M Questions Madison Avenue

I just stumbled across this 1960's ad on the Internet and let me tell you that as a Jew, it made me somewhat nervous.

While I've always known that Jew's love Levy's bread, I never realized Asians did too. What's next? Will they begin to hoard our matzah balls or add sweet and sour fish to the menu at Golden Wok #225? Somewhat disturbing seeing that they already have a pretty big slice of the ethnic food market.
Editors note: Since no one actually reads this blog, if you see this it is probably for the first time. Please be aware I am not racist and completely joking.

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M Deals with Addictions, Longs for Chemicals with Flavor

I am addicted to Parkay Spray Butter. Addicted. It is my edible nicotine, my liquid crack, my sweet, sweet, flavorful eight ball of meth. I love it so much, no meal is complete without it. I much prefer it to real butter (what is this thing-"real butter") and will spray it on anything, from toast to baked Doritos to chicken to vegetables and sometimes even cereal (when eaten milk-less and by the handful as a snack).

With many of the above listed foods, I am only after the taste of the butter. The actual substance I am putting it on is just a holding place and a cover-up for this gross and disgusting habit. For example, instead of toast with Parkay, I will ask for Parkay with a side of bread. I have resisted shooting it right into my mouth, because hell, I do have some sense of self-discipline.

I have been on the downward spiral with the sauce for around four years and can’t quit. My parent and friends have expressed concern and I am aware that it is pure chemicals and will probably give me cancer. My only way to console them is to allude to the big fat check Parkay will award them after the company is sued for wrongful death. After all the website does say “Something you can feel good about feeding your whole family," in which I can only assume through common knowledge of biology and chemicals that this claim probably isn't true.

Lately, I have not been able to get a hold of it easily and it is driving me crazy. My two closets grocery stores, a Whole Foods and the Garden of Eden, don’t sell it (god damn hippes!) for obvious reasons. So today I went on line and started a search for a grocery store that will deliver my glowing yellow drug.

As I was doing this intense research I discovered what may be the most disgusting and yet greatest product ever. Spray Flavor!

This stuff is the gourmet version of Parkay. Created by David Burke, a Top Chef whose awards I can’t even pronounce or understand (Meilleurs Ouvriers de France Diplome d’Honneur?), these falvor sprays come in, go ahead and guess, a variety of flavors. You can get Parmesan Cheese, Pesto, Tomato Basil, Cheddar Cheese, Maple (is your mouth watering yet?), Honey, Fruit (?), Angel Food Cake and even Ice Blue Salt Spray.

This is only a sampling of the vast array. It even comes in ketchup. Ketchup fucking spray! Condiments making condiments as if squeezing versus spraying will make a world of difference. But surely this stuff will catch on. I forsee millions of children in the future being taken out to the ball game and spraying ketchup and mustard on their stadium fare. It would be so much less messy than the goop we now use. They could even add on a little Smoked Bacon Spray or Memphis BBBQ Spray.

I'm betting it will be the best diet ever: a million flavors and so much less caloric. Instead of using fatty Blue Cheese dressing I will now be able to just shower it in chemicals that taste the same. I have ordered almost every flavor and honestly can not wait (Fingers crossed for new Meat flavors and a line of Kosher sprays!). I for one am especially excited for Exotic and am offering everyonea million guesses what that could possibly taste like. I will personally buy the winner a free bottle. Promise.

M Turns Up Her Gaydar

In New York it's damn near impossible to meet a closeted gay man. If a guy says he's not gay, you pretty much believe him no matter how shiny his shoes are or how many times you see him inappropriately eyeing other guys. For a long time I thought my friend FFG (Fabulous Fashion Guy) was closeted, a walking anomaly produced by a strict Catholic upbringing and Midwest values, but I have since changed my mind. How can someone live in New York for an elongated period of time (four years in his case) and not come out?

Then today one of my coworkers friends stopped into the office, briefly said "hi" with an overtly dramatic wave of his hand (Wipe the window, wipe the window) and then left. Later during lunch my coworker made it known to another coworker that her friend thought she, SHE meaning of the vaginal biology, was "hot."

All of us at once looked up from our deli salads in disbelief. "He's not gay?" was said in unison and pitch perfect harmony like some new pop song from Lance Bass.

She was suspicious too and began to rattle off the number of things he did to make her feel this way.

This is when Crazy Gary, our resident gay, stepped in to give us the tell-tale signs that a man is playing for the other team, in the form of questions.

Crazy G's Big Gay Questionnare is as Follows:

-Is his apartment decorated nicely?

This was it. One question could out you. We all agreed that this one question could NOT in anyway, shape or Todd Oldman bed, prove gayness. Couldn't that just be considered having good style?

So we added some signs on to the list that have been gleaned from our own expereince, because apparently even though the New York stereotype proclaims that every girl should have a gay friend (think Carey and Stanford), every Manhattan woman also has a closeted gay friend.

Addendum's to Crazy G's Big Gay Questionnaire:
-Does he hang out with gay men or have a gay roommate?
-Does he wear slippers?
-Does he normally wear a belt with everything, including gym shorts? (We were going to say sweat pants, but gay men do NOT wear sweatpants under any circumstances)
-Does he carry a leather man bag or wear any form of leather?
-Does he work in fashion?
-Does he say "fabulous" like "FAB U Lous!"
-Does he love the shows "The L Word" and "So You Think You Can Dance?"
-Does he listen to Jessica Simpson?
-Has he ever suggested going to a gay bar using the excuse that it is only to find a boyfriend for his gay roommate/friend?

And that is where the similarities in our list stopped and verged into a number of tiny ways that gayness can be distinguished. For example "he lifts his pinky when drinking coffee," or "he refuses to eat leftovers." These were disputed by at least one person.

The reason this conversation was interesting to me was that my closeted friend FFG had committed an action that went beyond signs to absolute proof. On Saturday night he tried to make out with another male friend. Granted he also licked my face from my chin, over my eye and up to my hairline wile telling saying "I want to lick you all over your body," but there is being drunk and then there is letting go of your inhibitions to the point that your true self signs. This wasn't a case of mistaken gender but someone he has known for a long time. He knows that said friend has a penis.

Poor FFG. He has stayed in his room for three wqhole days refusing to talk to anyone out of embarrassment and granted he's probably ging through a struggle I can only empathize with, but truly fail to understand. Sure, shit may be weird, but god damn I am proud of him. If it takes twelve jack Daniels to 'out' someone, then here is to Jack. You go boy!

M is Tired, Goes into Poetic, Angry Delirium

So tired that...
my bones are literally aching,
anchor heavy bones with lead marrow
weighing me down with each step.
A struggle between life and drowning
as I try my best to make it
to the 2 train...and
just miss it.
Every fucking time.
Seriously-
every fucking god damn time!

Nothing to do but sit down
and slump
next to woman slumped
like shabbily dressed statue,
her treasures overflowing out of
push cart tenement,
mobil mess absorbing me,
washing over me in waves,
becoming a part of my tired.

Train comes bursting out of horizon,
ten minutes to Union square,
then up steps like currents
More walking. Pushing.
Pushing some more.
Get the fuck out of my way!
My arms hurt, my feet hurt
even my sole hurts.
My bones ache, heavy with lead.
Anchor weighted bones dragging me down.

On the street like water at midnight.
Big puffy parka man shuffling to
his ipod, techno music blaring.
Camel colored boot girl
on cell phone announcing her drama.
She's got her period.
Lady with baby stroller... Love me.
Please, please, please,
can I laid down and rest
in your tiny canoe and cruise?
Will you push me home?
Coasting, just coasting.
But no, I'll just walk slowly behind
stuck behind traffic.
Ruminating - Every fucking time!

Two more blocks.
Long avenues across town.
Stopped crossing at the stoplight.
Why don't you fucking change!
Anticipating the green light,
risking oncoming tides of yellow taxis,
risking it all to be two steps ahead
of the pack waiting patiently,
three steps closer to home.
Sweet home, my sweet bed,
a warm pool of comfort.
To lay down...stop draging my body,
stop pulling this anchor.
Just dock and dream.

Up steps to my apartment.
Fourth floor walk up
rising like tsunami force with vengence.
Old man in front of me taking one step forward
then rocking back,
creating his own ripples.
Should I push him up,
push past him, sit down
and rest untill he has made it?
Move your fucking ass old man!
Old man with anchor heavy bones,
bones filled with leaden marrow.
Will I be you someday?
The female,
less bald, but more cranky version?

Finally reach door,
fumble for keys with dumbell fingers,
inside, shoes flung off and face down into
bed, ready to float into nod, lay
down my anchor in r.e.m. and pass into a dream.

There I am, my body not my own
with anchor hands, anchor feet and
leaden bones.
I dream on and on and on.
I dream of being tired.

Every time.
Every fucking god damn time!

M Grapples with Time, Learns Ways to Say Goodbye

Today I accidentally wrote 2008 on a fed-ex slip. A Freduian blip, it was the written manifestation of my mindset since the weeks pre and post January 1st, in which I feel like I am constantly moving forward with a velocity not my own making, mouthing lost words of “Slow down,” and “wait” while I feel a sense of loss for that which never really existed but could have, as things pass by without my will or consent.

The New Year has never affected me before, especially two weeks into the new month. My only concern about its arrival was what sex-kitten outfit I would deck myself out in to watch the ball drop and who I would kiss during those first few seconds of fresh possibility. I would annually make and break my light-hearted resolutions with a sense of youthful invincibility. “I’ll get around to quitting smoking next year” may as well be tatooed on that space in between my index and middle finger where a burning cigarette perpetually resides filling my lungs with tar and nicotine as I try an hide with subtle deft behind a smoke screen of my own creation.

Goodbye optimistic attitude, sense of my own personal magnitude and feeling of control.

This year, I am feeling saturated in the disbelief of being a late-twenty something and still unsure, insecure and unable to financially afford basic necessities like rent, soap and toothpaste. The passing of time is frightening, huge and unbearably heavy. It feels as if when the ball dropped it landed right on my back.

An uncooperative Atlas, I am not ready for 2007, yet alone 2008 and beyond. I am not ready to check off the box identifying myself as a part of the demographic of 25-30. And the frightening thing is I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but each year will keep on coming without my will or consent and I’ll have no recourse but to mutter Goodbye with defeat.

I’ve known this. It isn’t a new realization. Goodbye is not an epiphany that came yesterday. But its bigger, more unstopabale, like a snowball accumulating mass and form with each passing second ready to crush me. Send me to my grave, cold and frozen with disbelief, because my life was just not what I hoped it would be.

The game we played while when we were younger of “What do you think so and so will be when they grow up?” no longer applies and people are now defined by their profession. But I am not my profession, the bubbly publicist with an agenda for everything. I’ve been many other people before this moment of Now and hopefully will be something more in the Future.

Those people I thought would be losers have somehow outrun me, bettered me even though years ago they were cheating off my paper in English class. Now they work for Esquire and I still dream of being published as my babbling endorsement of some new product or promotion falls on their deaf ears.

Goodbye a portion of the dream, a piece of my already withered self-esteem and a large portion of ego.

The rational part of me knows that I am still young, but the emotional side of me refuses to listen citing the in-ignorable fact that my skin is not as radiant, my belly is getting rounder and my ass is curdling like expired yogurt. With all the comparative failure and missed opporutinites I can’t imagine what I will feel like at fifty, watching my kids leave for college and wishing it was me while patting my round belly and suffering menopausal hot flashes. I can only hope I will still not be paying for my meals with change and wondering how to pay the mortgage.

I hate seeing things, the goodbyes, the the ones that creep up on you like the passing of time. The big ones magnify the fact that the earth keeps turning without permission and events happen to you an don you rather than because of your will them to whether that be the goodbye to a year, a piece of the child within you, a portion of life, a friend or a loved one.

The past few weeks all of the above have happened. The unwelcomed arrival of 2007 and my ability to age gracefully in a city that does not grant apologies nor cater to shortcomings are just two notes in this melancholic dirge.

An old college roommate recently called to tell me she is getting married, illuminating with her shiny platinum ring the huge Goodbye to the safety of that fun-filled portion of life that I fear I will always be stuck in. That age-appropraite portion called “flings” “dating for fun,” “going out every night drinking and meeting someone new to have a meaningless one night stand with and then regret the next morning only to go out and do it again the next night.” That portion which is deemed appropriate because “Your too young to think about marriage,” has now morphed into “Why aren’t you married” with the additional subtext being “What’s wrong with you.”

Goodbye carefree revelry, sexual immunity and a piece of hope of finding Mr. Right.

Another Goodbye is to a dear friend of mine who is going to Washington to work on Capital Hill. We met nearly a year ago, hang out only occasionally, yet talk to on the phone and on email everyday. I consider him one of my best friends and his leaving makes me feel several things at once; one being that I can not believe he is leaving, two is that I should have spent more time with him in person, three is that I passed up the chance to have a real, meaningful relationship with an amazing guy because I am too scared of getting hurt, and four is that he will forget all about me once he is off this island. He will now be added to the roster of people I talk t occasionally as if things haven’t changed, but really know that I no longer know them. He will now be added to past and the present will just continue into a future of...

Goodbye open possibility, understanding as I voice my insanity and that feeling of not being so alone in the center of this chaotic metropolis.

The last big Goodbye that has been screwing with my mind is experienced peripherally in the form of one of my best friends breaking up with her boyfriend. I had set them up a year and half ago, she had basically moved in and they had plans of marriage. I found out he was cheating or attempting to cheat when he called another friend of mine and left a message stating to call him so he could show her “just how bad” she makes him want to be. I had to break the news about his indiscretion and the next day we got a van and moved her stuff out of his apartment. I watched her heartbreak as she said Goodbye to misappropriated love, Goodbye to hope and to a future that was smashed by voicemail and bad judgement.

So many things wrapped up in Goodbye. Things that you know but don’t think about unless forced to because things happen to you and on you without your will and not because you will them to.

How many Goodbyes do we have to go through? Is there a quota or is it never ending? Does the saying “One door closes and another opens” hold any truth or is it that when one door closes we go back the way we came and it only appears different because we have seen what is beyond that space and we are changed by each Goodbye?

M Pages Captain Kirk, Ponders Space Culture

A few days ago I was laughing my oblivious ass off about a journalist's request for opinions on holding meetings in space (Scroll to the bottom: http://bigappleblonde.blogspot.com/2007/01/morning-recap-of-nightly-insomnia.html) . At the time it seemed ridiculous. Apparently though, with the modern world's accelerated speed of technological advancement, I owe her an apology.

The legitimacy of space travel as a viable option in the near future came to my attention yesterday when reading the New York Post. (It was also picked up by the AP and reported by everyone from MSNBC to The St. Petersburg Times). It seems that cyberspace Goliath Jeffrey Bezos, founder of Amazon.com, is looking to make the journey into outer space, proving that with billions of dollars you can make even the most impossible dreams a reality.

His company Blue Origin (see http://www.blueorigin.com/), whose novel goal (I'm sure the starving populations in third world countries and our equipmentless troops in Iraq would agree)is to make space travel possible for mere civilians at an affordable price. They have been operating in secret since 2000 and have just unveiled themselves to the public.

Blue Origin is currently looking to hire experienced propulsion engineers and experienced turbomachinery engineers, as well as a senior leader to head the turbopump group (Translation Not available). Folks with turbopump or propulsion experience on large, modern, cryogenic engines such as the RS-68, please note that this is incredibly different than the R2D2, are of particular interest.

For those with the qualifications listed, be sure to send those resumes out stat. Blue Origin estimates that we will have space travel by the year 2010. They recently launched their space craft Goddard, named after rocket pioneer Robert Goddard, in November and had a succesful test flight. The rocket, which takes-off and lands vertically, mimics the design of the DC-X, a rocket tested by NASA in the early 1990s. It can hold a limited number of passengers, but the hope is that the design can be developed into a larger craft.


Bu Bezo's isn't the only one with a Trekkie fantasy. Other companies are working towards civilian space travel as well. For the out-of-this-world price of $20-million, intergalactic travelers can hitch a lift on the Russian Soyuz craft. In 2004 SpaceShipOne successfully visited space twice in a fortnight. Richard Branson is also looking to launch a fleet of such crafts as the 'space airline' Virgin Galactic. They have already started taking bookings, and may begin flights as early as 2008.

This is amazing and beyond belief. With the way technology is moving, by the time I am sixty I may be living on Mars recounting to children how I, gasp, "Grew up before teleporting and invisibility cloaks." Already children are dumbfounded that there was ever a time without computers and can not understand what people did with their free time or how anyone did school work.

But children's disbelief is just one of the results that are sure to accompany this revolutionary new shift to space life. A new culture will be born, new governments will be put into place and a new way of living will come into existence.

A few things I am looking forward to include:
-Sex in space. The Karma Sutra will be brought to a whole new level in zero gravity conditions.
-Space food. In fifth grade they gave out astronaut ice cream. It was crumbly, stale, yet tasted oh so good.
-Space slang and euphemisms. "Listen you son-of-a martian, I will kick your jet pack so fucking hard it will be hurting until the next eon." "Would you like to see my rocket. He's vertical and read to blast off."
-Las Venus. Visited by the Jetsons, Las Venus is the gambling capital of the universe.

Things I am not looking forward to:
-Intergalactic Battle. Light sabers, incinerating flash guns, huge aliens with an anti-capitalist agenda; this is a battle we are sure to lose.
-Interspecies Rape and Involuntary Captivity. Aliens have been watching us for years and now they have a chance to get up close and personal. While most psychologically normal aliens will only want to put humans into their zoo's, there will be those freaks who will want to force themselves sexually on our race. And oh my god, probes. I am not looking forward to probes.
-Accidental Suffocation: Right now heart attacks and 'accidents at home' are some of the leading ways people die. In space, especially in the beginning, glitches and malfunctions in the oxygen supplier are bound to be numerous and deadly.
-Flesh Eating Space Bacteria. No doubt space will be a relative interplanetary brew of diseases we have no cure and no idea how to combat.

M Pokes Fun at Pets with Video

Garfield would either be very impressed or deeply ashamed.

M Says Thank You

Juanita Sanchez,

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Instead of addressing "my nonexistent readers" I can now address you. I checked out your blogs and as soon as I figure out and take the time to create a blog roll I will be sure to include you.

M Pokes Fun at Fat Pets

I know I was going to focus on fat babies because they are cute and funny. But you know what is even more cute and way more funny: FAT ANIMALS!

M Analyzes Beavers and Abe Lincoln

I was late to work today. I woke up at 6am as scheduled, felt all snuggly and warm in bed and proceeded to hit the snooze button with abandon. I arrived at work a full four hours later feeling like an asshole.

On my seven block walk to work I recounted in my head the late hour in which I finally fell asleep. After I signed off the computer and I laid awake until 2am pondering the Rozerem commercial. Now I know that I am a little late on this one, but seeing as their web site still features Abe and the Beaver, I feel that it still holds relevance.

Much has been made of this commercial and its out-of-the-box use of these two figures. ( Check out a couple at http://brandstory.typepad.com/writer/advertising/index.html) For a drug commercial, which usually features an uncomfortable looking man or women suffering from whatever ailment the pill cures followed by the long list of horrible side effects, this is revolutionary. Almost all ad people will tell you they hate it because its gimmicky and doesn't give you the benefits of the drug, blah, blah, blah.

What no one has talked about, however, is what this dream means.

Scenario One: A Marxian Analysis

According to several online dream dictionaries as well as the one on the Rozerem web site, if the Beaver is doing work it means industriousness. The Rozeram Beaver, whom for simplicity's sake I will called Fred, is doing nothing. Paired with Abe Lincoln, a symbol for authority and known for his hard work and drive, is in straight juxtaposition. This man is torn. He either wants to be more active at his job or just stop working altogether and coast by. The astronaut in the back means he would like to explore new territory or perhaps, hold a meeting in space.

Scenario Two: A Freudian Analysis

It is a well-known fact that the Beaver is a pseudonym for a women's nether-regions. This man is obviously thinking about sex and in this case will need to be renamed Fredina. Enter Abe Lincoln, whose sexuality has been questioned, and you have a man who is torn between lady lust and a craving for man musk. The astronaut in the back means he would like to explore new territory or perhaps, have sex in space.

Scenario Three: Nostradumian Analysis

The beaver has been historically seen as a symbol for expansion and building. Abe Lincoln once dreamed his own death. Read as a premonition this man will wander onto a construction site because of lack of sleep and meet his demise when a large piece of scaffolding falls on him. The astronaut in the back means he would like to explore the beyond or perhaps, have his cremated remains launched into space.

Speaking of space. I got the most hilarious request today from a journalist who was looking for event planners opinions on "Going to outer space, the newest trend in incentive travel and meetings."

I am not lying about this. I know it sounds fake, but this is cross-my-heart, completely serious. You can go if you have $200,000 http://www.protravelsw.com/virgingalactic.html.

I laughed my ass of at this request, but was the only one in my office who thought it was funny. Am I wrong on this or is space travel always funny? But besides that, is this really a trend? I haven't heard of anyone who has gone to a meeting on the moon and if I was given this excuse when making a phone call I would be offended. "No, Mr. Stevenson is not available. He is currently rounding Uranus."

Who has ever heard of this? I can not imagine floating past nebulous clouds and black holes discussing the third quarter report with any concentration. But maybe this journalist is on to something. Drop me a line if you want me to forward your responses on the following questions she is interested in having answered:

1) Do you feel that the trend of incentive space travel will take off. Why or why not?

2) Do you feel that space will be a popular place to hold meetings. Explain.

M Can't Sleep, Thinks Happy Thoughts

I can't sleep. It's been happening a lot lately. I think I might be stressed from work. Or
A) I am suffering from paranoia of having restless leg syndrome or B) I am busy searching for the Beaver and Abe Lincoln in that space a foot from my bed and a foot from the wall that I refer to as my "kitchen."

People have been telling me to ease stress and relax myself I should think happy thoughts. I should probably pay less attention to pharmaceutical commercials. As for happy thoughts this is all I could come up with.




Tell me that this man should not run for President and I will debate you for eternity. Can you imagine how happy everyone would be. Just dancing around, sweating to the oldies. No more obesity, pain or sorrow.




I want to hug him. I want him to adopt me.

He makes me giggle and feel warm inside.

I love him. He loves me. Peace. Peace. Sweet, sweet dreams. Zzzzzz.

M Watches Shitty Movies

So today, the first day of the New Year, January 1st yk7, was spent doing nothing. Absolutely, positively unproductive. Mr. X and I spent the entire day in bed, naked watching movies, smoking pot, making out and at one point eating a themed 'cheese' delivery of cheese fries and philly cheesesteak in bed-a perfect start to the diet and my resolution to actually do something worthwhile in 2007.

In my defense I did get up four times to go to the bathroom and all in all it was a great way to recover from a hangover. It also made me realize, and I am probably the last person with eyes and half a brain to reach this conclusion, that the current Hollywood movies are absolute and utter crap.

Sure there have always been crappy flicks. I shamefully sat through BioDome, Freddy Got Fingered and Rich Kids. But you expected nothing from those film. Bottom scrapping sub-nothing. Movies currently get so hyped up, so over publicized that there is no way a person's expectations can match the actual film. ***

***This is all in exception to 'Little Miss Sunshine', which is the best movie ever! We, however did not watch the great beacon of light and hope which is 'Little Miss Sunshine,' but instead saturated ourselves on less worthy fare.

Movies watched/slept/has sex through included:

Everything is Illuminated: Elijah Wood should thank his lucky stars for the hobbit movies. I personally hated the first Lord of the Rings and feel no one should be allowed to make a movie without an ending. Especially not a three hour movie. I vowed never to see the sequels after having wasted those three precious hours and feel somewhat certain they will flash before me at the end of my life pushing the sickle of death straight into my soul with the regret of time most useleslly wasted. But who am I to argue with a million dorks.

In fact, everything I have seen him in post 1987 (Radio Flyer and The Good Son were actually pretty decent) has sucked profusely. Green Street Hooligans was just crap. Violent crap in which people die fighting over soccer games and the supposed hard asses sing songs with the word 'bubbles' in them.

Everything is Illuminated was just the icing on his cake of shit. I love Jonathon Safron Foer's "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" so I thought I would like this. The first twenty minutes were a new, boring form of jewy (I can say it cause I'm Jewish) torture that was even worse than sitting with my bubby's Maj group for eight hours.

I begged Mr. X to watch something else, but he was already asleep. In my disastrous and incapacitated stated of Jack Daniels hangover I couldn't find the clicker and save myself. I ended up falling asleep and finding refuge in the Land of Nod only ten minutes later.

My advice-skip it unless you are suffering from insomnia.

Pursuit of Happyness: Cute. Totally cute. Awwweee, see how Happyness is spelled wrong. It's just so sweet and everyone loves this movie so of course...I was apprehensive. Contrived heart-warming sap has never sat well with me.

Yes, this is the moment that all of my nonexistent readers-those left after ripping on Lord of the Rings-call me a heartless whore and renounce this site.***

*** Everyone hates you if you don't root for the underdog. I once got into a fight with a women who worked for my dad because I said I hated SeaBiscuit. Fucking SeaBiscuit! I told her I thought it was didactic and she basically ripped my head off. She still, to this day, barely talks to me.

But it's not that I hate the underdog. Like I said, I just hate overly-contrived heart warming and this movie was basically a burning ball of heart-heating fire. I know that its a true story, but there were just so many things that bugged me and seemed false:

I am sure you all know the basic plot and I promise that nothing below ruins it.

1) Chris Gardner is inspired to work as a broker after he sees a guy on the street with a nice car. The man tells him he's a broker and that's that. Decision made, just because of the nice car and obvious wealth. But, ahem, hello-Chris Gardner's job is selling medical equipment. This man sees doctors all the time. Doctors damn it, make a ton of money. If he were purely financially motivated wouldn't he decide to be a doctor? Also-was he living in a cave? The man is in his late thirties, at least, and he doesn't know that brokers make a shit ton of money? I'm calling bullshit.

2) My second call of bullshit is when at one point in the movie he misses an appointment and shows up on Mr. CEO's front door step right before Daddy Warbucks and his son are going to the ball game. If you are a wealthy CEO getting ready for a nice outing with your son, would you really invite the black man from the finance company who just shows up at your door to to join you in the VIP box? Maybe I just don't know enough really wealthy family men, but it smells like fabricated bullshit.

3) This is not a bullshit call, but instead a call for rationale. Everyone loves this man because he followed his dreams and although that is great and I'm all for it, he has a kid. A major responsibility to provide not only for himself but for another human being. Yes, things worked out for him, but the risk was too big in my opinion. It could have just as easily gone the other way and everyone would be talking about what an amazing jackass Chris Gardner is. Even if he can solve Rubicks Cube.

4) Another point that really ticked me off. Chris Gardner continues to sell his practically unsellable medical equipment on weekends instead of finding a stable income source. All me and Mr. X could ponder during this portion of the film was "Why the fuck doesn't he get a job at McDonalds or somewhere he is guaranteed a paycheck? Why? Why? Why?"

Aside from all of that though-I give it a B-.

On a sidenote: The bootleg of this is amazing! Its digital and looks great. We ripped it on the burner and thought for a moment about starting a bootleg business. I came to the conclusion I would call my store "Ye Old Bootlegging Shoppe." I think it's hilarious. Mr. X did not agree. Am I wrong here-or is anachronism almost always funny?


Anchorman: This movie is purely retarded, but you've gotta love it. I have watched it at least ten times and heard it quoted a thousand more. "Baxter, you are so wise. You are like a miniature Buddha" just doesn't get less funny.

Final Score: Watch it again, even if it makes you a little bit dumber. Compared with the other choices out there this is pretty damn Oscar-worthy. Just be sure to turn to your significant other half way through and ask "Is that Sex Panther your wearing?"

A History of Violence: Viggo Mortensen is hot and the only reason I made it through the first Lord fo the Rings. It is also the only reason I actually watched this entire movie. I can sum it up in about four sentences: Viggo shoots and kills some robbers. Bad guys from his past come to find him because he shot and murdered a lot of people in another life before he was reformed into another person. Family hates him because he used to murder people so he leaves them and goes and murders more people. He comes back and they show there acceptance of him by offering him meatloaf at the dinner table.

Thumbs down. Skip ahead to the wife-rape and call it a night.