Why Do We Enjoy Movies So Damn Much? (Part One)

After a few calculations, it occurred to me that I have probably stayed awake for over 10,000 movies in my lifetime. I can't be sure, of course, because I haven't kept an official count, but I know the tally is way, way up there. 

Not so originally, it intensely kick-started when I saw Star Wars in a theater when I was six years old and realized my less-than-awesome life would never be filled with wookies, lightsabers, jawas and other amazing wonders. Thus, I was hooked on celluloid for life. 

I realize that 10,000 movies is lingering near (or, perhaps, waist-deep in) Obsessionville. I would call it certifiably crazy, but then, most people I know have seen thousands of films in their lifetime, as well. We can't all be insane. So, why do we watch so many movies? Why do we enjoy them so damn much?

Admittedly, the answer does not seem to be difficult. Quite simply, they entertain us... but I think it’s more than that, obviously. I think we need them. Like oxygen need them.

For starters, movies often enable us to run a full gamut of emotions in a relatively short time, which is extremely cathartic by the way. Each of us forms our own visceral connection with certain films. How odd is it that many people cry more watching a movie than they do in their everyday life?

I have often wondered why many of us are this way. The way I see it, maybe people prefer to suppress their emotions in front of other people in their day-to-day lives because they don't want to burden others or they simply don't want to appear to be a glorified psychological mess. I suppose that plays a vital role, but it's really a matter of biology.

According to PsychologyToday, movies make us cry because of oxytocin (the so-called love hormone released by the pituitary gland). It acts as a neurotransmitter to the human brain. The problem is, it isn't tuned just right, so we become incapable of recognizing the difference between actual human beings and flickering images of human beings on a screen. Either one is enough to trigger our oxytocin into high gear and jump-start our empathy. So, we may know on one level what we are watching is fake, but the feelings movies generate in us can seem quite real and powerful to us as if the events we are witnessing are happening to people in our everyday lives. 

Also, the reason we experience a hyper-heightened emotional reaction is that films are designed that way. They are crafted deliberately to manipulate us on a primal level. We are addicts. The more adrenaline courses through our veins during a horror movie, the more we crave it. The more laughter that escapes your lips, the more you want to see a comedy film again and again.

Even the makers of movies are addicts. Actors try to make you fall in love with them or break your heart. Emotional reactions are the currency that thespians use to measure how well they are doing their job. The more you smile in a comedy, the better the performance. The more you cry in a drama, the more you cared about their character and the more the actors affected you. 

And, of course, the director will do his part to make sure you never forget his film. Every trick is employed. The dying character speaks his last lines of sage wisdom and deep regrets. Then the orchestrated music slowly rises and our hearts swell. Cut to an image of a photograph or a character's beloved piece of jewelry (employed throughout the film) bathed in light and it triggers something in you, just as cherished items do in your own life. 

If you think about it, a really good film makes you feel like you just experienced real life at the highest degree.

As a result of that emotional connection we feel, movies will often inspire us to live our lives better or enjoy each moment more (at least for a little while). We will witness a hero endure tragedy or hardship and find a way to move on, knowing we must do the same in our own lives. (If Rocky can beat Mr. T, then surely I can finish these TPS reports by Friday.)

It's funny. We can listen to a million different inspirational speeches, but sooner or later one infiltrates us to our cores because we respond to that particular film or situation or character and we internalize it to match up to our own experiences. In that way, movies are a way for us to celebrate our own lives, in many cases... our own accomplishments and successes, even our failures and their subsequent consequences. In that manner, we relate to fictional characters and it temporarily lifts us from our burdens, secure in the knowledge that we aren't alone in our struggles. Our pain is universal.

But then, movies do a lot more than entertain and inspire us. They take us places we have never been before. A film is someone’s imagination come to life and we, as moviegoers, get to escape into that world for a short time (and escape this crummy world, as well).

Actually, it’s more like a collective imagination come alive, mainly the writer’s musings and the director’s vision, but there are so many creative people involved. The actors. The set and costume designers. The makeup artists. Special effects artists. Musicians. On an on. They each add their stamp to the final product to make it more intricate and to enrich our submersion into that wondrous alternate plane of existence.

I would also argue that movies contain substance, too, and appeal to us intellectually. They can be quite cerebral (perhaps not as often as they should, but still...). I believe at the crux of this window to imagination is a reflection of reality. Oftentimes that reflection is a more idealized or brutal form of reality, but either extreme is capable of fascinating our minds. No matter how fantastic a film is conceptually or visually, it still needs to be anchored to our experiences as human beings in order for us to process it intellectually. To that end, great films use elements of fiction to illustrate profound truths or illuminate a better understanding of our nature in the real world and that stimulates us.

In some cases, movies may seem more real to us than reality, as odd as that sounds. I suppose that’s where the oxytocin comes into play, but I think All About Eve director Joseph L. Mankiewicz underscored this notion well when he said: “The difference between life and the movies is that a script has to make sense, and life doesn't.”

That seems like a good time for me to fade to black, but not before a quick offering of a coming attraction. In my next blog, I will explore what valuable lessons and nuggets of wisdom movies have taught most of us.

Making People Squirm, or People Making Sperm

I have an acquaintance whom I'd like to keep anonymous, so I will simply refer to her as Lily Happyhappyhappygoat.

Ms. Happyhappyhappygoat works for a medical research facility that conducts clinical research trials.

I won’t tell you the name of the company she works for, but it is a better facility than some of the previous places she has worked at in the same field. In fact, I could tell you horror stories that would scare you into giving up prescription drugs altogether. Perhaps another time.

Lily Happyhappyhappygoat's company regularly conducts many studies on “healthy” individuals, because it’s logical to first test new drugs on stronger people in case there are unforeseen side effects or complications.

A healthy person might experience discomfort from a test drug, but an unhealthy person might experience death. That is why Phase I studies are rarely tested on 90-year-old people afflicted with various devastating diseases.

Not all studies are trying to cure cancer, stem the tide of Multiple Sclerosis, or ward off dementia in Alzheimer’s patients. Some are for vitamins. Some are to help people stop smoking. Still others are designed to measure how a medication might affect sperm production in men (something we all should be vastly concerned with since the population of Earth is estimated to only be 6.8 billion or so as of July 1, 2009).

Oh, did I mention that the participants are paid to be part of a study? Imagine getting paid to masturbate. We live in a truly wacky (no pun intended) and wonderful world.

Incidentally, Lily invited me to one such study a while back. It’s not that she felt I was extremely talented in sperm production, or, at least, I don’t think so.

I had to say “no” to the study. I strictly adhered to my own “no sperm” policy that forbids me to ejaculate at any acquaintance’s place of employment. Call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t want her co-workers (whom I also know) saying “Hey man, what’s up?” as I walk by with a plastic sample cup in my hand.

Talk about a loaded question.

That kind of thing (i.e. people making sperm) is known to make people squirm, which brings me to the “Velvet Room” at Lily’s work.

They actually have a room designated for these trials where participants go in to produce sperm samples. The Velvet Room is the nickname the facility’s staff have given it. (Ha, ha, medical researchers crack me up!)

Inside that room is a comfy chair in the middle with a long roll of paper covering it (like the kind you would find at a dental or doctor’s office). Thus, you can rip off an old layer and pull down a new one. That isn’t even remotely the craziest thing in the room.

The craziest thing is that there is a small fold-up chair placed adjacent to the comfy one. (There are also porno movies and magazines strewn throughout, as well, which can be pretty damn crazy in their own right, especially if titles like Dude, Where’s My Dildo? offend you).

I was once told that the fold-up chair is for the participant’s spouse or significant other. Apparently, they can provide moral support (and even take their clothes off), but they cannot directly lend a hand, so to speak.

How weird is that? Not enough, apparently, because I have heard various sperm-related horror stories that have occurred during the study.

It would seem that some of the sperm study participants have taken as little as two minutes to produce a sample (which, to me, is quite terrifying considering the cold, antiseptic atmosphere of the room). Conversely, one man was in the Velvet Room for 90 minutes and came out dry. Stage fright, apparently.

At times, participants “miss the cup.” The employees generally do not enjoy that. I wonder if they draw straws to see who gets to deal with the cleanup.

I think the worst horror story I overheard, however, was the one involving a man who said his mother had called him on his cell phone when he was trying to produce a sample. That killed his mood for over a half hour.

So, the lesson learned from this is quite simple: sometimes, we must endure great pains in order to make great progress. Oh, and also: you should always leave your cell phone in the other room when you masturbate in a plastic cup in the name of science.

The Meaning of Life: Submarines and Subtext

So, what exactly is the meaning of life?

When I was considerably less ancient, I relentlessly searched for the answer to that grand question in the pages of the world's most highly revered books (i.e. The Bible, The Tao Te Ching, The Kama Sutra, and even The Yellow Pages). None of them helped, however, because I realize now that you cannot discover the meaning of life in such places.

Instead, you need to delve deeply into the lyrics of rock songs — especially the songs of The Beatles. More especially (is that a phrase?), you should reference the songs written by Ringo Starr, who most people would agree is the smartest man ever to wield a mustache (a list, by the way, which includes Albert Einstein and Tom Selleck).

Perhaps Ringo's most controversial and challenging song is the cleidoic Yellow Submarine.

I shall perform a brief lyrical autopsy upon its key passages:

So we sailed up to the sun
Till we found the sea of green
And we lived beneath the waves
In our Yellow Submarine

Many critics have scoffed at this imagery, vehemently claiming that Ringo is evidently the victim of the world’s worst GPS device as he recounts a whimsical, but nonsensical journey. It appears uncertain whether the narrator is underwater in a green sea beneath the waves, close to the sun, or both places, seemingly impossibly.

Other critics have alluded to this passage as direct proof of Starr’s penchant for copiously ingesting LSD and other psychedelic drugs during the sobriety-deprived 1960s.

Poppycock. Could such a man -- under the influence of hallucinogens -- have grown and trimmed such an aesthetically-pleasing mustache? Could such a man -- and his alleged perpetually drug-addled brain -- deconstruct so many complicated concepts in such a clear, concise and catchy manner? Not bloody likely.



Those simpletons who attack Ringo are ignoring the subtext within the songwriter's existential exploration. It seems obvious to even an infant with no concept of space or time that Ringo is alluding to a state of existence that is omnipresent... in the sun, in the green sea, under the waves, and yes, in the Yellow Submarine, which a blatant metaphor for the purity of light that physically encompasses every soul in the universe.

Indeed, the axiom “We all live in a Yellow Submarine” removes all doubt that every being in existence is eternally inside the parameters of an infinitely-massive vessel capable of submerging through all of space and time, whether we actually see the Yellow Submarine or even acknowledge its presence.

Later in the song, Ringo writes:

And our friends are all on board
Many more of them live next door
And the band begins to play

Notice how he states "our friends are ALL on board" and then proceeds to write that more of them live next door, as well. How can all live on board and yet more also live next door? Indeed, such an event is impossible, at least within the parameters of linear time, which, unfortunately, is how man generally perceives it.

However, time is subject to all points of view in the universe where each individual observer examines it from – as well as when each observer examines it be it the past, present or future. Thus, one observer's interpretation is only a singular diluted fractal detail that helps comprise the shape of Time Entirety, which of course, is alluded to as the music that the band plays on and on.

Thus, we all listen to the symphony of time as we ride in the Yellow Submarine, even if it appears that we are only neighbors to the Grand Vessel. After all, humanity is consistently constricted by its own cognitive failings.

Incidentally, this notion is also nascent in Nowhere Man during the following stanza:

Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?

This song is believed to be written by the late, great John Lennon, but I believe this was a case where John (as he so often did) consulted Ringo for help with composing lyrics. Ringo's influence is as obvious as it is epiphanous.

Here, the Divine Drummer proliferates the precept that everybody is inherently a nobody who, in the confines of his or her own navigational confusion, is ultimately nowhere to be found.

What does that mean? What indeed, Ringo, what indeed.

The meaning is simple: Everybody is a nobody in their own unique way, and, subsequently, even nobodies can be embodied in the concept that is everybody.

Thus, it also stands to reason that nowhere can indeed be found everywhere, especially in a Yellow Submarine.

Critics of Starr’s seminal philosophical works counter this theorem saying that the opposite is sublimely true, that there is no Yellow Submarine, only the empty meaningless pockets of cold space comprised of random matter particles completely devoid of purpose.

However, Ringo had previously covered this ground himself by noting that if such a truth was exposed, it would mean that we all live outside the Yellow Submarine’s hull, which is merely the aforementioned pocket of nothingness where, of course, only nothing can exist. Ringo brilliantly referred to this plane of non-existence as the shade in the Octopus’s Garden.

However, Ringo also realized that it is a paradox for one to exist in a plane of non-existence, even if we desire it so. And, of course, Ringo desired it so:

I'd like to be
Under the sea
In an Octopus's Garden
In the Shade.

Therefore, Ringo surmised that the meaning of life for us is to faithfully accept our roles as meandering passengers on that almighty celestial submarine. Unfortunately, Ringo secretly longed to leave the vessel and merge with the shade of nothingness that denotes a purposeless existence. So, as you can see, not only is Ringo the most profound mustachioed man to have ever lived, he is also one of the saddest.

To Hell and Back!!! (Part Two)

(See Previous Entry for Part One)

Let's summarize Part One, shall we? I believe Hell is playing Pictionary and recently I had to endure 30 minutes of Hell. Now, you're caught up.

I should mention here, that I did not actually play Pictionary recently. It was actually a knock-off for kids called Cadoo.

It involves other things to do than just draw, yet my wife and I play a "draw every turn" version with my young nephew to torture me. He is exceptionally cute and knows he is and he uses his cuteness to ask me ever so politely and kindly to play even though he knows I'd rather be playing kissing tag with jellyfish in the middle of the Pacific ocean.

So, when it became my turn and I had to draw something that could be found “under my bed” I was none-too-pleased.

My attempt at drawing a cat looked like something that vaguely resembled a bat-faced creature with no legs and a huge, fat snake-like tail. It also had wings for eyes and a nose that only could be described as woefully inaccurate.

I would reproduce it here but I accidentally spilled two glasses of ice tea on it, as well as a third because the first two did not adequately do the trick.

My nephew, as adorable as space is infinite and easily half as evil, seemed to really enjoy watching me squirm. He laughed at my drawing for approximately 14 hours. This is probably why he relishes playing the game so damn much.

When it came time for his turn to draw I will reference the picture at the top of this blog. He had to draw an animal he would not want in his bed with him. Any guesses?

My wife and I tried many guesses ourselves, but ran out of time. Turns out, he drew a rat. (Look again, you'll see it.)

Now, before you think I’m being mean here, I don’t say this with that purpose in mind. I simply had no idea what scared the kid. No. Scratch that. I know what scares that kid. Everything. It was just too hard to narrow down from a limitless number of choices.

I felt kind of bad not being able to guess the answer because I could see his frustration... that same frustration I’ve known all of my life.

At least he’s only in first grade. He can still develop drawing skills, and you know, even if he doesn’t he can already draw me under the table. At least the wheel-like appendages of the rat in his picture are in proportion. On my best day, I couldn't even manage that much.

So, if you think the figure at the top of this entry is hard to identify, then you should know that what I had drawn was ten times worse and much more mock-worthy. If you were to, say, post in on a refrigerator, those who passed by it would shriek in absolute terror: What is wrong with that poor, deranged child! Is he... is he from Hell?

No, no I am not. I just visit there every time I attempt to draw.

To Hell and Back!!! (Part One)

Most people probably envision Hell as a deep and vast underground cavern full of thick smoke and scorching flames... and, of course, an infinite number of nightmarish demons and tortured souls. I’m guessing there’s a lot of screaming in this scenario, too.

I don’t buy that. Heaven is not a bunch of clouds and harps and winged seraphs. Hell is not a bunch of fire and brimstone and screaming monstrosities. Those are just mythological constructs... simple and even unimaginative images that have been frequently used throughout history by the feckless predominant collective cultures of this infernal, red-headed stepchild of a world.

Yes, I’m feeling quite optimistic today.

Perhaps it is because I experienced a glimpse of the one true Hell recently and I am still struggling to recover.

You see, Heaven does not really have one face, so to speak. Nor does Hell, in my opinion. Such abstract ideas are influenced by the perception of the individual who experiences them. For you, Heaven may be full of chocolate chip cookies and blatant public nudity. For me, it might be a world where all food is served "Thai hot" and all movies are made in IMAX 3-D.

Then, there is Hell. I admit, burning perpetually while being whipped by deranged demons is a decent Underworld to imagine. It sounds quite painful and hopeless, which is precisely the point. But, for me, Hell is much worse than that. After all, I recently journeyed there (or a watered-down version of it) for about 30 minutes and escaped back to reality with my life and sanity intact, but only barely.

What is Hell for me? Quite simply, Hell is playing Pictionary.

The sad thing about that previous sentence is that I genuinely meant it. Drawing ability is something that I have always admired, but am utterly perplexed how it all works. I consistently failed handwriting in school (which is not really drawing talent, and yet, I’m so bad with pencil and paper that I cannot even write words legibly).

Years later, I took Art and my self-confidence pulled out a gun and shot itself 13 times.

I cannot draw a circle. I cannot draw a square. My stick figures look evil... and fuzzy... and disturbingly out of proportion. I truly suck at drawing in a way that nobody has managed to equal throughout the entire course of recorded time. (I even envy those rudimentary stick drawings on caves etched with ashen sticks.)

So, naturally, everybody I know seems to want to play Pictionary whenever I am around. I usually get pressured into playing, and then, by the end of the night, everybody usually regrets that persuasive effort.

You might think I’m being silly, but let me use an appropriate metaphor.

Picture, if you will, sticking your hand into a running blender (perhaps on the setting of maximum blend). Don’t take it out. Keep it there for 30 minutes (or however long it takes to play Pictionary). While this is going on, imagine that someone has lit your crotch on fire. You can’t put it out, of course. Then, cover your entire body with Super Glue. Immediately after that, pour a bucket of cranky tarantulas all over your body so they can get caught in the glue and try to bite their way out of it.

Does that sound like fun to you? For me, that sounds a little bit hellish. If I were given the choice of playing Pictionary or participating in the tortures of the previous paragraph, I would probably flip a coin.

In this instance, I lost the coin toss and almost lost my mind completely.

To Be Continued Tomorrow...

Top 10 Worst Names Celebrities Have Given Their Children

According to statistics tabulated by the National Youth Violence Prevention Resource Center (www.safeyouth.org), almost 30% of the youth in the United States (over 5.7 million) bully others, end up becoming the target of a bully's wrath, or both.

When students between the ages of six and ten were polled in a national survey, it was revealed that 13% admitted to bullying others and 11% were bullied by others. On top of that, 6% claimed to be on both sides of the bullying coin.

Now, I realize that there are many factors for why people bully others. I myself was tortured daily by two older brothers simply because I was much smarter, better looking and just plain more awesome than they could ever hope to be.

But, there is one thing that can be done at birth to help shield children from the potential wrath of future bullies. Give your child a name that does not rhyme with a profane word, for example. I can attest that “Chris” rhymes with “piss” (as well as "clitoris") so I heard some pretty colorful phrases while growing up.

Note: you probably should also stray away from names that double as profane and/or dubious words, such as: Dick, Peter, John Thomas, Willy, Wang, Captain Penishead, etc.

I realize that eliminates a lot of common names, but truth be told, such monikers are hardly the biggest attraction for schoolyard bullies. Common names like “Dick” and “Peter” won’t make you stand out nearly as much as a highly unusual name will.

And, now we come to the point of my blog today (finally!).

Why do so many celebrities give their children names that will one day make them the target of anybody on the playground with a size ten or larger shoe and/or a 75 or less IQ?

I could provide dozens of examples, but instead, will opt to go for a Top Ten list format.


The Top Ten Worst Names Celebrities Have Given Their Children:


10) Apple (Child of Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin of Coldplay)

Bonus Bad Joke: Let's hope Apple falls far from the family tree when she names her own children some day.


9) Sage Moonblood (Child of Sylvester Stallone)


8) Memphis Eve (Child of U2 frontman Bono who clearly was teased for his own name growing up.)


7) Tu (This name isn’t so bad until you realize the child’s last name is Morrow. The father is actor Rob Morrow.)

On the bright side, at least the child will likely think that the people in the musical Annie are singing directly to her.


6) Audio Science (Child of actress Shannyn Sossamon.)


5) Jermajesty (Child of Jermaine Jackson, brother of Michael.)

Jerkidding me, right?


4) Pilot Inspektor (Child of Jason Lee. I believe it has something to do with a song lyric from a band named Grandaddy or opium... copious amounts of opium.)


3) Moxie Crimefighter (Child of comedian/magician Penn Jillete -- part of the duo Penn and Teller.)

I will admit that it's better than Wussy Supervillain, but only barely.


2) Kal-El (Child of Nic Cage, a big fan of Superman, hence Superman’s Kryptonian name.)

Thank goodness his Kryptonian name wasn't something really unusual like Mxyzptlk or Chunky Bits of Dog Food... Now with Gravy.

And finally...


1) Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet and Diva the Muffin Man (All offspring of musician Frank Zappa who clearly deserves a Lifetime Achievement Award for this category.)


Incidentally, today’s blog is sponsored by:

www.FutureBullyVictimsoftheWorldUnite.com.

Reader Mail #3

There continues to be a massive influx of electronic mail from Passing Thoughts readers of late. Just yesterday alone I received 271 comments, four of which were not from StalkingYouUntilYouBleed.

Receiving electronic ovations from all corners of the Earth is nice, to be sure, but some people go on a little too much. For example:

Dear Scrotum Face,

A friend of mine recently requested that I try reading your blog since he believed it was the best thing since waxed dental floss. So, I clicked on the link.

Words cannot describe how it made me feel, but alas, I shall try.

As I read each sentence, I felt as if my very eyes were repeatedly raped by your worthless, pointless, damnable words.

Your illiterate ramblings forced me to unleash a tidal wave of tears as I found myself thinking that I would prefer to have a pit bull use my penis as a chew toy than to endure one more insipid observation from your pitiful unimaginative imitation of a mind.

Perhaps I could give you two words of advice: Please die.

And, hopefully, you will follow my advice as soon as humanly possible.

Irritatingly,

Donnie Darko


Here is another interesting letter I received:


Dear Dr. Montepenny,

Yesterday my shadow followed me around outside for most of the day. It simply would not leave me alone, even when I ran across the freeway during the morning rush hour screaming “Intacto! Intacto!”

At one point, I saw a screeching diesel tire run over the shadow, but the ungodly creature continued its relentless pursuit of me. Finally, around sunset, it grew tired and I managed to give it the slip. Still, I worry that it will be waiting outside for me once again tomorrow.

So, my question is: who would win in a fight between Superman and Batman?

Sincerely,

hookerbytrade



Dear Ms. Hooker,

I am not actually a doctor, but I do appreciate when people address me thusly. Your e-mail distressed me greatly for two reason: 1) not once did you compliment me; and 2) your question was utterly absurd.

Clearly, Superman would pummel Batman before he could even blink... even if Batman held every tactical advantage and contained several hundreds of pounds of kryptonite on his person, Superman would simply fly out of reach of the kryptonite’s devastating effects. Then, he would pick up a building and drop it on the Caped Crusader, whose utility belt does not come equipped with a device that can catch a building.

Or, Superman could simply sneeze and Batman's head would instantly blow off. Either way, the fight would last approximately 2.4 seconds.

Sincerely,

Dr. Montepenny

I'm Blogging Here! I'm Blogging Here!

Now that I have been blogging for a while, my readership has expanded into the millions.

Unfortunately, these days I find myself accosted on the street often by my legion of fans who bombard me with questions like: Why are you so obsessed with zombies? Did you get the doll I sent you that was made of human hair and crafted lovingly in your likeness? And, last but not least: What exactly is the purpose of your blog?

All are good questions, to be sure.

I will ignore them like I usually do... except for the last one. What is the purpose of this blog? Well, that should be obvious. There is none. It's utterly pointless.

When you break it all down, I have an exceptionally boring life that really isn’t worth reading about. That doesn't stop me from blogging, however. After all, millions of other brain-damaged bloggers have already littered the Super Information Highway with deep declarations such as “The new Kevin Smith film sucks ass!” or poignant questions like “Is it coincidence that the alphabet is arranged in alphabetical order?”

I may never achieve such grandiose verbosity, but I promise to help cure your insomnia with my inane and trivial ramblings.

Speaking of trivia (wow, what a forced segue!) the above picture is from the cinematic classic Midnight Cowboy, the first (and only) X-rated movie to ever win the Best Picture Oscar from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

Apparently, they never saw Big Trouble in Little Vagina or Edward Penishands, two vastly overlooked classics of cinema.

Later on, Midnight Cowboy was downgraded to “R” status, but the filmmakers were allowed to keep the golden trophy anyway. That’s just wrong on all levels.

Anyway, I included the above picture because of Ratso’s (played by Dustin Hoffman) popular quote: “I’m walking here! I’m walking here!”

I know. I know. Do you see what I did with the juxtaposition of words there in my blogline (is that a word?)? Now, you are saying: “Ha, ha, you are only too clever for words!”

Truly I am, but that is beside the point.

A little time has passed a bit since I added that picture and it has occurred to me that: 1) I didn’t really like the movie that much (I watched it hoping it would be a night western); 2) having that picture at the top of my blog inadvertently gives the whole page a glaringly gay tone, not that there is anything wrong with that; 3) the term “my blog” sounds terribly wrong; 4) Dustin Hoffman must be about as tall as a Smurf; and 5) Jon Voight apparently frequented a haberdashery that lacked mirrors sometime back in the late 1960s. Looking at him in that outfit makes it almost impossible to imagine that he’d be fathering über-sexpot Lara Croft in only a handful of years.

It’s a pretty incredible world when you think about it.

Hmmm. Now I am wondering if straight people use words like “haberdashery?"

Oh, and for the record, Smurfs are approximately three apples tall, whatever the Hell that means. Also, they live in mushrooms and boast a 99% male population. Between the cowboy gigolo picture, Smurf reference and the whole “haberdashery” faux pas (and, now, subsequently, the usage of faux pas), I’m seriously questioning my own sexual identity.




Kiss-My-Ass Smurf says: "See ya!"

Toys Have Changed Since I Was a Kid #2

I have to admit, I'm starting to feel as if somebody short-sheeted the bed known as my childhood.

My generation really had craptastic toys. Well, that's not entirely true. Those in a higher income bracket were undoubtedly overjoyed by their millions of Star Wars action figure sets. Me? I was ecstatic about a sock puppet I received one birthday. It was known as Lame Duck (pictured to the right), although it may have been a yellow ostrich/mutant chick hybrid of some sort that escaped the set of Sesame Street.

That's OK, though. I may have too often found myself immersed in solitude with few toys, or even food or water, but I had my imagination dammit... which made my cardboard casserole taste like filet mignon and my collection of previously discarded bottlecaps seem like an armada of UFO warships (with cool names like "Tab" and "Squirt").

But, I digress. In all honesty, I was quite jealous of my friend Jesse whose family made more money and thus were able to afford to buy him the coveted Chewbacca sock puppet at The Thrifty Cheapskate store downtown.



And, of course, Sock Chewie always kicked Lame Duck's yellow-cottony ass every time they fought a no-holds-barred cage match. He even had a Wookie utility belt draped across his shoulder, for God's sake! How could a bird without arms or wings compete with that #$@*!

That foul jealousy (no pun intended) occasionally rears its ugly head in my adult life, as well, especially when I observe some of the new, completely awesome toys that are available to the hordes of texting teeny boppers that don't even appreciate them.

It makes me prone to believe that God had some kind of personal vendetta against the 1970s and 1980s. (Does disco and breakdancing not prove this theory?)

At any rate, I recently stumbled upon a precious plaything that I would have gladly traded both of my brothers and a bag of magic beans for: Brian the Freakin' Bad-Ass Robot.

He actually comes equipped with an animatronic brain that uses voice-recognition technology to respond to verbal prompts and engage children in conversation.




The device is programmed with The Concise Encyclopedia from Britannica, a dictionary, and a world-history timeline so it can play word, memory and trivia games with the child. The device can even ask children about their likes and dislikes and learn to interact personally with them, even telling jokes and flashing a multi-colored brain for a little extra pizazz.

As for my Lame Duck toy, it spoke to me in a demonic voice similar to the kid's from The Exorcist, and it tried to kill me on a number of different occasions... including once with a rusty electric buzzsaw.

Brian the Brain, on the other hand, can be programmed to keep a personal telephone book and event calendar, and devices such as phones and iPods can be hooked up to it so that he can call whoever you want for you or play any song on your mp3 player.

My sock puppet would head butt me, repeatedly, or whack me with a stainless steel cheese shredder, if I so much as tried to sing a note.

As if Brian the Brian wasn't already cool enough, he also responds to direct verbal commands (i.e. "Get my dinner, bitch."). Plus, he has a retractable keyboard so you can communicate via text with him. LOL!

Of course, Lame Duck only responded to me with his biting, sarcastic wit. The only features that little Hellspawn possessed were two creepy eyes and a dry, hairy tongue. He would also leave fur droppings everywhere in his wake so I had to "hand vacuum" my room every day.

I suppose there was ONE advantage my childhood toy had over the new, hi-tech robot companion. Instead of costing about $120, it cost approximately 14 cents so I only had to find a couple of recyclable glass bottles and turn them in so I could save up for other sock puppet creatures, including Sneaky Satan Snake and Wally Werewolf Worm.

By the way, if you'd like to see more of Brian the Brain in a short film clip, go to YouTube here. If you are feeling the pinch of the recession but would still like to know where you can learn how to make your very own Ewok sock puppet cheaply, then I suggest you try here.

Top Tweets of the Week

Some of the funniest Tweets from this past week from Twitter.com:

aedison
I'm new to babysitting, so I'll assume that Amazon knows best when it says kids who like 101 Dalmatians will also enjoy Dog Day Afternoon.

BrianLynch
They're doing a KING KONG prequel? If it's not called PRINCE KONG everyone is wasting their time.

jeremypiven
We don't change we just become more like ourselves...

As usual, there were some amusing trending threads including one called Imperial Edicts that could be implemented in order to make the Evil Empire of Star Wars even more, well, evil:



joelthegreat
All soda machines serve warm cans of Diet caffeine free coke, not matter what you pick.

eddiesaunier
Double coupon Mondays in the Death Star gift shop are suspended indefinitely

rsethery
clone jar jar binks

darthvader
Open more Starbucks

StrivinToThrive
raise the cost of postage... again. pure evil.

HughWoolard
Starting now, ALL movies will be directed by Michael Bay.


Another trend listed Fake Song Parody Titles that were rejected by Weird Al Yankovic.



mshowalter
"Your Body Is A Wonderbread"

nitrogrizz
Fat-Bottomed Squirrels - Queen

ccondry
"Smells Like Tom Skerritt"

c_cappelletti
"Knockin' On Kevin's Door"

Montepenny
“The Pigeon is Gonna Get You" and "Meth (I Hear You Calling)"

themikewhite
You Can Call Me ALF

alyankovic
Depeche Mode - "My Own Personal Cheese Whiz"


One of the raunchier trends included Failed Children's Book Titles that had too much of an adult slant to them:


bortrock
The Lion, The Witch and the Whore's Robe

BrianLynch
ONE FISH, TWO FISH, RED FISH, TERRORIST

States
HORTON HEARS HIS PARENTS HAVING SEX.

MsDelaney
Puff The Magic Bong

noyokono
Bi-Curious George

theseantcollins
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Kidney Stone

Montepenny
Mr. Magorium's Wonder Bra Emporium

muskrat_john
Where the Girls Gone Wild Things Are

Dweeze
Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Overly Affectionate Spinster

Wormito
Charlotte's Web of Lies

Lessson Learned: Do Not Anger the Baseball Gods

So, last night I learned a valuable lesson: Don't #@$! with the Baseball Gods.

Any superstitious soul knows it's unwise to talk about a perfect game or a no-hitter with the pitcher while it is actually happening. Nothing angers the Deities of the Diamond like assuming that your favorite player or team has earned their favor and is currently being elevated to divine status as a result.

Case in point: my blog yesterday boasted how well the Diamondbacks had played in my presence this season. It was ample fodder for the Mighty Ones to prove a point to me. True, they may have favored me in the past, but my simple mention of that fact was enough to incite them to put me back in my proper place.

The same Diamondbacks who had not given up any earned runs in the full three games I watched live this year gave up six total runs (only half were earned) and were beaten in every aspect of the game last night... handily.

It didn't start off that way, though. Arizona starting pitcher Jon Garland pitched an impressive first three innings, giving up only one walk and no hits to the first ten batters. I found myself wondering if the magic could happen one more time.

Meanwhile, the D-Backs managed to draw walks and hits like crazy. They had two baserunners on in the first, three in the second and two in the third.

Unfortunately, they just couldn't manage to score any runs in those situations. At one point, they had the Phillies' starter Jamie Moyer on the ropes. He faced the worst situation a pitcher can face: bases loaded with no outs. He got out of it without giving up a single run. Strikeout. Double play. Groan.

Then, the momentum changed in a flash. Moyer found his control again and Ryan Howard found the centerfield fence by blistering a monster shot that gave the Phillies a 2 to 0 lead. Prior to that hit, I knew the D-Backs had blown the game already. They had every advantage working for them early and didn't... well, take advantage of it.

Naturally, they soon unraveled after that. They committed two sloppy errors. Second baseman Ryan Roberts also bobbled a potential double-play ball that would have ended an inning, but instead, allowed a run to score on the play.

The D-Backs also stranded eleven baserunners altogether. The Phillies were up 6 to 0 before Arizona scored a pair of meaningless runs in the bottom of the eighth. However, the outcome of the game was never in question.

The D-Backs outhit the Phils 9 to 6, but the Liberty Bell Bombers played smarter baseball. They are the champions and they showed why last night. They also proved to me that it is much wiser to keep your mouth shut if you actually think the Baseball Gods are showing you any kindness at all.

Still, it was a fun night at the air-conditioned ballpark. Next time I will simply wait until AFTER THE GAME to discuss the divine actions of the Baseball Gods rather than risk their wrath once again. After all, their vengeance hits harder than Ryan Howard's bat, and believe me, that is saying a lot.

The Ultimate Test for the Baseball Gods

Last month, I wrote a two-part blog called "A Dissertation on the Deities of the Diamond" about how fans tend to believe that they somehow control the fate of their favorite ballclub through their superstitious actions.

I realize how silly it is for a grown person to believe that wearing a baseball cap backwards will make a .188 hitter come up big with a rally-tying single in the bottom of the ninth, but this is the society we live in.

Then again, sometimes the numbers don't lie. Some fans actually could make a statistical argument that backs up such wild claims. Like me.

I have attended three home games this season of the struggling Arizona Diamondbacks, a team that trails the Los Angeles Dodgers by almost 20 games with an unimpressive 43-56 record.

Yet, during the three games I attended the Diamondbacks were 3-0, outscoring the Rockies 2 to 0, the Cubs 10 to 0 and the Giants 2 to 1. A team that has struggled with pitching and hitting mightily all throughout the year just so happens to boast a 14 to 1 scoring margin in the three games I have attended.

Coincidence? Not bloody likely.

Consider this fact. The Diamondbacks have only pitched eight shutouts all year long (and five at home) and I was there for two of them. During the third game I attended, the Diamondbacks were up 2 to 0 with two outs and two strikes in the ninth inning when I foolishly uttered aloud: “I can’t believe they’ve pitched 26 straight scoreless innings for me and are about to finish number 27! What are the freakin' odds of that?”

The Giants ended up scoring a run on a wild pitch as the Baseball Gods smote me mightily.

Still, the team has a cumulative ERA of 4.41, but when I watch them at Chase Field live they have an ERA of 0.00 in 27 innings (the one run the Giants did score was unearned).

Considering how bad the D-Backs have been, it is an extremely odd coincidence that they pitch like the Arizona Cy Youngs whenever I'm there.

Of course, every fan has told me that I should attend every game, but I know that this will enrage the Baseball Gods if I try to take advantage of their divine courtesy. Thus, I haven't been to a game since mid-June. However, I decided it had been long enough so I will be there tonight when the team hosts the Philadelphia Phillies.

Now, whether or not the Baseball Gods favor me will be put to the ultimate test. After all, the D-Backs have Garland on the mound (his ERA is 4.41!) and the Phillies have the best offense in the National League. The team has hit 138 homes runs and has scored 527 runs (leading the National League in both categories).

If the D-Backs somehow miraculously prevail AND keep the Phillies from scoring, then I will officially believe that I am favored by the Baseball Gods.

However, I have more than my share of doubts.

The Phillies have been extremely hot lately, winning 17 of 20 games and haven't lost a series since the start of the month. They have one of the most explosive offenses in the league. There is no way the D-Backs stand a chance, right?

Well, we'll find out tonight.

More Top Tweets of the Week...

Some of the funniest Tweets from this past week from Twitter.com:

aedison
Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. And every time you have sex, this one angel gets his binoculars.

Remiel
If I had a nickel for every time the inflation rate increased, I'd probably have mixed feelings.

AlexDezen
(Lead Singer of The Damnwells)
Cops can't pull you over if they are in front of you. Not unless they're Timecop

There were two amusing threads. One paired actors from different movies and combined them into one movie title:

#fakecostars

ThatArmenianGuy
Samuel L. Jackson and Samuel L. Jackson in Black Snakes Moan on a Plane

HandOfAnubis
Paul Newman and John Candy Long Hot Summer Rental

maxwellh
Hilary Swank and Kiefer Sutherland in The Lost Boys Don't Cry

Montepenny
Julia Roberts, Gene Wilder, Patrick Swayze, George Romero and Nicole Kiman in Pretty Woman in Red Dawn of the Dead Calm

darinking
Steven Seagal & Gregory Peck in Hard to Kill a Mockingbird

gmwait
Charlton Heston and Kathy Bates in Soylent Green Tomatoes

leelubarsky
Daniel Day-Lewis and Kevin Bacon star in this tale of inspiration . . . and dancing - My Left Footloose


Another thread revealed some of the world's lesser-know conspiracy theories.

#conspiracies

CllrTim
The moon landing happened, but the launch was an elaborate hoax done with fireworks.

Scriblit
The Internet is actually run by a tiny psychic Leprechaun living in your Hard Drive.

djhanks
The red shift occurs not because the universe is expanding, but because it is embarrassed

JasperThorn
When you are drunk you let in little Alien people into your head; the 'hangover' is them moving in and putting up shelves

Widgett
The code found within the Bible is identical to that found within The Complete Works of Richard Scarry

The Week's Top Tweets

It's time to retweet some of the funniest Tweets from this past week from Twitter.com.

One of the most popular Twitter Trends was Chuck Norris and his INFINITE AWESOMENESS.

Lanceguitarist
The quickest way to a mans heart is with Chuck Norris' fist.

Julian218
If you spell Chuck Norris in Scrabble, you win. Forever.

kaptainmyke
Chuck Norris can unscramble an egg.

popculturepost
Chuck Norris doesn't die, he multiplies.

Chuck Norris is what Willis was talking about.


OhliviaEs
When Chuck Norris crosses the street, the cars have to look both ways.

MissSquire
Chuck norris destroyed the periodic table because he only recognizes the element of surprise.

marpop
Chuck Norris puts the "laughter" in "manslaughter".

KaiserGuira
how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could Chuck Norris? All of it


There were a few Tweets not related to Chuck Norris, as well:

badbanana
Bruno made $30.4 million this weekend. It's the biggest opening for a gay mockumentary since Top Gun.

The secret to drinking on the job is to not care about the consequences.

aedison
I glad I don't have haemophilia, because that would make me so depressed I'd want to cut myself.

iTwiddle
Seriously, who decided that 'white' was a good colour for underwear??

I'm against picketing. Now how do I show it?!