher-led chant that you are a baby). She'd also announce to the whole class if she caught you picking your nose, which is every little kid's #1 hobby. And there's the time when my friend Vivek, a math prodigy and future Harvard student who was bussed to the high school to take advanced math classes even in elementary school, missed one question on a first-grade level standardized math test we all had to take. Obviously, he was disappointed for making what must have been a careless mistake, but my teacher honed in on his insecurity and had the class chant, "Vivek got one wrong!" until he cried. Then he had to go stand in the Whiners' Box.
As for Leap Baby Chris, he eventually had the last laugh. He proved he was anything but a baby when he hit puberty well before the rest of us. By the end of elementary school, none of us kids were shaving yet, except for Chris, who actually had to shave his face every day out of necessity. Not bad for a "3" year-old.
Anyhoo, Happy 7th birthday, Chris. And I hope my first grade teacher uses her Leap Day to take a flying leap.
Birthdays are everything when you're little, so considering that, Chris was pretty good-natured about only having a proper birthday every four years. Things would have probably gone better for him, however, had my first grade teacher not taunted him for it. I distinctly remember her leading the class in a chant of, "Chris is only one! Chris is still a baby! Chris is only one! Chris is still a baby!" As six-and-seven-year-olds, it was fun to laugh at a baby.
I used to love my first grade teacher, but looking back, I think I loved her out of fear. She was like an emotionally manipulative dictator. She had a cardboard box known as "The Whiners' Box" that you'd have to go stand in if you were caught crying or complaining (which is the natural result of a teacher-led chant that you are a baby). She'd also announce to the whole class if she caught you picking your nose, which is every little kid's #1 hobby. And there's the time when my friend Vivek, a math prodigy and future Harvard student who was bussed to the high school to take advanced math classes even in elementary school, missed one question on a first-grade level standardized math test we all had to take. Obviously, he was disappointed for making what must have been a careless mistake, but my teacher honed in on his insecurity and had the class chant, "Vivek got one wrong!" until he cried. Then he had to go stand in the Whiners' Box.
As for Leap Baby Chris, he eventually had the last laugh. He proved he was anything but a baby when he hit puberty well before the rest of us. By the end of elementary school, none of us kids were shaving yet, except for Chris, who actually had to shave his face every day out of necessity. Not bad for a "3" year-old.
Anyhoo, Happy 7th birthday, Chris. And I hope my first grade teacher uses her Leap Day to take a flying leap.
2012-02-27
Hollywood Celebrating Hollywood for Celebrating Hollywood
So how about them Oscars? It's like they borrowed a page out of The Help and served us a shit pie. I won't criticize it for being a trivial example of Hollywood celebrating Hollywood because that's what the ceremony is by design, but I will criticize it for being a trivial example of Hollywood celebrating Hollywood for celebrating Hollywood. How else can you explain five wins apiece for The Artist and Hugo? Both movies rely heavily on nostalgia for old cinema, practically heralding film pioneers as bigger than Jesus. Do audiences really need more movies about how amazing movies are? No, but filmmakers are going to continue making them to pander to the elderly Academy voters who love rewarding films that deify their life's work.
Movies do matter, but I'm much more convinced of this when a movie speaks to me, not just the Hollywood elite. Therefore I resent the "life is meaningless without movies; hug a filmmaker" thesis of Hugo. Also, The Artist is a gimmick; if that was the best silent film you've ever seen, you've never seen another silent film. I can give you a dozen other silent film screenplays just like it, also known as blank pages.
But whatever, if Hollywood wants to masturbate furiously at the thought of itself, so be it. I'll save my self-pleasuring for the slightest hint of Jennifer Lopez nipple, thank-you-very-much. (I did a little research to see what her nipples look like, and vote that it was in fact a nip.)
Things I was rooting for last night that didn't pan out: the white actress from The Help to win her category over Octavia (does this make me racist?), a Cirque du Soleil performer to fall from the sky and crush someone important, and Billy Crystal to not suck. That hosting was insufferable. Talk about out of touch. And Jonah Hill fat jokes? In the words of Ted, "You don't get to make fat jokes when your face looks like a thumb."
I'd also gripe about the presenters' banter, but we were saying some stupid things at our Oscar party.
Ted: What is Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory?
Me: It's a sequel of a sequel.
Ted: Thanks for explaining what "3" means.
Christopher Plummer wins
Jessica: You said that's the guy from The Sound of Music?
All: Yes.
Jessica: Wait... so now he's just older?
It seems strange having to explain the aging process to a biology teacher. Perhaps we can start with the song "16 Going on 17".
In better news, I beat my friends in our Oscar pool. Whooped them, in fact. My secret? Picking not one winner that I thought deserved it.
But it's not like there were no good movies this past year. I already sufficiently took a dump on the Best Picture nominees, so if I were to replace that list with a better one, it would go like this:
Movies do matter, but I'm much more convinced of this when a movie speaks to me, not just the Hollywood elite. Therefore I resent the "life is meaningless without movies; hug a filmmaker" thesis of Hugo. Also, The Artist is a gimmick; if that was the best silent film you've ever seen, you've never seen another silent film. I can give you a dozen other silent film screenplays just like it, also known as blank pages.
But whatever, if Hollywood wants to masturbate furiously at the thought of itself, so be it. I'll save my self-pleasuring for the slightest hint of Jennifer Lopez nipple, thank-you-very-much. (I did a little research to see what her nipples look like, and vote that it was in fact a nip.)
Things I was rooting for last night that didn't pan out: the white actress from The Help to win her category over Octavia (does this make me racist?), a Cirque du Soleil performer to fall from the sky and crush someone important, and Billy Crystal to not suck. That hosting was insufferable. Talk about out of touch. And Jonah Hill fat jokes? In the words of Ted, "You don't get to make fat jokes when your face looks like a thumb."
I'd also gripe about the presenters' banter, but we were saying some stupid things at our Oscar party.
Ted: What is Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory?
Me: It's a sequel of a sequel.
Ted: Thanks for explaining what "3" means.
Christopher Plummer wins
Jessica: You said that's the guy from The Sound of Music?
All: Yes.
Jessica: Wait... so now he's just older?
It seems strange having to explain the aging process to a biology teacher. Perhaps we can start with the song "16 Going on 17".
In better news, I beat my friends in our Oscar pool. Whooped them, in fact. My secret? Picking not one winner that I thought deserved it.
But it's not like there were no good movies this past year. I already sufficiently took a dump on the Best Picture nominees, so if I were to replace that list with a better one, it would go like this:
- Super 8
- 50/50
- Being Elmo
- Ides of March
- We Need to Talk about Kevin
- Moneyball
- The Skin I Live In
- Win Win
- Contagion
- Bridesmaids
2012-02-25
My Wood Shop Teacher Tries His (Mangled) Hand at Computers
My 7th grade wood shop teacher looked like a busted Santa Claus. He was a fat old man with a long white beard, tiny spectacles, and rosy cheeks. He was not jolly, though, unless you can stretch "jolly"'s definition to mean grumpy and confused.The word "busted" also applies to my teacher because he was missing a finger. I know that sounds cliche (remember Mr. Slurm, the shop teacher on Pete and Pete who was missing a hand?), but have an idiot work with power tools for a few decades, and he's bound to lose a digit at some point.
Forget blackboards and textbooks, the best teaching aid Mr. Claus had was his finger - or lack there of. He used his mangled hand to terrify us about the dangers of working with the electric tools. Granted, you must stress safety before letting preteens go wild with rotary saws, but convincing us we were likely to lose a finger was not the right approach. Neither was his other story, which in retrospect was probably as true as it was appropriate, about a girl who didn't use the safety as instructed and they later found her bloody body. It would make for a good campfire tale; maybe Mr. Claus's true calling was as a camp counselor.
I was scared. Not just scared enough to be extra mindful of safety precautions, but too scared to do the assignments. Call me crazy, but I found the idea of constructing a birdhouse less appealing than keeping all of my body parts.
Fortunately for me, the power tool portion of my class was over pretty quickly. It was 1997, and educators were starting to realize that kids needed to learn how to use computers. This class that was once devoted wholly to wood shop had been expanded and redubbed "Technology Education" to also include computer skills.
Rather than hiring a teacher who was computer literate (or even just plain literate - sorry, Mr. Claus), they made my shop teacher instruct the computer portion, too. Mr. Claus looked at computers not just with confusion, but with fear. You'd think it was the computer that stole his finger! "I'm too old to learn computers," he'd tell us, which might be a fine excuse were he not supposed to be teaching us about computers. He'd mess up his computer almost instantaneously and spend the rest of the period "troubleshooting" (i.e. cursing and rebooting), while the students were left to amuse ourselves. This was before most computers had the internet, so we'd just sit there and play Minesweeper or word process dirty things for fun.
Santa's most comprehensive lesson was about using clip art. We spent multiple classes looking through clip art galleries, selecting our favorite images, and printing out hundreds of copies of them. It was an insanely stupid activity, yet still preferable to the dangers of wood shop. Still, I don't know what I expected to learn about computer proficiency from a man who used the hunt and peck method of typing with just his index fingers. On second thought, maybe that's not fair: it's not like Mr. Claus could type with all of his fingers on the proper keys.
2012-02-23
Teachers Outside of Class
My yoga teacher friend invited me to a literary/comedy event a weeks ago. It ended up being even trendier than I expected; I saw Megan Amram, Sugar from Survivor, Moby, and enough unconventional hats to fill a Hipster Haberdashery.
However, none of those encounters are as notable as one we had with my friend’s yoga student. (Except for maybe Moby - he didn’t wash his hands after using the bathroom. True story.) My friend went ahead and said hello to her student, which really flustered her. “Oh my god! What are you doing here?” the student said. “I can’t believe I ran into my teacher here, it’s so weird seeing you outside of the studio.”
It was reminiscent of when I ran into one of my high school students at the grocery store. At first he tried to hide from me, but then he wanted to see what was in my basket, in what I believe was an attempt for him to see evidence of my humanity outside of being a teacher. (He eats!) I know when I was little, I bought into that thought that teachers did nothing but teach and slept under their desks at night. (For the record, I have napped under my desk before.)
But this encounter was hilarious because here was a grown-up, maybe a couple of years younger than my friend, looking at my friend in the same manner. She was barely able to comprehend seeing her yoga instructor in another context; she might as well have asked “Shouldn’t you be in the lotus position right now?”
Believe it or not, yoga teachers are people, too.
However, none of those encounters are as notable as one we had with my friend’s yoga student. (Except for maybe Moby - he didn’t wash his hands after using the bathroom. True story.) My friend went ahead and said hello to her student, which really flustered her. “Oh my god! What are you doing here?” the student said. “I can’t believe I ran into my teacher here, it’s so weird seeing you outside of the studio.”
It was reminiscent of when I ran into one of my high school students at the grocery store. At first he tried to hide from me, but then he wanted to see what was in my basket, in what I believe was an attempt for him to see evidence of my humanity outside of being a teacher. (He eats!) I know when I was little, I bought into that thought that teachers did nothing but teach and slept under their desks at night. (For the record, I have napped under my desk before.)
But this encounter was hilarious because here was a grown-up, maybe a couple of years younger than my friend, looking at my friend in the same manner. She was barely able to comprehend seeing her yoga instructor in another context; she might as well have asked “Shouldn’t you be in the lotus position right now?”
Believe it or not, yoga teachers are people, too.
2012-02-21
Best Picture Nominees in 60 Seconds
The Academy Awards are this Sunday, and if you’re like most people, you haven’t found the time to see all nine Best Picture nominees. Heck, I have found the time and – in most cases - I regret it. Still, if you want to know the gist of the top flicks before the Oscars ceremony, check out my sixty second summaries. Think of them as super condensed screenplays. But BE WARNED– these mini-scripts are full of SPOILERS and SARCASM.
The Help
Viola Davis: I am a black maid. By barely emoting, I can show you how much my life sucks.
Emma Stone: I am a young white woman who doesn’t wear makeup, I also know what it’s like to be looked down upon by society.
Viola Davis: I don’t even need to roll my eyes to convey how ignorant that statement is.
Octavia Spencer: I need to poop, so I’ll use my boss’ bathroom.
Bryce Howard: That toilet is for white people’s poop only! You’re fired!
Jessica Chastain: I’m white trash and need a maid, so come poop - I mean work - at my house.
Octavia Spencer: Okay, but the next time I poop, I’m going to keep it and bake it into a pie to feed to my former boss. I am very, very funny like that.
Emma Stone: That’s a great story, I’m going to use it in a book about black maids. Will you share your stories, too, Viola?
Viola Davis: Whatever.
Emma Stone: Hey, that bestselling book you dictated to me just got me a swell publishing job in New York. Now I can get out of this hellhole. Things are finally working out for us struggling gals, huh Viola?
Viola Davis: Actually, I just got fired for no reason, but talk to you never, I guess.
The Tree of Life
Dad: The world is awful.
Big Bang: BANG! The world is created.
Son: What is the meaning of life?
Dad: Shut up! [Hits son.] I treat you awfully because the world is awful and you need to be prepared.
Dinosaur: Hi, just wanted to briefly remind you that I was once here. K, bye.
Son: You’re so mean, Dad, I wish you’d go away.
Dad: Conveniently, I am going on a business trip to travel the world and see all of its awfulness.
Son: Now life will be good!… Wait, it turns out I’m awful, too. Without my awful father around to keep me in line, I do awful things. What should I do, Mom?
Mom: Um… ask your awful father when he comes home. This film is about the history of the whole fucking world, yet apparently evolution does not allow for any strong female characters.
Birds: Hi, we’re just flying by quickly. Don’t forget that we are also a kind of life.
Dad: Son, I’m sorry for being so awful. Maybe the world isn’t so awful.
Sun (not to be confused with son): I am incinerating the awful world. Life is over.
Son: But for some reason, I’m still here. Would it have killed the screenwriter to be a bit more linear? Maybe the film is purposely awful to represent how awful the world is.
The Artist
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Director:
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Dog:
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Title Card: Never before has a silent film said so little.
Midnight in Paris
Owen Wilson: As a writer, I wish I lived in Paris.
Fiancée: Ugh, you’re ridiculous.
Owen Wilson: As a writer, I wish I lived in the 1920s.
Fiancee: Ugh, you’re ridiculous.
Owen Wilson: Oh my gosh, I just inexplicably went back in time to the ‘20s.
F. Scott Fitzgerald: Hi.
Ernest Hemingway: Hi.
Gertrude Stein: Hi.
Pablo Picasso: Hi. Here is my beautiful girlfriend, Adriana, by all means fall in love with her, my time-traveling friend.
Owen Wilson: The past is awesome. I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted!
Adriana: Nothing will stop us from being together forever!
Owen Wilson: Actually, I should probably learn how to live in the present. Sorry.
Gertrude Stein: Look, I’m a feminist and all, but before you go back, you should know that your bitch fiancée is a cheating whore.
Owen Wilson: [travels back to present day] Are you cheating on me?
Fiancee: Yup.
Owen Wilson: Looks like I’m moving to Paris.
The Descendants
Clooney: Alex, come visit your mother, she’s in a coma.
Wife: [Lies in a coma.]
Alex: Nah, she’s a bitch. P.S. She was cheating on you.
Clooney: What?! We must go have an awkward conversation with my dying wife’s lover. Go get your sister!
Alex: Family vacation!
Clooney: I have spent my wife’s last living days traveling around Hawaii to find you, guy who cheated with my wife, and yet now that I’m here, I have nothing meaningful to say.
Guy Who Cheated with Clooney’s Wife: She loved me and wanted to divorce you. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t give a shit about her and was just ruining your marriage for kicks.
Clooney: For nonsensical reasons, that does make me feel better.
Alex: Hey, Dad, remember that subplot where you own a lot of land with your extended family and have all agreed to sell it to become wildly rich? It’s time to sign those papers.
Clooney: Oh that? I’ve changed my mind because I’ve learned an important lesson this past week - you can dick your family around all you want and they’ll still find a way to forgive you in your final hour. [Kisses comatose wife. Removes her life support.]
Wife: [Dies.]
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Oskar: My dad died in the Twin Towers on 9/11. As a result, I am very strange now, right, Mom?
Sandra Bullock: Right. It sure fucked you up. It also doesn’t hurt that you might have Asperger’s. The tests were inconclusive, but we mention that to account for your inconsistent character traits without having to commit to the disorder fully.
Oskar: I’m pretty sure my dad left me a secret message before dying, so I’m going to go behind my mom’s back and invent an elaborate mystery to solve that involves interviewing hundreds of strangers about some key I found. Let’s start with Viola.
Viola Davis: Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just stopping by to give a more profound performance here in just a few minutes than I do in all of The Help.
Oskar: This is hard work talking to all of these people given my potential social disorder and questionable motives. Perhaps I should enlist a sidekick.
Mute Old Man:
Oskar: You don’t talk, but you’ll do.
Mute Old Man:
Oskar: Hmm, I’m starting to deduce that you are actually my grandfather, Mute Old Man, but I have another mystery that I fabricated that needs to be solved first.
Viola Davis: Hey, sorry to pop in again. I know I’m the first stranger you spoke to, but it’s time to admit that I actually know who that key belongs to after all, and it has nothing to do with your dead father.
Oskar: [Cries.] You’ve destroyed my long-running delusional pursuit.
Sandra Bullock: You still have your mother, though, Oskar. And don’t think I don’t care because I actually knew you were running around New York City meeting with strangers to talk about a meaningless key this whole time!
Oskar: So you knew I was repeatedly putting myself in danger and let me do it anyway? Maybe you’re as crazy as me after all - we can be a family again. Plus, I think I’ve now made peace with Dad’s death, so everything’s finally good.
Sandra Bullock: Yup. Except that you probably still have Asperger’s.
Moneyball
General Manager: I love managing baseball! Too bad it’s too expensive to pay for a winning team.
Sports Nerd: Numbers, numbers, numbers.
General Manager: So you’re saying if I hire players based on statistics rather than conventional wisdom, we could win?
Sports Nerd: ###
Players: We are baseball’s bad boys who other teams don’t want because we cause a lot of trouble despite the fact that we get on base a lot.
General Manager: You’re hired! This is a good idea, right?
Sports Announcer: This is a terrible idea.
Sports Nerd: ###
Team: [Loses many games.]
Sports Announcer: This was still a terrible idea.
General Manager: Daughter, you still love me even though my team sucks, right?
Daughter: [Sings horrible song, unabridged, for no reason whatsoever.]
Team: [Wins record-breaking 20 games in a row.]
Sports Announcer: This is an example of some brilliant sports managing!
Ex-Wife: I suddenly find myself attracted to my ex again now that his team is winning. The fact that he’s always looked like Brad Pitt doesn’t hurt either.
General Manager: We are going to rule so hard in the playoffs!
Sports Announcer: Wow, this team has sucked so hard in the playoffs. Bad sports managing!
Sports Nerd: ###
War Horse
Boy: I love my horse! Please don’t sell it to the army, Papa.
British Soldier: Don’t worry, boy, I also love this horse. I promise to take care of him. [Dies.]
Nice German Soldiers: Oh, hey, a horse! We will love this horse forever! [Die.]
Young Girl: Look, grandpa! It’s a horse! Now he is mine forever!
Mean German Soldiers: Not so fast, we are going to steal this horse from you.
Young Girl: [Dies.]
Horse: [Makes friends with another horse.]
Friend Horse: [Dies.]
Horse: [Gets tangled in barbed wire.]
New British Soldier: It is remarkable that this horse survived such a bloody battle.
New German Soldier: It is remarkable that we have managed a temporary truce just to rescue this horse.
New British Soldier: Indeed, this horse has taught us a valuable lesson about war.
Both Soldiers: [Presumably die shortly thereafter.]
Boy: Now that the war is over, I will buy back my miracle horse.
Young Girl’s Grandpa: Actually, I’m going to outbid you for it.
Boy: This horse has survived so much only to be taken away from me again.
Young Girl’s Grandpa: Fine, you can have him. Owning him would probably mean the death of me anyway.
Hugo
Officer: I am the coyote to your roadrunner, Hugo! [Chase scene ensues.]
Hugo: Woo, I escaped yet again. Hi, I’m an orphan.
Isabelle: Me, too. Friendsies?
Hugo: I guess. Wanna see a movie?
Isabelle: My godfather won’t let me see movies. It’s peculiar how adamant he is about this.
Hugo: Let’s do what most kids our age do and research cinematic history to see if that turns up any clues.
Isabelle: Oh my god, my godfather was once an important filmmaker!
Godfather: That may be true, but no one cares now.
Film Historian: Hey, talk about showing up at the right place at the right time, but I can assure you that your contributions are significant.
Godfather: But none of my films have survived, so let’s just forget about it, okay?
Film Historian: What if I am inexplicably able to find all of the films you thought you destroyed?
Godfather: Then I will feel respected and stop being so grumpy.
Officer: I could stop being grumpy, too, I guess.
Isabelle: Now I get to watch movies all of the time! We did it, Hugo!
Hugo: If by “it” you mean make a pointlessly self-important movie about the magnificence of filmmakers and need for cinema preservation that is designed to fellate Hollywood’s elite while half-heartedly placating the plebeians with 3D effects, then yes we did!
The Help
Viola Davis: I am a black maid. By barely emoting, I can show you how much my life sucks.
Emma Stone: I am a young white woman who doesn’t wear makeup, I also know what it’s like to be looked down upon by society.
Viola Davis: I don’t even need to roll my eyes to convey how ignorant that statement is.
Octavia Spencer: I need to poop, so I’ll use my boss’ bathroom.
Bryce Howard: That toilet is for white people’s poop only! You’re fired!
Jessica Chastain: I’m white trash and need a maid, so come poop - I mean work - at my house.
Octavia Spencer: Okay, but the next time I poop, I’m going to keep it and bake it into a pie to feed to my former boss. I am very, very funny like that.
Emma Stone: That’s a great story, I’m going to use it in a book about black maids. Will you share your stories, too, Viola?
Viola Davis: Whatever.
Emma Stone: Hey, that bestselling book you dictated to me just got me a swell publishing job in New York. Now I can get out of this hellhole. Things are finally working out for us struggling gals, huh Viola?
Viola Davis: Actually, I just got fired for no reason, but talk to you never, I guess.
The Tree of Life
Dad: The world is awful.
Big Bang: BANG! The world is created.
Son: What is the meaning of life?
Dad: Shut up! [Hits son.] I treat you awfully because the world is awful and you need to be prepared.
Dinosaur: Hi, just wanted to briefly remind you that I was once here. K, bye.
Son: You’re so mean, Dad, I wish you’d go away.
Dad: Conveniently, I am going on a business trip to travel the world and see all of its awfulness.
Son: Now life will be good!… Wait, it turns out I’m awful, too. Without my awful father around to keep me in line, I do awful things. What should I do, Mom?
Mom: Um… ask your awful father when he comes home. This film is about the history of the whole fucking world, yet apparently evolution does not allow for any strong female characters.
Birds: Hi, we’re just flying by quickly. Don’t forget that we are also a kind of life.
Dad: Son, I’m sorry for being so awful. Maybe the world isn’t so awful.
Sun (not to be confused with son): I am incinerating the awful world. Life is over.
Son: But for some reason, I’m still here. Would it have killed the screenwriter to be a bit more linear? Maybe the film is purposely awful to represent how awful the world is.
The Artist
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Director:
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Dog:
Actor:
Actress:
Actor:
Title Card: Never before has a silent film said so little.
Midnight in Paris
Owen Wilson: As a writer, I wish I lived in Paris.
Fiancée: Ugh, you’re ridiculous.
Owen Wilson: As a writer, I wish I lived in the 1920s.
Fiancee: Ugh, you’re ridiculous.
Owen Wilson: Oh my gosh, I just inexplicably went back in time to the ‘20s.
F. Scott Fitzgerald: Hi.
Ernest Hemingway: Hi.
Gertrude Stein: Hi.
Pablo Picasso: Hi. Here is my beautiful girlfriend, Adriana, by all means fall in love with her, my time-traveling friend.
Owen Wilson: The past is awesome. I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted!
Adriana: Nothing will stop us from being together forever!
Owen Wilson: Actually, I should probably learn how to live in the present. Sorry.
Gertrude Stein: Look, I’m a feminist and all, but before you go back, you should know that your bitch fiancée is a cheating whore.
Owen Wilson: [travels back to present day] Are you cheating on me?
Fiancee: Yup.
Owen Wilson: Looks like I’m moving to Paris.
The Descendants
Clooney: Alex, come visit your mother, she’s in a coma.
Wife: [Lies in a coma.]
Alex: Nah, she’s a bitch. P.S. She was cheating on you.
Clooney: What?! We must go have an awkward conversation with my dying wife’s lover. Go get your sister!
Alex: Family vacation!
Clooney: I have spent my wife’s last living days traveling around Hawaii to find you, guy who cheated with my wife, and yet now that I’m here, I have nothing meaningful to say.
Guy Who Cheated with Clooney’s Wife: She loved me and wanted to divorce you. But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t give a shit about her and was just ruining your marriage for kicks.
Clooney: For nonsensical reasons, that does make me feel better.
Alex: Hey, Dad, remember that subplot where you own a lot of land with your extended family and have all agreed to sell it to become wildly rich? It’s time to sign those papers.
Clooney: Oh that? I’ve changed my mind because I’ve learned an important lesson this past week - you can dick your family around all you want and they’ll still find a way to forgive you in your final hour. [Kisses comatose wife. Removes her life support.]
Wife: [Dies.]
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Oskar: My dad died in the Twin Towers on 9/11. As a result, I am very strange now, right, Mom?
Sandra Bullock: Right. It sure fucked you up. It also doesn’t hurt that you might have Asperger’s. The tests were inconclusive, but we mention that to account for your inconsistent character traits without having to commit to the disorder fully.
Oskar: I’m pretty sure my dad left me a secret message before dying, so I’m going to go behind my mom’s back and invent an elaborate mystery to solve that involves interviewing hundreds of strangers about some key I found. Let’s start with Viola.
Viola Davis: Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just stopping by to give a more profound performance here in just a few minutes than I do in all of The Help.
Oskar: This is hard work talking to all of these people given my potential social disorder and questionable motives. Perhaps I should enlist a sidekick.
Mute Old Man:
Oskar: You don’t talk, but you’ll do.
Mute Old Man:
Oskar: Hmm, I’m starting to deduce that you are actually my grandfather, Mute Old Man, but I have another mystery that I fabricated that needs to be solved first.
Viola Davis: Hey, sorry to pop in again. I know I’m the first stranger you spoke to, but it’s time to admit that I actually know who that key belongs to after all, and it has nothing to do with your dead father.
Oskar: [Cries.] You’ve destroyed my long-running delusional pursuit.
Sandra Bullock: You still have your mother, though, Oskar. And don’t think I don’t care because I actually knew you were running around New York City meeting with strangers to talk about a meaningless key this whole time!
Oskar: So you knew I was repeatedly putting myself in danger and let me do it anyway? Maybe you’re as crazy as me after all - we can be a family again. Plus, I think I’ve now made peace with Dad’s death, so everything’s finally good.
Sandra Bullock: Yup. Except that you probably still have Asperger’s.
Moneyball
General Manager: I love managing baseball! Too bad it’s too expensive to pay for a winning team.
Sports Nerd: Numbers, numbers, numbers.
General Manager: So you’re saying if I hire players based on statistics rather than conventional wisdom, we could win?
Sports Nerd: ###
Players: We are baseball’s bad boys who other teams don’t want because we cause a lot of trouble despite the fact that we get on base a lot.
General Manager: You’re hired! This is a good idea, right?
Sports Announcer: This is a terrible idea.
Sports Nerd: ###
Team: [Loses many games.]
Sports Announcer: This was still a terrible idea.
General Manager: Daughter, you still love me even though my team sucks, right?
Daughter: [Sings horrible song, unabridged, for no reason whatsoever.]
Team: [Wins record-breaking 20 games in a row.]
Sports Announcer: This is an example of some brilliant sports managing!
Ex-Wife: I suddenly find myself attracted to my ex again now that his team is winning. The fact that he’s always looked like Brad Pitt doesn’t hurt either.
General Manager: We are going to rule so hard in the playoffs!
Sports Announcer: Wow, this team has sucked so hard in the playoffs. Bad sports managing!
Sports Nerd: ###
War Horse
Boy: I love my horse! Please don’t sell it to the army, Papa.
British Soldier: Don’t worry, boy, I also love this horse. I promise to take care of him. [Dies.]
Nice German Soldiers: Oh, hey, a horse! We will love this horse forever! [Die.]
Young Girl: Look, grandpa! It’s a horse! Now he is mine forever!
Mean German Soldiers: Not so fast, we are going to steal this horse from you.
Young Girl: [Dies.]
Horse: [Makes friends with another horse.]
Friend Horse: [Dies.]
Horse: [Gets tangled in barbed wire.]
New British Soldier: It is remarkable that this horse survived such a bloody battle.
New German Soldier: It is remarkable that we have managed a temporary truce just to rescue this horse.
New British Soldier: Indeed, this horse has taught us a valuable lesson about war.
Both Soldiers: [Presumably die shortly thereafter.]
Boy: Now that the war is over, I will buy back my miracle horse.
Young Girl’s Grandpa: Actually, I’m going to outbid you for it.
Boy: This horse has survived so much only to be taken away from me again.
Young Girl’s Grandpa: Fine, you can have him. Owning him would probably mean the death of me anyway.
Hugo
Officer: I am the coyote to your roadrunner, Hugo! [Chase scene ensues.]
Hugo: Woo, I escaped yet again. Hi, I’m an orphan.
Isabelle: Me, too. Friendsies?
Hugo: I guess. Wanna see a movie?
Isabelle: My godfather won’t let me see movies. It’s peculiar how adamant he is about this.
Hugo: Let’s do what most kids our age do and research cinematic history to see if that turns up any clues.
Isabelle: Oh my god, my godfather was once an important filmmaker!
Godfather: That may be true, but no one cares now.
Film Historian: Hey, talk about showing up at the right place at the right time, but I can assure you that your contributions are significant.
Godfather: But none of my films have survived, so let’s just forget about it, okay?
Film Historian: What if I am inexplicably able to find all of the films you thought you destroyed?
Godfather: Then I will feel respected and stop being so grumpy.
Officer: I could stop being grumpy, too, I guess.
Isabelle: Now I get to watch movies all of the time! We did it, Hugo!
Hugo: If by “it” you mean make a pointlessly self-important movie about the magnificence of filmmakers and need for cinema preservation that is designed to fellate Hollywood’s elite while half-heartedly placating the plebeians with 3D effects, then yes we did!
2012-02-20
American Presidents
If you got Presidents' Day off of work today and didn't do anything to honor our nation's leaders yet, then you have to watch this video. Yes, the whole thing.
I don't just like this song, I'm going to try to learn it. It's actually really useful since my pub trivia team is trying to memorize all of the Presidents in order to do better on the quizzes.
Plus I just want to be able to rattle off awesome verses ike:
"James Buchanan, fifteen, the one bachelor we've ever seen."
"Grover Cleveland, twenty-two, remember him 'cause he's not through."
"Twenty-seven, Taft we see, biggest man in the presidency."
"Herbert Hoover, thirty-one. Oh no! The depression had begun."
"First to be elected of African descent, Obama our forty-fourth president."
If you want to join my cover band and perform this song at all the hottest club (get that operatic voice revving), let me know.
I don't just like this song, I'm going to try to learn it. It's actually really useful since my pub trivia team is trying to memorize all of the Presidents in order to do better on the quizzes.
Plus I just want to be able to rattle off awesome verses ike:
"James Buchanan, fifteen, the one bachelor we've ever seen."
"Grover Cleveland, twenty-two, remember him 'cause he's not through."
"Twenty-seven, Taft we see, biggest man in the presidency."
"Herbert Hoover, thirty-one. Oh no! The depression had begun."
"First to be elected of African descent, Obama our forty-fourth president."
If you want to join my cover band and perform this song at all the hottest club (get that operatic voice revving), let me know.
2012-02-19
Overheard at Occupy
Occupier 1: A lot of people would look at us, see our skin color, our clothes, our dreadlocks, and assume we smoke pot and listen to Bob Marley, but...
Occupier 2: I'm not going to lie! I do do that!
Occupier 1: Yeah, me too, actually.
Occupier 2: I'm not going to lie! I do do that!
Occupier 1: Yeah, me too, actually.
2012-02-18
Raise Boys and Girls the Same Way
I'm super into this philosophy. Skip the double standards, skip the gendered expectations, and just parent. Anyone can raise a good boy or girl, but it takes someone remarkable to raise a good person.
Isn't it funny how most parents-to-be say they don't care whether it's a girl or a boy, but then once they give birth, they completely care and raise the kid according to its genitals? "We just want it to be healthy," they say. Because they wouldn't love it if it weren't? Maybe that's a legitimate wish if the parents have been boozing throughout the pregnancy.
"We don't care whether it's a boy or a girl, as long as it has ten fingers and ten toes." This is bogus, too. My cousin was born with twelve fingers, two thumbs on each hand. She was fine, but they had the extra digits amputated anyway to make her more normal. I don't think the bonus fingers made her a mutant, I think they made her a baby from the future. If humans evolved opposable thumbs to become the top creature on earth, just think of how many thumbs we'll need to stay dominant when the aliens finally arrive.
Those aliens are totally going to laugh at us, by the way. They're going to use all forty of their thumbs to point at us and laugh about how silly it is for humans to automatically divide our species into two classes of people based on a body part. And my cousin the Future Baby isn't going to be able to do anything to stop it because she was raised to be just a girl. And a ten-fingered girl at that!
2012-02-17
Ultimate Cock
You don’t have to be several drinks in to find this funny, right? Because this is an unaltered view from my barstool at TGIFridays. And you thought it was a family restaurant.
Everyone else in my party couldn’t tell what I was laughing at because they had different views on the words, but from my seat the TV perfectly cropped out “TAILS”.
I know that I’m hardly the first person to discover this treasure because when I took my phone out to take this photo, the bartender goes, “Oh, you got the Ultimate Cock seat.” You can call it that, sir. I’ll call it serendipity.
2012-02-15
Why Whitney Houston's Death Especially Affected Me AND How I Blew My Chance at Becoming an African Prince (And Yes, These Topics Are Related)
A year-and-a-half ago, I met a Whitney Houston impersonator in Las Vegas who I super hit it off with. I also ended up hitting it off with a Beyonce impersonator, and at the encouragement of my friends, dropped Whitney for a chance with the hot one. It was probably a mistake, though, because while I could have bagged Whitney, it only went as far as flirting with Beyonce. Since that night, I have blamed my friends for helping me to deride a sure thing with Whitney, but I understand that Vegas is all about gambling, so how could I not take a chance at a superstar like Beyonce?This past weekend, I went back to Vegas to finally right what I had wronged. I hoped to find Whitney at her job, charm her all over again, and have a hookup that I could laugh about forever. Alas, fate intervened in a major way.
Just a mile from the casino, traffic on the strip was at a standstill, so I texted Jessica who was already at the hotel to complain. She replied, "Maybe it's cuz of Whitney." I, of course, assumed that she meant the Whitney impersonator and joked to my carmates, "Wouldn't it be funny if Whitney was just sprawled out on the road blocking traffic?" A few minutes later after inching forward only a few feet, I received a text from my friend Luie informing me that Whitney Houston had just died.
I WAS DEVASTATED. I'm not normally one to make a celebrity's death all about myself, but this one clearly personally affected me. I had come to Vegas specifically with the intentions of messing around with a Whitney Houston impersonator, and now she was dead (or, you know, the real one was, but same difference.) I was so upset at the bad timing. Surely, the casino would take her off of work that night. If ever a "too soon" moment, this was it, and I was not going to be able to find my darling, darling Whitney.
What I overlooked was that Las Vegas is hella tacky. I was panicking for nothing when I assumed the casino would employ some sensitivity; they still had a Whitney Houston impersonator working Saturday night as if nothing had happened. The problem was that she was a different Whitney impersonator. Unwilling to give up on my prospects so fast, I asked her coworkers, fellow blackjack dealers dressed as famous musicians, for information about her whereabouts.
Tony Orlando, who I don't care about as a famous figure, but I love as a happy-go-lucky dealer, told me that the original Whitney had quit a while ago because she became an African princess. I figured he was joking with me initially because there's no way in hell that was a true story, but he swore on his wife and life that it was legit. Still, I figured maybe Tony had been fooled. Whitney was a drunk jokester when I last met her, so wouldn't it be funny if instead of quitting her job in a normal manner, she gave notice with, "I became a princess, see you never!"?
Subsequent sleuthing, however, led me to learn that "Aretha Franklin" and "Tina Turner" were actual friends of Whitney's who still kept in touch with her, and they both confirmed that indeed, my would-be girlfriend was a princess. Apparently, "Whitney"'s dad became a king in a region of Ethiopia, and so now she was leaving Vegas behind to go be a proper princess, as many people would in that circumstance.
Needless to say, I was no longer upset that I blew my chance with a Whitney Houston impersonator. Now I was even more upset that I had blown my chance with a motherfucking princess! I never knew I wanted to be a prince before, until I realized how close I came to getting to actually be one. I could have gotten in there before even she became a princess, so she wouldn't have to second-guess my intentions and think I was just in it for the royalty. (For the record, I was in it for the pseudo-celebrity laughs.)
I would be the best African prince there's ever been. And it's ruined now! My friends encouraged me to walk away from a princess for some low-rent Beyonce impersonator. (Just kidding Boo-yonce, I'm still about it if you want to holler.)
So in summary, over the course of just a few hours, I went to hook up with Whitney Houston, then she died, then I learned that I missed an opportunity to become a prince. With a day like that, I would have had to get super drunk even if I weren't in Vegas.
Oh, and if anyone wants to travel to Ethiopia to help me find "The Greatest Love of All", let me know. With a crown on my head, I'd be able to repay you and then some.
2012-02-14
What About Me?
While waiting at a traffic light in Hollywood, we notice a guy a couple of cars ahead of us leaning out his window trying to chat up a female in a nearby car. I wasn't aware that guys actually hollered at girls from vehicles outside of old TLC music videos, so it's amusing to hear him try to run some pretty un-smooth game in the 60 seconds he has before the light changes. Even better is when we hear him say, "No, not you, I'm talking to your friend." It seems to me that if anyone is responding to your catcalls, you should take what you can get. After I make that point to my friend Lizzy, without warning and in an act of brazen insanity, she gets out of our car and runs at him. "What about me?!" she screams as she approaches. He gives Lizzy a quick look over before deciding to ignore her (I mean, who hits on someone in traffic?) and then badgers his original target for her phone number repeatedly, to no avail.
She returns to the car and declares, "He didn't want me!" I still have no idea what possessed Lizzy to pull that stunt, as that's pretty out of character for her, but the way she made an even bigger mockery of the scene is commendable. I'm not sure what would have happened if he responded to Lizzy in a positive manner (other than praying for a green light ASAP). Perhaps this is what Rihanna is referring to when she sings about finding love in a hopeless place.
Uh, Happy Valentine's Day?
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