My life has been defined by movies. In fact, my VERY first memory is of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and for those that know me, that explains so fucking much. All of the major moments in my life coincide with a film in some way. My virginity was murdered after Don’t Tell My Mom The Babysitter’s Dead bored me to half a shade of suicide and we saved the night by getting sweaty in the back of a limo. When my daughter was born, when I went to the restroom down the hall, Scent of a Woman was on the community TV. Etc..Etc…Etc….
I was born to be a film geek, so much so, if my own mother told me I was conceived in a dingy theater playing Star Wars and my father quoted Cool Hand Luke when he climaxed as the usher beat down a gaggle of idiots as he sang the theme from Easy Rider. When they were finished making the humble and Good Samaritan that is I, I like to think a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, box of candy corn and baby wipes were in order. Thus, marking me like Cain after he slew his brother, a film geek. I bear The Scarlet Film Reel on the tip of my fleshy camcorder and I am proud.
Why be ashamed of, what in truth, is the pinnacle of pop culture? Without film, the trends and hot happenings going on today would not exist and Hot Topic would fade away like Marty McFly while he played his little, as of yet, herky jerky heart out so his parents would fall in love and give birth The Teen Wolf.
This is why it is such a huge deal when trailers are debuted at Cons. This is why magazines LOVE to get their hands on new photos from the set of the newest Hot Movie. And, like clockwork in a hooker’s home, the internet frenzy ensues and BOOM……You have the next slice of Americana. Kids will be quoting it at school and adults will talk about the movies they fell for back when they were young. It’s a Cinematic Cycle and before long, we, as film geeks, will finally get some sort of nod for being in the know since the ground up.
Fuck the meek. It’s the Geek shall inherent the Earth. And we will ride up on you at the red light dressed as Stormtroopers, driving a 1981 black Trans Am and pop caps in your ass. The streets will run Icey Red with the blood of the ones we deem unworthy of The Temple of Tarantino. They will be sacrificed on the front steps of the Bates Motel, hoping to appease the Gods of Google.
We all pay our tithing to the movie theaters and watch the sermon unfold in IMAX as we eat the bucket of buttery Body of George Lucas. Cinema is the New Religion, complete with Testaments and consequences. Decades ago James Dean was the first to be crucified in Technicolor and we have continued to do so since. Your role models aren’t up standing citizens, but the heroes in comics and the Christ figures displayed in IMAX. Neo bless you. In Skywalker we trust.
I am a film geek and therefore I am better than you.
I can quote indie movies at the drop of a hat and one day that will get me laid while you sit in your offices and wonder what time to golf and how much flex fuel you need in your Hybrid. Yes, it is harsh but so was The Civil War and soon, families will be divided between those that can quote Buffalo ’66 and those that can’t.
Every religion has a Messiah. Even Cinema.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
I will stab you with a Spork if you mention my Man-Boobs,
Turn on any television at any given time and you will see, on some level, an image telling you that you aren't good enough or pretty enough and in the long run, you will have to settle for the bottom rung of life. Repeatedly, this message is shot at you like a laughing bullet, fired from a gun held by advertising companies and the celebrities they hire. Ever been to an Eyemasters and seen an average looking model wearing the glasses they sell? Is it that good looking people have shitty eyes? As an Everyday Person, am I superior in the visional department? Highly unlikely. More and more the Everyday Person is being hunted down like chubby pandas and soon we will all be in cages for the Elite Looking to gawk and remind thier pals that once upon a time, in a land such as this, people with fat rolls roamed the plains like bison, grazing from fast food joints and complaining about the heat.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are becoming the fodder and punchline and I am taking a stand and saying "Fuck you Mr and Mrs Darque Tan! Yes, I am gonna supersize my meal and when I am done, take pride that you ate grass (which is, in reality food for cattle) and I have numerous levels of trans fat and sugar juggernauting through my clogged veins and making a home for themselves in my pasty white tummy."
Who wants to look like they stepped out of the Holocaust oven and instead of eating, decked themselves out in Hollister? Only in America is being chubby a sign for ridicule and disgust. Go ahead and tell a child in a third world he shouldn't eat carbs, but be sure to swat away the flies hovering on his eyeballs because they make a lot of noise and your Anti Carb Campaign is oh so important that he needs to listen.
Do I need to shed some weight? Yeppers. Am I getting mentaly ready to make myself endure the rigors of diet and excerise? Sure am. Do I stand in line at Shipley's and go back and forth between the chocolate doughnut and the coconut like I am deciding which child to leave behind in Sophie's Choice? Maybe, but we won't get into that.
In the Consitituion it reads "All Men are created equal." But George Washington never yearned to rock a set of skinny jeans with his powered wigs. Ben Franklin wasn't discovering electricity while doing crunches. Are people that shallow now that they have to snicker when they see a person they deem unattractive, possibly ruining that person's day? How about I walk over to your house and laugh as you have sex? Or fart in your salad at Denny's? Better idea, I am going to the gym you workout at and when you are running on the treadmill, knock the holy fuck out of you, right upseide your head and giggle with blubber's glee as you try to weep but can't since you completely dehydrated yourself in the steam room.
Until next time, have second helpings and kick the Skinny Bitch in her unused teeth.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are becoming the fodder and punchline and I am taking a stand and saying "Fuck you Mr and Mrs Darque Tan! Yes, I am gonna supersize my meal and when I am done, take pride that you ate grass (which is, in reality food for cattle) and I have numerous levels of trans fat and sugar juggernauting through my clogged veins and making a home for themselves in my pasty white tummy."
Who wants to look like they stepped out of the Holocaust oven and instead of eating, decked themselves out in Hollister? Only in America is being chubby a sign for ridicule and disgust. Go ahead and tell a child in a third world he shouldn't eat carbs, but be sure to swat away the flies hovering on his eyeballs because they make a lot of noise and your Anti Carb Campaign is oh so important that he needs to listen.
Do I need to shed some weight? Yeppers. Am I getting mentaly ready to make myself endure the rigors of diet and excerise? Sure am. Do I stand in line at Shipley's and go back and forth between the chocolate doughnut and the coconut like I am deciding which child to leave behind in Sophie's Choice? Maybe, but we won't get into that.
In the Consitituion it reads "All Men are created equal." But George Washington never yearned to rock a set of skinny jeans with his powered wigs. Ben Franklin wasn't discovering electricity while doing crunches. Are people that shallow now that they have to snicker when they see a person they deem unattractive, possibly ruining that person's day? How about I walk over to your house and laugh as you have sex? Or fart in your salad at Denny's? Better idea, I am going to the gym you workout at and when you are running on the treadmill, knock the holy fuck out of you, right upseide your head and giggle with blubber's glee as you try to weep but can't since you completely dehydrated yourself in the steam room.
Until next time, have second helpings and kick the Skinny Bitch in her unused teeth.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Newspaper Sheets and Concrete Pillows
I am 34 years old and I didnt't think, as well as countless others I would live to see this age. I was what you would call, Reckless Youth. Name a stunt, I did it, and while you are at it, name a drug and I did enough of it to keep a village doped up until The Mayan Calendar goes poof. To be truthful, I was a walking cliche and I am man enough to admit it. "Live fast. Die Young. Leave a good looking corpse." was a motto, a battlecry to me and I clinched life by its sweaty balls and wrung it dry. Not to say it didn't have it's punishments. At the age of 17 I was homeless and too proud to come crawling home, so I lived in a freeway underpass for a month and then migrated to a drainage ditch, to which I spent Thanksgiving. Nothing is more eye opening than cooking bacon on a holiday morning in tin foil with a Zippo lighter while the onyx garbage sack currently used as a door smells so bad my senses riot. This is what people call a pivotal moment in life and I wish I knew these people's addresses so I can whip them with a car battery.
I spent several weeks in the ditch, gaining cash by bagging ice in a Korean store for damn near nothing which was spent in the store so in hindsight, I worked for free. Soon after I was asked to paint the menu on a Mexican resteraunt and get paid in breakfast and I thought I hit Richie Rich status as I wallowed in the burritos, saving them for all three meals, keeping them semi fresh by wrapping them in baggies and placing them in the freezing winter rain water flowing through my Home Sweet Home. By this time, my pants wouldn't fit and I coughed hunter green globs of what-the-fuck daily. The only saving grace was the freedom. Being able to walk wherever and whenever is intoxicating, to which I was the town lush. I found I could take showers by sneaking into backyards and washing myself under gutter water when it rained and at carwashes when it didn't. Back in the day, Dollar Theaters were everywhere and for a buck, I could watch a flick and nap in a nice warm place until I was found and given the boot. And as glamerous as this sounds, the tip top was sleeping in fields and staring at the night sky, embodied by the fact I was alone and if I was to perish at that second, nobody within miles would know who I was and/or give a damn I was even gone in the first place.
Then came, one night when I located a Squatter House. Now, these are The American Dream in all of it's multi-colored and bold faced lie greatness. A house abandoned and soon dominated by the squalor induced citizens of this great country. At first I was thankful for locating four walls and a roof to hide me from the cold, but reality giggled while just hours I was witness to the most shocking spectacle my young eyes had ever seen.
Question: Have you ever seen a grown man remove a baggie of crack cocaine form his body?
No? I did......TWICE. He proceeded to vomit up the baggie and then in a wonderful and efficent fashion, walked outside to the side of the house and stand at a spicket, which piqued my curiousity and I observed him stick the waterhose up his ass, turn on the water and administer a Home Depot enema, the baggie pulled from his crevice with eager fingers. I know, I know.....the old Gut and Butt Method, and I am sure this is taught to toddlers in case of a crisis but I, for one, had never been an audience to it.
I stayed for an amount of time I to this day, do not know. The days and nights were scrambled and my mind was washed away. Yet, I still didn't leave until the morning I was woken up by a filthy, haggard man choking the life out of me as I slept for reasons I still don't know. Struggling for air, I clawed at his mangy face, digging my nails into his eye sockets, praying for release and he answered with rapid fire knees to my scrotum, ripping the flesh away and for his finale, vomiting into my open mouth. Finally, he let go and stumbled away, giving me no remorse or reason as he disappeared into the onlookers who not once spoke a word of protest or came to my aid. In my vertigo dominated state, I crawled into the bathroom and inspected my well being and wept for the sanity and precious days I was losing with each moment in my personal Hell. Gathering my few belongings, (comic books mostly. Yeah I know. ) I swallowed my pride with the remains of the attacker's regurgation and journeyed back home, one step at a time, crying while I searched for a payphone to call help. This was a resurrection from the very bottom tier of society, my innocense remaining intact by a thread and a thousand unanswered prayers.
Plus, I REALLY missed cable television.
I spent several weeks in the ditch, gaining cash by bagging ice in a Korean store for damn near nothing which was spent in the store so in hindsight, I worked for free. Soon after I was asked to paint the menu on a Mexican resteraunt and get paid in breakfast and I thought I hit Richie Rich status as I wallowed in the burritos, saving them for all three meals, keeping them semi fresh by wrapping them in baggies and placing them in the freezing winter rain water flowing through my Home Sweet Home. By this time, my pants wouldn't fit and I coughed hunter green globs of what-the-fuck daily. The only saving grace was the freedom. Being able to walk wherever and whenever is intoxicating, to which I was the town lush. I found I could take showers by sneaking into backyards and washing myself under gutter water when it rained and at carwashes when it didn't. Back in the day, Dollar Theaters were everywhere and for a buck, I could watch a flick and nap in a nice warm place until I was found and given the boot. And as glamerous as this sounds, the tip top was sleeping in fields and staring at the night sky, embodied by the fact I was alone and if I was to perish at that second, nobody within miles would know who I was and/or give a damn I was even gone in the first place.
Then came, one night when I located a Squatter House. Now, these are The American Dream in all of it's multi-colored and bold faced lie greatness. A house abandoned and soon dominated by the squalor induced citizens of this great country. At first I was thankful for locating four walls and a roof to hide me from the cold, but reality giggled while just hours I was witness to the most shocking spectacle my young eyes had ever seen.
Question: Have you ever seen a grown man remove a baggie of crack cocaine form his body?
No? I did......TWICE. He proceeded to vomit up the baggie and then in a wonderful and efficent fashion, walked outside to the side of the house and stand at a spicket, which piqued my curiousity and I observed him stick the waterhose up his ass, turn on the water and administer a Home Depot enema, the baggie pulled from his crevice with eager fingers. I know, I know.....the old Gut and Butt Method, and I am sure this is taught to toddlers in case of a crisis but I, for one, had never been an audience to it.
I stayed for an amount of time I to this day, do not know. The days and nights were scrambled and my mind was washed away. Yet, I still didn't leave until the morning I was woken up by a filthy, haggard man choking the life out of me as I slept for reasons I still don't know. Struggling for air, I clawed at his mangy face, digging my nails into his eye sockets, praying for release and he answered with rapid fire knees to my scrotum, ripping the flesh away and for his finale, vomiting into my open mouth. Finally, he let go and stumbled away, giving me no remorse or reason as he disappeared into the onlookers who not once spoke a word of protest or came to my aid. In my vertigo dominated state, I crawled into the bathroom and inspected my well being and wept for the sanity and precious days I was losing with each moment in my personal Hell. Gathering my few belongings, (comic books mostly. Yeah I know. ) I swallowed my pride with the remains of the attacker's regurgation and journeyed back home, one step at a time, crying while I searched for a payphone to call help. This was a resurrection from the very bottom tier of society, my innocense remaining intact by a thread and a thousand unanswered prayers.
Plus, I REALLY missed cable television.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Facade of a Beautiful Person
I grew up the fat kid. This was something I loathed and came to terms with when I was young and compensated with humor and wit, being the Life of The Party to mask the fat rolls dominating under my oversized shirt. It is a difficult reality to realize you will never be able to go shirtless at the beach or making sure the lights are out when you have sex. That the tanned skinny people will in fact, continue to be your betters and run, in some levels, your life and wallow in the knowledge as an overweight person, never be invited into thier ranks. From early on, I was deemed The Beautiful People's Mascot. A clown. if you will, that gets access to the parties and gatherings for the simple reason I had an ability to make them laugh and giggle into thier protein shakes.
This was until I lost all my fat, went from a pudgy kid and morphed into a ripped, toned young man. I was on the otherside of the battlefield and it felt like a thousand orgasms. Suddenly, woman who would never even give me a second look, were giving me phone numbers and lo and behold, having sex with Me 2.0. The coolest feeling is when I shopped for new clothes and gone were the rags 3 sizes too big, to hide my body and replaced with tight fitted outfits. Soon, just picking up woman i the flesh wasn't enough and I joined an online dating site, tearing through each selection like I was obsessed. But isn't shopping online so much better than the real thing? A cyber catalog talior made for the asshole on the go. Who has time to schmooze a woman for hours in a bar when I could just toss a fake smile on the website and 15 minutes later set up a Meet and Eat? Yes, I officially treaded in the Asshole Ocean and rolled in the waves with pride and glee.
Then came the Revenge. Remember those woman who wouldn't give me a chance back in the Fat Days? Yeah, they were shocked when they saw Mr. New and Improved and I was rewarded for my hard work. Quickly I was submerging myself like a serial killer, my victims being the shallow females from yesteryear, and yes I saw the irony in this and didn't care. I was righteous and justified. Sure, I hated and despised those guys that ripped through woman, me being a romantic at heart and always believed a woman is to be treated with respect and care. But this was different, as I wasn't just another "player". No I was owed for the years of ridicule and being the punchline.
And then I gained weight and a whole new perspective on the Human Condition. Now I see the world with survivor's eyes. The Life of the Privledged is a short one and not to be coveted. The truth is it all goes away and when it does, all that is left is bitterness and envy. I for one, am glad I no longer look through Rose Colored Glasses because it is a life empty of The Long Happy. Yes, it is amazing to be seen as cutting edge and hot, but it is just smoke and mirrors. I still felt the social anxiety I has plaqued with as a fat kid. I still had trouble speaking to strangers and had to hype myself whenever I had to. The only difference was it was forgiven becasue I had abs.
The world is image obsessed and we have no chance of changing it. This is why "Diet" foods are more expensive than normal foods and trendy clothes are pricer than WalMart clothing line. If you want to be admired, you got to pay the piper and the price tag is a mortgage payment in Jackass-ville with a town motto, "No Fat Chicks". Seriously? I hope you all overdose on weight loss pills and energy drinks. In a perfect world, Spray On Tans would cause cancer. Put down the Quick Weight Loss products and pick up a Salinger novel and a slice of pie. Let go of what you think you should look like and peek deep into your soul and drudge up the Inner Fat Ass. It's 15 shades of awesome and I weep for those that are imprisioned by the status quo.
With that said, I'm off to the gym.
Hypocrisy is twice the taste at half the calories.
This was until I lost all my fat, went from a pudgy kid and morphed into a ripped, toned young man. I was on the otherside of the battlefield and it felt like a thousand orgasms. Suddenly, woman who would never even give me a second look, were giving me phone numbers and lo and behold, having sex with Me 2.0. The coolest feeling is when I shopped for new clothes and gone were the rags 3 sizes too big, to hide my body and replaced with tight fitted outfits. Soon, just picking up woman i the flesh wasn't enough and I joined an online dating site, tearing through each selection like I was obsessed. But isn't shopping online so much better than the real thing? A cyber catalog talior made for the asshole on the go. Who has time to schmooze a woman for hours in a bar when I could just toss a fake smile on the website and 15 minutes later set up a Meet and Eat? Yes, I officially treaded in the Asshole Ocean and rolled in the waves with pride and glee.
Then came the Revenge. Remember those woman who wouldn't give me a chance back in the Fat Days? Yeah, they were shocked when they saw Mr. New and Improved and I was rewarded for my hard work. Quickly I was submerging myself like a serial killer, my victims being the shallow females from yesteryear, and yes I saw the irony in this and didn't care. I was righteous and justified. Sure, I hated and despised those guys that ripped through woman, me being a romantic at heart and always believed a woman is to be treated with respect and care. But this was different, as I wasn't just another "player". No I was owed for the years of ridicule and being the punchline.
And then I gained weight and a whole new perspective on the Human Condition. Now I see the world with survivor's eyes. The Life of the Privledged is a short one and not to be coveted. The truth is it all goes away and when it does, all that is left is bitterness and envy. I for one, am glad I no longer look through Rose Colored Glasses because it is a life empty of The Long Happy. Yes, it is amazing to be seen as cutting edge and hot, but it is just smoke and mirrors. I still felt the social anxiety I has plaqued with as a fat kid. I still had trouble speaking to strangers and had to hype myself whenever I had to. The only difference was it was forgiven becasue I had abs.
The world is image obsessed and we have no chance of changing it. This is why "Diet" foods are more expensive than normal foods and trendy clothes are pricer than WalMart clothing line. If you want to be admired, you got to pay the piper and the price tag is a mortgage payment in Jackass-ville with a town motto, "No Fat Chicks". Seriously? I hope you all overdose on weight loss pills and energy drinks. In a perfect world, Spray On Tans would cause cancer. Put down the Quick Weight Loss products and pick up a Salinger novel and a slice of pie. Let go of what you think you should look like and peek deep into your soul and drudge up the Inner Fat Ass. It's 15 shades of awesome and I weep for those that are imprisioned by the status quo.
With that said, I'm off to the gym.
Hypocrisy is twice the taste at half the calories.
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