I literally just got home from a late-night showing of "Cloverfield" with Snowden, and I want my $8.25 back. It's the kind of film that makes me want to choke a baby. It started out with such an enticing premise. I'm actually amazed at how badly they screwed it up. "Cloverfield" commits the cardinal sin for any monster movie: it's painfully boring.
It starts out looking like some sort of lost "earthquake" episode of "The OC." At the beginning, we're treated to plenty of poorly-framed shots of people about whom we know or care absolutely nothing. Our tour guide is a doofus named "Hud," a guy whose range of emotion runs from "indifferent and confused" to "scared and confused" to "tired and confused" to "dead." Now I realize "dead" isn't an emotion. Rather, it's the state I was wishing upon myself about forty minutes into "Cloverfield." Some jerk-ass named Rob is apparently moving to Japan. I guess he was promoted to Vice President of something or other (which, based on his behavior in the rest of the film, probably means that he's working for a company that only hires people with crippling mental illnesses). The film begins with his surprise going-away party, and Hud has been assigned the task of recording the night's events.
The monster (what little we actually see of it) is, surprisingly enough, not a cloud of black smoke, as I'd originally assumed. It's a spider-like creature with a squid-like face and an uncanny ability to hide in plain sight among buildings that look nothing like it. Also, it appears that the video camera Hud is carrying (the one we're supposed to believe lasted over seven hours without recharging) is made of some kind of material that draws the monster to it like a moth to a flame. Despite all the visually interesting parts of New York City, the monster is enthralled by the sight of a twenty-something idiot with a Canon XL-2.
Hud, who serves not only as our trusty cameraman, but as our default narrator as well, is clearly supposed to provide the comic relief. Instead, he just makes you wish the monster would just eat him and be done with it. Among his best lines is this little gem (asking another character about a bunch of mini-monsters that attacked them in a subway tunnel): "So those things just came out of nowhere, didn't they?" Brilliant, Hud. You should give Bob Saget a call. I hear they're always looking for bright young people to join The Mob, and as long as all the questions on your particular episode of "1 vs 100" involve things that you just witnessed four seconds ago, I'd say you're a shoo-in to win it all. Hud makes Spicoli, that insufferable moron from "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" (played by insufferable moron Sean Penn) look like Will freakin' Hunting.
The vast majority of the film consists of incoherent footage of random people running away from an unseen monster, interspersed with two of the nine lines that make up the entirety of the film's script: "Oh my God!" and "What the hell is that?" The dialog was clearly written by an autistic child, and I, for one, am glad to finally see big-budget Hollywood films embracing a demographic that is normally reserved for slave labor and makeup testing.
In spite of two... maybe three great set-pieces, "Cloverfield" is, after all is said and done, an immensely disappointing movie. Too much Hud and crappy dialog; not enough destruction and Hud-killing. I will give it this: It's got hands-down the best sound I've ever heard in a monster movie. Everything in the entire film that works... well, it works solely because of the sound. The good scenes may actually be worth the price of a rental if only for the sound.
With a Certified Fresh rating at Rotten Tomatoes to "Cloverfield"'s credit, I'd shed a bit of my cynicism before walking into the theater. Too bad. It deserved none of its hype, and every critic who gave this film a positive review was either high or lying. Or paid. I think my whole opinion can be summed up in what I said to Snowden as we left the theater: "Now that would have been a great movie for MST3K." He agreed.
Incidentally, if you're interested in seeing a good monster movie, you should go out and rent "The Host."
26 January 2008
15 January 2008
Six reasons why being an executive is easier than getting punched in the face while you're asleep
Today was my last day of employment at a certain four-star hotel in southern Colorado (hopefully forever, but at least until summer), and I have to admit I'm pretty relieved. I was a bellman/valet for a good year and nine months, and I'm not sure how much longer I could've lasted. It's not that I didn't like the money; it's just that I can only stand being around stupid people for a short period of time before I start looking for sharp objects with which to maim them, and no one is stupider than rich, old, white people. I know, I know... I sound like some sort of FemiNazi or something, but it's the truth. If common sense were wealth, then these people would be living in refrigerator boxes and doling out sexual favors in exchange for cold leftovers and heroin.
The worst offenders are the guests taking classes at the Center for Creative Leadership, which is a local organization that draws CEOs from around the world and teaches them how to lead creatively, or whatever. One guy couldn't figure out how to open an unlocked van door from the inside. Another tried to give us his flight information so we could pick him up at the airport, but since the information included an airline that doesn't exist, we found it rather difficult to locate him. Yet another gave us the proper information for his departing flight out of Denver, and then promptly hopped a shuttle to the Colorado Springs Airport. Then there was the guy who gave us his information, waited at the airport twenty feet from our shuttle (which is clearly labeled on all sides with the name of the hotel) for an hour, and then hired a taxi to take him instead. Oh, and there was one guy who hopped on the shuttle and, upon arriving at the hotel (which is a good thirty minute drive away), informed the front desk attendants that he'd left his luggage at the airport.
These aren't your average Joes, either. I can't go into details, but most of these people are high-ranking executives at major international conglomerates and multi-billion dollar companies. Clearly, these individuals are no smarter than myself, and in fact, many of them are dumber than a sack of wrenches, but somehow they've managed to reach the upper echelons of business. How is this possible? I think I've stumbled upon a few reasons:
1) Business classes are easier than Britney Spears on coke. As someone who took several business classes early in his college career, I can attest to the fact that most business students would get migraines if they tried anything more intellectually taxing than wearing pants.
2) There will always be someone dumber than you at work, and all you have to do if you want to get ahead is just look a little better than that guy.
3) If you dress for success, use words like "utilize," "synergy," "memorandum," and "expense account," and trim your nails on a semi-regular basis, most people will simply assume you're management material (especially your manager, who got his job the same way).
4) If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: Everyone will think you're better at your job than you really are if you wear glasses and shower at least a couple times a week.
5) It's easy to look competent when you blame your assistant and/or ethnic minorities for all your mistakes.
6) Being an executive is about as hard as beating Michael J. Fox in a standing still contest. (Too harsh? I have others: "... as beating Renee Zellweger in an acting contest." "... as beating Dennis Kucinich in a relevance contest." "... as beating Christopher Reeve in a moving-any-part-of-your-body contest.")
I used to be a business major, but then I realized my life would be more fulfilling if I lived in a pile of garbage.
The worst offenders are the guests taking classes at the Center for Creative Leadership, which is a local organization that draws CEOs from around the world and teaches them how to lead creatively, or whatever. One guy couldn't figure out how to open an unlocked van door from the inside. Another tried to give us his flight information so we could pick him up at the airport, but since the information included an airline that doesn't exist, we found it rather difficult to locate him. Yet another gave us the proper information for his departing flight out of Denver, and then promptly hopped a shuttle to the Colorado Springs Airport. Then there was the guy who gave us his information, waited at the airport twenty feet from our shuttle (which is clearly labeled on all sides with the name of the hotel) for an hour, and then hired a taxi to take him instead. Oh, and there was one guy who hopped on the shuttle and, upon arriving at the hotel (which is a good thirty minute drive away), informed the front desk attendants that he'd left his luggage at the airport.
These aren't your average Joes, either. I can't go into details, but most of these people are high-ranking executives at major international conglomerates and multi-billion dollar companies. Clearly, these individuals are no smarter than myself, and in fact, many of them are dumber than a sack of wrenches, but somehow they've managed to reach the upper echelons of business. How is this possible? I think I've stumbled upon a few reasons:
1) Business classes are easier than Britney Spears on coke. As someone who took several business classes early in his college career, I can attest to the fact that most business students would get migraines if they tried anything more intellectually taxing than wearing pants.
2) There will always be someone dumber than you at work, and all you have to do if you want to get ahead is just look a little better than that guy.
3) If you dress for success, use words like "utilize," "synergy," "memorandum," and "expense account," and trim your nails on a semi-regular basis, most people will simply assume you're management material (especially your manager, who got his job the same way).
4) If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: Everyone will think you're better at your job than you really are if you wear glasses and shower at least a couple times a week.
5) It's easy to look competent when you blame your assistant and/or ethnic minorities for all your mistakes.
6) Being an executive is about as hard as beating Michael J. Fox in a standing still contest. (Too harsh? I have others: "... as beating Renee Zellweger in an acting contest." "... as beating Dennis Kucinich in a relevance contest." "... as beating Christopher Reeve in a moving-any-part-of-your-body contest.")
I used to be a business major, but then I realized my life would be more fulfilling if I lived in a pile of garbage.
03 January 2008
Of facial hair and men
Just last night, I joked with Snowden that when I go any longer than six days without shaving, my facial hair takes a nasty turn. On that seventh day, it stops looking like stubble, and it transforms into a creepy pseudo-beard with wiry hairs sticking out every which way, and bits of egg and marinara sauce seem to magically appear in its nether regions.
Later that same night, I turned on the TV to watch the return of David Letterman and Conan O'Brien to their respective shows and time slots. It wasn't until Letterman was over and I was three quarters of the way through Conan when I noticed something was amiss: They were both sporting massive beards. In both of their monologues, they explained that they were growing the beards as a means of showing solidarity with striking members of the WGA (Letterman, whose company struck a separate deal with the Writers' Guild, came back with his full writing staff, while Conan did his entire show without input from any other WGA members). Presumably, neither will shave until the strike is over. Of course, a better sign of solidarity would be to remain off the air entirely until the strike is over, but keep in mind the hundreds of non-writing employees at those shows who've been out of work for over two months.
In a way, I feel like I was involved in three separate conversations about facial hair in one day. That seems like a particularly odd coincidence, and in hindsight, I probably should have bought a lottery ticket yesterday. In any case, I was amazed that any network executive would allow a talk show host to grow a beard. You know how they always say, "Never trust a salesman with a beard because it makes them look like they have something to hide." It's so true. Letterman looks like Ted Kaczynski, and Conan looks like an Amish child molester. People with beards, especially escaped kidnapping victims and lost hikers, should never be allowed on television.
Oh, and I almost forgot: Conan was hilarious, even without his writers. He spent a good five minutes of the show explaining his practice of spinning his wedding ring on his desk when rehearsals get tedious, actually spinning the wedding ring, and then getting frustrated when he didn't break his previous record of keeping the ring spinning for 41 seconds straight, and he was STILL funnier than Leno. I'd happily watch an entire episode of Conan's show in which he did nothing but dance like a gangly spazz on his desk for an hour.
Later that same night, I turned on the TV to watch the return of David Letterman and Conan O'Brien to their respective shows and time slots. It wasn't until Letterman was over and I was three quarters of the way through Conan when I noticed something was amiss: They were both sporting massive beards. In both of their monologues, they explained that they were growing the beards as a means of showing solidarity with striking members of the WGA (Letterman, whose company struck a separate deal with the Writers' Guild, came back with his full writing staff, while Conan did his entire show without input from any other WGA members). Presumably, neither will shave until the strike is over. Of course, a better sign of solidarity would be to remain off the air entirely until the strike is over, but keep in mind the hundreds of non-writing employees at those shows who've been out of work for over two months.
In a way, I feel like I was involved in three separate conversations about facial hair in one day. That seems like a particularly odd coincidence, and in hindsight, I probably should have bought a lottery ticket yesterday. In any case, I was amazed that any network executive would allow a talk show host to grow a beard. You know how they always say, "Never trust a salesman with a beard because it makes them look like they have something to hide." It's so true. Letterman looks like Ted Kaczynski, and Conan looks like an Amish child molester. People with beards, especially escaped kidnapping victims and lost hikers, should never be allowed on television.
Oh, and I almost forgot: Conan was hilarious, even without his writers. He spent a good five minutes of the show explaining his practice of spinning his wedding ring on his desk when rehearsals get tedious, actually spinning the wedding ring, and then getting frustrated when he didn't break his previous record of keeping the ring spinning for 41 seconds straight, and he was STILL funnier than Leno. I'd happily watch an entire episode of Conan's show in which he did nothing but dance like a gangly spazz on his desk for an hour.
01 January 2008
Thinking outside the taco shell
Watching the Rose Bowl today, I couldn't help but notice the glut of Taco Bell commercials. Apparently, strenuous physical activity and greasy, freeze dried ground beef (read: "shoe leather") go hand-in-hand. I also noticed the fact that Taco Bell hasn't changed their slogan since the Reagan administration. We get it, Taco Bell. You don't sell hamburgers. Very subtle. Congratulations to you.
My question is a simple one: Why exactly is it supposed to be a good thing that Taco Bell doesn't sell hamburgers? Was there some sort of anti-hamburger summit I missed? Or perhaps it was more of a pro-GI-tract-erosion type thing. And when are they going to get off their asses and come up with another slogan? ("Fourthmeal," being a non-word, doesn't count.) I suppose it's hard to come up with a slogan that doesn't paint Taco Bell in a dysentery-inducing light.
Actually, I've come to the realization that Taco Bell only has eight ingredients. Somehow, they have a 900-item menu that consists of slight variations in the combination and proportion of those ingredients. That's quite an amazing feat in my book. I can just imagine that somewhere in the heart of the gringo-style Mexican food revolution, there exists a highly paid statistician whose sole function is coming up with new combinations of which they haven't yet thought. He's just sitting in a basement somewhere in the Midwest with a graphing calculator and a ream of scratch paper, exhausting all possible combinations of beef, chicken, lettuce, cheese, microwaved beans, rice, and debilitating self-loathing. By my calculation, they have nearly 70,000 as yet unused dishes. That's one combination for every man, woman, and child who actually eats there.
My question is a simple one: Why exactly is it supposed to be a good thing that Taco Bell doesn't sell hamburgers? Was there some sort of anti-hamburger summit I missed? Or perhaps it was more of a pro-GI-tract-erosion type thing. And when are they going to get off their asses and come up with another slogan? ("Fourthmeal," being a non-word, doesn't count.) I suppose it's hard to come up with a slogan that doesn't paint Taco Bell in a dysentery-inducing light.
Actually, I've come to the realization that Taco Bell only has eight ingredients. Somehow, they have a 900-item menu that consists of slight variations in the combination and proportion of those ingredients. That's quite an amazing feat in my book. I can just imagine that somewhere in the heart of the gringo-style Mexican food revolution, there exists a highly paid statistician whose sole function is coming up with new combinations of which they haven't yet thought. He's just sitting in a basement somewhere in the Midwest with a graphing calculator and a ream of scratch paper, exhausting all possible combinations of beef, chicken, lettuce, cheese, microwaved beans, rice, and debilitating self-loathing. By my calculation, they have nearly 70,000 as yet unused dishes. That's one combination for every man, woman, and child who actually eats there.
30 December 2007
Movies that will suck in 2008
In keeping with Snowden's movie theme, I've decided to comment on a few of the "big" movies coming up in 2008.
"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull": Indiana Jones hasn't graced the silver screen in 18 years, but sadly, due to an odd side effect having something to do with the inevitable progression of time, or whatever, Harrison Ford is also 18 years older than he was when "Last Crusade" was released. I've seen some amazing things done via CGI in the last ten years, but one thing computers have yet to accomplish is making a 200-year-old man into an action star. Besides, that title is to my ears what sandpaper is to the underside of my tongue.
"Cloverfield": JJ Abrams fans may be shocked to realize he's not directing this film. Abrams is PRODUCING "Cloverfield," which is very different from directing. I'll be the first to admit that I was engrossed by the teaser trailer this summer. Abrams fanboys all over the Internet went nuts trying to figure out the title of the film, which was at that time codenamed "Cloverfield." Then, just a couple weeks ago, they finally discovered that the title of codename "Cloverfield" was, in fact, "Cloverfield." If that isn't a letdown of monumental proportions, I don't know what is. The only filmmaker who can get away with titling a monster movie "Cloverfield" is John Waters, and that's only because he's a complete moron. This film will make a ton of money in its first week with something known in the industry as "sucker business." After that, seeing as how all the hype is based on other hype rather than on a single advanced screening, people will realize that they've been duped once again by a marketing executive and an overrated producer. But don't take my word for it: This is what the New York Post has to say about "Cloverfield".
"The Happening": What is the deal with these titles? Apparently, the writers began striking earlier than we all thought. I'm still a huge M. Night Shyamalan fan, but after the reprehensible "Lady in the Water," I'm starting to lose faith. His decision to cast Mark Wahlberg as anything but furniture is also a fatal error. The last real art to which Mark Wahlberg contributed is still hanging on his parents' fridge.
"Sex and the City: The Movie": I don't even need to comment on this one. I will avoid this film enthusiastically, as I am certain I would get cancer from watching it.
2008 will probably be a great year for movies overall, but these films in particular will appeal to the dregs of our society. Maybe we'll finally prove what everyone else has known for decades: the average American moviegoer is a drooling idiot.
"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull": Indiana Jones hasn't graced the silver screen in 18 years, but sadly, due to an odd side effect having something to do with the inevitable progression of time, or whatever, Harrison Ford is also 18 years older than he was when "Last Crusade" was released. I've seen some amazing things done via CGI in the last ten years, but one thing computers have yet to accomplish is making a 200-year-old man into an action star. Besides, that title is to my ears what sandpaper is to the underside of my tongue.
"Cloverfield": JJ Abrams fans may be shocked to realize he's not directing this film. Abrams is PRODUCING "Cloverfield," which is very different from directing. I'll be the first to admit that I was engrossed by the teaser trailer this summer. Abrams fanboys all over the Internet went nuts trying to figure out the title of the film, which was at that time codenamed "Cloverfield." Then, just a couple weeks ago, they finally discovered that the title of codename "Cloverfield" was, in fact, "Cloverfield." If that isn't a letdown of monumental proportions, I don't know what is. The only filmmaker who can get away with titling a monster movie "Cloverfield" is John Waters, and that's only because he's a complete moron. This film will make a ton of money in its first week with something known in the industry as "sucker business." After that, seeing as how all the hype is based on other hype rather than on a single advanced screening, people will realize that they've been duped once again by a marketing executive and an overrated producer. But don't take my word for it: This is what the New York Post has to say about "Cloverfield".
"The Happening": What is the deal with these titles? Apparently, the writers began striking earlier than we all thought. I'm still a huge M. Night Shyamalan fan, but after the reprehensible "Lady in the Water," I'm starting to lose faith. His decision to cast Mark Wahlberg as anything but furniture is also a fatal error. The last real art to which Mark Wahlberg contributed is still hanging on his parents' fridge.
"Sex and the City: The Movie": I don't even need to comment on this one. I will avoid this film enthusiastically, as I am certain I would get cancer from watching it.
2008 will probably be a great year for movies overall, but these films in particular will appeal to the dregs of our society. Maybe we'll finally prove what everyone else has known for decades: the average American moviegoer is a drooling idiot.
29 December 2007
Who Needs Roger Ebert?
In that most glorious of traditions, I'm going to list off my "5 Greatest Movies," but I'm not going to be bound by any parameters. I mean it. One of these could be the "Greatest Movie to show a Gitmo detainee", another could be "The best movie to watch while giving Joan Rivers an oily pre-Oscar rubdown." Whatever. Furthermore, I expect everyone to read this list, nod with a sage understanding, and then click on over to Netflix and soak up all the extra genius-residue dripping from the still-warm-and-freshly-used DVD's:
1.) Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium: This abusively-rhyming film stars the one Dustin Hoffman, a real Boffman who employs Natalie Poffman-- sorry. But just look at that title, guys! Isn't it pretty? Doesn't it just beckon you, saying "Oh, come unto me ye weary of free verse and confessionalist prose! Come you bedraggled meter-ophiles! I will keep you swarmed in warm charm from a farm!"? Somewhere, I think Dr. Seuss just read my prose with black toner and he is now a loner with a big throbbing--
Next movie!
2.) Love in the Time of Cholera: Okay so I didn't see this movie. But besides having one of the worst titles since "Dabney Coleman Fever", I actually read the first hundred pages or so of this book. As Wikipedia summarized a key plot point, "Upon returning home, Urbino falls to his death after trying to retrieve the household parrot from the branches of a mango tree." How I wish this was a euphemism. The book was written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the real-life sheriff of Willacoochie, GA, who is known around the small town as a consummate gentleman, so long as he's not "eatin lunch with his deputy Jimmy Beam."
3.) Into the Wild: I saw this movie with about 20 other college-age kids. They were inspired by the star's boldness, so much so that I swore I saw some of them leave the theater and go home without stopping for a Venti Cinnamon Dolce Latte!
The star is the same guy who stalked Elisha Cuthbert in "The Girl Next Door." Now he's in wilderness movies directed by Sean Penn. He might be happy now, but I guarantee it that 10 years down the road, when he's standing at a political rally with a crowd of unattractive co-eds, he's going to wish he had done the "poon" career track a little longer.
4.) Daddy Day Camp: If I could be anyone in the world, I would be Cuba Gooding, Jr. Why? For several reasons: the first is because I would be named Cuba. I would insist on it being pronounced "Cooba" though. Authenticity is very arousing for the womenfolk, or so I've read. Secondly, is there anyone else out there who could be so consistently awful yet still hold his job? Starting with 2001, Cooba has been in Pearl Harbor, Snow Dogs, Boat Trip, The Fighting Temptations, Radio, Norbit, Daddy Day Camp, and The Mother-Effin Land Before Time XII-effin-I! How does this man stay gainfully employed? He's the Ted Kennedy of Actors! Thirdly, I can think of few life roles more glamorous or dignified than serving as Washed-Up-Eddie-Murphy's-Sloppy-Seconds-Trash-Bin.
5.) 2 Days in Paris: This movie gets the award for closest approximation to a hi-fi adult film title. Though if this were the case, whoever co-starred in the film would have to be coated in titanium and sprayed with insect repellant on the 5's of every hour just to maintain basic vital signs, given the danky men's-locker-room-stagnant-shower-puddle known as Ms. Hilton. But believe me, no one would name a skin flick "Balls of Fury." That's just horrifying. This movie also stars the Token Jew from such movies as Saving Private Ryan, Edtv, and the Hebrew Hammer (maybe not so much token in that one).
All in all, this has been a banner year for films. A giant banner that says "Damn, We're Doin' So Well We Don't Need Writers Next Year!"
27 December 2007
By the time you finished your sentence, I forgot how it started
In these days of sound bytes, it seems that most people, when they're engaged in conversation, tend to try expressing their opinions not with properly thought-out logical reasoning, but rather in the form of extremely short summations of their arguments. While it does offer the side effect of providing most people with more time in which they can watch reality TV, it doesn't bode well for the development of any sort of discourse among Americans. This is no truer than on a college campus.
People don't take classes to learn. They take classes to afford them the opportunity to repeat statistics they've heard on Oprah, and more importantly, to gain a captive audience at whom they may direct their incoherent ideas. I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting in a class, studiously taking notes, and generally minding my own business when one of my classmates interrupts the professor in order to speak aloud such magnificent insights as "When it comes to communication, I think the packaging is important," "You have to think about the movies kids watch nowadays," and "Our perceived needs have increased." All three of these nonsensical "assertions" have one thing in common: They are all based not only on the world views of the people who said them, but on the assumption that everyone listening shares that same world view.
People who think about what they're going to say more than nine seconds in advance are becoming fewer and farther between. Substance has been replaced with alliteration, and complexity with ambiguity. Instead of rationally thinking through one's reason for saying anything, many people simply assume that because they're speaking, what they're saying is at least cursorily valid or important. Not so. The fact that something is said out loud doesn't automatically make it worth listening to. (Refer to anything ever said by a student in a class involving intercultural communication for proof.)
People ask questions in class because they want to hear themselves talk, plain and simple. If that weren't the case, they wouldn't raise their hands, ask if they may ask a question, and then proceed to tell a long, rambling, Abraham-Simpsonesque story that in no way includes a question. That happened in three of my classes last semester. Three. I don't know when universities stopped teaching students who were there for the purpose of learning and started validating students' own half-formed opinions (the seeds of which were planted by such bastions of higher education as Disney films and the MTV Video Music Awards) concerning recycling, vegetarianism, and smoking bans, but it happened so gradually no one noticed.
People don't take classes to learn. They take classes to afford them the opportunity to repeat statistics they've heard on Oprah, and more importantly, to gain a captive audience at whom they may direct their incoherent ideas. I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting in a class, studiously taking notes, and generally minding my own business when one of my classmates interrupts the professor in order to speak aloud such magnificent insights as "When it comes to communication, I think the packaging is important," "You have to think about the movies kids watch nowadays," and "Our perceived needs have increased." All three of these nonsensical "assertions" have one thing in common: They are all based not only on the world views of the people who said them, but on the assumption that everyone listening shares that same world view.
People who think about what they're going to say more than nine seconds in advance are becoming fewer and farther between. Substance has been replaced with alliteration, and complexity with ambiguity. Instead of rationally thinking through one's reason for saying anything, many people simply assume that because they're speaking, what they're saying is at least cursorily valid or important. Not so. The fact that something is said out loud doesn't automatically make it worth listening to. (Refer to anything ever said by a student in a class involving intercultural communication for proof.)
People ask questions in class because they want to hear themselves talk, plain and simple. If that weren't the case, they wouldn't raise their hands, ask if they may ask a question, and then proceed to tell a long, rambling, Abraham-Simpsonesque story that in no way includes a question. That happened in three of my classes last semester. Three. I don't know when universities stopped teaching students who were there for the purpose of learning and started validating students' own half-formed opinions (the seeds of which were planted by such bastions of higher education as Disney films and the MTV Video Music Awards) concerning recycling, vegetarianism, and smoking bans, but it happened so gradually no one noticed.
18 December 2007
I suppose introductions are in order
I can only assume Snowden has told his Michigan buddies about this blog, and that anyone reading this knows nothing about me. I run a little blog of my own over at The House of Vaughan. Snowden and I went to high school together (before he bailed to go to Cheyenne Mountain), and we've been friends ever since. If you want to get an idea of what you can expect from me on this site (at least in terms of my brand of humor), I'd recommend checking out my other blog.
You should know that I'm essentially intolerant of everyone who is not me, and that I find dead baby jokes funny. As an aspiring comedy writer, I've been practicing and trying new things for a couple years now, as you can see by reading some of the awful stuff I wrote when I first started my other blog. I've grown a lot since then, thanks primarily to my crippling heroin addiction and a head injury I suffered in a fistfight with a Catholic when I told him he could "transubstantiate my ass."
I'm a columnist for the school paper at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, but I'm somewhat limited in what I'm allowed to print there because of all that "ethics" and "political correctness" nonsense, but thankfully, the Internet isn't bound by such restrictions yet. I look forward to you getting to know me.
You should know that I'm essentially intolerant of everyone who is not me, and that I find dead baby jokes funny. As an aspiring comedy writer, I've been practicing and trying new things for a couple years now, as you can see by reading some of the awful stuff I wrote when I first started my other blog. I've grown a lot since then, thanks primarily to my crippling heroin addiction and a head injury I suffered in a fistfight with a Catholic when I told him he could "transubstantiate my ass."
I'm a columnist for the school paper at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, but I'm somewhat limited in what I'm allowed to print there because of all that "ethics" and "political correctness" nonsense, but thankfully, the Internet isn't bound by such restrictions yet. I look forward to you getting to know me.
19 September 2007
Why Gay Guys Don't Cower in Fear
Sally Field at the Emmys (I'm sure you've all seen it):
I know this is unbearably slow in response (3 WHOLE days, yeesh!), but I had to get this off my chest. For those unenlightened few, the blanked out part is:
"If mothers ruled the world, there wouldn't be any goddamn wars." Or something to that extent.
Apparently, Ms./Mrs. Field has never been to a youth sports event, a playground, a child beauty pageant, a casting-call for children, Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving, &c. I mean, come ON! Do we really need to bring up quotes on the terrific power of women's wrath?
Just one, then. Kickin' it old school:
"Oh woman, woman! When to ill thy mine is bent, all Hell contains no fouler fiend."
-- Homer
And some video proof:
I know this is unbearably slow in response (3 WHOLE days, yeesh!), but I had to get this off my chest. For those unenlightened few, the blanked out part is:
"If mothers ruled the world, there wouldn't be any goddamn wars." Or something to that extent.
Apparently, Ms./Mrs. Field has never been to a youth sports event, a playground, a child beauty pageant, a casting-call for children, Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving, &c. I mean, come ON! Do we really need to bring up quotes on the terrific power of women's wrath?
Just one, then. Kickin' it old school:
"Oh woman, woman! When to ill thy mine is bent, all Hell contains no fouler fiend."
-- Homer
And some video proof:
01 September 2007
This is Madness? This is Spar. . . oh wait. . . No It's Just Madness
In regards to the Michigan collapse against Appalachian State:
Ehh, who am I kidding. That sucked. The whole game just SUCKED. And do you know what the worst feeling about it is? I feel just terrible for Mike Hart, who played his effin' brains out today, rising off the bench with a bruised thigh to rally the team to grab the lead. One of the best feelings in my sports-viewing life (read as: "all of my known existence") was the exuberant and totally honest roar of the crowd when Mike broke his 54-yarder with a few minutes to go. It seemed to take forever, really. Mike is no Tecmo Bo Jackson, but the play still seemed to go on longer than physically possible. It was as if Mike slowed down time just to show the team, to show the ungrateful Michigan crowd, to show the world, just what hard work and bootstrap-pulling-up look like. With one run, Mike showed college football "This, what I'm doing right here, is what it takes, from everybody on the team, to be great."
And then the rest of the team just rolled over, refluffed their pillow, and went back to sleep.
THIS is what Mike Hart came back to school for?! THIS is why Jake Long gave up millions of dollars in top-3 draft-pick-money?! #$^%@$!!
I'll just let Lord Zoltan the Not-So-Munificent's eyes do the rest of the talking for me:
Yeesh, you can feel the scorn, the barely-restrained-chaos, roiling behind those coal black eyes.
Ehh, who am I kidding. That sucked. The whole game just SUCKED. And do you know what the worst feeling about it is? I feel just terrible for Mike Hart, who played his effin' brains out today, rising off the bench with a bruised thigh to rally the team to grab the lead. One of the best feelings in my sports-viewing life (read as: "all of my known existence") was the exuberant and totally honest roar of the crowd when Mike broke his 54-yarder with a few minutes to go. It seemed to take forever, really. Mike is no Tecmo Bo Jackson, but the play still seemed to go on longer than physically possible. It was as if Mike slowed down time just to show the team, to show the ungrateful Michigan crowd, to show the world, just what hard work and bootstrap-pulling-up look like. With one run, Mike showed college football "This, what I'm doing right here, is what it takes, from everybody on the team, to be great."
And then the rest of the team just rolled over, refluffed their pillow, and went back to sleep.
THIS is what Mike Hart came back to school for?! THIS is why Jake Long gave up millions of dollars in top-3 draft-pick-money?! #$^%@$!!
I'll just let Lord Zoltan the Not-So-Munificent's eyes do the rest of the talking for me:
Yeesh, you can feel the scorn, the barely-restrained-chaos, roiling behind those coal black eyes.
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