Life is not fair...

We hear this statement all through our lives. It is supposed to help us deal with adversity, to make us see alternative viewpoints and deal with curve balls that get thrown our way. But what does it really mean? Sometimes we go through our lives always getting surprised in negative ways, it conditions us to always expect the worst, to always wonder when the other shoe will drop, to always worry when disaster will strike. Then life goes on. We settle into our habits and insulate ourselves from sorrow. We just accept what comes our way and we chuckle in an arrogant way when we see it happen to others as we feel confident on our ability to say, "I told you so." Then, every once in a while, due to the alignment of the stars, the winds of fortune or whatever, we find ourselves with a boon of what we desire. Things seem to just work out. Even rarer still, we seem to get exactly what we want. Things appear to finally go our way and we find ourselves so enriched by the bounty of our efforts that we can’t help but wonder, "Where’s that other shoe?" We’ve worked so hard and have been so patient to get to this point. We approach the very cusp of so much that we want and... And... AND... "Where’s that other shoe?" We don’t see it anywhere? Everything seems right and good and ready, what’s the problem? "I want this so bad, I’ve worked and waited and wanted and finally here I am and there is not a storm cloud in site!" Within this sense of security something waits. Something dark and evil and patient. Every bit as patient as you were when you worked to this point. It waited, bided it’s time and whispered when it felt it needed to and remained silent when it wanted to stay hidden. In the absence of that other shoe and those storm clouds it is more than willing to fill that void. It is self doubt. In the absence of pressure, it creates a pressure far greater than anything external. "You can’t do it. You can’t possibly succeed. You haven’t yet, why do you think you will this time?" It whispers. And the bitch of it is, it feeds itself. Once we begin to doubt, it begins to consume us and we suddenly find ourselves in the midst of the darkest storm clouds we’ve ever seen. Yes, this blog seems very negative and right now I am mad as hell! I am in the midst of a very powerful storm of self doubt. Very local, very intense and very troubling. It rips me and hurts me and makes me want to scream to the heavens! "Why! Why are you doing this to me, what have I done!" Except I’ve only done this to myself. The funny thing is, when I stop to think, to really think about all of it, it's not even what I want, just a part of a much bigger picture and I just focused way to intensely on one area. I put the pussy on a pedestal, as it were. I literally wanted something too much. Now the good news. Despite this hole in my chest right now. This horrible sinking feeling that threatens to make me curl up and forget my life. Despite all of this, I won’t stop. I won’t give up and I won’t go gently into that good night. I don’t want this for myself. I may have been blind sided, but hey, that’s life, right? Today my seem grim and I worry about losing the potential for something great in my life because of this self doubt, but tomorrow is a new day. Because, after all, life is not fair. At least I have a greater appreciation for what that means now.

Not Legendary

This blog is old school Stinking Pile retro, yo! Just like the reviews we used to do. As a matter of fact I reviewed the book for the Stinking Pile, if only my old hard drive was working, "sigh" . I Am Legend. Will Smith stars as the last man on earth in this 3rd adaptation of the Richard Matheson novel. Like both other adaptations, this one used certain elements from the book. Will Smith was good as Robert Neville and his struggles against loss, hope and paranoia. Those elements were really the only thing that carried over from the book. The deserted Manhattan also was well done and CGI was put to good use. The vampires, however, being what appeared to be entirely CGI creations continued to remind me why CGI can not entirely stand on it’s own and should only be used to augment the story and not carry it. As far as this being "the most faithful adaptation yet" goes, well, that’s just bullshit. The Vincent Price version, as poor as that one was, is still the closest. It is important to note that the book, I Am Legend first published in 1954 was the genesis for what is now the sub-genre of horror called survival horror. It was considered a modern twist on the vampire mythos and until the advent of Anne Rice it was second only to Dracula by Bram Stoker as the best selling vampire novel of all time. It predated George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead by fourteen years and I Am Legend’s influence can be seen in that movie. Now it is fair to say that the book stands alone as a classic, if under recognized as one. The movie, on the other hand, coming on the heals of many "survival horror" movie classics from Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead (original and remake), Return of the Living Dead, 28 Days Later to name a few, not to mention countless crappy movies like Flight of the Living Dead, Return of the Living Dead 2 and up and on and on and on... I Am Legend had a really difficult challenge to make itself somehow unique and fresh to the movie going public. Instead of going entirely with Robert Neville’s plight and sticking with the theme of the book it took a left turn and the plot holes began to fill up faster than a porn star’s mouth in a bukakke competition. The vampire mutant things were ridiculously bestial and vicious yet smart enough to lay elaborate traps and were superhuman. I mean really, what is this fascination with Hollywood to somehow make things that are threatening to be far beyond the norm for human levels of strength, speed and agility? Anyway, the first two thirds of the movie were, all in all, really good. The last bit was pure Hollywood shlock and (oddly) the ending was not a typical Hollywood ending yet lacked any real resonance from the book. This is a 7 on the stink meter. Just to inform those that never read a "Stinking Pile" review, the scale read thus: 0 meant that the object of said review had NO STINK, was therefor perfect and it was the highest review. I don’t remember anything actually getting this rating, however. 10 meant that the object of said review stunk to high hell and was the worst rating anything could get. I great explanation of the book can be found here yet I would encourage you to go read it.

Interesting Image of the Day: Shenanigans

Sometimes, without any real malicious intent, for the sake of comedy, relief or the lack of any common sense, at one time or another we all are up to no good. The pure mischevious joy on this kids face just makes me smile!

Neo Post Modern Suburban Poser Punk

Now, I’m not quite sure what to make of this cat. But more on him in a moment. Here I am at a hole in the wall bar with my good friend Karl trying to enjoy the musical stylings of Belly Button, No People and The Mapes. I was also lucky to find that this same hole in the wall bar had a vast selection of beers. Now, I’m a beer snob (lived in Germany for 3 years) and I never felt fully in tune with the punk rock movement (even the early days) and I feel more of akin to experimental Jazz (not Kenny G and shit like that but Count Basie, Miles Davis, some of the Marsallis’s stuff, Thelonius Monk, etc.) I certainly don’t possess the appreciation or knowledge for/of Punk like Karl but I do enjoy Fugazi (more of a DYI), Back Door Breaker Inners, Shapes of Race Cars and various others that Karl has burned me samples of yet I don’t know their names. Anyway, I’m in this bar, feeling like the oldest one there (and probably rightly so) hanging with Karl and the Bethanator and I order a Pacifico (being one of two Mexican beers off hand that I like, the other being Negra Modello) and that sonovabitch bartender puts a fucking lime in it. I was insulted! Now, Peppermint P, in case you read this, I was not whining about my beer being turned into fruit salad so hush woman! I was insulted because lime is put into shitty beers like Corona because they are, well, shitty and you need that lime to hide the shittyness of it. But Pacifico is not Mexican swill and therefor does not need a lime. So I picked the lime out and tossed it on the bar. Now this cat, in the photo, questions why I tossed the lime out. I look him up and down, not being very "Punk" myself, I see three things about him; 1.) He got his mohawk done at QUA in Caesar’s Palace (or some such place) and 2.) He’s wearing a Tommy Hilfiger shirt (I know, obvious, right?) 3.) He’s drinking a Corona with lime in it. With these three details in mind I can, at the very least, deduce that he is a complete Poser and a pussy. "Lime is for shitty beer." I state to him. "I have lime in my beer, that’s what you’re supposed to do in Mexican beer." He replied. "No, lime is what you put in shitty Mexican beer like yours." I spout back. He looks at me in a funny way, to which I follow up, "Yes, you drink shitty beer." He shrugs and goes back to whatever it was he was doing. Yep, a complete Poser and a pussy. Karl and I noticied throughout the evening that he seemed more concerned about primping his mohawk than almost anything else. So the next few times I have a Pacifico, I’ll be thinking of this shmuck and what ever his latest incarnation is. Thanks Karl for the great shot.

Interesting Image of the Day: Eye See You...

Okay, it's obviously an Adobe Photoshop trick but I liked it and thought it was interesting. Didn't have anything to write so deal with this wierd photo. BTW as soon as Karl sends me the JPG, I'll have a nice little story about our Tommy Hilfiger Punk Rocker and his pussy ass Corona beer lime. Skaitch.

It All Began Innocuously Enough...

After having not stepped into a Catholic church for mass in twenty plus years I decided to go to church with my mother at our old local parish near the house I grew up in. My mother is still a practicing Catholic and I wanted to be there for her. The mass unfolded perfunctorily and at the time when the communion was being given I decided that I needed some fresh air. The weight of this decrepit and decreasingly relevant religious practice had settled upon my own beliefs and I had enough for the moment.
I walked toward the back door, glancing around and realizing how run down the whole building looked. Cracked paint and worn pews, the dark red carpet stained with even darker hues, suggested years of neglect. Stained glass windows, now faded and patched in some areas with colored plexiglass that could not match the original colors or their original shapes. To the left, those baroque confessionals where I myself confessed so many prepubescent sins that now seem quaint and laughable. The wooden frame of the entranceway, water damaged with flaking paint slowly peeling off over many years time.
Almost out the door my swinging hand connected with the shoulder of an elderly lady sitting at the end of the very last pew. Even though I was only walking it felt as if my hand had landed with solid force against her. I saw her wince and I immediately stopped and kneeled to ensure she was alright.
"I’m fine, just leave me be." She proclaimed through gritted teeth as she grabbed her shoulder. Her face wore the expression of someone that had just been attacked.
"I feel terrible, is there anything I can do? If it really hurts perhaps we can call an ambulance?" I was as much concerned for her attitude as her health.
"I said just leave me be. You people have done quite enough!" She bared her teeth as she spat out that last sentence.
Not sure exactly what she meant, I decided it was best to leave her be and to continue out the doors, staying close in case she changed her mind about wanting help. Crossing the threshold of the old rundown church out into the beautiful late morning sun, I couldn’t help but think that if God really does have a church, it would be held outside on a day like this. Light wispy clouds hung sporadically in the deep blue sky. The sun, still an hour away from it’s apex, cast it’s warm light everywhere, without the harsh glare that would come along later in the day. Full trees dotted the street. The air was cool but not uncomfortable and the absence of traffic only added to feelings of an almost urban bliss. I drew in the deepest breath I could thinking about how I wanted to be outside with the people closest to me on a day like today.
My daydreams were interrupted by a horse cry, "There he is!" coming from inside the church.
I turned and could see the old lady, still clutching her shoulder, pointing toward me and the little fat old pastor marching to the door, holding his robes up to keep himself from tripping. His jowled little face was red and his lips were tight. His brow was knitted and he stopped right at the edge of the door, just out of the sun. "Come here young man." He commanded.
I was not accustomed to that tone being used towards me so I stood there, a little in shock and not quite comprehending why I was being ordered around. When I did start to move the priest called out again, "I said come here!"
I felt that it was important enough to ensure that the elderly lady was okay and to ignore these pastor’s demands. I walked back into the church, feeling the weight of it surround me. The pastor grabbed my arm and led me to the front of the church right by the alter. It seemed the whole church was gathering around, even the elderly lady, now apparently free of any injury.
"Who are you that you think you can come into a house of god and injure our worshipers without any regard for their well being?" Questioned the priest.
I felt confused, "Wha- I bumped into her and stopped to see-"
"Don’t you lie to me, boy! This is a place of worship! You are a sinner!" He proclaimed.
"What are you talking about? It was an accident and I did stop to se-" Things had seemed to have spiraled into another realm.
"Sinner!" The crowd said all at once.
"You are evil and do not deserve to be among Us in god’s house. You are as foul as Lucifer himself. You are wicked and you will surely burn in the fires of hell!" Came the pastor’s next verbal assault. His face had grown even more red and his jowls shook as he spoke. The people around seemed to echo his sentiments.
I backed away as best I could and retreated to the alter. The priest followed but the people did not. The large old wooden crucifix which bore the sad and dying Jesus, looked down upon this scene. I understood a small part of the anguish on his face. The priest hounded me, he kept repeating similar phrases of damnation over and over. Where ever I moved on the alter, the priest kept following, his verbal assault never lessening. Jesus’s gaze, up on the old crucifix, also seemed to be following us. As my anger rose I wasn’t sure for whom Jesus’s expression was for.
"If you do not repent, you will surel-" The priest was cut off in mid sentence. This time I did the interrupting.
"Fuck you!" I had reached my limit and decided to seize some initiative. At their stunned silence, I quickly and briefly explained what had happened and also restated my concern toward the old woman and her potential need for medical attention.
It was if my words held no meaning and once the priest regained his composure, he used my exclamation to fuel his verbal assault on my soul. This time he laid his hands on my chest and pushed me. I barely took a half of a step back and grabbed the old man around the collar of his robes. Lifted him up enough to gain leverage and slammed him down onto the floor of the alter, I could feel the air rush from his lungs. My anger was unchecked now, "Leave me the fuck alone!" I screamed into his face. I let go of him because even in my rage I did not want to cause any real harm. The crowd parted for me as I walked briskly to the side door. I hopped the bannister and walked around to the front of the church, looking in at the scene.
"I’m going to sue you for assault!" The priest screamed from up on the alter.
As I stood there waiting for my anger to subside I suddenly remembered my mother was in there somewhere. In the next few moments it seemed as if the church had gone back to it’s mass. I walked to my car realizing the day had grown overcast and the leaves were all gone from the trees. I sat in the car and the last thing I remember thinking before I woke up was that I was ashamed and that my mother was probably embarrassed. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being disrespectful. Not to God or his followers, but disrespectful to my mother and something that she had felt was still important.

Get off your lazy ass...

Tired of all that "thinkin’!" Don’t want to put your PlayStaion3 controller down to be bothered with your so called, "reality!" Tired of all those liberals whining about your personal "rights!" Well then, vote Republican! That’s right, it’s free, Free, FREE!!! Republicans won’t allow things like a couple of butt fucking hippies to destroy the sanctity of marriage even if normally straight couples have done a fine job of it already. Republicans won’t support a health care plan that tells you what doctor you have to go to, even if you can barely afford the right to do it now. A Republican wouldn’t dare let those EEE-VILL terrorists off the hook by enabling our troops to be underutilized here in the states. Because even the great Glenn Beck says, "Make no mistake, they are out to kill you and me and everything we believe in!" I mean your taxes pay for our soldiers, shouldn’t they do the job they’re paid to do? That’s all the Republicans want! It’s not about war, it’s about unemployment! Let’s not forget unions! Republicans have been eroding the union power base for decades and if you vote Republican, they won’t let those whiny picketers and their "labor disputes" affect hard working Wal-Mart employees. I mean they should be happy they’re employed? Am I right? Can I get an Amen! Republicans also won’t let those liberal fairies tell you that it’s okay to murder innocent children through abortion. I mean we can’t kill human life, right? As a matter of fact, Republicans plan on creating farms for sperm and eggs from humans so that they can live out their natural lives because they’re human life too! Still not satisfied? Well look what we have here, we have a Republican that calls herself a Democrat and plans on throwing the American people a bone by trying to pass universal health care and her plan of "fiscal responsibility". But really she’ll just push the ol’ Republican agenda right along. And if you just don’t feel comfortable voting even for Hillary, hell, just say fuck it and stay home! That works too. Because a non-vote is like a vote and a half for the Republicans.

Seriously, I don’t care who the fuck you vote for, just vote for someone. Write in a vote for a Ficus tree if nothing else but drag your sorry ass to the polls and ensure what happened in Nevada last year doesn’t happen to our country. In Nevada, Democrats stayed home from the polls and we got stuck with Jim Gibbons's lame duck ass for six years. At least if we end up with a shitty president, we can ALL be responsible.

Apology Not Accepted.

I’ve never understood this insane desire by the media and pop culture to demand apologies from celebrities and politicians. What exactly is an apology? I mean does the act of apologizing make everything okay? Frankly, no and the desire to demand apologies is complete bullshit. It reeks of appearances being more important that substance. Apologies, on the whole, are bullshit also. Unless you actually feel bad about fucking up, are willing to attempt not repeat the same mistakes and understand that you have to move forward from that point on then I don’t want your damned apology and I certainly don’t need it to be a spectacle. Now, if all three of these factors are true, an apology, as a common courtesy, is a good thing. If not, shut the fuck up and move along because I don’t want you around (no, I have no personal axe grind and this isn’t directed towards anyone specific). This weird spectacle of public apologies seems like some kind of twisted sense of morality. Shouldn’t the hurt person be the subject and focus of the apology? Who gives a shit if Joe and Sally Blow on the street feel better about themselves because Tom DeLay apologized publically for being pissed of at some judges. Now, I understand sometimes when you offend an entire ethnic group your apology has to be public, but fuck Dog, know when to shut up. You want to impress me? Fix your issues that led to you fucking up in the first place. Look inside yourself and learn from it and grow to be a better, more respectful person. Hell, we all make mistakes. I’m no saint and I have certainly had my own share of apologizing, but understanding why you’re apologizing is the key. Don’t say shit because you’re afraid someone won’t like you anymore. Say it because you realized, deep down, on some fundamental level, you were wrong and you could have potentially hurt someone else and then of course, fix it. Don’t pay me lip service because I certainly won’t pay you any. I also challenge anyone and everyone to hold me to the same standard.

Losfer Words...

Disclaimer: Yes, this is yet another whiney self indulgent blog. Suck it up or don't read it. Losfer Words? No, not that old Iron Maiden song (or, at least the first half). I have been in an incredible vacuum regarding having anything to say. Now, I know I don’t always make sense, especially when I’m talking but I always have some comment or opinion or ridiculous diatribe about why Dijon sauce is somehow responsible for the closure of Las Vegas’s great old steak houses. Lately, though, I got nothing. I don’t even want to talk, just listen and when it appears that it is "my turn" to speak I can’t find even a snippet of anything useful, let alone interesting. Yet I can sit here typing and wax intellectual about things as inane as why I need to masturbate more or some silly free form poem about existance. I wonder if this is somehow tied to the idea of "soaking it in" because I’m leaving the Stardust soon? But even that doesn’t make sense as I will see some of these people in my own time when I’m not at work. Since, often times in the past, my mouth and the opinions that it enjoys to throw out there, have made me a bit of a pariah or worse, have gotten me into potential trouble, I must have come to the semi-conscious conclusion that it’s just better to keep my fool mouth shut, thereby not removing all doubt to my idiocy. Now, starting this new job, it’s important to have more discretion with my words and how I use them, but I can't say nothing? Also I feel like I may be alienating (ok, maybe too strong) some of the people close to me. Hell, I haven’t even said too much to Karl lately and his challenge to come up with utterly depressing sayings was kind of a godsend. So, having come to this realization, I should really work on relaxing a bit and remembering these are my friends and in their case talking was the basis for becoming friends in the first place. It’s kind of like the show Seinfeld, they all did some despicable things but they would always meet in that diner together because they were the types of friends that knew just how rotten they could be yet still liked each other.