Ah dark lights and smoke machines. Thumping beats and loud distortion. Ears ringing, head like a lead balloon full of watered down whiskey. Crumbled up dollar bills stuffed into your pocket. Coins jangling. Keys somewhere in there. Girls perfume and sweat thicken the air. Your head spins so fast you almost can't tell anymore. You're dizzy. You're sick. You're an alien. You don't belong here. What am I doing here? Who the fuck are these people and what the hell made me come here? What the fuck do we have in common that we should be spending any night of the week in the same place looking for the same kind of fun?
Maybe I'm not doing it right. I lose them all to a scene. I don't want to be in a scene. I have no real burning desire to belong with a bunch of bobbing heads. Sometimes I think I want to get old in front of a blue glowing monitor and type away every shitty impulse in my head. Hope someone gets it but never really care if anyone does.
A little bitter.
A little bitter and a little tired and a little burned out of all of it and having to think about it and trying to compete with it and trying to think of a way to get ahead of it and trying to stay on top of it and trying to get over it. Paranoid and intolerant. Too many losses to those armies of cardboard cutouts. Ah but thus is life. They will win because they do win.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Satellite Radio Withdrawl in the Old West
I used to get in the car around 5 am, if I was lucky, I'd skip around the AM stations listening for traffic and weather. If it was winter I might have a looming fear that a snow storm would break out the further north I got. That had happened on more than one occasion, the worst of which the Parkway traffic slowed down to a one lane, 25mph crawl, where I spun out for a moment before getting control of the car. I stopped at the next rest stop, called out from work and drove back to the shore white knuckled.
But on a good day, by the time I got to the Parkway and the sun would start showing itself, I'd plug the satellite radio into the cigarette lighter and usually hear this come up.
It's from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly soundtrack by Enrico Morricone. Metallica used to come out to it in the early 90's, then recorded a version of it in the 00's. Opie and Anthony probably got it from them.
Anyway it was the first thing I'd pay attention to in the morning. I'd pretend I wasn't driving to work but was instead on some Eastwoodian quest for revenge, or justice or something of the like. It made it easier to wake up pretending I was headed towards some cinematic showdown rather than an office where I'd be fielding phone calls and discreetly abusing the Internet for 8 or 9 hours every day. Opie and Anthony, and usually Jim Norton but sometimes, (hopefully) Patrice O'Neal would start up shortly after that. The first segment of the show could run up to an hour long if they were on a roll and often they would. Sometimes I'd sit in the parking lot and listen to the end of the bit. This happened in college several time for things like this and missed a class for this (which is only part of a bit that went on for well over an hour).
There was also Ron and Fez. Both shows were on WNEW in the late 90's and early 00's. Opie and Anthony got fired over the Sex for Sam thing and shortly thereafter WNEW switched formats and Ron and Fez were fired. They came back a few years later on XM Satellite Radio and my boss at the time, VP Rolo Beesler, bought his own setup specifically to listen to them while he worked. After the first few "fucks" and "shits' echoed through the entire office he kept the volume low and usually shut the door to his office.
A few months later Ron and Fez got a show on the same channel. I started commuting from Brick to Ramsey. In honor of this, VP Rolo, who was upgrading his XM, gave me his old receiver; a stereo and a car mount. I'd catch the first hour of Opie and Anthony on the way in and rest of the show on a replay going home. Ron and Fez (doing bits like How Many 9 Year Olds Can You Beat Up) were on mid-days and I could keep them on while everyone was at lunch.
Sir Bert of Rohan soon joined us XM owners and it wasn't long before we just kept the radio on all day in the office and had our own little inside jokes that annoyed and alienated everyone else we worked with. The swan song for this came when Rolo and I were relocated to the warehouse (I suppose demoted) Rolo wired speakers running from his office to the rafters of the warehouse.
Anyway, I'm thinking about all this stuff because I'm looking for a job. Not a job, I guess. I'm looking for some work. I sort of have a job that I work at from home, however I'm constantly finding myself broke, so I'm looking for some supplementary income. So I'm going to go out and have to meet new people, get acclimated to a new environment, curb whatever tics or shitty things I say or do on a normal basis.
After I quit the XM place I got a quick job at a warehouse, closer to home. No radio, no friends, no fun. Just an old gray job. I loathed every second of it.
But on a good day, by the time I got to the Parkway and the sun would start showing itself, I'd plug the satellite radio into the cigarette lighter and usually hear this come up.
It's from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly soundtrack by Enrico Morricone. Metallica used to come out to it in the early 90's, then recorded a version of it in the 00's. Opie and Anthony probably got it from them.
Anyway it was the first thing I'd pay attention to in the morning. I'd pretend I wasn't driving to work but was instead on some Eastwoodian quest for revenge, or justice or something of the like. It made it easier to wake up pretending I was headed towards some cinematic showdown rather than an office where I'd be fielding phone calls and discreetly abusing the Internet for 8 or 9 hours every day. Opie and Anthony, and usually Jim Norton but sometimes, (hopefully) Patrice O'Neal would start up shortly after that. The first segment of the show could run up to an hour long if they were on a roll and often they would. Sometimes I'd sit in the parking lot and listen to the end of the bit. This happened in college several time for things like this and missed a class for this (which is only part of a bit that went on for well over an hour).
There was also Ron and Fez. Both shows were on WNEW in the late 90's and early 00's. Opie and Anthony got fired over the Sex for Sam thing and shortly thereafter WNEW switched formats and Ron and Fez were fired. They came back a few years later on XM Satellite Radio and my boss at the time, VP Rolo Beesler, bought his own setup specifically to listen to them while he worked. After the first few "fucks" and "shits' echoed through the entire office he kept the volume low and usually shut the door to his office.
A few months later Ron and Fez got a show on the same channel. I started commuting from Brick to Ramsey. In honor of this, VP Rolo, who was upgrading his XM, gave me his old receiver; a stereo and a car mount. I'd catch the first hour of Opie and Anthony on the way in and rest of the show on a replay going home. Ron and Fez (doing bits like How Many 9 Year Olds Can You Beat Up) were on mid-days and I could keep them on while everyone was at lunch.
Sir Bert of Rohan soon joined us XM owners and it wasn't long before we just kept the radio on all day in the office and had our own little inside jokes that annoyed and alienated everyone else we worked with. The swan song for this came when Rolo and I were relocated to the warehouse (I suppose demoted) Rolo wired speakers running from his office to the rafters of the warehouse.
Anyway, I'm thinking about all this stuff because I'm looking for a job. Not a job, I guess. I'm looking for some work. I sort of have a job that I work at from home, however I'm constantly finding myself broke, so I'm looking for some supplementary income. So I'm going to go out and have to meet new people, get acclimated to a new environment, curb whatever tics or shitty things I say or do on a normal basis.
After I quit the XM place I got a quick job at a warehouse, closer to home. No radio, no friends, no fun. Just an old gray job. I loathed every second of it.
Monday, July 4, 2011
In the Air Tonight
I never got used to the speed of the Ferrari. I always thought that was a good thing; it kept me grounded. This wasn't our car, this was all part of the job. Crockett thought like that too but he would never admit it. We both needed something to remind us that none of this was real. It was all part of the game. On the streets, in this line of work, the line was blurred often.
Crockett stopped off at a pay phone, said he had a contact that was waiting for a call. I think he called home, but within a few minutes we were off, our hair blowing in the wind, the radio blasting just to take our nerves off the business at hand.
The more I saw of Miami the more I missed New York. Sure, the weather is nice and the women are beautiful but it's all like an illusion. New York looks like trouble. You can smell it. This place is paradise and you never know where to look for it.
We finally pull up to the marina just outside of town. The Carteret.
"You ready?" Crockett asks, screwing a cigarette into his lop-sided smile.
"Yea I'm ready. Now remember we're just here to talk, Castillo is already on our asses."
"Hey, I'm cool." Crockett takes a deep drag and walks ahead.
I know the job is getting to him.
We're meeting Elisha Sanchez, a local girl who has agreed to make a connection for us with her uncle Livian, hired muscle for the Cortez gang.
Elisha was waiting for us and though she put on a brave face, I could tell she was scared.
'You're late," she snarled at Crockett.
"We can go if you'd like?" he shot back.
"Let's just do this fast."
She lead us down to the dock to a yacht. On the deck chair sat her Uncle Livian.
"So what's this all about? Why did you want to me?" he said lighting a cigar.
"Mr. Sanchez, we know that you might represent certain interested parties who would want what we have," I said to him staring him straight in the eye. If I've learned anything over these past three seasons, it's to always look them in the eye or they're liable to shoot you on spot.
"Oh and what is that?"
"How about enough of product to keep his business running smoothly for the next four months," Crockett chimed in.
"Hey man, who am I talking to you or him?"
"You're talking to me," I jumped in. Crockett looked flummoxed but he usually took the lead on these things and I felt that I was due.
"Ok, so how much is this going to cost him? That is if I represent somebody and if they're interested in whatever it is you might be selling."
"We won't worry about price now. If this is something he's interested in tell him to meet us back in town at a place called the Florida on Canal, tomorrow round 11 pm., that's not too early for you is it?"
"No, that's not too early for me, if anyone is interested maybe we'll see you there. If not maybe we'll see you some other time then."
We backed away and went back up to the car.
"How did it go?" Elisha asked.
"We'll find out tomorrow," Crockett snapped back.
"What about my cut?"
"Darlin' right now any percent of zero is zero so why don't you make sure you put in a good word for us with your boss."
"He's not my boss, he's my uncle. I don't work for him."
"I believe you." Crockett answered tenderly.
"I had nowhere else to go and I've had to stay with him."
"That must have been rough on you."
"It was," a tear started running down her cheek.
"There now don't cry," Crockett rubbed her face gently.
I took this as my cue to leave. Crockett had used this trick many times. He missed his family, sure, but he also was a man in a white Armani suit and when he had that suit on he became the character he was playing. Suave and ruthless. I on the other hand could shut it off, at least I thought I could. I caught a cab back to my apartment. It was a hot night in Miami.
The air conditioner was broken. A lake of neon pink ran through my window from the motel sign across the street. I was tired and I was lonely and I was bored.
My Atari 2600 was often the only thing I had to take my mind off the job, but how many times can I play Pole Position and Pitfall before I go crazy?
The next night Crockett knocked on my door, two coffees in hand and the cocksure smile of a man who had accomplished what he'd set out to do the night before.
We headed off to The Florida Club over on Canal street. They offered an early bird special of scrambled eggs, sausage or bacon, and toast for only $3.99 every weekday. It was a deal I took advantage of on many sleepless nights.
Our situation seemed bleak when we arrived.
Elisha was there and seemed like a new girl.
Crockett took her to the side and I only made out part of her conversation but I definitely heard the words "but we could leave this place, forever" thrown in there. This was all part of Crockett's game. He had the girl convinced that between the money he made in this score and the percentage he was going to throw her for making the connection they could start their lives over together somewhere else. Away from all of this. Maybe he believed it but I knew that when all this was over we'd just be going after some new drug dealer, with some other young pretty thing caught in the middle, and I'd be at home cursing the sensitivity of my Atari joystick.
"Tubbs you still with us?" Crockett yelled.
"Yeah," I answered.
"Mr. Cortez asked you a question."
I had hardly noticed Emanuel Cortez, the dealer we'd been chasing for the last few weeks was standing before me. I had so often deferred to Crockett in these situations I almost forgot what to do.
"Yeah, so do you want to buy some stuff?" I mumbled.
"Some stuff?"he answered disgustedly.
"Yeah," I snapped out of my fog, "Do you want to buy some of our drugs, I have drugs to sell and I want to know if you want to buy them?" I said forcefully.
"What the hell is this are you some kind of cop?"
"Yeah that's right I am a cop, undercover Miami Metro!"
"Tubbs what are you doing?" Crockett cried.
"Son of a bitch you set us up," Cortez reached into his jacket pulling out a chrome gun and pointing it at Elisha.
Before I could realize what was happening Crockett dove, almost in slow motion in front of her, yelling "no" for what seemed to go on for at least 10 or 11 seconds.
He was too late, Elisha was shot
Cortez then turned his gun towards me as did several of his henchman.
Except Livian, who was overcome with grief at watching his niece shot before him, he pointed his gun at the hench man, who, not expecting such an attack were quickly mowed down. Livian then aimed the gun at the back of Cortez's head.
"Drop it," he said in a clear distinct tone.
"What are you doing Livian?" Cortez growled.
"Emanuel Cortez you're under arrest," Livian said, reaching for handcuffs in his back pocket.
"What? You're undercover?" I shouted.
"Yeah, FBI. Name's Larkin" Livian said
"Livian Larkin?" I asked.
"No Agent Larkin," he corrected.
"How did you know we were cops?" I asked.
"Your partner there, he slept with my contact, told her he was going to get her out of all this, stuff like that, sounded like standard undercover stuff."
"So she's your partner?" Crockett asked.
"No, I just met her a few weeks ago, told her I was a long lost uncle, her mother's brother and that I was going to take care of her."
"She's not in on this then?" I asked.
"No, I was deep in on this,"
"So she's really shot then?"
"Oh yeah, she'll probably need medical attention."
An hour later the ambulance lights blazed
"That girl," Lt. Castillo said grimly, "she didn't make it."
Crockett looked stunned, His eyes welled furiously with frustrated tears.
"Was it worth it Lieutenant?" he said.
"Is it ever Sonny?"
I guess there are some lessons we're all still learning.
The ambulance was gone. A squad car took Cortez away to a life sentence for murder. But someone else would pop up in his place next week. They always did.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Counting Lights
Alright, this is going to be about wrestling so if you have no interest in that you might as well just skip this one, of course there is a better than average chance that this could veer off into something else like being absolutely joyless for the first time I can remember about 4th of July weekend or my unconditional love for Deadwood
But for right now let's just stay on wrestling.
Professor Horgan of the Northern New Jersey Wrestling Archives of Pompton Lakes is to blame for my continued interest in professional wrestling. Sure, when I was a kid I was caught up in the wave of 80's rock 'n wrestling and Hulkamania, Macho Madness and the 'power of the Ultimate Warrior' and kept watching into the era of the steroids hangover when smaller guys like Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels starting headlining. But at some point, I guess I kind of grew out of it. It was hard to get interested in things like circus clowns and garbage men who just happened to wrestle as a side career.
I didn't get it anymore.
The option was watching the rival WCW but as you can see by watching this or this that it really wasn't an option.
But in a few years time WCW started pulling in some of the older WWF guys like Randy Savage, Mean Gene, Hulk Hogan and probably most tragically Bobby Heenan. After trying to re-tread what WWF had done in the 80's with guys who were 10-15 years older WCW finally had the brainstorm to turn Hulk Hogan into a bad guy here and what followed was the wildly successful NWO angle that put WCW on top and almost put WWF out of business until they let Steve Austin off the chain. Then the the Rock and eventually things got bad in WCW when things like this happened and Vince McMahon bought WCW and ran it into the ground. Austin broke his neck, Rock went to Hollywood, the Undertaker became a biker, Shawn Michaels retired, Triple H married the boss's daughter and Mick Foley couldn't be thrown off a cage every night. Without any competition things got stale and story-lines got, um weird. (I'm not going to post it but search for 'Katie Vick' on youtube. Actually, don't)
But over the last few years Professor Horgan still gets himself amped up for Wrestlemania season beginning with the Royal Rumble, the winner of which gets a title shot at Wrestlemania. Feuds build up for the three months in between until finally the payoff. However like most things in life the build up is usually better than the result but usually one match steals the show, be it expected (Shawn Michaels vs. The Undertaker at WM26) or unexpected (Shawn Michaels vs Undertaker at WM25).
The best thing on television the past few months, maybe even years has been CM Punk. (I have no idea what C.M. stands for). The WWE is now kid-friendly. Their television programs have a PG rating which may or may not be linked to Vince McMahon's wife running for Congress last year. In all likelihood it has to do with marketing to a new generation of fans who will stay with the product for the next 20 years. Kids like me in the 80's who stopped watching came back in the 90's to see Hulk Hogan, that old patriotic vitamin-eater, with a black beard acting like a jackass and hung around to watch Steve Austin cursing every three words, drinking beer and beating up his boss but they took that as far it could go.
So now we have John Cena who started off as a rapper and has turned into Superman carrying the Hogan-torch, and just behind him is Randy Orton, a maniac who punts people in the head because he hears voices. They're the top to stars in the company but the best all around guy on the mic and in the ring is CM Punk. Cena can cut a promo but his matches are boring and usually end with him overcoming insane odds to win. Orton can wrestle but he's stiff on the mic.
CM Punk is allegedly leaving the WWE. He's announced it and then went on to cut this promo on Monday Night Raw this past week. It wasn't 'real' but it was pretty impressive. It was probably the most interesting thing in the WWE in ten years and they're letting him walk which is a shame and will probably result in me being done with this miserable sport/entertainment/tv show/thing that kids watch, at least until January.
Pro wrestling at it's best is stand up comedy and performance art; a bunch of maniacs throwing themselves at each other at lightning speeds and then calling each other names, controlling a crowd of people, most of whom are in on the joke.
Randy Savage died a few weeks ago and he was always one of my favorites.
His promos were insane and he always had exciting matches, easily outperforming Hogan and Warrior on their best days.
So here are a couple of those.
Here
and
here
and
here.
But for right now let's just stay on wrestling.
Professor Horgan of the Northern New Jersey Wrestling Archives of Pompton Lakes is to blame for my continued interest in professional wrestling. Sure, when I was a kid I was caught up in the wave of 80's rock 'n wrestling and Hulkamania, Macho Madness and the 'power of the Ultimate Warrior' and kept watching into the era of the steroids hangover when smaller guys like Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels starting headlining. But at some point, I guess I kind of grew out of it. It was hard to get interested in things like circus clowns and garbage men who just happened to wrestle as a side career.
I didn't get it anymore.
The option was watching the rival WCW but as you can see by watching this or this that it really wasn't an option.
But in a few years time WCW started pulling in some of the older WWF guys like Randy Savage, Mean Gene, Hulk Hogan and probably most tragically Bobby Heenan. After trying to re-tread what WWF had done in the 80's with guys who were 10-15 years older WCW finally had the brainstorm to turn Hulk Hogan into a bad guy here and what followed was the wildly successful NWO angle that put WCW on top and almost put WWF out of business until they let Steve Austin off the chain. Then the the Rock and eventually things got bad in WCW when things like this happened and Vince McMahon bought WCW and ran it into the ground. Austin broke his neck, Rock went to Hollywood, the Undertaker became a biker, Shawn Michaels retired, Triple H married the boss's daughter and Mick Foley couldn't be thrown off a cage every night. Without any competition things got stale and story-lines got, um weird. (I'm not going to post it but search for 'Katie Vick' on youtube. Actually, don't)
But over the last few years Professor Horgan still gets himself amped up for Wrestlemania season beginning with the Royal Rumble, the winner of which gets a title shot at Wrestlemania. Feuds build up for the three months in between until finally the payoff. However like most things in life the build up is usually better than the result but usually one match steals the show, be it expected (Shawn Michaels vs. The Undertaker at WM26) or unexpected (Shawn Michaels vs Undertaker at WM25).
The best thing on television the past few months, maybe even years has been CM Punk. (I have no idea what C.M. stands for). The WWE is now kid-friendly. Their television programs have a PG rating which may or may not be linked to Vince McMahon's wife running for Congress last year. In all likelihood it has to do with marketing to a new generation of fans who will stay with the product for the next 20 years. Kids like me in the 80's who stopped watching came back in the 90's to see Hulk Hogan, that old patriotic vitamin-eater, with a black beard acting like a jackass and hung around to watch Steve Austin cursing every three words, drinking beer and beating up his boss but they took that as far it could go.
So now we have John Cena who started off as a rapper and has turned into Superman carrying the Hogan-torch, and just behind him is Randy Orton, a maniac who punts people in the head because he hears voices. They're the top to stars in the company but the best all around guy on the mic and in the ring is CM Punk. Cena can cut a promo but his matches are boring and usually end with him overcoming insane odds to win. Orton can wrestle but he's stiff on the mic.
CM Punk is allegedly leaving the WWE. He's announced it and then went on to cut this promo on Monday Night Raw this past week. It wasn't 'real' but it was pretty impressive. It was probably the most interesting thing in the WWE in ten years and they're letting him walk which is a shame and will probably result in me being done with this miserable sport/entertainment/tv show/thing that kids watch, at least until January.
Pro wrestling at it's best is stand up comedy and performance art; a bunch of maniacs throwing themselves at each other at lightning speeds and then calling each other names, controlling a crowd of people, most of whom are in on the joke.
Randy Savage died a few weeks ago and he was always one of my favorites.
His promos were insane and he always had exciting matches, easily outperforming Hogan and Warrior on their best days.
So here are a couple of those.
Here
and
here
and
here.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Ten Thousand Shows About People Digging Things Out of The Ground
I've watched a lot of shitty movies in my life. I don't mean to the extent of seeking them out and I'm not talking about charmingly bad movies that were made on a modest budget but with complete and utter Ed-Wood-ian sincerity, I mean big, dumb-shit blockbuster movies that have no plot and seem to only exist so there can be a scene where someone is walking slowly away from an explosion. I watch those movies. I don't necessarily like all of them but in a way I find them comforting.
I like them much better than television.
I have no idea what is happening on television anymore.
Now, I will clarify that I do have shows that I watch regularly and some of them are nothing more than candy, nothing ground-breaking or necessarily artistic, just fun. Mindless fun. And I will also fess to watching marathons of Deadliest Catch. I will watch episodes, seasons, that I've already seen because I like the ocean and I don't have the balls to do that stuff myself so I will endure hours of grizzled men, most with mullets, regurgitating hyperbole about the dangers of their job as if they are doing something more noble than scraping the sea clean of crustaceans for a substantial profit, all set to Bon Jovi and other nauseating rock 'n' roll cowboy dreck.
I'll watch that. But that's about where the line is drawn for me. I dabbled in some American Pickers this winter with Ms. Falk, however that show is only tolerable when altered, and was in fact the inspiration for an entire drinking game which can be found here* (Bonus Link!)
But that was it for me. I can't watch people work anymore. Every show on every channel that isn't HBO seems to be about some weird, crazy job that some 'character' has and they want to let you know that not just anyone can do it. Loggers, truck drivers, swamp animal wranglers, prison guards, motorcycle builders and let's not forget Dirty Jobs, a show that features a new such occupation every episode.
This doesn't even count the sub-genre of chef based shows about people preparing everything from raw fish to cupcakes. Everything becomes a "war" battling it out between who makes the best bowl of New England Clam Chowder. But it's not just about how good it tastes, it's about the presentation.
Another sub-genre that we won't even talk about are the house-wife and children-of-fringe celebrities based shows. We're all adults here and we can all agree that the only thing worse than people trying to inflate the worth of what they do for a living is watching people who do nothing for a living while they shop, tan, and talk shit for an hour. We don't even need to talk about that.
And since I'm already going all high-horse I may as well confess I don't know what the hell happened to the History Channel. I used to like some of their shows and not just the endless barrage of World War II documentaries. They used to have shows about, um, history. Finely produced original documentaries on things like Watergate, Benjamin Franklin, the War of 1812, Andrew Jackson, etc. They still parade some of these out every once in a while but they have caught the "job" bug just as bad as any network. Between Ice Road Truckers and unleashing the American Pickers on poor, unsuspecting senior citizens to low-ball them on their classic cars and oil signs I don't even bother anymore.
I'd rather watch shit bombs like Wolverine or Terminator: Salvation (or more preferably any of the oft-mentioned Nicolas Cage films I've cited here over the years). Sure they're schlocky entertainment but you're watching people whose job it is to make schlocky entertainment.
Of course I find other ways to occupy myself, like occasionally poorly animating Blumes' Facebook status. Perfect blog link of the day: is here
It's kind of a double dip self-promotion but I'm kind of happy with it.
I think I'm going to rant about wrestling tomorrow.
Or maybe later.
If you're good.
I like them much better than television.
I have no idea what is happening on television anymore.
Now, I will clarify that I do have shows that I watch regularly and some of them are nothing more than candy, nothing ground-breaking or necessarily artistic, just fun. Mindless fun. And I will also fess to watching marathons of Deadliest Catch. I will watch episodes, seasons, that I've already seen because I like the ocean and I don't have the balls to do that stuff myself so I will endure hours of grizzled men, most with mullets, regurgitating hyperbole about the dangers of their job as if they are doing something more noble than scraping the sea clean of crustaceans for a substantial profit, all set to Bon Jovi and other nauseating rock 'n' roll cowboy dreck.
I'll watch that. But that's about where the line is drawn for me. I dabbled in some American Pickers this winter with Ms. Falk, however that show is only tolerable when altered, and was in fact the inspiration for an entire drinking game which can be found here* (Bonus Link!)
But that was it for me. I can't watch people work anymore. Every show on every channel that isn't HBO seems to be about some weird, crazy job that some 'character' has and they want to let you know that not just anyone can do it. Loggers, truck drivers, swamp animal wranglers, prison guards, motorcycle builders and let's not forget Dirty Jobs, a show that features a new such occupation every episode.
This doesn't even count the sub-genre of chef based shows about people preparing everything from raw fish to cupcakes. Everything becomes a "war" battling it out between who makes the best bowl of New England Clam Chowder. But it's not just about how good it tastes, it's about the presentation.
Another sub-genre that we won't even talk about are the house-wife and children-of-fringe celebrities based shows. We're all adults here and we can all agree that the only thing worse than people trying to inflate the worth of what they do for a living is watching people who do nothing for a living while they shop, tan, and talk shit for an hour. We don't even need to talk about that.
And since I'm already going all high-horse I may as well confess I don't know what the hell happened to the History Channel. I used to like some of their shows and not just the endless barrage of World War II documentaries. They used to have shows about, um, history. Finely produced original documentaries on things like Watergate, Benjamin Franklin, the War of 1812, Andrew Jackson, etc. They still parade some of these out every once in a while but they have caught the "job" bug just as bad as any network. Between Ice Road Truckers and unleashing the American Pickers on poor, unsuspecting senior citizens to low-ball them on their classic cars and oil signs I don't even bother anymore.
I'd rather watch shit bombs like Wolverine or Terminator: Salvation (or more preferably any of the oft-mentioned Nicolas Cage films I've cited here over the years). Sure they're schlocky entertainment but you're watching people whose job it is to make schlocky entertainment.
Of course I find other ways to occupy myself, like occasionally poorly animating Blumes' Facebook status. Perfect blog link of the day: is here
It's kind of a double dip self-promotion but I'm kind of happy with it.
I think I'm going to rant about wrestling tomorrow.
Or maybe later.
If you're good.
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Tommy Lee Jones Manufactured Podcast from Western Wyoming Pennsylvania (not Really)
There are people downstairs talking again. Talking alot. They're drunk. The Monday drunks are much more lively than the Sunday drunks. At least in East Rutherford. At least this week. Maybe there was a better game on tonight. Anyway, I just heard some guy talking say (something) like this:
"I mean out of all of them Tara probably fits my life-style the best, but is that the kind of fucking criteria I want to be judging this on? Is that what I want from my life?"
He went on but they were headed down the street towards the diner that is closed for renovations. I got worried for a second because I thought it was some past flashback of me drunkenly ranting about girl problems to poor ol' Reinhold Hadrich or Headmaster Porr of Slytherin. But I don't know any girl named Tara, at least not one that I've ever had any existential, alcoholic fits about. Maybe it was me from the future.
I didn't give this too much thought because Tommy Lee Jones just showed up to tell some of these "biker types" to keep things down because people, good people, are trying to sleep around here. But he did it in a 'no-nonsense' folksy way. He called one guy Junior and the other guy "bub" which lead me to wonder if in his younger days Mr. T.L. Jones would have made a good Wolverine. It must've have worked on the bikers because they kept it down. And Tommy Lee Jones went back to New York to finish making Men In Black 3 which from what I read is going to be quite a hot commodity at the box office.
So now that there were no more movie stars in the area and the drunks had all been warned about their antics there is very little to do.
Here is the perfect blog link for today, don't think I forgot about all that nonsense:
The Alexxcast
Alexx Bollen has a podcast.
I had one that is currently being excavated from the vaults of the New Jersey State Podcast Archive and will perhaps be available to public soon. But until then more of this.
"I mean out of all of them Tara probably fits my life-style the best, but is that the kind of fucking criteria I want to be judging this on? Is that what I want from my life?"
He went on but they were headed down the street towards the diner that is closed for renovations. I got worried for a second because I thought it was some past flashback of me drunkenly ranting about girl problems to poor ol' Reinhold Hadrich or Headmaster Porr of Slytherin. But I don't know any girl named Tara, at least not one that I've ever had any existential, alcoholic fits about. Maybe it was me from the future.
I didn't give this too much thought because Tommy Lee Jones just showed up to tell some of these "biker types" to keep things down because people, good people, are trying to sleep around here. But he did it in a 'no-nonsense' folksy way. He called one guy Junior and the other guy "bub" which lead me to wonder if in his younger days Mr. T.L. Jones would have made a good Wolverine. It must've have worked on the bikers because they kept it down. And Tommy Lee Jones went back to New York to finish making Men In Black 3 which from what I read is going to be quite a hot commodity at the box office.
So now that there were no more movie stars in the area and the drunks had all been warned about their antics there is very little to do.
Here is the perfect blog link for today, don't think I forgot about all that nonsense:
The Alexxcast
Alexx Bollen has a podcast.
I had one that is currently being excavated from the vaults of the New Jersey State Podcast Archive and will perhaps be available to public soon. But until then more of this.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Dispatch from the Kitchen Table
It's not that late. People are sleeping here in the apartment, the bars are getting out a little bit but it's really not that late. I don't have to be anywhere in the morning so what do I know. But I used to have to wake up with the alarm and even then I never considered midnight to be too late. I can't sleep anyway.
I saw the movie JFK when I was a kid, 12ish I think. I have no idea why. Maybe I was a Costner fan. Anyway it scared the shit out of me then and it still does now. I realize there are terrible inaccuracies and fictions in the film that even people who believe in a conspiracy point out but it's a topic that's always fascinated me. So on a jaunt over to Barnes and Noble to birthday shop for Ms. Falk I came across a book in the bargain bin arguing some of the points in the Warren Commission report. This was the first real book, (according to it) that discussed the potential of a conspiracy ("with over 1 million copies sold!") and was a catalyst for some of the scenes in Oliver Stone's film. So I read the introduction where the author pretty much talks about why he thinks the movie is bullshit. I won't mention the name of the book or the author, partially because after looking him up it is possible alot of what he cites could be out context, and maybe partially because he's already sold a million books and I haven't so what does he need me plugging him for.
Anyway, I read the first couple chapter and the shit is just too heavy. Too many ghouls involved. Too much talk of bullet trajectories and shadowy men and cover-ups and it's too much to have dancing on your head on a Sunday night. I'm convinced there's a team waiting to take me out downstairs disguised as drunks.
I have more immediate problems like complete and utter lack of money, lack of stamina for doing anything to change that, and the decreased tolerance of being around any one else I know so I doubt trying to enlighten myself on a 50-year old alleged national mystery is really something that should be at the top of my to-do list.
But anyway, this really has nothing to do with that. I've put that book down in favor of something more fun like Notes From the Underground. The main gist is that I can't sleep. Not at midnight, or half-past midnight as it appears to be, so all this leads me to the perfect blog post.
I got an email from a writing site that I enlisted with a while back that sends you "Daily Writing Tips". Some of them are helpful some of them are useless, last week I got the "10 Tips to Creating a Perfect Blog Post" email.
Now, we here at Bleak.Blogspot do not have a strong following, sure if we link a post to Facebook or Twitter we'll get some extra hits, but to be honest 12-20 hits is a lot here so we are certainly not above taking some advice on how to get our numbers up. So think of how happy I was to find that I now had in my possession the ten ways to create a perfect post. Think of all the followers I can gain after I employ these tips with my own winning brand of neurosis!
Well I'm not going to go ahead and list every point they gave me because for one I would be giving away all the tips and then how would my perfect blog post stand out from all the rest? But I can reveal that a good, ahem, perfect title was key. So after shooting down several serene sounding handles, I chose what I chose because I can see there being more entries like this if the old apartment is going to be lights out this early.
I was also advised to add a video, to give the whole thing a "multi-media" feel to it.
So, in honor of Mr. Horgan moving his children's car seats out of the back of his Dodge Ram in order to watch a burned disc of the Bobby Heenan Show in the back of his truck in the parking lot of the Orange Lantern. So here is a video for your viewing pleasure.
Now, this was probably not the perfect blog post, I can be self critical, but I think I'm on my way and once I compile all my notes of what the drunks fumbling their way down the street to diner are saying I think I might even have a few masterpieces in me.
I saw the movie JFK when I was a kid, 12ish I think. I have no idea why. Maybe I was a Costner fan. Anyway it scared the shit out of me then and it still does now. I realize there are terrible inaccuracies and fictions in the film that even people who believe in a conspiracy point out but it's a topic that's always fascinated me. So on a jaunt over to Barnes and Noble to birthday shop for Ms. Falk I came across a book in the bargain bin arguing some of the points in the Warren Commission report. This was the first real book, (according to it) that discussed the potential of a conspiracy ("with over 1 million copies sold!") and was a catalyst for some of the scenes in Oliver Stone's film. So I read the introduction where the author pretty much talks about why he thinks the movie is bullshit. I won't mention the name of the book or the author, partially because after looking him up it is possible alot of what he cites could be out context, and maybe partially because he's already sold a million books and I haven't so what does he need me plugging him for.
Anyway, I read the first couple chapter and the shit is just too heavy. Too many ghouls involved. Too much talk of bullet trajectories and shadowy men and cover-ups and it's too much to have dancing on your head on a Sunday night. I'm convinced there's a team waiting to take me out downstairs disguised as drunks.
I have more immediate problems like complete and utter lack of money, lack of stamina for doing anything to change that, and the decreased tolerance of being around any one else I know so I doubt trying to enlighten myself on a 50-year old alleged national mystery is really something that should be at the top of my to-do list.
But anyway, this really has nothing to do with that. I've put that book down in favor of something more fun like Notes From the Underground. The main gist is that I can't sleep. Not at midnight, or half-past midnight as it appears to be, so all this leads me to the perfect blog post.
I got an email from a writing site that I enlisted with a while back that sends you "Daily Writing Tips". Some of them are helpful some of them are useless, last week I got the "10 Tips to Creating a Perfect Blog Post" email.
Now, we here at Bleak.Blogspot do not have a strong following, sure if we link a post to Facebook or Twitter we'll get some extra hits, but to be honest 12-20 hits is a lot here so we are certainly not above taking some advice on how to get our numbers up. So think of how happy I was to find that I now had in my possession the ten ways to create a perfect post. Think of all the followers I can gain after I employ these tips with my own winning brand of neurosis!
Well I'm not going to go ahead and list every point they gave me because for one I would be giving away all the tips and then how would my perfect blog post stand out from all the rest? But I can reveal that a good, ahem, perfect title was key. So after shooting down several serene sounding handles, I chose what I chose because I can see there being more entries like this if the old apartment is going to be lights out this early.
I was also advised to add a video, to give the whole thing a "multi-media" feel to it.
So, in honor of Mr. Horgan moving his children's car seats out of the back of his Dodge Ram in order to watch a burned disc of the Bobby Heenan Show in the back of his truck in the parking lot of the Orange Lantern. So here is a video for your viewing pleasure.
Now, this was probably not the perfect blog post, I can be self critical, but I think I'm on my way and once I compile all my notes of what the drunks fumbling their way down the street to diner are saying I think I might even have a few masterpieces in me.
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