Girl in a Cage

Wastin' Away Again

Lo, these many years ago, Karl said unto me, "Brendan, you don't really hate The Doors. You just hate the people who like The Doors."

Two decades since that remark, (man! I am old!) I can finally admit that Karl was right. Not about the Doors--I actually do hate the Doors, though I suppose as I've aged and mellowed like a fine cheese, I've warmed up to people who have an inexplicable fondness for The Doors. (I mean, for the love of God, read this and try to explain to me why anybody likes this band. It really mystifies me.)

But Karl was right about the phenomenon in general, particularly as it relates to Jimmy Buffett. After I wrote that thing about Hoot the other day, I started questioning why I have this venomous hatred for Jimmy Buffett. After all, he writes basically inoffensive, melodic pop songs about getting drunk, or possibly about wanting a pencil-thin mustache. He seems like a decent enough guy in real life--he's involved in manatee saving and stuff like that, which I admire. So why do my guts clench every time I hear his songs?

Well, follow me back to the late '80's. People thought it was cool to chant "get laid" along with Billy Idol's cover of "Mony Mony"....A wisecracking alien named Gordon Shumway ruled the airwaves...and people harbored an impossible dream that there would one day be more Star Wars movies that wouldn't suck ass. And I toiled away in the summers in an insurance company. (Thanks, Uncle Tom!). I was still a novice office worker, and so I made a critical mistake, which was working hard when there was something to do and goofing off when there was nothing to do. Of course, the way to work in an office is to work at a constant, desultory pace, stretching out routine tasks far beyond how long they should really take, and then finding ways to bustle around and appear busy when you have nothing to do.

But I didn't know this, so I ran afoul of my bosses for not looking busy when I had nothing to do. Fair enough. But I also got my balls busted for stuff like sending personal email, trying to listen to music while I opened envelopes for 8 hours, talking to my cousin (thanks again, Uncle Tom!) while getting work done, etc. etc. So, in general, this was a pretty tightassed environment. Except when Buffett came to town, the same people who would yell at you for sending a two-line personal email to a co-worker would take a booze cruise up the Ohio rRver to Riverbend to revel in Buffett's songs of easy livin' and laid-back attitudes. I guess I felt like there was a disconnect there that made the whole thing hateful to me--two days after indulging in fantasies of tropical indolence, they'd be back in the office busting my ass about making sure I shuffled papers in between assignments.

But, really, that's not Jimmy Buffett's fault. So, Jimmy, I declare a truce. Unless perhaps I can find a way to gain some publicity from a big feud with you. In which case you still suck.

Fat and Stoned

So the other night the whole family sat down and watched Heavyweights, a 1995 Disney movie about fat camp. Now, I know what you're thinking, but this movie is actually high-quality family fare. It's written by Judd Apatow of Freaks and Geeks and 40-year-Old Virgin fame, and Ben Stiller appears as what is essentially a younger version of the character he played in Dodgeball. It also features that adorable actress who was the computer geek on and main reason to tune in to the late lamented (by me anyway) VIP. (What can I say, Kate Jackson was my favorite Angel, too). Yeah, it's got some typical family-movie cheese--is the outcome of the big race against the evil camp at the end ever in doubt? But, overall, it's one of those rare movies that the whole family can actually enjoy. (Anybody who's seen it--when Josh is telling Pirkis that his name is "Seymour Butts", that's obviously a dubbed-in line replacing what he actually says. I realize that the set of people who a) read this blog and b) have seen Heavyweights and c) are skilled lip-readers is probably the null set, but what do you think he really says there?)

My only big problem with this movie and with movies of its ilk is this: they always feature a hot girl who sees below the surface and appreciates the fat and/or dorky guy for who he really is. But, I mean, why is it always the girl doing the personal growth heavy lifting in these movies? Why can't the fat guy ever stop pining after the hot girl and fall in love with a girl who's slightly funny-looking? I suppose if you look at a picture of Judd Apatow, you'll find your answer as to why he wrote a movie in which the funny-looking guy bags a hottie.

I mean, a funny-looking guy getting a hot woman is certainly an appealing fantasy and, in my case, a delightful reality, but maybe some funny-looking women need to start writing movies about how the hot guy looks below the surface and falls for the fat girl. I'm just saying.

Since I have only the Encore movie channels (your home for the latest 2004 releases!), I just caught Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. I went in skeptical, figuring that this was a movie for young stoners, of which I am neither, and was pleasantly surprised to find what may be one of the funniest movies I've ever seen. Suzanne and I were both laughing so loud I thought we might wake the kids, and the whole next day we kept bursting into giggles and turning to each other and saying stuff like "Why is Neal Patrick Harris so horny?" Really a hilarious movie and worth a rent or a tivo the next time it rolls around on Encore, which will probably be about ten minutes from now.

Ban This! (Please!)

Well, it's Banned Books Week again, and I'm gettin' screwed. I mean, you write a book with lesbian moms, a book in which a 14-year-old girl proclaims God to be a "sick evil fuck", and you don't even show up on the ALA most challenged book list. What the hell! Surely there must be some troglodytes enraged by the very idea of Donorboy. Right? Right? It encourages shoplifting in the young! It shows lesbian moms to be normal parents! Geez, they practically cancelled Postcards from Buster because he dared to show that lesbian moms exist, but can I get so much as a threat to get my book pulled from the library shelves? I mean, members of my own extended family forbade my 13-year-old cousin from reading Donorboy because of the aforementioned God line (because nobody's quite so reverent as a 13-year-old South Park fan), and I can't even get challenged, let alone banned!

This book is dangerous! Dangerous, I tellya! Where's the outrage?

God, these controversies get you so much free publicity. I couldn't get Long Way Back condemned by the Catholic Church, I can't get Donorboy banned, and there's very little to object to in How Ya Like Me Now, though I suppose the idea that 15-year-old boys are perpetually horny figures in there, but I can't imagine that's a controversial idea.

Dear Catastrophe Waitress does have a sex scene, but its between consenting adults. (Not that the religious right doesn't object to that as well, but I hardly think my book is the placed concerned citizens for family values will start on that particular issue.) Oh, won't somebody be outraged by my work and take your outrage to the local paper, or better yet TV station?

Nauseated by Keane and the 70's

When I first heard Beck's new song "Nausea", I wasn't listening very closely, and I thought, "Hey, that's cool he's doing a kind of techno-fied cover of an X song." Then I listened more closely and found it's not supposed to be a cover at all. And yet, it's really really similar. Probably not actionably similar, but, then again, if I were John Doe, I might take a shot and see if I could get some of Beck's money in a settlement, if he hasn't spent it all on home gyms for his body thetans and whatever celebrity members of a certain "religion" spend gobs of cash on.

Speaking of derivative, is Keane a crap band or what? While their contemporaries are ripping off real bands like Gang of Four and the Feelies, Keane bites Gilbert O'Sullivan's "Alone Again, Naturally" in their "Somewhere Only We Know". (I think there's another little melodic bit that's stolen from some Wings song, too, but I can't quite place it. Anybody?). I mean, Jesus, couldn't you rip off something that didn't suck horribly the first time?

Which led me to think that the '70's really produced some of the worst pop music of the rock and roll era. I'm obviously not talking about punk rock, and I'm not even talking about Fleetwood Mac or even horrible crap like Yes and Emerson, Lake and Palmer--rather, I'm talking about the top-40, mostly one-hit-wonder singles that clogged the airwaves in that decade. I mean, you listen to something like, oh, I don't know, The Lemon Pipers "Green Tambourine" from the '60's, or Modern English's "I Melt With You" from the '80's, or, oh, I can't think of anything from the '90's just now, but, anyway, even if you don't particularly like them, they're good, solid, melodic pop songs. And then in the '70's you had this rash of unbelievably crappy story-songs, like "Indiana Wants Me" or "Billy Don't Be a Hero" or "Run Joey Run" or what may be the worst song of all time, Harry Chapin's "Taxi". (I know, I know, Mary Chapin Carpenter's "This Shirt" has a serious claim on the worst song of all time title, but I think "Taxi" probably edges it out, and she at least did "Shut Up and Kiss Me" which is pretty decent, whereas Harry Chapin also did "Sequel" and "Cats in the Cradle," which are also serious contenders for Worst Song Ever.)

I mean, I remember being a kid in the '70's, chillin' in the back room of The Honey Tree in Normal, Illinois ("Natural Foods for Normal People!" Hats off to my mom for the best advertising slogan of the decade!), and hearing "Billy Don't Be a Hero" and thinking it was crappy even as a relatively undiscriminating little kid. A kid who only a couple of years later would actually think Billy Joel was cool, if that gives you any indicaton. And then being psyched when "Killer Queen" came on, because it mentioned dynamite with a laser beam, which sounded pretty bitchin' to my six-year-old self.

I just think if you look at the worst of pop music in the '70's, it's way worse than the worst of pop music of any other decade. So for the love of God, derivative bands of today, try to plagiarize elsewhere!

Fat Club redux

I get more hits writing about Celebrity Fit Club than anything else, so I suppose I should lay off writing about horror fiction and get me some eyeballs on this page. So, for those of you googling at home: Erika Eleniak fat! Tina Yothers fat! And, even though she's not on this season, I get at least one hit a day looking for Tempestt (or possibly Tempest) Bledsoe fat! ( I would think this was Tempestt herself autogoogling, but I kinda doubt she'd misspell her own name in a google search.) Welcome to my blog, now please go buy Long Way Back, Donorboy, Losing My Faculties and It Takes a Worried Man. You'll be glad you did!

Anyway, I'm just finding this season a little too nicey-nicey for my taste. Nick is a jerk when they play the games, and Angie had lots of excuses, but for the most part, this has been a season of people getting with the program, hitting their weight loss targets, and mostly getting along. Boring! Even bringing back Busey for a motivational drumming circle couldn't save this. So yeah, you've got probably the most likeable cast ever, and they are losing so much weight that I'll definitely be sticking around for the final fat-to-thin morph, but I just feel like the magic is gone. Harvey's only yelled at somebody at the weigh-in once! Gone are the days of an enraged Willie Aames striking his door, man-boobs a-jiggling. Gone even are the days of Gunnar Nelson revealing childhood horrors and still failing to be sympathetic or likeable. Oh, aren't there any fat celebrities left with bad attitudes, big egos, and grating personalities? What the hell do we watch reality tv for anyway?

Bully!

I read and laughed my ass off at the first half of Chris Elliott's The Shroud of the Thwacker, and then it disappeared in a frantic pre-party cleanup. Aggh! So do I open every closet and drawer in the house and let the contents roll out and cover the floors in hopes that my book will emerge? Or do I just go back and buy another copy? It would almost certainly be less trouble to just buy it, but that kinda sticks in my craw. Because of course after I buy a replacement copy, I'll find the old one. Anyway, I sat there outside Daughter #1's dance class reading this book and giggling like a schoolgirl at every page and getting looked at like I was a complete freak. And let me tell you, being ostracized for your freakishness in this neighborhood takes some doing.

Anyway, if you liked Get a Life or Cabin Boy, which I think means you are either me or my friends Jen and Dan, then you should definitly buy this book. Twice if you have to. Otherwise, if you're looking for something silly and you think you might be amused by a book in which a clueless, corpulent, inebriated and chronically flatulent Teddy Roosevelt is a major character, then you should buy this too.

In other Victorian pastiche news, I bought Shadows Over Baker Street, in which Sherlock Holmes crosses paths with the Cthulhu mythos. If you don't understand the previous sentence, avoid this book. (And may I add, they'll publish this, but they won't publish my own pseudonymous comic novel of the Cthulhu Mythos? Where's the justice, dammit!) (no, I really did write a pseudonymous comic novel of the Cthulhu Mythos. I envisioned it as a series, but it's tough to write a series of nobody will buy the first one. But I digress.)

If you do understand my description of the book, well, I've only read Neil Gaiman's "A Study in Emerald" so far, but it rocked. Is there nothing that Neil Gaiman can't do? (Well, yeah, actually, I think maybe write comic books. 1602 derailed about three issues in, and now it appears The Eternals may be on the verge of doing the same thing. But I digress...) Anyway, I bought this book on the recommendation of a friendly, helpful clerk at Joseph-Beth books in Cincinnati, so a shout out to them, as it appears to have been a good purchase.

Saw (Not Saw)

Well, we gathered the kids around the TV and watched Saw last night, and then I stayed up late watching Hoot by myself.

Hang on--strike that; reverse it.

Hoot was a really good movie. The kids liked it, but the adults also liked it. Good writing, good acting, and the gap-toothed dramatic stylings of Tim Blake Nelson! Even the fact that Jimmy Buffett was in it as the laid-back science teacher and contributed a bunch of songs to the soundtrack didn't ruin it for me. I was somewhat frightened at how keenly Carl Hiassen seems to have understood the middle school boy's psyche. Like the hero of the movie, I changed schools in the 7th grade, and befriending a bespectacled cutie who could beat up bullies and then doing something important and cool like saving an endangered species would have been pretty close to my fantasy of what life at my new school was going to be like.
The reality, of course, was much uglier, but then everybody's miserable in 7th grade.

And speaking of torture, on to Saw. So, okay, it's now a full day later and many images from this movie are still burned into my brain-- it was definitely disturbing and well-made. I knew some kind of twist was coming, but I didn't anticipate that one. And I didn't really get why Cary Elwes needed to saw his leg off when he was chewing scenery through the last third of the movie. Surely he would have gotten through that chain eventually! (badump-BUMP!) Also, I kept waiting for him to say, "If only we had a wheelbarrow and a holocaust cloak, then maybe, just maybe..."
Westley--reduced to B horror movies! Then again, Buttercup married Sean Penn. You judge who got the worse deal. Hey! I'm on fire! I'll be here all week!

Ahem. So, anyway, I appreciated the fact that this was an extremely demented, intelligent and genuinely horrifying movie. Having said that, I nearly turned it off about a third of the way through when the kid was screaming and the guy was listening to her heartbeat as he showed her the gun and the teddy bear. I mean, I get that the guy is a merciless killer (Unless that was actually the orderly guy doing that--I was a bit confused on that point. Was it the orderly all along, or did the real killer do the first part with the family?), and I suppose that's why the scene was there, but, I mean, we get that he's a merciless killer. In what way is it entertaining to watch the psychological torture of a child? I mean, the kid was great, but I felt really gross watching that scene. Like it was porn for child killers or something. I mean, am I just getting old, or are there some things that are just beyond the pale? How much do we need to see of something in order to be horrified by it? And is there any kind of artistic value to that kind of horror, or is it just like a cinematic roller coaster, and a kid being tortured is just another loop?

I mean, overall, I think the movie had artistic merit--there was actually a lot to think about, and it had kind of like a twisted No Exit kinda existential thing going on, but that kid crying and screaming was just too much for me. Exploitative and gross in a much deeper way than the guy sawing his foot off, which was just good ol' fashioned horror movie squirm-inducing gore.

Revenge of Captain Prince

So much to blog about, so little time....

Caught Revenge of the Nerds on tv the other night. It holds up suprisingly well, and I have always admired the whole message about the importance of being and accepting who you are, as well as the part at the end where all the people who've ever felt put down or inferior surround the nerds with love. Also, while Lamar is made fun of, this is the only mainstream movie from the '80s I can remember with an openly gay protagonist. However. The whole "That hateful cheerleader will loosen up and learn to love you if you can just date rape her in the funhouse" bit hasn't really aged well. (For those who don't remember--Ted McGinley's evil-but-hot girlfriend is converted to the joys of nerd love after she has sex with someone she believes to be her boyfriend who is actually a nerd in disguise.) Creepy. Also, what the hell was it in the '80's anyway? It's like whenever they made a comedy, the writers sat around and said, "Okay....so get this! We'll have a character that's....wait for it....Asian!" Gales of laughter ensue. I mean, it's just kind of weird. Like, who thought that was hilarious?

Watched Ultimate Avengers: The Movie with the boy the other day. It was very entertaining. I guess it's part of Marvel's Ultimate thing, which is supposedly some kind of radical re-imagining of the Marvel universe meant to lure in non-geeks. And what a radical-reimagining it is! Why, Nick Fury is black! And...um....well....everything else is pretty much the same as I remember. Except at no point did the Hulk say, "Puny Human, Hulk Smash!" which, I mean, what the hell. Also, Captain America was always boring as shit, is still boring as shit, and wasn't compelling as the central figure in the movie. Though as a child, I did enjoy the Captain America cartoons with the following theme song:

When Captain America throws his mighty shiellllllllld
All those who chose to oppose his shield must yielllllllld!

Dig those internal rhymes! That's some muscular verse styling!

Recently dug out some old Prince records and was once again in awe of the hot streak that guy put together. Between '79 and '94, he put out three of the greatest albums of all time (Dirty Mind, Purple Rain, Sign O'The Times), four great albums that would be the best albums by anybody who hadn't made the aforementioned classics (Controversy, 1999, Lovesexy, Diamonds and Pearls,), two really good albums (Around the World in a Day, The Gold Experience) two marginal albums that nevertheless had fantastic songs on them (Graffiti Bridge, Parade), and two stinkbombs (Batman, Symbol). Name me anybody who can match that track record! You can't do it!

Also, he is the best guitarist alive. Dig this if you don't believe me....

A Serious Interlude

Putting the smartass aside for a moment while I wax serious. We'll return to our regularly scheduled snarkiness in the next post.

I wrote a novel in which music helps somebody recover from a traumatic loss, and, strangely, I'm finding it's sorta true in real life, too. I mean, yeah, listening to music helped me a lot when times were awful--cause, you know, when the world falls apart, some things stay in place and all that--but now I'm finding that music is helping me put my life back together.

I mean, in most senses, my life is very together, in that I'm happy, I have a wonderful job and friends and I'm surrounded by a wonderful family and I'm married to a fantastic babe. But this life that began in 2003 feels completely severed from the life I had before. In fact, I have actually had a hard time remembering some stuff from my pre-widowed life--my mind would approach it and kind of steer around it, because it just hurt too much.

I got into new music, and I also started listening to stuff I liked in high school, but I just could hardly stand to listen to anything from between 1988 and 2003.

But over the last year, I find myself pulling out more of the old music, and now, instead of being too painful to listen to, it's actually really nice. Listening to it now reminds me that my old life did actually happen, and that it's connected to the life I have now. It's like--instead of just being a painful reminder of my old life, the music can be associated with now as well as then. Which is helping me feel like I'm a person with one life instead of two. If that makes any sense at all. If you've had a life-altering trauma, it probably does make sense. And if you haven't...well, good for you!

Back soon with stuff about an old movie, a new movie, and music music music!

The Magic of Serendipity

Flipping through channels last night, and I came across Chopping Mall, a wise, witty, and warm film from the 80's in which horny teens inexplicably in a mall are hunted down by malfunctioning security robots. As I tuned in, I caught this fantastic bit of dialogue. A couple is making out on a couch:

Him: You smell like Pepperoni.
Her: (Getting up from couch, huffily) Well, if that's the way you feel...
Him: (Saucily) Wait. (She glances back to the couch, where he is lying, shirtless, come-hither look on his face.) I like pepperoni.
Her: Mmmmmm. (Takes her shirt off.)

Now that's quality filmmaking! In ten minutes, we saw two topless women, one electocution, and one exploding head! This movie had it all, I tellya!