All Major Credit Cards Accepted

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.