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I know I'm not alone in my appreciation of infomercials. There's something spellbinding about them. The allure is beyond comprehension, lacking any kind of logical or sensible explanation. Perhaps it's curiosity, or boredom, or maybe even a slight bit of masochism -- whatever the reason, we feel obligated to watch.

The quality of acting is poor, of course, but it's as if it's purposely poor. It's like they went far out of their way to be awful. I don't know, perhaps it's shrewd salesmanship. Maybe acting that is so offensively bad makes us, the unsuspecting consumer, feel sympathy for the company and buy their product out of pity. And there are recurring infomercial actors, too. Pitchmen. People who corporate suits have hand-picked to represent their product, anointed to be the face of their company. They've become ingrained in our collective social consciousness; there's Billy Mays (with his immaculate beard) and Oxy Clean; Chef Tony and his specialty knives that can cut through dry wall just as easily as they can slice a tomato (although admittedly I don't see him around anymore...I hope he hasn't retired); and that guy with the pock marks, I forgot his name, and the airtight vacuum-sealed bags. They are television's professional shills.

I was always a poor math student, but with four "easy" payment installments, I think it's safe to say that it isn't going to be exactly cheap. Whatever the base price may be (let's just say, $14.99), after you multiply it by four, it's going to obviously add up. And they always make a big deal about price-slashing. They'll hedge their bets by starting really high -- "You won't pay $400 for this item...not $300...not $200...not $150...heck, not even $100" -- continuing to sequentially lower the price, dropping down in descending order. All of this is a nice gesture, I guess, but I don't think I'd want to blow $400 bucks all in one shot anyway. At least not over the phone, and not on a piece of junk.

The before-and-after scenes are ridiculous, but it's an endearing kind of ridiculous. I feel the eternal pessimist wastes his time complaining about them and the eternal optimist embraces and enjoys them. In cases like these, the glass is definitely half full. It's fun watching people struggle with the simplest, most mundane tasks. Opening a jar of pickles, wiping up spilled milk, chopping an onion -- all of sudden, they've become the hardest things in the world to do. And what's more, they'll always do them the exact opposite way you're supposed to do them. Instead of twisting the pickle jar's lid clockwise, they'll wrestle with it, as if trying to hold a live, wriggling fish at bay; instead of effeciently dabbing at the puddle of milk, they'll hold a sheet of paper towel between their thumb and pointer finger, daintily dragging it through the mess; and instead of chopping the onion, they'll jab and thrust at it, like a swashbuckler. It's amazing. The clips only last for a split second, but they always stand out as one of the highlights of the entire infomercial. I don't consider it an insult to my intelligence at all -- I consider it entertainment. And if their cinematography has taught me anything, it's that monochrome signifies conflict and hardship, while technicolor signifies a much easier and fulfilling life (that's assuming you own their product, naturally).

There's a misconception that infomercials only air really late at night (or really early in the morning, depending on which way you look at it), but that's not entirely true. Whenever we think of infomercials, we automatically think of 4:00 AM. But things have slowly changed. Truth is, infomercials come on at all times of the day. They're broadcast during the weekday when everyone is supposed to be at work. They're broadcast during those lazy Sunday afternoons, before or after a crappy basic cable TV movie (usually Tremors 2). In fact, if you scour your channels hard enough, you may even find one playing during prime time. So the point is, you don't necessarily have to be an insomniac to watch people selling stuff.

Specificity is always good, so here are a few of my favorite infomercials:

Ronco Rotisserie

So essentially, it's just a glorified Easy Bake Oven, right?

Spinning meat is mesmerizing. Spinning makes you hungry; spinning makes you want to eat.

The "flavor injector" is unappetizing. The concept is reasonable enough -- I can understand wanting to make something juicier and tastier -- but hypodermic needles conjures mental images of the doctor's office, HIV, and heroin. It doesn't really make me think of dinner. And it's hilarious when he injects the whole cloves of garlic into the rib roast...I love garlic, but it kind of defeats the purpose of seasoning when the garlic stays in one centralized area.

Set it...and forget it.

The salmon with sprigs of dill and slices of lemon looks pretty good.

Ron Popeil has created a lot of gadgets over the course of his career (the Chop-O-Matic, the Pocket Fisherman, Spray-On Hair, etc., etc.) but no one ever calls him an "inventor." And when you think about it, basically no one is ever considered an "inventor" these days. At least not an inventor in the same vein as Thomas Edison, Nikola Tesla, or Benjamin Franklin. Nowadays, if you create something, you're usually classified as an "entrepreneur" or a "business magnate." For instance, Bill Gates invented Microsoft, but no one really calls him an "inventor." It's a word that doesn't really fit into our everyday lexicon anymore; it's grown outdated, anachronistic. And that's unfair because for stupid and useless as his creations may be, they're still "inventions" in every sense of the word.

ShamWow

This is one of my new favorites.

The headset microphone seems completely unnecessary.

His bulging, frantic eyes suggest rampant cocaine abuse, or a stroke.

This puts me in the mood to punch coca-cola out of a swatch of shag carpeting.

I understand that its an abbreviation for "shammy," but I can still appreciate the poetic value of using "sham" right in the product name. It's nearly as blatant as calling it the FraudWow, or Rip-OffWow.

I'm almost positive I don't spend $20/month on paper towels, but now that he's brought it up, it does make me wonder...

This guy is the rockstar of infomercials. He is the new generation.

Magic Bullet

I guess I can see how this would be useful, but it's still just a small blender. And in that case, I can just use my ordinary blender.

Could they have picked a less sexually-suggestive product name, maybe? The double entendre couldn't have possibly been unintentional. Maybe for their next informercial they'll advertise the Dildo Toaster.

Zesty salsa in less than 5 seconds? This is truly a wonderous technological age we live in.

The host's accent makes me feel a little more inclined to buy it. It's very soothing. It almost makes me forget that he's ripping me off.

This does put me in the mood for a smoothie, maybe mango.

I always get so involved in the storyline. Are Mick and Mimi married, or are they just living together? Why are all these people at their house so early in the morning...did they all sleep over? Does Berman have a drinking problem? With the casual way she's just bumming around the house in a night gown and a cigarette, Hazel and the hosts most have a very familiar, longtime friendship. Are Mimi and the other blonde haired girl supposed to be sisters? They look related. If they are, I bet Mimi holds low key resentment and hostility towards her sister for being younger and slightly prettier. She doesn't necessarily hate her, she's just jealous. She badmouths her in private, but maintains a cheery disposition for the sake of public appearances. All liquored up, Mimi wanted to finally tell her sister off at her wedding reception (which was a beautiful affair, by the way), but Mick stepped in and kept her from embarassing herself. Sadly, Mimi is unable to bear children, so when she finds out her sister is pregnant, she'll be devastated. At least, this is how I envision the script in my head.

Walkfit Shoe Insole

This is the 2nd recording of this infomercial, and the host has really lost a lot of weight. Good for him.

I have very flat feet, so I always watch this so longingly. I get jealous of the shots of all the happy people dancing and shopping and bowling without any pain. After only a short while of walking and standing, my legs are already fatigued. And after a little while longer, they start throbbing. I really need some arch support in my shoes.

This is the same girl from the Magic Bullet commercials.

Snuggie

Yes, they look stupid. And yes, they make you look like you're a member of some weird cult or religious sect. But I have to admit that I would kind of want one. I don't know if I'd necessarily go out of my way to purchase one, but if someone offered to me as a gift, I would eagerly accept it. It's practical. It's useful. And I imagine it's comfortable. After you get over how goofy they are, it's hard to deny its usefulness. If you like blankets, then I think you would also like Snuggies.

But yeah, again, they do look obscenely stupid. They're just wearing a backwards robe, Kriss Kross-style. I would never wear them out to "a sporting events." I would never wear them "in the dorm." I would never wear them anywhere that I might be seen by the opposite sex. Only inside the house, with the blinds shut, and preferably shrouded in the night's darkness. And even then I would still feel embarassed.

Marvel

I'm pumped because I recently discovered that Phil's Comic Book Shop on Atlantic is still open for business. I had no idea because I hadn't been down that way in a while. Everyone loves Tate's on University (and rightfully so, it's a cool store), but I like Phil's just as much. It's a tiny place, about the size of a broom closest when compared to the sprawling floorspace of Tate's. If all you want are comics -- and not toys, or anime, or goofy little knick knacks -- then this is a great place to shop because it's all they sell.

I'll buy a couple trade paperbacks and graphic novels every once and a while, but I haven't bought any actual comic books in years. Since I've been out of the loop for so long, I don't really know what's going on. But I was so happy that the store was still around that I felt obligated to buy something.

In X-Men Legacy #219, the Juggernaut becomes a super-villain again after, apparently, being a member of the X-Men for a while. I had no idea he had reformed, but I guess the idea of him being a temprorary hero is sort of cool. This issue was boring, though. It was just him and Professor X talking the whole time. And of course, the key to beating Juggernaut is rip his helmet off and attack him telepathically.

Amazing Spider-Man #579 featured the Shocker, and I've always liked him. He's just a second-string villain and poses little threat, but he has a great character design and makes for a good visual on the page. With that yellow, criss-crossed diamond pattern costume, it looks like he's wearing a very plush quilt. This issue is written by Mark Waid, who had a really good run with Captain America and the Fantastic Four back in the late 90s / early 00s.

Amazing Spider-Man #580 is written by Roger Stern, one of my favorite comic writers. I remember him writing a lot of good Avengers stuff. It has some good fight scenes, but it's with a villain I've never heard of: the Blank. He's completely opaque without any distinguishing facial features and is surrounded by a protective force field. Sounds like of like a rip-off of the X-Men villain Unus the Untouchable.

Amazing Spider-Man #581 was confusing because apparently Harry Osborn has come back to life. I have the original issue where he dies as the Green Goblin, but I guess they've brought him back. Other than all the confusing backstory stuff that I had trouble following, the entire issue was really non-eventful without any fight scenes or action sequences. And it included the Molten Man, who I never really thought much of as a villain. Dan Slott wrote this issue, and even though I've never read of his previous work I have heard some good things about him.

I liked all three of the different artists -- Marcos Martin, Lee Weeks, and Mike McKone -- in each of these three issues. They have a very sleek and streamlined style, everything looking very compact and aerodynamic. I feel that's the way Spider-Man should be drawn. I've seen a lot of other renditions of him looking huge and bulky, with broad shoulder and bulging muscles. That's not how Spider-Man should look at all. He should be really thin and wispy and flexible lanky. He shouldn't look like a weight lifter at all. It should actually be the exact opposite: his stature, posture, and physique should look creepy and inhuman, very Daddy Long Legs-ish. And all of the poses -- jumping, crawling, flipping, somersaulting -- were so smooth and fluid. That's really important to me in a Spider-Man comic, a penciller who knows how to properly choreograph an action sequence.

I also picked up a really old back issue, Uncanny X-Men #243. It had an awesome cover: a giant Mr. Sinister holding out the X-Men in his palm over a pit of flames, all of them dangling and hanging on this fingertips. The print date on the inside cover reads April 1989. It was nice to see Longshot again, who never gets enough airtime.

It'll never happen because of the social stigma attached to them, but comic books really do deserve more respect and renown as an artistic medium. They're visuals and verse, together. The perfect balance of two incredible things.

Comics are expensive these days. I remember a lot of them were $.99 when I was a kid, but now most of them are $3.00. I'm seriously thinking about getting a subscription. I'll be able to save a full $1 for a year's worth of issues.

A musty, moldy smell of old paper permeated the entire shop. With all of those boxes of back issues piled high upon one another, there's literally decades of rot in the air. All of that ground up pulp, that fading ink, paper that had gotten wet and then dried -- it's almost claustrophobic. It's a smell that only an avid reader could love. It's the smell of literacy.

Right on cue, I walked in to hear two customers talking about Lost and Heroes. Now, I don't have anything specifically against either of these shows -- I used to watch Lost and I've never seen an episode of Heroes, but I imagine I'd like it enough -- but I could barely conceal my condescending sneer as I eavesdropped on their conversation. Comic book nerds are so admirably and obliviously awkward (for the sake of reference, I do like comics and I do think of myself as a nerd, but not necessarily a comic book nerd). Perhaps more than anything, I've noticed their very distinct speech patterns. They're all very loud speakers. Not the hyper-macho, aggressive kind of loud you'll hear from a jock-bro or frat-bro at a bar. And not the annoying, inconsiderate kind of loud that you'll hear from a rude Soccer Mom on her cell phone while getting checked out in the express lane. This is much different, a loud that is completely unaware and unconcerned with of its surroundings. Kind of a like a social cluelessness. It's booming and cacophonous, lacking any sense of tact, grace, or shame. But in their defense, it's actually respectable in that they can discuss the most unattractive and unflattering topics without hesitation. I like to think that I'm pretty comfortable in my own skin, but even I would admit that talking out loud about how the 2nd generation of All-New, All-Different X-Men were assembled in order to rescue the original X-Men from the mutant island of Krakoa (and be assured, I can go on and out about this) would make me feel more than a little self-conscious.

And because of all the critical acclaim it's received, I'm gonna check out Ed Brubaker's Captain America and Daredevil next.

Cavemen and Dinosaurs

I wish Flintstones chewable vitamins were still a staple of my daily diet. They were like SweeTarts, or Smarties, fortified with just enough iron and riboflavin. Basically, they were healthy candy.

I considered it cruel and unusual punishment that I could only take one per day; using my ingenious, Kindergarten-honed sense of logic, I figured more of a good thing was invariably and unequivocally better.

I'm aware that, in addition to the expected characters, they also make them in the shape of the Great Gazoo now; I don't remember if they had those back when I was young or if they added him to the line-up after the fact.

I vividly remember the catchy jingle they played during the commercials: "Ten million strong...and groooowing."

Now they offer two distinct options, the latter not being available to me as a child: chewable vitamins and gummi vitamins; I maintain the notion that current generations always have it better than the generations that preceded them.

The Flintstones helped push a lot of product; their faces adorn boxes of Cocoa and Fruity Pebbles, beloved household items. But it makes me wonder, why didn't any of their other contemporaries get any endorsement deals? Did some advertising agency conduct a scientific study that proved the Jetsons couldn't sell merchandise? Did Snagglepuss not have the necessary clout to carry his own brand of breakfast cereal?

It seems so obvious now -- just push down and twist at the same time -- but those child-proof bottle caps really did what they were supposed to. They were impenetrable.

We'll Take the Physical Challenge

Growing up, I spent a lot of time watching Nickelodeon's Double Dare.

I remember enjoying it vicariously because I knew my family and I would never be contestants on the show. And it's not because we weren't a loving family; there wasn't anything especially dysfunctional or abusive about our relationship. But we just weren't that kind of family. I couldn't imagine all of us ever putting on matching uniforms, answering trivia questions, and performing stunts on national television -- at least not together. I don't think I'd have a problem playing with another stand-in family provided by the network (I could easily live a temporary lie for a 30-minute game show), but playing with my own would have just been weird.

My Mom would have absolutely refused to get messy, so considering the slime-based nature of the show, that would have immediately presented itself as a problem. My younger sister was really small as a kid, with tiny little hands and underdeveloped upper body strength (probably a byproduct of being five years old), so she didn't have the ideal physique for running, jumping, and grabbing. And my Dad had an uncanny ability to make me feel nervous and inadequate during anything remotely physical by just standing there (this issue would resurface again in the near future during Little League games), so I'd probably forget how to perform simple motor skills like walking from one point to another point, or how to use my opposable thumbs to grip things. I'd always see the families on TV jumping around, hugging and supporting one another, playfully hitting each other in the face with pie tins filled with shaving cream -- and I couldn't see us doing that. Again, there was nothing wrong with my family; we're actually very typical. We just weren't that way. We didn't have that dynamic, that rapport. I cringe thinking about how uncomfortable the car ride home would be if we didn't win.

If you didn't know the answer to a trivia question (or if you were employing some strategy and wanted to make the other team think you didn't know the answer) you can dare them. Then, if the opposing team also didn't know the answer (of if they wanted to call you out on your obvious bluff), they could double dare you. That's when you had to make a decision -- you either had to answer the question or accept a Physical Challenge. And I liked the Physical Challenges fine, they were like a precursor for messier, funnier things to come (read: the Obstacle Course). But looking back on it now, it's funny how the objective of so many of those challenges involved putting brightly colored liquid (usually green or orange) into big measuring cups. That was almost always the case: put this stuff into that thing and keep doing it until you fill it up to the red line. There were slight variations of course -- sometimes you had to sit on liquid-filled balloons, sometimes you wore a juicer on your head and you had to "juice" liquid-soaked balls -- but it was all more or less the same. Basically, it seemed like if you had the required eye-hand coordination to pour yourself a glass of milk, you could easily win.

Marc Summers was born to be a TV host. I couldn't picture him doing anything else with his life. He had the right combination of charisma, inoffensive All-American looks, and just enough cheese-factor to satiate the nation's old fashioned, conventional suburban viewership. I remember how he always used to wear a sports coat, necktie, blue jeans, and white sneakers with white tube socks. He was just really good at holding a microphone, looking into a camera, and saying things. And he's really prolific, too. It's not like he's a one-hit wonder; he also went on to host What Would You Do? (this was when the TV genre of pie-throwing was at its peak) and is currently hosting the Food Network's Unwrapped (it's nice to know how BBQ Fritos are made). He's just great at what he does.

The best part of the show, of course, was the 60-second Obstacle Course at the end of each episode. I spent a lot of time studying this challenge, closely comparing how one family fares to another. I took mental note of each tendency and pattern that formed: a strong start was imperative; if a contestant spent in excess of, say, twelve or more seconds on the very first obstacle, I knew their prospects were dim. Physical fitness played a role; maybe not a major role, but the father with a slight beer belly or the mother with the extra-wide hips were at a disadvantage. Because the ultimate goal of each obstacle was to capture the flag, there was a lot of reaching and grabbing and stretching and extending. The longer, leaner families usually responded well to this, as their sleek and slender arms were able to cover a lot more ground and reach the flag milliseconds faster than other, squatter families. And cardiovascular health was naturally a point of concern. Granted, the course was only a minute long, but stamina and endurance were important. I'm sure running around a TV studio and knocking down giant bowling pins would leave many people gasping for air.

I soon realized that aside from a few exceptions, the obstacles generally fit into four basic categories:

1) The "Gimmies" - These were the blatantly easy challenges that the producers strategically placed to make sure that families at least had a fighting chance of winning. They're essentially automatic. The objective was simple: get from Point A to Point B. The contestant would start at one location, travel a distance of about ten feet, and then grab the awaiting flag. These included the "Drawbridge" (you had to push your way through the big red drawbridge), the "Sunspension Bridge" (you can find these in any park on any playground), the "Doggy Door" (just had to crawl through on your hands and knees), and any variation of having to wade through a waist-high pool of water (the pool was often decorated as a swamp with fake sawgrass, fog machine, and inflatable alligators). These were all boring, but they served a purpose. Without them, they'd definitely have to extend the time limit.

2) The Slightly More Difficult "Gimmies" - These were fundamentally the same obstacle, only a little harder. You still only had to get from Point A to Point B, but these demanded at least the slightest bit of athleticism. You actually had to traverse across something or negotiate your way through something, like the "Ant Farm" (it was a giant ant farm and you had to snake and wriggle your way through the tunnels), the "Sushi Roll" (they were big pipes shaped like California rolls and you had to crawl through them on your belly), "In One Ear" (enter through one ear, squeeze through the wax, and come out the other ear), and the "Sundae Slide" (climb up a ramp, ride the twisty slide down to the bottom, land in a giant ice cream sundae, reach up for the flag. Now, because the ramp was greased with faux chocolate syrup, the key to this obstacle was to put your feet on the outside edges of the ramp; too many contestant tried running right up the ramp and slipping back down).

3) The Pull-This-String or Stomp-This-Button - These included "Bats in the Belfry" (there were three hanging bells to choose from; two of them dropped down only rubber bats and confetti, the third dropped down rubber bats, confetti, and the flag), "Soda Jerk" (there were three flavors of soda and you had to stomp on the right button; the soda would spray down from above and one of them would include the flag), and "Gak Gesier" (this was more straightforward; just hit the button, watch the big machine shoot out green gak from the top, and then collect the flag wherever it lands). The trick here was to just pull all three string or stomp all three buttons successively, one after the other. Too many people wasted time pulling the string, checking the ground if anything fell; pulling the second string, checking the ground; pulling the third string, picking up the flag. Obviously one of them has to be the right one, so make the odds work in your favor and pick them all at the same time.

4) The Messily Hidden Flag - The fourth most ubiquitous obstacle was searching for a hidden flag, usually in a big slice of pizza, or a big pile of waffles, or big peanut butter & jelly sandwich. They ususally called this "The Blue Plate Special." The folly of many a contestant is a hesitatation or reticence in approaching the giant representation of food. It was frustrating to watch people nervously poke at the very corner of the sandwich, or listlessly lift one of the pieces of waffle. As if they were afraid of getting dirty or something...go ahead and attack it. The flag obviously isn't going to be sitting daintily front and center, so dig under that cheese and pepperoni like a madman. Just tear shit up and worry about the repercussions later. This was often the death knell for contestants; if they're wasting over a quarter of their allotted time messing around with this challenge, they weren't going to win.

And then I guess you could also count a fifth unofficial category: The Miscellaneous. These were the obstacles that didn't quite fit into any of these categories, or perhaps fit into all of them simultaneously. For example, the "Gumball Machine" (jump down into a ball pit and come out the other end), "the Lift" (this involved two contestants sitting on a seesaw, with the one going up grabbing the flag overhead), and the "1-ton Hamster Wheel" (jump into a giant hamster wheel and keep running until you made the boxing glove holding the flag drop down).

I haven't flipped past Nickelodeon in a while, but I don't think they have game shows like this anymore. No Double Dare, or Legends of the Hidden Temple, or Wild and Crazy Kids, or Guts. There's no present-day equivalent. I assume it has something to do with how sedentary we've grown as a society. And even if TV producers did try to pitch a similar game show today, most kids are probably too fat to compete on it anyway. Bummer.

Guns and Cigarettes are Cool

I'm mindful of what I eat -- no fast food or soda, lots of fresh fruit and vegetables. And I maintain physical activity -- this reminds me, I need to change the flat tire on my bike. So, I think it's safe to say I'm a relatively healthy person.

And I have no particular interest in killing anything, so I think I can say I'm more or less a mentally stable person.

But with both these things established, I can also say with complete confidence that guns and cigarettes are two of the coolest things on Earth. And I dare anyone to convince me otherwise.

For someone who's as constantly and consciously self-aware of my image as I am, it's a surprise I've never started smoking. A lit cigarette hanging precariously from your lips, red-orange embers burning at its tip, smoke billowing from your face -- it's a captivating aesthetic. It makes nobodies look like somebodies, makes ordinary people look extra ordinary, and makes beautiful people look devastatingly unapproachable. Complete disregard for one's own mortality earns a begrudging sense of awe.

You couldn't buy a better accessory than a pack of smokes. It helps complete the brooding and pensive look, if that's what you're aiming for. During social interaction, I never know what to do with my hands or my mouth, so this seems like the most logical habit to pick up. It's by far the trendiest thing you can find at a gas station. Cigarettes create an awesome silhouette when cast against asphalt, preferably before the sun gets too high in the sky. This has nothing to do with feeling good (I've heard enough about emphysema to surmise that it's unpleasant) and everything to do with looking good.


And I'm not a violent person. I'm not one of those psycho gun enthusiasts that attend national conventions and dress entirely in camouflage. Hunting is completely unappealing to me, firing ranges seem uncomfortably loud, and I don't ever want to find myself in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But I have to admit, guns are cool, too. They make you look tough without having to do anything other than being seen with one. The fact that you're more likely to shoot a family member than an intruder notwithstanding, I'd probably want a Glock.

They're empowering in a phallic sort of way, like that feeling of manliness when you're holding your own hard on, or maybe a guitar. They have an awesome nickname, "firearm"; it makes me fantasize that I have a flamethrower for a limb that shoots fire whenever I flex my bicep. I believe most people (or at least most people with small children in the household) keep their guns locked away and out of sight, but I'd display it on my dresser like a Little League trophy, propped up at a dramatic 45 degree angle, maybe shine a low-wattage spotlight down on it. I'm not even interested in ever firing it, I just want to brandish it and use it as a pointer. I'd wear one of those holsters that strap around your shoulder, the ones you see overworked, underslept TV detectives wearing, usually over an unpressed long sleeve button-down shirt that's rolled up to the elbows.

Now I want to make this clear: death and murder and homicide are NOT admirable things. Anyone who thinks they are needs to grow up...and in the most extreme of cases, receive psychiatric counseling for their obvious socipathic tendencies. Guns are scary, powerful, and dangerous, but they just LOOK like really cool toys. It's hard not to want to play with it.

Atmosphere's "Guns and Cigarettes" is a great song, and by no small coincidence.

Twenty-Four Years Old

I turned 24 years old last month, but I'm convinced I'm still young. And that's because I've figured out the measuring stick for youth:

Of all the consciously-hip, vaguely-artistic, indie-inclined films that have come out in recent years and struck a chord with the general public, I was already familiar with the bands that made up the backbone of their soundtracks.

The songs that encapsulate Garden State, Juno, and Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist were uploaded onto my iTunes library before I ever bought my ticket. There was always that one (maybe two) defining song that played during the crux of the storyline, and I've already heard it before. Zach Braff, Natalie Portman, Ellen Page, and the kid who played George Michael Bluth all made valiant efforts to introduce me to some new music, but I beat them to the punch. The Shins? Yeah, Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow both came out when I was still in high school. The Moldy Peaches? A friend of mine included them in a mix for me a while back. Vampire Weekend and the Submarines? My subscription of SPIN magazine tipped me off to them well in advance.

Not saying that I don't like these bands or that I'm somehow above them -- well, maybe the Moldy Peaches because "Anyone Else But You" has become absolutely insufferable. I mean, have you heard the bizarre re-write for that Atlantis resort commercial? Something about "riding dolphins." Horrifying. -- but I'd be lying if I didn't admit there is a sense of reassurance I get from remaining ahead of the music curve. "If I've heard of them, they may be good; if I've never heard of them, they must suck" has been my (very narcissistic) mantra since the about the age of 17. And, seven years later, I'm proud to say that this is still mostly true. But once another Next Big Thing comes around and I'm completely unfamiliar with it (or worse yet, actually threatened by it), I'll know that my time has come. It's a fine line between being up-to-date and past-your-prime. If I'm the only person in the theater who can't sing along to the lyrics of the catchy song playing during a new trailer, I'm in trouble.

For the time being, I remain young.

Healthy Competition

Competition typically breeds greatness.

Brian Wilson was so blown away by Rubber Soul that he immediately started work on Pet Sounds.

Everyone needs a direct adversary to humble you, a rival to push you beyond your limits, a muse to inspire oneself to brilliance.

So my personal Rubber Soul -- or Pet Sounds, whichever. We can figure out exactly who's who later -- is my friend Angelica's blog Culturally Subverting Bedtime Stories. It's a fantastic blog, one of the few that I follow on a regular basis. And there's nothing mean-spirited about this...I consider it a very healthy, cordial competition. But I can't deny that I track her progress with personal interest, out of the corner of my eye, making sure she hasn't yet surpassed me; and if she has, hopefully I haven't fallen too far behind. I feel absolutely compelled to write with each new blog entry she posts and each new blog entry I don't post.

She writes more than me now. Her most recent work is from the 10th, just a couple of days ago. My most recent work is from the 28th...of September. I'm lagging. Without habitual updates, the blog as a medium is rendered ineffective.

Her blog title is more clever than mine. There's a charming ambiguity and duality to its meaning: the bedtime stories she tells are subversive to the conventions of the culture that we live in; or maybe it's the other way around, she's subverting the bedtime stories themselves, completely undermining everything we thought we knew about "Goldilocks and the Three Bears." My blog title isn't quite as inclusive, as I don't think "Objectivism" means much to those who aren't familiar with the work of Ayn Rand.


Her blog includes a nice balance between text and multimedia. On my front page, I only have two YouTube vidoes up, while she has about seven times that. Hers is just more visually stimulating. I should take better advantage of people's inherent fondness for moving pictures.

We have a lot in common with a lot of intersecting interests. We typically aim for the same online demographic. This just gives me added incentive to keep writing because it's only a matter of time before she writes something that I would have, or that I would want to.

So read her blog. And then read mine. I might even have something new posted.

What I Had For Breakfast 12/15

Mushroom, onion, potato, and broccoli omelet with a blueberry bagel, the top of a blueberry muffin, and a glazed donut.

It was an awesome breakfast, but I'm already thinking about what I want for lunch. Don't live in the past.

Déjà Parlé

I can handle break ups. It's presumptuous to think that all relationships are meant to last ad infinitum. They exist and then they cease. It's nothing to kill yourself over. There's actually a lot of good that comes from this cyclical process, as it constantly allows us to meet new people (and see new naked body parts). So it's not so much the end of relationships that bother me, it's all the work that goes into beginning them.

I've realized I'm a hack of a stand-up comic, with just enough jokes to last a 30-minute set.

I have the same anecdotes, the same "spontaneous" observations, the same political insights that I repeat every time I take a new girl out to dinner. I've gotten better at delivering them, I suppose. After so many times, I've got my timing down just right, where to pause for dramatic or comedic effect. I know exactly which words to emphasize, the syllables to stress and unstress. I even have the gestures memorized, holding my arms outstretched when I want to signify quantity, lightly tapping my finger on the table for emphasis.

But it's a lot of work for a little bit of sex and companionship. We're not even going to be on speaking terms in X amount of months anyway -- or maybe X amount of weeks, depending on how quickly we get sick of each other -- so I'm not always convinced it's worth the effort. And even worse, it makes me feel like a phony. It makes me feel unoriginal and uninspired. Repeating the same stories ("I met a cast member of the Real World this one time. Wanna guess who it was? I'll give you a hint, he/she was on the New Orleans season...") makes me feel like I have nothing new to say. And as a humanities graduate, this is especially troubling. Creativity, imagination, artistry -- these traits are supposed to be my currency. As a pseudo-writer, coming up with new stories should be easy for me.

I need to work on my material.

Complications with Time Traveling in 'Back to the Future'

Time travel doesn't make sense.

Marty McFly should have disappeared the second he pushed his father out of the way of his grandfather's car. His parents never meet, he's never born, and he ceases to exist. That should have been the end of the movie. I've heard people argue that the reason why he didn't disappear at that exact moment is because the last possible chance for him to survive was the Enchantment Under the Sea dance, so similar to a jug of milk, there's a sort of figurative expiration date on his existence. But I don't entirely buy this explanation because if we're being this flexible with the time continuum, it fails to account for the possibility, distant as it may be, that his parents may meet and marry at a later date. And of course, lets not forget the most glaring loophole here: if Marty does cease to exist, then that means he never travels back in time, which means he never interferes with his parents meeting each other, which means he is eventually born, which means he does in fact exist.

Traveling back in time is a logical and logistical impossibility. Any potential time traveler will be doomed to an eternity of living and re-living the same fate in a perpetual cycle. I'm sure someone like Stephen Hawking could check and confirm my math.

But those self-lacing Nike's he wore in Back to the Future II were fresh as hell.

My Return From the Dead.

The semester is almost over. I will soon find a lot more time to write. New blog entries are forthcoming.

I am the modern Lazarus.

Things That Kids Like Me Like #1: Ecto-Cooler

People are predictable. Kids like me -- and by "kids like me," I of course mean young adults of vaguely-indie, vaguely-artsy, vaguely-pretentious persuasions -- all like the same things. This is the first installment in what I expect will be a regular series that examines the things that we like-minded people enjoy. For example, I present:

The Hi-C Ecto Cooler.

Anyone in and around my demographic can fully appreciate its cultural importance. It was a greedy, money-hungry attempt to cash in on the popularity of Ghostbusters, slapping a bastardized image of Slimer on the package to push product -- but these kind of politics didn't matter at the age of 8.

The cafeteria hierarchy of juice boxes said a lot about a person, and not only of their value as a beverage connoisseur, but also of their value as an individual.

Minute Maid and Juicy Juice were nice, safe choices, if not a little boring. Students who drank this tended to not have any strong opinion on anything one way or the other.

Kool-aid fulfilled an essential dietary need for young children: fruit juice that didn't include any actual fruit in it. Ice cream sandwiches didn't grow from the Earth; ergo, anything that did grow from the Earth must be its exact, diametrical opposite and couldn't possibly be good.

Soda was only drank by bullies (and, perhaps, future diabetics). It was best to steer clear of these kids. And interestingly, it was the soda-drinkers who never had guardians come on Open House night, or for PTA meetings, or for parent-teacher conferences. I realize now, looking back in retrospect, anyone who brought Mountain Dew to school invariably came from a broken home, most likely one with a history of domestic abuse. This is established fact, I'm sure.

Capri Sun and Squeeze-Its were ultra-hip because, technically, they weren't juice boxes at all. One was a pouch and the other was a plastic bottle, respectively. It was the most cutting-edge of lunchbox technology. This proved you to be a radical, counterculture free-thinker. You very literally thought outside the box. But your hipster points were automatically deducted if you had to have a teacher help you open your Capri Sun (the tip was to make the initial puncture quick and decisive; any waffling on your part resulted in a dulled point at the tip of your straw).

And if you drank Mott's, you were a bitch-ass Momma's boy.

But nothing outranked Ecto Coolers. It tasted good. It had a beloved, recognizable fictional character on the front. It took two great things -- refreshments and Ghostbusters -- and combined them; even at that young age, we understood the appeal of killing two birds with one stone. It didn't necessarily guarantee cool, but it certainly solidified it.

These days, it's reached ultimate cult status. It's one of those rare cultural phenomenons that transcend racial, gender, musical, and political divides. Upon mere mention, it invokes immediate nostalgia. It is universally loved. It's become something of a social fail-safe; anytime you're at a party or on a date or hanging out with friends (assuming we're dealing with 20-something year olds here) and the conversations hits an uncomfortable lull, you can ask "Hey, remember when everyone used to drink Ecto Coolers?" This will undoubtedly spark at least another half hour of spirited discourse.

I don't much drink sugary drinks these days, but if it were still around, I'd make an exception.

It's Got a Back Beat, You Can't Lose It

I like to think I have a fairly eclectic taste in music.

I enjoy the indie hip-hop of Atmosphere; the pitch-perfect vocals of Whitney Houston; the gangsta rap of N.W.A.; the soft, sentimental plucking of James Taylor; the electronic remixing of MSTRKRFT; the undefinable genre-bending of Beck.

But in the end, my one true, audible love is two guitars, a bass, and a drum kit. Regardless of whatever form it takes, be it indie or emo or college or surf or prog or grunge or pop-punk or nerd or post-hardcore, this is my musical preference -- it's what we all would colloquially call "rock and roll."

What I've always found interesting, though, is how ridiculous a term it is. Rock and Roll. Or even worse, Rock N' Roll. It just sounds silly. I don't often utter those particular words in that particular order...at least not unironically. Whenever making polite small talk to a person I've just met, I always seem to be confronted with the incredibly complex question of "what do you listen to?" I'll take a moment to collect my thoughts and proceed to give some long-winded answer, mentioning specific bands that I'm fond of, as well as the specific movements and sub-genres and styles and record labels they belong to. But I'll never actually answer "rock and roll" (on a side note, "rock and roll" is the second least-hip, least-informed answer you can give in this situation; the first being "everything," because as we know, anyone who listens to "everything" doesn't listen to anything good).

Rock and roll. The problem is, it's such a disingenuous phrase. Like a phrase that's trying too hard, somehow. It looks and sounds foolish. I can barely say it out loud without grimacing, without laughing, without feeling the corners of my mouth instinctively pull into an arrogant sneer. I'm not entirely sure why this is. Who knows, maybe I've just reached the point of no return as a music fan, the point when my own snobbish elitism will never allow me to enjoy anything ever again.

I think this can all be best summed up, best articulated, by Billy Joel. The other day,"It's Still Rock and Roll To Me" came up on my iPod, and that's exactly what I'm talking about. First, the song sucks. Second, and most importantly, Billy Joel doesn't have an edgy, rebellious bone in his body. I mean, he wrote "Uptown Girl." He's safe and radio-friendly and inoffensive (however, this isn't to say I don't like Joel at all, because "Piano Man" is one of the greatest sing-along songs ever). So it's just so perfectly and conveniently ironic that he wrote a song that tried to justify how his music actually is rock and roll (which it isn't) and that he felt the need to specifically mention it in the title (which is never a good thing). It's along the same lines of, if you have to say that you're cool, then you're probably not cool...or something like that. Anyway, the term "rock and roll" has become a joke, a caricature of its former self. Linguistically, it's evolved into something very different than its origin. It's one of those words, similar to rad or boss or word or true, that are said ironically by people who actually have a clue, and unironically by everyone else.

And I don't think I've ever used the phrase "rocking out" (as in, "I'm rocking out!") either. At least not sincerely.

Disclaimer: Chuck Berry wrote the song "Rock and Roll Music" and Ryan Adams titled an album "Rock 'N Roll" spelled backwards, but I actually don't have a problem with either. Go figure.

Final Jeopardy! (Catching Up)

9/3

Category: American History

Clue: In the last week of the John Tyler administration, this republic was offered statehood.

Answer: Texas

I know absolutely nothing else about former President John Tyler, but I have a ton of family in Houston and San Antonio, so I did get this right.



9/4

Category: Historic Journals

Clue: On January 18, 1972, he arrived at a tent near the Pole and found "a record of five Norwegians having been there."

Answer: Robert Scott

I had no idea. Upon a quick Wikipedia search to fill in my apparent gap in knowledge, it appears that Scott and the rest of his expedition crew perished on their way back home to Britain due to extreme exhaustion and exposure to cold -- serves them right for stumping me.



9/5

Category: Alliances

Clue: The Quadruple Alliance began in 1813 against this country; in 1818, it let this country in and became the Quintuple Alliance.

Answer: France

In the Final Jeopardy! round, they give contestants (and viewers) 30 seconds to answer. I would think, even if I couldn't come up with the correct answer (which was the case here), that half a minute should be enough time for me to pick a country, any country, as at least a wild guess. Instead, I spent those 30 seconds dumbfounded.

9/8

Category: The Vatican

Clue: A statue of this man is being erected inside the Vatican's walls near where he was locked up in 1633.

Answer: Galileo.

Haha, it's nice to hear that the Catholic Church is finally willing to honor Galileo after they imprisoned him for the remainder of his life for proposing something as ridiculous as the Earth revolving around the Sun.

And I didn't actually know the answer to this one, so I'll deflect this minor detail with two bits of vaguely-related but otherwise completely tangential useless trivia: 1) Vatican City is smaller than the state of Rhode Island and 2) Galileo was the only current day, "pop culture" celebrity that John Milton referenced by name in his epic poem Paradise Lost.

9/10

Category: Brand Names

Clue: To feature its "Strong Enough To Stand On" product, in 1964 Schwayder Bros., Inc. changed its name to this.

Answer: Samsonite.

I love buying stuff, so I thought I'd get this one, no problem. But I guessed Krazy Glue. And has anyone ever bought luggage at the airport? I mean, they have the boutiques and they sell them there, so there must be a market for it...

9/11

Category: Lines from 19th Century Novels

Clue: "My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them."

Answer: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Very easy. "Two natures" was a dead giveaway. And I've noticed there seems to be a small misconception among the general populace regarding Mr. Hyde -- many people are under the impression (maybe because of film adaptations, maybe because they've never read the novella) that Mr. Hyde was some monstrous, towering Incredible Hulk-like creature. But actually, he was smaller in stature than Dr. Jekyll -- very short and stumpy.

9/12

Category: Royalty

Clue: It's the name of today's longest-ruling family in Europe, in power for most of the last 711 years.

Answer: Grimaldi.

Again, did not know. All that could come to mind was Prince Charles and the Queen Mum. My self-esteem and sense of self-worth is slowly diminishing. And in case it ever comes up during a dinner party or any other social gathering, "regicide" is the execution of a King (or whoever is in charge of whichever monarchy) after a conviction of wrong doing.

Final Jeopardy! 8/29, 9/1

8/29

Category: Ancient Times

Clue: Plutarch's chapter on Romulus quotes this much later man as saying, "I love treason but hate a traitor."

Answer: Julius Caesar

This was easy. Ancient times --> Romulus --> Rome --> "traitor" --> Caesar. It's a pretty obvious, straightforward deduction. Two of the contestants thought it was Cicero, which I suppose is a decent guess if you're just taking a wild stab at any important Roman names that come to mind. They both got the nationality right, at least.

And most people who think they hate anchovies don't realize that it's an ingredient in authentic Caesar salad dressing. Raw eggs, too.

9/1

Category: Inventors

Clue: In 1894, in his West Orange lab, Thomas Edison shot this sport, the first ever sporting event ever filmed.

Answer: Boxing match

In 9th grade Film Class, the first stuff we learned at the beginning of the year -- long before we got around to watching any actual movies -- was the historical and technical side of film-making: Eastman Kodak, celluloid, the Kinetograph and Kinetoscope, blah blah blah. And of course, Thomas Edison. It was actually a really fun class taught by a teacher was very passionate about the subject, so I've since retained that little bit of useless trivia. That, and the early, grainy footage of the guy with the rad handlebar mustache sneezing in front of the camera.

Also, according to everthing I've read and heard, Edison was an asshole -- an aloof, cut-throat, backstabbing, idea-thieving, self-aggrandizing asshole. Not that any of it is a bad thing, I'm just saying.

The Hiearchy of Monsters

This is an unscientific ranking of ghouls, from best to worst:

1) Zombies - For everyone in and around my general demographic, this is the universal favorite. In whatever form it takes, either the serious (Night of the Living Dead, 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead), the satirical (Shaun of the Dead, The Zombie Survival Guide), or somewhere inbetween, (Dead Alive, Re-Animator), people have a strong fondness for the rotting, flesh-eating Undead. I suppose there might be some deep-rooted, psychological reason for this (it wouldn't be Freudian though, because he believed we would actually be terrified to see a return of the dead; so maybe it'd be Jungian), perhaps due to some painful longing to see lost loved ones again...but I'm not positive about that. What I do know, however, is that Zombies look really cool. And that's probably the biggest and simplest reason why we like them so much. They're all rad-looking, with sunken eyes, gangrenous skin, and tattered clothing (it's funny how Zombies are hardly ever naked; they always still have like 1/2 of a shirt left, or 1/3 of a pair of pants). As far as physical appearances go, they're hard to beat. And that's probably why it's the perennial last-second, default Halloween costume. It's incredibly easy -- a small-sized, long-sleeved cowboy shirt; frayed, 29-waist cut-off jeans; a little bit of make-up; a vacant stare and, there you have it, Zombie Indie Kid.

2) Werewolf (aka the Wolfman) -- We all love a good martyr, and Werewolves are the reigning marytyr kings of the Monster World. They don't transform into unholy half-wolf/half-human creatures because they want to; it's because they're cursed to. It's not like they disembowel people of their own volition (that would make them cold-blooded murders, and generally unlikable), it's just that pesky full moon's fault. Their condition, their Werewolfdom, was thrust upon them -- assuming of course that you subscribe to the gypsy, Eastern European folklore popularized by Hollywood: victim is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting bit by a pre-existing Werewolf -- a burden that they're forced to live with, the pall of it all hanging heavy on their conscience and their heart. For real, we eat that maudlin shit up for breakfast. We love our tragic figures. We love anyone who shoulders the load of an unfair destiny. We sympathize and empathize (as much as you can empathize with someone turning into a mythical wolf-like creature, at least) with their supernatural plight. And this is because it represents the grievances we have with the physical maladies and deformities we have in our own lives. We can relate with everything that plagues us -- the big, fat nose; the gaping underbite; the multiple sclerosis; the searing foot pain caused by fallen arches; the cleft palate; the speech impediement; the hunched curviture of the spine...we have so much in common. Life has dealt us all some unfair hands, but don't despair -- the Wolfman understands us.

3) Ghosts -- I don't even know if I believe in an afterlife. And for the sake of argument, supposing that there is, I'm probably just as likely to be reincarnated as a tree or an elephant or a dental hygienist as I am to become a floating, wailing, transparent specter (and for the record, if I ever did become a spirit, I wouldn't want to be a lame, nondescript-looking Casper kind of ghost; I would want to be like the ghost of Jacob Marley in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, carrying around all of those noisy, heavy chains as an eternal punishment for being such a misanthrope...it's very Sisyphean). But my cynicism and disbelief notwithstanding, I love a good ghost story. The eerier and creepier, the better. Like the lady who haunts room 219 at the local hotel because she hung herself from the shower head; or the little girl (wearing a typical Victorian-era Sunday dress, naturally) that died of tuberculosis and can be regularly seen playing hopscotch in the backyard garden of her childhood home; or the wandering hitchhiker who still appears on the shoulder of a lonely highway, accidentally struck and killed by a wayward driver on a particularly dark and rainy and slippery night. It's all bullshit. The people who insist on seeing these kind of things also happen to be the same kind of people who believe in it. Of course there are always the ones who try qualifying their stories with "Oh man, I was never the type to believe in ghosts, but there was this one time..." But if you asked them, honestly, if they believed in an afterlife or God or Christianity as a whole before their supposed sighting, they will almost always sheepishly answer, yes. In other words, they're predisposed to see ghosts. If I jump into the middle of the ocean expecting to see sharks, I'm probably gonna see something that kind of, sort of, looks like a shark. That's just how your mind is hard-wired to work. But despite my status as a relative non-believer (and I say "relative" to hedge my bets; hopefully if I remain noncommittal enough, Jesus will cut me a break and still let me into Heaven should I be wrong haha), I still find ghost stories completely fascinating. It speaks to my curious, macabre side. A really good ghost story will always make me hesitant to go the bathroom at night by myself.

4) Vampires - Kids who read copious amounts of Anne Rice novels (I'll give them Interview with the Vampire, but that's about it) are weird and ugly, but for the most part, vampires are still generally cool. But lets make a distinction here; frankly, the Hollywood version of Count Dracula -- the thin, pasty effeminate man, mincing and prancing around in a satin cape, sucking people off -- is actually kind of gay. But Vlad the Impaler, the real-life, historical figure that likely inspired Bram Stoker's novel? He was one of the baddest men ever. I stop and drop everything I'm doing whenever a documentary of his airs on the History Channel. Vlad was no joke, his favorite form of torture being impalement. Anyone who crossed his authority was sentenced to having a wooden stake driven through their body, starting at the anus and then slowly tearing its way through the their mouth. Being the kind soul that he was, Vlad was sure not too sharpen the stake too much, as to not give his victim the benefit of a quick, merciful death. He was known to watch these impalings while eating dinner, feasting on their spilled blood in a golden chalice. He probably thought it gave him supernatural power, bestowing him the strength of his fallen victim or something out-there like that. What a crazy, vampiric, maginificent psychopath that Vlad was.

5) Wendigo - This is underrated, under-appreciated darkhorse rounds out my Top 5. According to Native American mythology, anyone who consumes human flesh can suffer the mystical transformation into a Wendigo. For the Algonguin tribe of the Canadian wilderness, this myth was mostly a cautionary tale to deter people from murder and breaking taboos (the taboo in this case being canabalism). But much like the Werewolf, the Wendigo can also become a very sympathetic, tragic figure. There have also been stories of men getting lost in the woods, usually becoming incapacitated somehow, perhaps by badly spraining an ankle, falling down a deep ravine, or getting a foot caught in a bear trap. Either way, the man is completely immobilized and is unable to return to the confines of civilization. Days will pass by; soon, it'll be a week. He sustains himself on nearby berries and bugs, collecting rain water the best he can with overturned leaves. But the air is getting colder and his body is growing weaker. Someone will eventually find him, but he realizes that if he doesn't act in the mean time, he will die. So with his pocket knife in hand, he decides his only hope is eating some of his own flesh...and then, Wendigo. You feel for him because he's being punished for the natural human emotion of survival. You're horrified by the idea, but you can also identify with him because if placed in the same situation, you might actually do the same (not me though, as I'd probably just give up and die).

And these are the other monsters that didn't make the cut:

Mummies - They're like the dumber, lamer version of our standard non-Egyptian Zombie, all those stupid strips of bandages hanging everywhere. No one's afraid of being chased by King Tut. If anything, I'd be more scared of the curse that comes along with disturbing a Mummy's tomb than the actual Mummy itself. And no, I haven't seen a single one of those Brendan Fraser movies.



Dr. Frankenstein's Monster -- The ramifications of playing God, of creating life out of which there previously was no life, and then shunning that creation when it doesn't turn out to be exactly what you expected makes for a phenomenal psychological thriller (thank you Mary Shelley), but it really doesn't scare me. That scene when the Monster, desperate for human contact, finally decides to reveal himself to the family he had been watching from afar and that he had fallen in love with, only to have them recoil in horror when they see how hideous he is...that breaks my heart, but it doesn't exactly chill my bones. Oh, and if you want to sound like a pretentious bigshot know-it-all, be sure to correct anyone (smugly, of course) whenever they refer to the Monster as "Frankenstein" -- that is incorrect. The doctor who created it was named Victor Frankenstein, but the Monster itself had no name.

Bigfoot/Yetti/Abominable Snowman; Loch Ness Monster -- These fit under the same category; they're "monsters" in the same sense that Leprechauns, or the Tooth Fairy, or the Easter Bunny are "monsters." So yeah, they aren't monsters at all. There are people who actually hunt these make-believe, figments of imagination...and they all need real jobs.

Surprise

McCain chooses Gov. Sarah Palin as VP running mate

Wow. I did not see that coming at all.

It's definitely an interesting choice and I commend McCain for thinking (way) outside the box for his Vice President, but I have to question how well she meshes with the overall tone of his campaign. If the GOP's insist that Barack Obama is unqualified for office because of his age and lack of experience, what does that say about a 44-year-old, no-name Governor (of Alaska, no less; as beautiful as it may be, it's barely a U.S. state) with a practically non-existent political resume?

It's risky, but I'm always appreciative of the unconventional. This is what I'm loving about the 2008 Presidential race -- everything is so unprecedented. Keep bucking that trend, guys (and girls).

Final Jeopardy! 8/19, 8/21-8/22, 8/25-8/28 (or, I Am Falling Behind)

8/19

Category: State Capitals

Clue: One of the 2 state capitals whose name ends with the Greek word for "city."

Answer: Annapolis

Easy. Two of them got Annapolis, which is what I answered (the other possible answer being, of course, Indianapolis). The third kid was way off and thought it was Sacramento. He needs to spruce up his Greek. Socrates must be rolling around in his hemlock-infested grave.

8/21

Category: Famous Americans

Clue: In 1773 he wrote, "The heart of a fool is in his mouth, but the mouth of a wise man is in his heart."

Answer: Benjamin Franklin

This was another easy one, mostly because Benjamin Franklin was one of the few Americans who was actually writing anything at all -- let alone anything of any significance -- at that time. The concept of "American Literature" really didn't existed at such an early date. And one of my favorite things that Franklin ever wrote was the letter "Advice on the Choice of a Mistress." He argues that when choosing the right person to have an affair with, always pick an older woman over a younger girl. And he really does bring up some good points.

8/22

Category: U.S. Government History

Clue: This man cast the first tie-breaking vote in U.S. history.

Answer: John Adams.

I honestly didn't know. And I couldn't even come up with a guess in time. One of the contests just wrote down "Adams," but they couldn't accept it as a correct answer because there's two Adams' -- both John and then his son John Quincy Adams -- to distinguish from. Haha, she tried to get sneaky. And I always heard such amazing things about that John Adams TV series, but I never bothered watching it. This was mostly due to two reasons: 1) I don't have HBO, and 2) I didn't feel like it.

8/25

Category: American Thinkers

Clue: "I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude," he wrote in a chapter on solitude in an 1854 work.

Answer: Henry David Thoreau

Easy.

And, theoretically, going out and living in a cabin on Walden pond to live deliberately and suck the marrow out of life and all that transcendental stuff truly is a beautiful pursuit. But unless I get internet access in the middle of the woods, there really is no practical use to it.

8/26

Category: The 7 Wonders of the World

Clue: Philo of Byzantium called it a ploughed field "above the heads of those who walk between the columns below."

Answer: Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

I had no idea. I only knew of 2 of the 7 Wonders of the World off the top of my head -- the Great Pyramid of Giza and the statue of Zeus at Olympia -- neither of which were the right answer. Whenever there's any kind of countdown (The Old Seven Wonders of the World, the New Seven Wonders of the World, AMC's 100 Greatest Movies, Rolling Stones' Top 100 albums of all-time, etc., etc.), I always sympathize with whoever and whatever just misses the cut. After all, there really isn't any considerable difference between #100 and #101. Somewhere, Stonehenge is fuming.

8/27

Category: U.S. Presidents

Clue: Only 50 years old when he left office, he was our nation's youngest ex-President.

Answer: Theodore Roosevelt.

I didn't know the answer and I didn't realize he was so young by the time his tenure ended. I thought it was going to be one of the useless Presidents, like, oh I don't know, Rutherford B. Hayes.


8/28

Category: Famous Austrians

Clue: The home on Vienna's Domgasse where he lived in hte 1780s was reopened amid fanfare in January 2006.

Answer: Mozart.

Ahh, I should've gotten that one. And I haven't seen Amadeus in a while.

I Can Confidently Say That All I Ever Wanted To Be In Life Was A Beatle

Growing up, I wanted to be a Beatle in the very literal sense -- in that I wanted to be a famous musician. Now, as an adult, the lack of a band, an album, and any association at all with the recording industry leads me to believe that I did not become a musician. But hardly the quitting type, I still to strive to be a Beatle, this time in the very figurative sense -- in that I want to enjoy all of the other substantial (and slightly insubstantial) non-music benefits that come along with the term. At face value, a "Beatle" refers to a Liverpudlian pop sensation; but I think it's safe to say that the word has long entered our cultural lexicon as a synonym for successful. I want this to apply to myself. And I imagine that most other people, if they have any kind of drive or ambition, aspire for the same thing. We want to be Beatles. It makes perfect sense. They are pinnacle achievement, personified. Think about it -- everything they had, we want. Observe:

They were rich, we want to be rich. After a messy, prenuptial-less divorce, Paul McCartney is still practically a billionaire. And even with EMI Records and their manager Brian Epstein taking a considerable chunk of their change back in their playing days -- and then of course, splitting the final paycheck four separate ways -- they all had already amassed a sizable fortune before any of them turned 25 years old. I want that kind of cheese. I want the kind of wealth that essentially trivializes life, that makes the entire world my personal plaything. It's not just being able to have anything, it's more being able to make anything happen. Reserving an entire day at Disney World for just me and my closest friends, forcing the Olive Garden to cook me chicken fried rice and Lo Mein, visiting a zoo and taking an endangered species (is Ling-Ling the panda bear still around?) home with me as a pet...these are the perks of being that kind of rich. I imagine it's the closest thing to being omnipotent, to being God Himself -- having the authority to will anything into existence. I bet Lennon had that kind of clout.

They got laid a lot, we want to get laid a lot. This one's self-explanatory. If the prospect of sex isn't your primary reason for living, breathing, and being, then you're probably doing something wrong.

They were famous, we want to be famous. They're universally-known. I'd wager that even those African tribes who communicate with that clicking language have some kind of translation for John, Paul, George, and Ringo. People know exactly who you are even though you've never met them before in your life -- that's the ultimate self-esteem booster, that's how you know you're a somebody. I can barely begin to fathom that kind of exhilarating notoriety. I want to be a bigshot.

They had artistic credibility, we want artistic credibility. The body of their work is listener-tested, critic-approved. Their merit as artists is tried and true. They were perceived to be the best at their craft. And I know that to at least some degree, we all -- even the most practical and utilitarian amongst us -- want to create. The urge to paint, to sing, to sketch, to perform, to write, to build is intrinsic in us, it's primal. Having simply lived and died is hardly enough; artistic acclaim can go a long way in validating your existence. That album you record, that movie you film, and that fresco you paint can be tangible evidence that you made some kind of difference.

They had long hair, we want long hair. This may or may not be gender-specific, but as a guy, I understand the very simple concept that longer is more hip and shorter is less hip. There will inevitably come a time -- it's not an exact science, it could come at four or six or eight weeks; it's subject to change -- when I look in the mirror and I'll notice that my front bangs are encroaching my line of vision, the tufts around my ears start doing that little flip thing that they do, and the back gets really shaggy and starts weighing heavy on my neck. My brain thinks it's time for a trim, but what does my brain know about cool? It'd probably give me a buzz cut every few days if it could. I regret nearly every haircut I get, ultimately pining for what used to be. Just stay the course, that's the way to go.

They were innovators, we want to be innovators. Whether it's visually (the aforementioned mop-top haircuts; matching suits), compositionally (sculpting Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band as an all-encompassing concept album and consequently lifting the entire bar of standard for albums as an art form), or technically (I believe the opening of "I Feel Fine" was the first instance of amplifier feedback appearing on a recording), the Beatles are credited -- sometimes mistakingly, most of the time deservedly -- for being the first to have ever done certain things. The first, as in unprecedented. Everyone wants to create something new, be the very first to introduce brand new ways of thinking or doing. This is definitely not exclusive to artsy, flighty Liberal Arts majors; surgeons want to invent new operating room procedures, lawyers want to spearhead new legal cases, chemist want to make molecular discoveries -- basically, anyone who puts any pride in their craft eventually wants to break ground.

Astronaut, Fireman, Batman -- these are all things a lot of us say we want to be when we grow up. But that's just borne from youth and naivety. I mean, fighting fires is a noble cause, but it doesn't seem like any kind of fun to me. When we grow a little older and get a better grasp of exactly what we want out of life, we realize that what we really want to be are Beatles...and everything that comes with it. At least that's the conclusion I came to. I think it describes every possible whim I could ever have, be it inspired by the financial, superficial, artistic, or philosophical. It just kind of says it all, succinctly and completely.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Final Jeopardy! 8/18/08

Category: Shakespearean Heroines

Clue: The name of this heroine known for her filial devotion is probably derived from Latin for "heart."

Answer: Cordelia

Anything literary is obviously going to be easy for me, but it's still Teen Tournament week, so it's even easier than usual.

And poor Cordelia. She loved her father so much, and for what? Nothing. She got cheated out of any of King Lear's stuff. What a rip-off.

"I eat success for breakfast...with skim milk."

TV Guide has already tricked me a couple times.

There's a show on the Food Network called "Heavyweights." It's basically a documentary that explains how all of our biggest brand names (McDonalds, Pepsi, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, etc.) became the powerhouse institutions they are today. It's fairly interesting, but whatever, that's beside the point. What really annoys me is how whenever I see it listed, I always think it's the movie "Heavyweights," the 1995 Ben Stiller fat camp comedy. They really should do something to clear up the confusion. I like the latter so much more than the former, so it makes me run the entire gamut of emotions -- absolute delight, then sobering disappointment. It's a who's-who of young, husky Hollywood: Kenan from Kenan & Kel; Goldberg from The Mighty Ducks; and, umm, that other fat kid who randomly shows up in things sometimes. It's great.

I know the movie plays on the Disney channel every once and a while, but in the meantime, here's a compilation of all the best scenes. It'll do for now.