Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull

Go see this movie. Seriously. I'll wait.

Are you back? Good...let's discuss. I have a strange relationship with Indy movies. I was too young to appreciate Raiders Of The Lost Ark and Temple Of Doom when they came out, and while I thought Last Crusade was great, it was overshadowed that summer, for me, by the first Batman and the second Ghostbusters movies.

It's only been in my adulthood that I have gained an appreciation for the brilliance of the Indiana Jones movies...or at least, the first and third movies. I never have been a huge fan of Temple Of Doom, and I can't figure out why. I've watched it several time, but I'll be damned if I can tell you what it's about. Something about glowing rocks, child slaves, and Thugee Guards.

I approached Crystal Skull with a measure of trepidation. On the one hand, it was Indy, back in the theatres. On the other hand, I'm full aware of how most people view the new movies of long-established series'. The first 3 Star Wars episodes were universally panned by most fan-nerds...and there is no rage quite like Nerd Rage. Personally, I liked the Star Wars Episodes I, II, and III; though not as much as IV, V, and VI. But unlike the fan-nerds, I don't call for George Lucas's head on a pike for this, and instead just believe that the difference in my level of enjoyment is the fact that when full Star Wars Mania hit, I was a child. My head wasn't swimming with mortgage payments, car payments, and trying to figure out how to get in a girls pants. The biggest stressor in my life when Return Of The Jedi came out was what cool ships and action figures from the movie did I was to spend my allowance on, and which ones were I going to have to beg beg BEG Santa Claus to bring me at Christmas.

Having learned my Star Wars lesson, I approached Indy IV with the mindset and there were only a handful of things I wanted from this movie to feel completely satisfied.

1) I wanted to see Harrison Ford get his ass kicked. Indiana Jones is all about action, but where James Bond is able to deliver his ass kicking in a tux with nary a scratch on him when it's over, George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg take great delight in kicking the crap out of Harrison Ford's character. He's very human, sometimes he mis-judges pits that need jumped over, and the bad guys are on the same fighting level as himself. In other words, he gets his ass kicked.

2) I wanted fun bad guys. One of the things that made Raiders and Crusade great were the Nazi's. Everybody know who Nazi's are, they are the universal "evil" in the last 20 years. Temple Of Doom replaced Nazi's with....strange Thuggee assassins. Boring. Crystal Skull forgave Nazi's for Communists. That's good enough for me.

3) I wanted a treasure that actually means something. Raiders and Crusade had Indy after religious artifacts of great significance. Temple Of Doom had him going after...some....strange....glowy rock things for some reason. If you really need me to tell you what the MacGuffin is in the new Indiana Jones movie, then forget it, I'm not going to tell you. You're obviously a crash helmet wearing jackass who is late for dinner at the group home.

4) Snakes. Indiana Jones, in all of his human-ness, hates snakes. They are his kryptonite. Luckily for us, Lucas and Spielberg gave ample opportunity in Raiders and Crusade to have Indy get into situations where had to face his fears with steely jawed bravado. Temple Of Doom had him in a corridor filled with giant insects. Insects don't scare Indiana Jones, so how was that impressive? So I want snakes in Indy 4.

OK, now that I've given you a primer on my opinions of the Indiana Jones Franchise, I suppose I should give you the high and low points of the movie. I'll try to not post any spoilers, but at this point, if you gave a damn about this movie, you'd have already seen it.

Overall, I liked this movie, which is good. Movies fall into two catagories for me:

Movies I want to like, and do like: Independence Day, Christine, Ghostbusters, The Departed

Movies I want to like, but don't like: The Hulk (2003), The Saw franchise, Resident Evil

Anyway...I'm rambling again....as I said, overall, I enjoyed this movie. It was made better by the fact that SWMBO and I saw it at the Drive-In on a warm clear late spring night (everything is better at the Drive-In).

The movie takes place 19 years after The Last Crusade (which came out 19 years ago....go figure) and as such, Indy has aged (quite well as I've heard some women comment). The plot involves some Russians who kidnap Indy and force him to find some Crystal Skull which can help them....well, lets just say it can help them be even more evil and Communistic (in much the same way the Ark Of The Covenant was supposed to help the Nazi's become more...ummm...Naziistic?).

Within the first 30 minutes, we have a car chase inside of a warehouse, multiple vehicle pile-ups, Indy getting his ass kicked, Indy kicking ass, swinging from light fixtures, getting shot at, and a Nuclear Explosion.

So the action winds down (for right now) and I go get some Popcorn and a Bladder Buster of Coke. I get back and people are still talking on screen. The Lost City Of Gold (el Dorado) is mentioned; which makes for the second reference to el Dorado in 6 months at the movies (the wonderful National Treasure II).

Another chase breaks out, this time on a motorcycle, which is a lot of fun. One liners fly just as quickly as the cars are moving. Damn I'm loving this movie so far.

Soon, Indy is kidnapped again....blah blah blah...Soviet's Dancing in the middle of a forest....oh, wait, there's the Crystal Skull....that looks like an....OOOOOOOh, THAT'S what Mark meant about this movie that he didn't like.

OK, so I'm kind of disappointed at that, but so far I'm scoring this movie as a solid 95% on my "How Glad Am I To See This" scale....which means it's doing VERY well.

I can't really give away much more of the plot (it's my blog, I'll change direction mid-stream if I damn well please....go read another blog if you don't like it).

Needless to say, there are several more big action sequences, large man-eating Ant's (as a bug-a-phobe, I could have done without that) and a few more stunts that made SWMBO yell "Oh come ON...that's IMPOSSIBLE!" at the screen.

Overall, a highly satisfying night at the movies, all things Indy were there.

That's the good....but being a fair reviewer, I do have some "bad".

1) I don't recall him every really being referred to as Indiana Jones in this movie, save for maybe once or twice.

2) Not enough references to snakes. In fact, there was only one snake scene that I can remember...but co-star Shia Lebou...Labu...Leb....the geeky kid from Transformers, freaked out a bit at Scorpions, so that set up for what is possibly his fear (and yes I'm going on record right now as saying that I hope to see his character in any upcoming Indy films).

So like I said, my complaints were few, and my enjoyment was huge (seriously...the Quicksand and Jungle Chase scenes themselves are cause enough for my $7 tickets to be considered the bargain of the century), so go see this movie. Right now.

So far this summer, we're 2-0 with our record (Iron Man being the other winner of the season).

Two weeks from now, we're up for a two-some with Kung-Fu Panda and You Don't Mess With The Zohan.

The Unsophisticated Gourmet

I realize this is a rather stupid statement to make, but I don't have any other clever ways of opening this blog entry up, so I'm just gonna say it. I like food. I like food a lot. I'm far from being a "gourmet", but I know what I like. I love good Italian Food (and no, Fazoli's is not good Italian Food) and about the only chain I think of to get the good stuff would be Carraba's down in Carmel…oh curse you Tagliarini Picchi Pacchiu with your wood-fried shrimp and the artery-clogging-goodness of your side dish of warm Italian Bread with seasoned olive oil dipping sauce.

In addition to Italian Food, I'm also a huge fan of Mongolian BBQ Style cooking. BD's Mongolian BBQ and Flat-top Grill are two favorites that come to mind. I love the diversity there, you can pretty much get anything you want, any style of food you can possibly imagine. It's like Disneyland for Fat People.

But every now and then, I get a craving for something that a $25 plate of Sirloin Marsala, a side order of grilled Bruschette, and a glass of sweet red wine just can't satisfy. This is when the unsophisticated pallet kicks into high gear and the only thing that will make me happy is "Dirty Food" that most people wouldn't touch in a million years.

My favorite place to eat breakfast is a small hole-in-the-wall bar that sits in the shadow of the old Delco Electronics Plant-1 Admin Building called "Stella's Lounge". During the week, when I have a day off, I usually start it there, and start it with a plate full of greasy goodness. A sausage patty as thick as any hamburger you can get, scrambled eggs, and highly processed American Cheese sandwiched in between two buttered slices of Whole Wheat Toast. Not being satisfied with this, and figuring "If I'm gonna die from a heart attack damn it, I at least want to go happy" I also buy a companion for my greasy sloppy breakfast sandwich…and the companion is a monster portion of crispy hashbrowns drowned out in Stella's home-made white gravy. Pay no attention to the congealed grease cooling on the edge of the plate, it's there for decoration. Speaking of decoration, no trip to Stella's for breakfast would be complete without the bar-maiden who serves it up to me. You all know the type too…omnipresent cigarette in her mouth, tattoo on her left sweater-kitten, and the inability to refrain from calling every guy in the bar "Sweetie" or "Hun". The Big-Screen TV is always tuned to The Weather Channel, and the usual cast of characters is sitting around the bar chain smoking, getting drunk at 8 a.m., telling dirty jokes, and arguing plot lines from 20 year old episodes of Magnum PI…..it's just like Thanksgiving at Mom's House!

Once I get home, and throw my clothes in the washing machine (mandatory unless you want to walk around smelling like a bar all day), my day is perfect, my belly is happy, and my cholesterol is spiking. Life is good.

Occasionally though, I get the "dirty food" feeling at times other than breakfast. I used to be able to satiate this with a trip to Hardee's and their Gastrointestinal Weapon Of Mass Destruction known as the Philly Cheese Steak Thickburger. If this burger were an abusive spouse and gave me a black eye, I love it so much that I'd just tell my friends "I'm clumsy and ran into a door, it was my fault, she really does love me, I just make her angry sometimes". You start with a 1/3 pound angus burger patty, then on top of that was melted cheese, shredded steak (yes, that's right…actual steak on top of a hamburger), onions, green-peppers, and mushrooms, and another layer of cheese, all in between a thick burger-bun. Whoever said you can't buy love obviously never took $6.95 to the Hardee's Drive-Thru.


MMMmmm, now that IS a Tasty Burger!

However, Hardee's decided that they had to stop selling this burger (which is good because I was starting to write letters to them demanding they re-name it "The Philly Cheese Steak Crack-Burger"), so I was left with a dirty-food void in my life.
However, one sunny Sunday afternoon, I stopped by the Circle-K Gas Station down the street from my church to buy a Coke, and was greeted with a most wonderful aroma. What delicious food was causing my brain to explode into stomach-growling fireworks? I quickly scanned the gas station, and there, on top of the roller-grill, I fell in lust with the Mistress Of The Gas Station. The Queen-Hooker of all Dirty-Foods. The Jalapeño Cheddar Dog! Impossible! It's a hot dog (hot dogs are a great staple of the Dirty-Food lifestyle), stuffed with diced Jalapeño Peppers, and little chunks of melted Cheddar Cheese.


Where the Good Stuff lives

Unable to stop myself, I purchased one, fully expecting to be disappointed. There is no way in the world that this will taste anywhere near as good as it sounds. I got home, carefully unwrapped my prize, and cautiously bit into it. Wow! It was like the hot dog declared a Jihad in my mouth and my taste-buds were the Infidel! My tongue burned, my eyes watered, and my heart packed it's bags and walked out the door (Dear Greg: You are an insensitive bastard. You don't care about me. All you do is hurt me, and I can't be in this relationship anymore. I'm off to find someone who isn't going pack me with Processed Meat-Grease. I hope you burn in hell. Love, Your Heart).


Behold the Glory!

From that day, the Jalapeño Cheddar Dog because a staple in my diet. However, as time went on, I began to realize that I needed to change my eating habits. I looked at a picture a friend of mine had taken at a car show where I was standing next to a car. As I looked at that picture, I began to realize that there was no way in the world I could ever be a Duke, because I wasn't going to be able to stuff my Krispy Kreme Laden Ass through the window of any car. So then and there I decided to change my gluttonous ways.

However, being Greg, which means I'm no saint, I still enjoy the occasional trip to Stella's Lounge, and the occasional Jalapeño Cheddar-Dog, but I have cut these items down to once every 2 or 3 months. For the most part, my dietary staples are now Slim Fast Shakes, Lite English Muffins, and Lean Cuisine Frozen Panini. While I may not always like my limited diet choices, the 170 pounds I've lost makes missing my favorite greasy loved-ones all the more bittersweet.


In Memorial: My Disgusting Fatness. 1974 - 2007

3 Worst Jobs In TV Advertising

A couple weeks ago, SWMBO and I were watching TV. During the commercial break we started snarking some of the ads (gimme a break, it was raining outside and there wasn't anything else on). We got to talking about the people they hire to star in commercials, and decided that there were three people we would never be on television, no matter how much money they threw at us.

Well ok, fine, I'll be honest, we only identified two, but my OCD will now allow me to compose a list with less than three members. Are you satisfied now? Can I continue? Thank you!

Name: Ms. Ima Nastyho
Affliction: Herpes...the gift that keeps on givin'
Product:: Valtrex
I'm not quite sure why Ms. Nastyho is starring in a commercial for Valtrex. It should be obvious to her that nobody watches commercials...otherwise a 30 second Trojan spot could have saved her a lot of trouble. Of course, she would also not be gainfully employed as The Herpes Girl, and would instead have to spend her days collecting "Friends With Benefits" from the McDonalds Drive-Thru.

Before I'm hunted down with pitchforks from the Feminazi's of the world, maybe she isn't a total ho who stacks club-douches up like pancakes...maybe a previous boyfriend/husband couldn't keep it in his pants and brought something home to her. If that is the case, maybe a 30 second commercial for The Kama Sutra could have helped keep her man from running astray?





Name: Mr. Richard Flacidstein
Affliction: Erectile Dysfunction....can't quite get the li'l soldier to salute
Product:: Viagra/Cialis

Long gone are the days of Presidential Hopeful Bob Dole getting on TV telling all the world that he had trouble getting....little Dole....to salute. Too bad Bill Clinton didn't have the same problem. These days, men are almost proud to go on TV admit that they too just can't quite get the clock to move past 6:30 (think about it).

Maybe I'm a too much of a prideful person, but I just can't see me ever wanting to appear on national TV and tell the whole world that my dick is broken. The Viagra people have even tapped the music catalog of national treasure (and former Gravy Storage Tank) Elvis Presley with the Viva Viagra ad campaign. I cringe every time I hear it. If admitting you have problems with your wedding tackle isn't bad enough, now we have aging baby boomers dancing around their suburban kitchen while a bad Elvis cover wails in the background. I don't think they make a pill that will cure someone of excessive lameness.




Name: Mr. Robert Smallwood
Affliction: Teeny Wanger Syndrome
Product:: Enzyte

These commercials are a double edged sword. On the one hand, the only thing that could be possibly worse than going on TV and admitting that you have ghonnaherpasyphilcrabaids, or going on TV and admitting your manhood is as hard as melted ice cream, would be going on TV and telling the entire world "I Have A Small Dick". There is no excuse for this (other than excessive Caucasianness, which also causes one to be unable to dance, unable to dunk, and insistence that Ray Ramano is a comedy God). With Herpes, you can be given it without knowing....excessive limp-dickedness can be caused by any number of health issues (but is still a comedy goldmine nonetheless), but having a Tiny Pecker is just jaw-droppingly hilarious.

Luckily, the makers of Enzyte decided to have a bit of fun with this, and created Bob, the Microscopic Dick Guy. Now, we don't know a lot about Bob...his job obviously takes him to the orient from time-to-time, and we know that he likes to play golf. Other than that, we know nothing about Bob...however, we do know that Bob is hung like a paper-clip. Not one of those big jumbo paper-clips you find on the top shelf in the office supply cabinet, but a really really SMALL paper-clip.

Then, by some miracle, Bob discovers Enzyte, which grows his Cocktail Wiener into a USDA certified Grade-A chunk of man-meat. Along with his throbbing schlong of manliness, the makers of Enzyte decided to give Bob a grin that should be reserved for walking into a hotel room and finding Carmen Electra, Shakira, and Gwen Stefani naked and covered in Caramel. Where was I? Wait, lemme just savor that image for a second....ok....anyway, yea, Bob's got a big ass grin. Try and keep track of the number of not-quite-subtle Dick references in the commercial.





So remember kids...no matter how crappy your McJob might be, at least you aren't on TV admitting that you're a total ho-bag whose cootchie is a Petrie Dish of STD cultures, or that you missed the train to Boner-ville...or even worse, you're hung ...like...well....a White Guy.

Bad Blogger, No Pizza

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while (well ok, in about a month and a half). I've had a lot going on recently, I'm headed back to college in the fall to finish up my bachelor's (which is ironic since I'm pretty much not a bachelor anymore...**kiss** love ya baby!). On top of that, I've kinda been looking for a new job, plus the weather is nice now, so I'm spending more time outside, working on the yard, working in the garage, on the house, and detailing the car.

But good stuff is coming, the sordid tale of a car sales girl almost flirting me out of $40,000, the summer I drank WAAAY too much Coke in hopes of winning an Ecto-mobile, and a brief preview of the the Pimp-Mobile.

Now You're....Eating Breakfast With Power?

OK, I'll fully admit it, in my younger days, I was quite the geek. Nowhere near the smooth player I am today. When I was 14, my life consisted solely of Nintendo and Friday After Dark on Cinemax. I was about 50 pounds overweight, so that precluded me actually being with a woman. I didn't have much interest in sports, so going to High School Basketball Games an exercise in tedium, and all of my friends lived on the opposite side of town, out of range of what my parents considered "acceptable bike riding distance", so I had Nintendo and Cable-Pseudo-Porn to keep me happy.

Whereas Cinemax was strictly relegated to late Friday nights, Nintendo was available 24/7 to keep me interested. And during times when I couldn't actually play Nintendo, I could read Nintendo Power Magazine, or talk about Nintendo on the phone with my fellow NES Addicts. But despite all of this, I still felt like something was....missing. Sure, lunchtime gave me my NES Fix by leafing through Nintendo Power Magazine with Mike and Matt at the lunch table. Dinner time was family time in my house where we discussed how our days went (and I imagined playing Nintendo when I was done eating dinner)....but there was something missing at Breakfast.

Lo and Behold, the answer was delivered to me one afternoon while watching Captain N: The Game Master (more on this later). During a commercial break, I became aware of a new product on my grocery store shelves that I just had to have. Nintendo CEREAL System. See, it's not just a box of arbitrary shapes with otherworldly colors...this wasn't Fruit Loops, or Captain Crunch, those were just a plain "boxes of cereal", this my friends, was a CEREAL SYSTEM.

There were two different cereals IN ONE BOX. I could choose between Super Mario Brothers or Legend of Zelda cereal. Or, I could really go for broke and enjoy a 10 years early version of Super Smash Brothers by mixing BOTH sides of Nintendo Cereal System in one bowl. It's like "Fun" ceased to be a concept and instead became a woman who looked like a cross between Pamela Anderson and 2001 era Britney Spears. And she showed up at my door in the middle of the night naked....with a Bottle Of Rum, a Papa John's Pizza, and the Die Hard boxed set.

Of course, now that I'm a jaded adult, it's obvious this is nothing more than one more attempt at a corporate cash-in. For those of you who weren't living the NES Lifestyle, but 1989, Nintendo pretty much owned a large percentage of the world (kind of like AOL-TimeWarner does today). I still remember ads in Nintendo Power Magazine for everything from Mario Soap (and really, looking back on it, does slathering your naked body with the liquid from a fat Italian Plumber bother anybody else, or is it just me) to Legend Of Zelda wall-clings. While I was in the full grips of Nintendo Mania, I never had the Mario Sheets....opting instead for Ghostbusters Sheets (complete with glow-in-the-dark Ghostbuster Logos on the pillow cases).

So, on the next trip to the grocery store, I went with my parents. While they seemed at first confused by my desire to go grocery shopping, they soon realized this had nothing to do with "family togetherness" and instead was a means to furthering my agenda. I had to have The Nintendo Cereal System. I waited patiently while we walked down produce aisles (broccoli didn't interest me that much then, and to be honest, it holds even less interest for me today).

After what seemed like forever, finally, the glorious cereal aisle became our target. In the land of cereals, my parents always had a strict "No Sugared Cereal" rule. My bowl was never adorned with the likes of Captain Crunch, or Coco Pebbles in the morning. Corn Flakes took the place of Frosted Flakes, and my mom was convinced that Cookie Crisp (or any "Marshmallowed" cereals) were the work of Satan Himself.

Unable to contain myself, I dashed ahead of my parents as they tried to decide if we needed Cheerios or Rice Krispies (plain....no Coco Krispies dared enter our home) and began my search. Apple Jacks, Alpha-Bits (do they even still make these?). Finally, my young eyes spied a black box that I didn't immediately recognize as one of the cereal aisle regulars. There it was in all of it's sugary glorious splendor. Nintendo Cereal System. Angles shone their light upon me.



I grabbed the box off the shelf and high-tailed it back to my parents’ cart. "Mom, dad, check this out....NINTENDO CEREAL!". They looked at me like I had just drug the body of a dead alien out of the closet. Noticing the pleading look in my eyes, I guess they decided that it was only a matter of time before I could no longer be enslaved by Kix and Corn Flakes, and decided that ONE BOX of a sugary commercial-tie-in cereal couldn't POSSIBLY hurt. "Fine, put it in the cart".

The next morning, I woke up and ran downstairs, eager to enjoy my breakfast treasure. I was sure that just eating this would make me a better video game player. It had to. After all, it was Video Games....FOR BREAKFAST! I would be consuming the very essence of Nintendo. Now I'm eating breakfast with POWER! But first, a decision had to be made, do I enjoy the Mario Side first, or the Zelda Side first? I had no precedent on which to base my decision. Finally, I decided the only way to be fair was to have a small bowl of each.

So I opened Mario Side first. It was advertised as being "fruit" flavored. The shapes were vaguely Mario-esque. I dunked my spoon and took a bite. The chorus of angels began and sing and.....and.....ummmmmm, eh, it was decent enough.

Undaunted, I finished the bowl, and poured myself a bit of the Zelda side. The shapes were vaguely Zelda-esque. Maybe eating the Zelda prepared your body to receive the Holy Blessing Of Video Game Mastery that had to come from consuming Nintendo Cereal. My arms had goose bumps anticipating what was awaiting me. I crunched down. Strange. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that wasn't much difference between the Mario "Fruit" side and the Zelda "Berry" side as far as taste goes.

But nevertheless, I now had a belly fully of sugary Nintendo Goodness. I quickly retreated up to my bedroom and turned on my NES, hoping against hope that my game had improved. I threw a copy of Bionic Commando into my NES, clicked the power button on, and waited for the familiar Capcom logo. I then shut the NES off, removed the game, blew into it's open end, re-inserted it, and was greeted with Capcom's logo.

Alas, no video game magic awaited me. I still sucked at Bionic Commando just as much as I had the night before. Oh well, live and learn I suppose. Over the next year, I was treated to two or three more boxes of Nintendo Cereal System, my game never advanced (though my belt-size did). The taste wasn't horrible, but I'm sure if the box had advertised Popples, or Wuzzles, or any other girlee characters, I would have derided it as tasting crap soaked in crap, but because it was Nintendo, that made it taste better. Damn those marketing people are geniuses.

I Think I Just Had A Moviegasm

I was talking my friend (and fellow movie fanatic) up in Chicago yesterday (come on, do you really think I'm going to spend a beautiful warm sunny Friday afternoon WORKING when I'm at the office?). The subject turned to upcoming movies (as it always does with us) and we've both agreed this summer looks fantastic at the theater. If anyone is looking for me between Memorial Day and Labor Day, chances are good you'll find me at the 13-24 Drive In. I'll be the big dopey guy in the yellow car (bumper sticker: Ask Me About My Overcompensation) with a disproportionately hot young brunette riding shotgun.

Anyway, this blog entry is for my readers, as well as me...it's a rundown on all the goodness that is to come our way this summer.

Iron Man
2 May, 2008



Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull
22 May, 2008



You Don't Mess With The Zohan
6 June, 2008



The Incredible Hulk
13 June, 2008



Get Smart
20 June, 2008



Wanted
27 June, 2008



Hancock
2 July, 2008



Hellboy 2: The Golden Army
11 July, 2008



The Dark Knight
18 July, 2008





I will post new updates to other movies that are on the Must See list this summer, but which don't have Official Previews out yet (yea, I'm lookin' at you X-Files 2!), and will also review some of these movies as I see them.

Oh, and if the car is rockin' during intermission at the drive-in, please wait before you knock on my window.

You Vill Haff Comcast Un You Vill LIKE IT!

So recently, Comcast decided to play [i]Cloverfield[/i] monster to Insights Terrified New York Resident in my home town. We first hear about this in December with a letter from Comcast warning us impending doom, but making it sound like it was a great thing they were dropping on us. I double checked the envelope, but apparently they opted to not send a free kitten to every subscriber.

Well, they assured us the transition would be neigh-on-seemless. The invasion was set to begin at midnight this past Sunday (which, I know, is technically Monday....but like the rest of the world, I could 12:00 AM as the Day Ending, the day begins at 12:01 AM....oh, you don't agree? You're probably one of those freaks that celebrated the new millenium on 1/1/01 aren't you).

So I wake up Monday morning, check my E-mail....nothing. I log into the "bus" (my favorite website in the whole world), nothing coming up. Of course, my service is borked.

I unplug the modem, go outside for a cigarette, come back in in, plug the modem back in, and reboot the computer. Nothing. Unsatisfied and crabby (as I usually am on Monday mornings anyway), I unplug the modem again, and shut down my ancient PC.

On my lunch break, I plug everything back in, boot it all back up, and much to my surprise, it works. Hmmmm, maybe our new Comcast Overlords will love me after all.

After work that day, I bring my laptop home with me, and try to connect with it. No dice. I call our new Internet Overlords, but am unable to get through right away. On my 5th attempt, I finally make contact with Their Lordships.

Evil Midnight Blogger: "My second IP isn't working"

Evil Internet Overlords: "It's not?"

EMB: "Nope, was working fine last night, not working today"

EIO: "Well, they are having some issues in your area, it should be fine by tomorrow"

Satiated, I hang up the phone. Tuesday comes and goes, but I have more important things to do rather than check my work E-mail that night (that belly-button lint isn't going to pick itself you know).

Wednesday afternoon, I decide to work from home, I take my laptop home, hook it up, and....nothing....no connection for me. I call Comcast back, and am now told by a different Phone Voice that Comcast does not offer the ability to purchase a second IP Address, and that if I want to run two computers at home and have them both tapped in to Comcasts Orgasmically Wonderful Internet Service, I have to go buy a router.

When I mention that I'm paying for an additional IP, The Phone Voice offers to connect me with Billing. She hits a few button on her phone, tells me they will be right with me, and promptly disconnects my call. So now, I have to call them BACK, and argue with Billing. I can just see how well THAT fight is going to go.

Then, I have to go buy a Router (no big deal for sure, but I can think of better ways to spent $50 then on a piece of equipment for my network to make it operate the exact same way it did LAST WEEK. If I'm droppin' that kinda scratch, I want something to work better.

But at least I'll once again be able to "work from home" (which means monitoring my work E-mail while I surf porn sites and play WoW all afternoon)

A Good Joke Leads To A Horror Movie

I was told this joke years ago, I'm thinking it was probably around the time I was 13 or 14:

Little Johnny is at the store with his mom. She goes into the dressing room to try some clothes on. When she comes out, she sees little Johnny looking up the dress of a manequin. She says "Little Johnny, don't ever look up there, or touch a woman up there"

"Why not mama?" He asks.

"Cause women have teeth up there"


So years pass and nobody ever tells him the truth. Well, once he turns 16, little Johnny gets himself a girlfriend. There's on the couch one night kissing and the girls says "Do you want me to take my shirt off?"

Little Johnny says "Yes"

Do you want me to take my pants off?

"Yes"

"Do you want to touch me down there"

"oh NO" Little Johnny says.

"Why not?" his Girlfriend asks.

"Cause you got teeth down there"

"Don't be silly, I don't have any teeth down there, see?" and she spreads her legs.

"Well no wonder you don't, they musta fell out, look how nasty your gums are!"



Yes, it's juvenile and crude, but it's good for a laugh from someone who has never heard it before. Well, apparently, someone in Hollywood decided it would make the perfect premise for a movie. But not just ANY movie mind you, but a horror movie.

When I first heard about the movie Teeth I thought "You have got to be kidding me". I spoke to a few of my friends about it, and they all reached the same consensus, it sounds to deliciously horrible to pass up (needless to say, the girlfriend has decided, under threat of SWMBO Veto Power to avoid me renting this movie for us to watch together). However, I've thought more about this movie, and I must say, perhaps it will make quite the effective horror movie. Now follow me on this.

Modern horror movies are in a state of disrepair. Thrills and dread have given way to simply gratuitious "Torture-Porn" flicks. Yea, I'm looking at you "Saw", and you "Hostel". I happen to like my horror creepy, but not over-the-top violent necessarily (unless it fits the plot). I prefer a feeling of inescapable dread as opposed to "what body part can one person remove from another". You can argue with me all you want, but Jason Voorhees would totally make Jigsaw his bitch.

So perhaps this movie is a horror movie specifically that specifically caters to men. After all, it's no big secret (or any-other-sized secret) that from the age of 13 - 80, men are obsessed with the Golden Treasure between a woman's thighs. It dominates our thoughts as well as our actions. Lets face it, were it not to for what lies between their legs, most men would still bit sitting around the cave fire, unshaven, drinking beer, and smoking cave-cigars. Evolution would have ceased after the development of three things:

1) Alchohol
2) The Hemi V8
3) Football

So perhaps this movie seeks to psychologically terrify all men. What if the Ultimate Goal, the Thing We Want The Most, were also the thing that could kill us (GhonnaHerpaSyphillAids notwithstanding of course.....damn that hooker, she promised me she was clean).

The reality however, is that like most half-baked horror movie premises, I'm really not expecting much above a Grade C Cheescake Exploitation Fest....and you know what, that's really find with me, I'll still rent it and watch it....just have to distract the g/f for a few hours.

Guilty Pleasure Music

I'll be the first to admit, my musical tastes would make even the most kind-hearted "music snob" want to smash me in the face with a manhole cover. I don't seek out "indie" music, nor do I run away from it. To me, how many albums an artist has sold hold little sway when I'm deciding what I want to listen to. I can't honestly think of a time where I've ever said something along the lines of "Such and such a band really sounded good before they Sold Out". My only requirement for music is that it sounds good to me. However, this is where the trouble usually starts.

I'll raise my hand right now and proudly say, I do not like many of the older bands that are considered "legends" of Rock and Roll. I don't like Led Zeppelin (save for 2 or 3 songs), I don't like Pink Floyd (again, 2 or 3 songs by them are what I would consider "decent") and I absolutely cannot stand Rush. Sorry, but the lead singer warbles like he's got his ball-sack locked in a bench-clamp. He sings like a fat chick.

That being said, my musical tastes are varied and eclectic, likely more-so than anybody else you're able to meet. Come on, I have made mixed CD's that include the musical stylings of Frank Sinatra, Britney Spears, and Dr. Dre...it doesn't get stranger than that. But, and this is where things get embarrassing, I also have a slight affinity for some Soft Rock 1970's era Easy Listening music. My favorite "Guilty Pleasure" song is Carly Simon "You're So Vain". I don't know why I like this song, but if I'm scanning through the channel selection on the Sirius in my car, and happen upon this song, I'll listen to it. I have to listen to it, I have no choice.



Needs More Cowbell

Back when I was in my mid 20's and used to actually be concerned that people thought what I listened to was "cool" (ok, so I still feel that way to a certain extent....the Britney Spears doesn't get cranked up until I'm cruising out in the country where I won't have the embarrassment of being 33 and sitting at a red light with "Hit Me Baby One More Time" turned up and the sunroof open), I was totally busted out on this song at work one day. I put in a CD I had of all Easy Listening music to chill out, and forgot to plug my headphones into my laptop. Soon my office was inundated with Carly Simon music. Bad stuff.

Wait...what? I had an entire CD's worth of this Easy Listening CRAP? Dude, seriously....I don't think we should be friends anymore.

Well screw you! Yea, I did. And You're So Vain wasn't the most audibly offensive song on there.










It could be worse I suppose....it's not like I still have the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby memorized....only....I do. I'm gonna go drink some bleach now.

Enough Already

Is it just me, or will this winter just....not....END. When I was a kid, I always loved winter, because winter meant Christmas, and Snow Days, and Hot Chocolate, and afternoons spent sitting in front of the television trying collect all 7 pieces (or was it 8?) of the Triforce.

But I'm not a kid anymore. Sometimes, growing up really sucks. My boss won't take "Sorry, it's snowy, I'm gonna stay home and play video games" as an excuse. If I was Hot Chocolate, I either have to make it myself, or march my fat ass down to the gas station and buy it myself. Christmas was over almost 2 months ago. Now that I'm an adult, winter is a dirty car, shoveling out my driveway, trudging through 2 inches of black soupy slushy crap just to get from my car to the door of my office.

I'm going go on record right now and say, I'm miss spring and summer. I miss everything about it. I miss the loose freedom of driving around in shorts and a t-shirt. I miss the drive-in theater, I miss being out on the lake, I miss pulling into a gas station and hoping like hell I get the pump next to the 19 year old blond hottie wearing Daisy Dukes and a bikini top (oops, perhaps I went too far?)

Please be 18

But right now, that's all just a pipe dream. The car is completely encrusted in slush and salt and just gray dingy CRAP. Usually, Indiana Winters are fairly consistent. It's either warm(ish) and cloudy, or cold but sunny. This winter though, has been especially brutal. It's been the perfect combination of freezing cold (several mornings in the past month it's been in single digit temperatures) and suicide-gray overcast. Now, the weather professionals will tell us that when it's overcast at night, the temperature won't drop as much, but I'm thinking they are all full of crap. After all, these are the same geniuses who told us today it was going to be overcast this morning, and sunny in the afternoon, but no snow. So I wake up this morning, and there's 2 - 3 fresh inches of "no snow" covering my driveway, and it's still coming down pretty steady. This can't be right. The weather-chump told me it wasn't going to happen.

So I head to the weather website to look at the maps. I'll be damned, there is a narrow band of snow the exact width of my county right over top of us. OK, just bad luck, but it should end within the next 15 - 20 minutes. 2 hours later I head to work, and it's snowing just as hard as it was before. This can't be right.

So I get to work, E-mail my girlfriend to say "Good morning beautiful" and check the weather map again. I'll be damned. That narrow band of snow isn't moving west-to-east like normal. No, this thing is coming straight down out of the north like Satan's Middle Finger and moving straight south.

So finally, about 11 this morning the snow ended and sun came out. The roads and parking lots melted, and I saw the sun for the first time in what's felt like two months. Wonderful! Tomorrow is supposed to be 45 and sunny. Even better! Maybe I'll take my car through the car wash to have the crap cleaned off of it.

Wait...what's this? Another snow system set to move through the area on Friday? Oh, but the weather forecast says we won't get much. Batten down the hatches kids, knowing our luck, we're gonna get hit by a hurricane.

Al Gore can shove Global Warming up his fat ass!

Then & Now: My 3 Favorite 1980's TV Shows

Being in my early 30's (ok, fine, so I'm stretching the phrase "early 30's" to it's damn near breaking point) I grew up on mid 80's television. And yes, there were some real stinkers of TV Shows out there. Manimal anyone? Automan? Misfits Of Science (starring a very young Courtney Cox)? Yea, I doubt anybody remembers any of those.

However, there were three TV Shows that I couldn't live without growing up. As I got older, the business of releasing old television shows onto DVD began to grow. Soon, it wasn't long before my "big three" were put onto DVD. I purchased them immediately, anxious to relive my childhood. Viewing them as an adult was an eye opening experience. Much like seducing an old girlfriend with a bottle of Vodka and a Barry White CD, perhaps some things are better left buried in the past.

The Dukes Of Hazzard
1979 - 1985


Then: Next to Star Wars, The Dukes Of Hazzard was LIFE to me. Every week at 8pm on CBS, the Duke Boys would do battle with the evil forces of Jefferson Davis "Boss" Hogg, and his inept sheriff Roscoe P. Coletrane. Television entertainment just didn't GET any better than this. In my younger days, my main draw to the show was it's most popular and enduring symbol, The General Lee. Back then I was convinced that when I grew up, I do would own a bright orange 1969 Dodge Charger and enjoy the sort of river-jumping fun that the Dukes did on a weekly basis. Running from the cops wasn't a felony, it was just how Things Got Done. Once I got to be around 10 years old, my interest in the show faded away from The General Lee and more onto the Dukes hottie little cousin Daisy. Oh if only I could have met a woman who looked like that back then I....well....I wouldn't have known what to do with it.

Now: I have all but the final season of The Dukes Of Hazzard on DVD. I'm not ashamed to admit, I still enjoy this show very much. No, maybe not quite as much as I did when I was a boy. The plots are all almost identical (Boss Hogg hires two out-of-towners in bad tweed jackets to rob the local bank, frame the Duke Boys, and sieze the family farm. Bad Guys double-cross Boss, he ends up in a fight to save his life, and must count on The Dukes to save him). Rather than being indestructable, bad cuts and edits make it very clear that a 1969 Dodge Charger can NOT jump a river and continue down the road. However, I think I can make it work with a 2006 Charger. I'll be sure to blog the results of that. Overall, I think the show survives quite well to this day for what it was. An innocent bunch of Friday Night Fluff that is just as much fun today as it was in 1983.




Knight Rider
1982 - 1986


Then: If the Dukes Of Hazzard was real-life, then Knight Rider was just a Science Fiction Version. But nevertheless, my pre-teen brain was just convinced that somewhere out there a group of scientists had developed a Super Car along the lines of the Knight Industries Two Thousand (K.I.T.T.) as he was known in the show. I still remember seeing commercials on TV for when the show first started, and telling my dad that I just HAD to watch this show. He grabbed the TV Guide, checked Sunday night and got as far into the description as "Talking Crime-Fighting Trans-Am" before shaking his head and contemplating a paternity test. In the end, he relented, and I was instantly hooked.

Now: Lets face it, there is a mathematic formula to creating a hit TV Show, and of all the variables in that formula, none of them should be equal to "Talking Trans-Am", "Fighting Crime", or "David Hasselhoff". I couldn't wait to pop the first season of this show into my DVD player. Now that I'm older, I know about cars, and I know about crime and law, surely this show will mean even more to me now. However, by the fourth episode of season one, I came to realize much like wearing Atomic Underwear, this thought-process was inherently flawed. This show is so horrible, I feel like I owe my entire family an apology for making them sit through this every Sunday night. In fact, now that I look back on it, it was at about this same time that my parents bought a second television for their bedroom. At the time I wondered "Why?", but now I realize; in a very painful way do I finally realize the truth. Mom and Dad bought a second television to avoid Knight Rider at ALL COSTS. I am so so so very sorry for making them sit through this. Please forgive me, I was but a mere child at the time.



Miami Vice
1984 - 1989


Then:Miami Vice wasn't so much "my show" as it was my father's show. He watched this every Friday Night that he was home. I often got lost on the plots, but nevertheless watched for because of the cars, the music, and the cool clothes. As I got a bit older and entered Junior High, the plots began to make more sense to me, and I became even more of a fan of the show. Above all other TV Shows, I think Miami Vice was the most stereotypical 1980's Crime Drama. And there isn't a person alive my age who doesn't consider this to be one of the most memorable scenes in television history:


Now: Amazingly enough, for as stereotypical 1980's as this show was with it's fashion and music, the plots for each episode carry over very well. I have the first 2 seasons on DVD and will soon be purchasing the rest of the shows run. If you have the chance to go back and re-visit this show, I strongly suggest you do it. It was with great anticipation that I looked forward to the 2006 Miami Vice movie, and being that it was created by Michael Mann, the creator of the original series, it did not disappoint, and become one of my favorite movies of that year to be released.


While the 2006 Theatrical Movie bared little resemblance to the original TV show, in a nod to the fans from the 1980's, the lead-in to the final gunfight featured a remakes of "In The Air Tonight"

My Magnificent Rejection Part I

If it's one thing I try to deliver to my friends on a constant basis, it's amazingly catastrophic romantic rejections. I suppose I better get this story out there before one of somone says something about it and I have to run Damage Control to save my reputation.

It was a warm spring day in April of 2004. I'd been over and Bill and Peggy's that afternoon doing....something....I don't remember, probably helping Bill build something (a process that usually consisted of us standing there scratching our heads, smoking cigarettes, and guzzling Mountain Dew by the barrel-load trying to figure out WTF we did wrong). After we finished our project for the day, they asked me if I wanted to go to Indy with them. They had to go to Watson's to pick up a filter or pump or something for their pool, then they were going to out to dinner. I said "sure".

So we're on the way down to Indy, and Peggy half-jokingly said "Hey, maybe the Watson's Girl will be there". Oh, but I couldn't get that lucky. For those of you unfamiliar with The Watson's Girl, she is this cute little big-boobed twinkee who shills for Watson's Pools down in Indy. She's the type of girl that makes most women roll their eyes and say "Oh, whatever, look at Li'l Miss Fake-Tits thinkin' she's all that"...in other words, she's the type of girl that makes me drool.

We arrive at Watson's, and we're walking around the store looking for....hell I can't remember what they were looking for. All of a sudden Peggy says "Uh-oh Greg, there she is". I just smiled and thought "Nah, I don't think so, you're gonna have to get up earlier in the morning than that to get me to turn around".

"No, seriously, she's right over there!" I turned around and looked and....oh Holy Crap...there she was, in the (delicious) flesh....The Watson's Girl! Ok man, no time to panic, get your game face on, you've only got one shot at this, do not blow this. Just walk over, lay down some smooth, and you'll have her eating out of the palm of your hand. Breath check, pop a couple breath-mints. Slow your breathing, you got this playa. Take another quick glance toward the center of the store, looks like she's handing out balloons to little kids. Kids....kids....I need to find a kid. I looked down at Bill and Peggy's youngest, adorable little 20 month old Ty. Sure...why not. I reach down, scoop up Ty, tuck him securely under my arm like I'm running in for the winning touch-down in the Super Bowl with 10 seconds left on the clock. Breathe damn it, breathe, don't panic, don't sweat it, you are the pimp, you are the man, you can seal this deal.

I casually make my way up to the customer service counter (I suppose, in hindsight, "casual" would be a relative term here...but given the stress of the situation, we'll just call it "casual" for now). I reach the center of the store, swing Ty counterward, and plant his butt with an authoritative "fwump" onto the counter. Eh, so the blonde-headed little scamp doesn't look anything like me, nothing says I have to tell her it's my child.

"Hey there, can my son have one of your balloons" (well, ok, shit, apparently we've set the stage now that this is my kid....time for a quick recovery...where is his mom....maybe she died during child-birth? Sure, why not, play the emotional card if she asks).

"Awww, he's cute, what's his name?"

"Name?" Shit...can't think...what the hell is this kids name anyway, I can't remember....Bob? Ralph? Jackson? Mikey? Bjorn? Tyler....Taylor....Ty...TY, that was it...

"His name is Ty"

"Well hi Ty, would you like a balloon?"

Ty stared up at me in wide-eyed terror. He turned to start to point back to his legitimate parents. "Awww, he's just shy...Ty, take the nice ladies balloon..." Once again, in hindsight, I suppose there was a bit more authority in my voice than the situation warranted. The Watson's Girl (TWG from here on) flashed me a strange look. I heard a noise from the front of the store. It was my Game, running out the door and into the parking lot. Shit, I'm blowing it, don't overplay your hand on this one man, you gotta do this one smooth....gangsta style. Ok, now for the last chance to reel this one in. See, she's not going to be impressed if she thinks you technically just kidnapped a 1 year old to meet her...for some reason, chicks find that to be quite the turn-off...so act like you just came up here for the balloon without noticing her.

TWG turns to blow up the balloon (all the while keeping a somewhat nervous gaze cast on me). "So...handing out balloons tonight huh?"

"Yes"

"You know, you look kinda familiar, but I can't quite place you, are you from around here?" (stupid question since I'm not from around here...but screw it, lie your ass off man, deal with the fall-out later once you secure that phone number).

TWG flashed me a look that had "Restraining Order" written all over it. I glanced out toward the lot and saw my Game furiously trying to jump-start a pickup truck to put as much distance between itself and me as it possibly could. No, must regain control of this situation, must not show fear in front of The Watson's Girl....time to restore some damage, flash some sly at her, she'll take the bait...God put this girl here tonight for ME.

"Hey, I now where I know you from, you're that girl on the TV Commercials, you're The Watso....." WTF was that...of all of the possible sentences I could have put together with my expert command of the English language, and I lay down this amateur-hour bullshit? What the hell Greg, what is wrong with you?

The look in her eyes changed from "Restraining Order" to "Pepper Spray". At this point, I think she honestly thought I was mentally challenged or something. "Ummm, yea...."

Luckily, a commotion outside distracted us. I looked up in time to see my Game running down the middle of Pendleton Pike. Apparently it was unable to successfully secure a vehicle, and had now decided to just make a run for it. Unfortunately it didn't see the cement truck turning the corner and got run over. RIP Greg's Game...1974 - 2004. Ye Shall Be Missed.

I opened my mouth to say something, say anything, do something, just speak damn it. Unfortunately, the damage was done at this point as she turned to the next guy in line "Hi there, would you like a balloon for your son?"

Well shit....ok, so that didn't exactly go according to plan. Feeling rejected, I turned and started to walk away from the customer service counter. I didn't want to go out to dinner now, I didn't want to buy a stupid freaking.....man...what the hell were we down here to buy anyway. Suddenly, the clouds parted and I heard TWG's voice addressing me..."Excuse me...sir"

Rejoice! Maybe she was going to take pity on me and give me her phone number anyway. Sure, I can call her this week, take her out to dinner next weekend, that will give me an entire week to war-game this plan, I have been granted a second chance!

"Sir....ummm, your son?" Son? What son? I don't have a son. I looked up and saw her pointing at Ty sitting on the counter, looking confused, and holding a balloon. Well sonofabitch, just when it can't get any worse. Oh well, nowhere to go but up from here.

Young Ty looked at me with his big eyes "Geg?" he questioned. Yea, "Geg" is obviously Ty-speak for Greg. TWG opened her mouth to start to ask me why "my son" had just called me by my first name. One more glance out the front windows confirmed my worst fears. The Marian County Coroner had arrived at the scene of the accident and declared my Game D.O.A. No return-do's on this one. This girl would probably become a celibate nun before she would ever give me the time of day.

Feeling absolutely lower than an ant-turd, I unceremoniously retrieved a now very confused Ty off the counter, and drug him back to his mom and dad, who were looking at me with a mix of hatred and amusement in their eyes. I....had failed. Only this wasn't just any failure. This was a glorious monument to my ability to fail in a way that makes other failures look like success. This wasn't just "failure", there was going to have to be a new word created for the sins I had just committed. I knew what the next two years of my life would bring as well. Every time a Watson's Commercial came on TV, I got to hear all about this story. But at least I knew that I would never again suffer a rejection as monumental as this one.

Until 4 months later when I came within a hair's distance of paying $40,000 for a phone number...but that's another story for another day.

Satan's Store For Savings

I woke up Sunday morning, and as I stood, half awake, in front of an empty refrigerator, I felt a sickening despair in the pit of my gut. And we're not talking about a general "Woke up, thought it was Friday, realized it was only Tuesday" despair…we're talking full-tilt-boogie nut-twisting brain-melting despair here my friends. I was out of food, and that meant only one unavoidable truth. I had to go….to….Wal-Mart. Damn. I looked at the clock on the stove…yup…that's what I was afraid of, it was "Shit On Greg" time. Normally I stay away from "the F-word" in my blog (or try to), but there is no other way to say this…I fucking hate Wal-Mart with a passion. I hate it more than is normal and healthy for a rational person to hate a business.

Don't get me wrong, I don't despise Wal-Mart for any altruistic reasons about locally owned businesses, foreign made goods, treatment of employees or any of the other myriad of Left-Wing Talking Points that the Al Frankens of this world like to spew forth from their ideologically misguided cake-holes. I'm a proud member of the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy, which means that I actually prefer my groceries come at the expense of the blood and sweat of the working class, and would gladly pay more than I should for my merchandise if I could have a guarantee that even more of the working class were being repressed. However, my humble Midwest small-town pragmatism prevents me from paying a premium for exploiting the poor, so I have to go…to Wal-Mart.

No, what I hate about Wal-Mart usually starts as soon as I pull into the parking lot. It's 6 in the morning, and already there are approximately 12,467 vehicles in the parking lot. Looks like they aren't too busy today. I find a parking spot conveniently located within 3 miles of the front door. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. I notice, in quite an intense panic, that every car in the parking lot is riddled with door dings, scratches, scrapes, and various other symptoms of what I call "Wal-Mart Rash". I turn mournfully and look at my car, my hell-cab, my best non-living friend, thankful I had the good sense to park away from other vehicles. Just as I'm starting to feel better, I noticed a bedraggled Soccer-Mom thrusting her Mazda Mom-Tank at 50 mph between my car and the Cart Corral. This won't end pretty. I'll just look away.

30 minutes later, I finally make my way to the front door. I step inside grab a cart out of the infinite Stack O' Carts. Of course, the mystical energies that bind two Wal-Mart carts together are in full effect, and nothing short of a low-yield thermonuclear warhead is going to separate them. So I finally find a cart that I'm able to pry loose from the herd. My shopping adventure is now at square one. Let me tell you a little something about square one. I freaking HATE square one, even more so when Shopping is involved. Filled with disappointment that a team of Ninja Assassins has yet to cut me down where I stand and UPS my eviscerated corpse back to my family, I head through the doors. Instantly I'm assaulted by a "Wal-Mart Greeter". What does his job entail other than sitting on a stool and saying “Welcome To Wal-Mart?” Is it possible for him to have a "Bad Day" at work? I'd thought about asking him, but decided against it. The less people I talk to, the better.

To understand a principal reason I hate Wal-Mart, let me explain something about myself. I'm not a huge fan of shopping anyway (unless it's for cars, or car-related accoutrements). I approach shopping like a 16 year old male approaches sex….run in, get done what you need to get done in the least amount of time possible, and get out. Then spend the car ride home congratulating yourself for a job well done. I want to know, without fail, where everything I need to buy is. The Wal-Mart gods have a different plan for my fat ass though. Nothing in Wal-Mart is ever in the same place twice. And if you need something out of the ordinary? Good luck. One day I ended up there needing to buy a Shower Caddy for my bathroom. Now, logic would dictate that this would be located with shower accessories, shower curtains, shower curtain rings, bathroom soap dispensers, and the like. That's what I thought. So why in the nine-hells did the Wal-Mart gods find it necessary to locate Shower Caddies…in the damn Paint and Hardware Department? Much like knowing how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll Center of a Tootsie Pop….The World May Never Know.

Today is easy though. Slim-Fast Shakes, Multi-Grain Light English Muffins, and Lean Cuisine Frozen Dinners on the grocery side, deodorant, tire cleaner, and soap in the non-grocery side. This should be simple, 20 minutes….25 tops. As I'm cruising down the main aisle toward the grocery side, I feel the warm glow of the Wal-Mart gods smiling upon me…perhaps I really am their favorite child. There is Slim-Fast shakes in a center-of-the-aisle display. Coolio. I grab two 8-packs and throw them into the shopping cart. I mentally check them off of the list I carry in my head (as a straight male who lives alone, I am genetically incapable of using a physical shopping list. I keep my needs stored in my brain right behind the opening theme song to The A-Team….just don't ask me what I did at work the day before, I can't remember).

However, my joy is short lived. The Wal-Mart gods have decided that I must pay for committing the unforgivable sin of Hubris, so in unholy vengeance, they rearrange the Bread Aisle. Sonofabitch. Now I have to search through 500 square yards of bread, white bread, wheat bread, rye bread, pumpernickel, bagels, bagel-bread, potato-bread, split top bread, etc. to finally reach English Muffin Land. Ahh, there it is. Now to search through English Muffins, Whole Wheat English Muffins, Cinnamon Raisin English Muffins, here we go…Multi-Grain Light English Muffins. Groovy. I throw three packages in the cart (I refuse to grocery shop here more than once every two weeks). I spin the car around and head toward Frozen Foodville. Weight Watcher Meals, Healthy Choice Meals, Lean Cuisine…rockin'. I throw 2 weeks worth of Panini and Frozen Low-cal Pizza and Panini in the cart. Groceries are done. Now it's time for a break. I make my way to the Automotive Section, the one part of Wal-Mart that doesn't make my skin crawl. I get the Tire Shine Foam, grab a new brush for my fender-liners, a new brush for my rims, and some quick detail spray for the inside.

By the time I'm finished in the automotive department, the rest of Kokomo was woken up, and zombie-walked their way into Wal-Mart. Crap. Screaming kids, their white-trash parents beating them included, are now blocking all 529 routes from Automotive to Health And Beauty. To be honest, I'm actually surprised Wal-Mart even sells deodorant since it's obvious from the scent of Bubba-The-Redneck-Hutt blocking my path that neither he, nor his wife, know how to use it. Oh well, their loss is…quite frankly…my loss as well. Holding my breath, I run past the Gooey Duo at speed fast enough to send their matching camouflage suspenders flapping in the breeze. I finally stop and catch my breath in the Soap and Deodorant Safety-Zone. Surely there are no smelly bastards here to commit wanton acts of Olfactory Assault on me. Realizing my Journey Through Hell is almost at an end, I quickly throw 2 cans of Rite-Guard, and one 8-pack of soap into the cart. The Promised Land is within site. One last hurdle to cross.

Unfortunately, a Wal-Mart shopping trip is set up much like a 1980's Nintendo Game. Just as the end is within site, the final boss rears his ugly head. In this case, the final boss takes the form of the ninth circle of hell…otherwise known as the Check Out Lanes. Now, our Wal-Mart is fairly standard. 87 Cash Registers, of which a maximum of 3 are ever staffed at any given moment. I pick the lane with the least amount of people in it, and notice that the same bedraggled Soccer-Mom from the parking lot is in front of me with three grocery carts piled high with groceries. I glance pleadingly up at the cashier and notice that my demons are now compounded as Zippy The Wonder Slug is manning the laser scanner.

The Soccer Mom empties her cart of what appears to be one of everything offered in the store, and Zippy begins running them across the laser scanner. I swear, if there's a price check that comes up, I'm taking hostages. 20 minutes later (for those of you playing the Home Version of this sick game, I've exceeded my Wal-Mart time by at least 20 minutes now) I make my way forward so that it is now, officially My Turn.

"Hello…….How…….Are……You…..Today" Zippy asks me.

I assure her I'm fine (but neglect to mention that if I had a bulldozer at my disposal, this store would be flattened).

"Did……you……find……every…….thing…..you…..need?"

Once again, I assure her I did (failing to mention that their rearranging of the bread aisle was a pointless exercise in assaulting my mental state)

Not that she would have noticed, since she is incapable of talking and scanning at the same time, I'm sure any answers outside of "yes" and "no" would have either gone completely ignored or, more likely, caused her to completely Vapor Lock at which point the Greeter would probably have to come over and reboot her. Maybe that's his job description.

In the end, my bank account is $40 lighter (not bad for 2 weeks worth of groceries I suppose), and overall the shopping trip was a pretty average one. I've had much worse. Every now and then, I end up having to go to Wal-Mart on the first of the month when the geriatric set sees fit to escape from the Old-Folks home and clog the aisles while shopping for Geritol, Metamucil, Oatmeal, and Ben-Gay.

Now, no doubt some of you are reading this and trying to figure out what my gripe is about Wal-Mart itself since most of my story has revolved around other people shopping or working in the store, and that factor varies from location to location. First of all, you're wrong. Dead wrong. My friend Matt in Chicago proposed a theory to me several years ago that there only exists one Singular Wal-Mart in the known universe, and each "store" is actually a dimensional gateway that, upon walking through the door, seamlessly transports you to that one ethereal Wal-Mart. It's a good theory, but is tainted by the fact that despite using words like "dimensional gateway", and "ethereal", this guy actually sleeps with a beautiful wife every night. Sometimes life ain't fair.

Why is it, when you're in Wal-Mart, the in-store music system occasionally interrupts it's constant playing of Christopher Cross's Greatest Hits to play commercials designed to entice people to shop….at…Wal-Mart. I'm already in your damn store, please don't play me a commercial trying to convince me to shop there. I've already survived the hell that is your parking lot, I'm sure not going to abandon my car right now and head to Kroger.

Second of all, despite how big Wal-Mart is, they only stock the items they want you to buy. Now, I like my rap and Hip-Hop music. However, unless I want to buy the censored versions of the CD's I want, I have to shop at Best Buy since the Wal-Mart gods have decided that I shouldn't be listening to that music. Ditto for Maxim Magazine. If I want to buy it, I have to go to Kroger. And quite frankly, I'm not convinced that Kroger exploits the working class enough for my sadistic Republican amusement.

So between the constantly shifting layouts, aisle ways cramped with falling-apart display stands, intrusive brain-washing commercials, limited selection (why the hell do they not sell Pepsi One?????), and bottle-necked Cashier Counters, even without my fellow shoppers, I would still find plenty of dislike about the Wal-Mart Experience. I demand satisfaction for my time and money, so they damn well better treat their employees like indentured servants, something good has got to come out of that place.

Things To Realize About Men

Because I am in the process of deleting my old MySpace blog, some of my entries here will simply be reposts of things I originally wrote there. This was one of my first blog entries over there, and remains one of my favorites.

OK, so I'll admit it....from time to time, my frustrations seem to have a bit of a misogynistic air to them. I certainly don't intend them to come out that way, but much like Ted Kennedy driving off of a bridge, some things are just unavoidable.

But, in the interest of "fair play", I'll use this blog to take a few shots at my own gender. So ladies, pay attention, this one is for you:

1) When you are talking to a man in preparation for you first date, it is rather worthless to ask him if he's talked to his friends about you. Chances are, unless he's just looking for a quick lay, that he has. But here's the catch...he hasn't TOLD THEM anything about you other than basic Name, Rank, Serial Number information. Chances are, what he's said boils down to a sentence similar to "Oh, I've got a date tonight...just some skirt I've been talking to online. She seems cool enough I guess....I hope she like Mexican Food, because that's what I'm hungry for. Dude, we haven't gone out for Mexican in months" and the conversation will deteriorate from there into comparing various Mexican Restaurants.

Now ladies, I understand that your first instinct will be to be insulted or even upset at this apparent slight...but that's not it. Inside, this guy is probably tied in knots and can't think of anything more profound to says "Gar-huh....huh...she's pretty....I hope she likes me". But because we're men, and we enjoy keeping our friendships with other men as superficial as possible (yes, even our best friends), we're not going to tell them about any insecurities or apprehensions we have over meeting you. Such a declaration would be viewed as weakness to other men and our hero would quickly be yclept with a girls name (something insulting, like Susie, or Janie) and maybe even tossed a good old fashioned beat down. At the very least, he's going to get nailed in the shoulder and teased mercilessly by his fellow males. This is how we bond. You can't change it. Please don't try.


2) If you ask a man to tell you a joke to put you in a good mood, I guarantee one of the first jokes that's going to spring to mind is going to be something along the lines of "What do you tell a woman with 2 black eyes? Nothing! You already told her twice". Now, the ability to suppress that joke and replace it with something about kittens or farmers or lawyers is what separates "nice guys" from the rest of the pack. But please, don't tease yourself into thinking because we didn't go for the chauvinist laugh that we don't find it funny. We do. You don't believe me and want to test this? Sit down with your man and watch the 2004 remake of "The Stepford Wives". Toward the end of the movie, Christopher Walken makes the announcement "Men! Control your WIVES!". Watch your mans facial expression at this part. I can guarantee you that your man will let loose a smirk, a grin, or at the very least a momentary widening of the eyes in humorous amusement. This doesn't mean we all AGREE with that sentiment, but it touches on something long dormant in the Domesticated Human Male. No amount of tears will ever flush that spark from us, so please don't try. As long as your man doesn't outwardly ACT like that around you, just let it ride.

3) Men hate dating. We hate a lot of things....Taxes, Gun Control, Hippy-Liberals, Hybrid Cars, and Any TV Show with the words "Desperate" and "Housewives" in the title....but we hold a particular loathing of the modern dating ritual.

Engrained in each mans DNA is the blueprint from the caveman days where we would see a cavewoman we liked, smack her over the head with our clubs, and drag her back to our cave (or the backseat of our '69 Charger....whichever is closer).

However, we are now forced to participate in the "dating ritual" wherein we agree to meet on some neutral territory and attempt to make polite flirty conversation whilst paying strict attention to parts of Rules Number One and Two(see above if you've forgotten....then look into special ed classes on reading retention).

We will feign interest as you talk endlessly about your pet cat you had as a child. We will laugh at your jokes, we will be polite, we will be friendly...hell, some of us might even SHOWER before we show up...but don't bet the bank on that.

And at the conclusion of the date we will fumble clumsily as we try to decide whether to shake your hand, pat you on the shoulder, hug you, kiss you, and just nod and say "I'll call you".

So ladies, if you want us to kiss you, let us know....be specific, don't just flip your hair and then say to us three days later (once we are forever locked in the black hole of your friend-zone) "Well, you should have kissed me, I really wanted you to...now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go ride my mechanic like a rodeo star, then come crying to you when he doesn't call me the next day"

Yes, in classic times, men were supposed to "Make The First Move"...however, much like honest Democrats and Personal Responsibility, our "Making The First Move" has been rendered extinct by the one weapon you have in your arsenal that we have no defense against. The Speech. This brings us to our next rule.


4) The only thing men hate more than dating is the speech. And ladies, don't sit there in doe-eyed wonder and say "What Speech are you talking about Big-Daddy?" You know the speech. You've known The Speech since before you could talk. It's the "Lets Just Be Friends" speech. You have it memorized. In the good-old-days, when little girls played with Barbie and Ken, they always had Barbie and Ken get married. This no longer happens, and it has nothing to do with Ken's distinct lack of genitalia, nor his obviously questionable sexual preference. This happens because women have discovered that The Speech gives them power. Man leans in for a kiss, woman stops him and says "Look, you're a really Nice Guy (don't even freaking get me started on Nice Guy either), but I think we're better off as friends". We hate this. We'd ask you to stop, but we'd have better luck asking Nancy Pelosi to stop putting kittens in the microwave and eating small children. We haven't made a "friendship" decision until we at LEAST see a nipple. Up until the nipple makes its first appearance, chances are we don't want to just be thrown into the "Friend Zone".

5) If the date continues on from dinner to a movie, please respect us enough to NOT ask us what movie we want to see as we're standing outside the theatre looking at the marquee. You see that movie poster with Angelina Joile and Jennifer Aniston dressed as cheerleaders, with their hands on each others asses while a '67 Mustang decked out with machine guns is driving away from a fireball that used to be dirty stinking terrorists? Yea. That's the movie we want to go see. If it were up to us, we CERTAINLY would never dream of dropping $14 on two tickets to go see a movie about an emotionally scarred 11 year old who learns to love again because her estranged father bought her a horse that only she can tame. If it were up to us, we wouldn't go see that movie if you super-glued our ball-sack to a cannonball and fired it through the theatre doors, while offering Lesbian Oil Wrestling during intermission. So spare us the "I want your opinion" talk, and just tell us what movie we're going to see. We'll laugh at the funny parts (if there are any) and we'll offer you one of our napkins to use as a tissue when you're bawling at the end of it. It's a small sacrifice we make for Gender Harmony. We don't expect payback....and I'm certainly not saying this to make you feel bad in any way, this is only for information. Personally, I feel that it's differences between the sexes like this that make relationships fun.

And while we're on the subject of movies, please do not sigh, or watch the clock while we are at the Self-Serve Butter Dispenser with our Jumbo Bag O' Popcorn. Yes, I realize we just polished off a 32 oz Prime Rib complete with Twice-Baked Potatoes at the restaurant. That was then, this is now. Has the bag been transformed into a soggy ball of pulp and can we forgo eating the popcorn and instead suck it through a straw? No? Then we aren't done buttering it yet. Don't worry about the other men in line behind us...they know the score, and their only anxiety is that we're going to drain the butter dispenser before they get their own paws on it's artery-clogging goodness. Butter is less a condiment to men, and is closer to a beverage. As long as we don't wipe our greasy mitts on your purse, please don't complain.

I'm just sayin'

You Think That I'll Be Bad For Just A Little While

Welcome to the new "Bad For Good" blog. This blog was originally started in January 2007 on MySpace. However, MySpace is more focused on "Social Networking" and less on allowing robust blogging tools. And since my Social Networking skills are somewhat suspect (ok, let's be honest, I have all the social skills of rabid wombat at times.....but not always....sometimes I'm smooth like butter....real butter, not the fake margarine crap that gets all lumpy and strange when it's melted....now I'm hungy for something buttery.....DAMN IT!......wait.....where was I? Lets's start this thought over).

Oh, yea, Social Networking Skills.....well...ok, my social circle consists of family and friends that I talk to on a regular basis, so I really didn't see the need to keep a MySpace Page active to "keep track of out of town friends". Between my E-mails and Phone Calls with most of my "out of town friends" on an almost daily basis, MySpace wasn't something I personally deemed necessary. I pretty much only used it for blogging anymore. Anything else about my life, well, the people who know me best know everything about me, so there were no surprises there for them other than what my Profile OCD was going to kick out that particular week.

So anyway, yea, this is my new blog. And hopefully we're gonna have a lot of fun here. We're going to talk about cars, politics, women, movies, music, television, books, women, video games, and probably women every now and then.

And just to clear up any confusion right now, "Gonna Be Bad For Good" is a reference to a Jim Steinman song. When I first picked that as the name of my old MySpace page, I thought it was pretty straightforward and did a decent job describing me. But I was actually questioned several times about it's "meaning", there is no deep "meaning" behind it. It's simply a song that I thought made a cool sounding blog name. If you think that much about something as to try to find the "meaning" behind it, this blog will probably fail to satisfy your intellectual cravings. Either that or you really need to get laid. I'd place money on the latter.

Here's a video for that song so you know I'm not just talkin' out of my ass. Please ignore the video, it's some annoying Japanese Animation Bullshit, and I freaking Hate Japanese Animation.