Friday, April 8, 2011

But Say a Man Does Know

Cover of "The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter"Cover of The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter"But say a man does know. He sees the world as it is and he looks back thousands of years to see how it all come about. He watches the slow agglutination of capital and power and he sees its pinnacle today. He sees America as a crazy house... He sees a whole damn army of unemployed and billions of dollars and thousands of miles of land wasted... He sees how when people suffer just so much they get mean and ugly and something dies in them. But the main thing he sees is that the whole system of the world is built on a lie. And although it's as plain as the shining sun—the don't-knows have lived with that lie so long they just can't see it." 


Jake Blount - The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Carson McCullers
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Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Co-workers Suck

invoice between the plant Minerva and customer...Image via Wikipedia
"You forgot to check the phone number on the order against the one in the system. The one on the order is the client's new home number."

Oh! My mistake, I must have overlooked that. Thanks for letting me know, I'll be sure to keep an eye on that sort of thing when I'm processing invoices. Constructive criticism is important, especially when it leads to preventing future errors.

"If the invoice went out with the old number, and they tried to call the customer from the road tomorrow, they wouldn't be able to get a hold of them."

Is that what happens when someone calls a wrong number? And here I was living under the assumption that if someone dialed an old number, it somehow magically connected through to the person you were trying to reach in some cosmic karma version of call forwarding. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't taken the time to explain how the old phone number becomes noneffective when someone changes it to a new number. Granted, years down the road, with some worldly experience and accumulated wisdom under my belt, I might have eventually come to understand this universal truth on my own. But thankfully, you devoted the extra time, not to mention the precious live-giving breath afforded by your very lungs, to impart this wisdom unto me, increasing my knowledge, and making me a better person overall.

I mean, really? Is there any reason you couldn't simply stop talking after your mouth had already finished delivering all of the useful information it had to offer? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy being treated like fourth-grader with a learning disorder and having the common-sense aspects of cause and effect explained to me like I'm a complete moron because I overlooked a piece of information. It not only makes me feel appreciated, but helps the workday just whiz right along. However, in the future, when you feel the compulsion to talk to a fellow employee in the same manner you no doubt talk to your children, you might want to take a second to consider the scope of your planned monologue, mentally edit the length of your professional discourse, and make a conscious effort to stop fucking talking once all necessary words have left your mouth.
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Saturday, March 26, 2011

In It To Lose It

Mega Millions ticketsImage via WikipediaOne of my newly acquired coworkers approached me a couple of days ago and asked it I wanted to chip in for the company Lottery tickets. Apparently, a majority of the people where I work (including the owner, if that tells you anything) create a Lottery pool when ever the Mega Millions jackpot climbs over $300 Million. I guess they figure chump change like $200 Million isn't worth the effort.

I am not a gambler. I enjoy games and healthy competition, and the occasional wager between friends can be fun and challenging. But as soon as gambling is orchestrated and controlled by an organization with the direct intent of making money, it becomes a situation in which you are being asked to dedicate yourself financially to a system that has been specifically orchestrated to ensure your failure in the majority of possible outcomes. Much like borrowing or investing money with banks these days, you're screwed the minute you open your wallet.

This isn't a position I take on any kind of logically superior level. I am purely adverse to gambling from emotional standpoint: like many people, I don't like to lose. I'm not obsessive about it; I don't fly into a rage when a scrabble partners plays Quartzy on a Triple Word score or cheat at miniature golf. But to me, gambling has always felt like defeat without any real promise of success. I've patronized a few casinos in my day, and the stench of desperation and hopeless persistence is always overwhelming. I can almost see the pleasure in some of it - Slot machines, for example, have evolved to the point where they are merely arcade games for unimaginative adults. Of course, as a kid, I could milk a couple of hours at the arcade out of a measly $5; the same amount of time hanging out at even the nickel slots can cost you the same as a month's worth of groceries ("What do you mean, seventy-five lines? Why did one turn on a nickel slot just cost me $3.75?). During my last trip to the local Sands Casino, I paid a brief visit to the High Roller Slots Area, just to see what people willing to take a $500 pull on a one-armed bandit look like. Frighteningly enough, they look just like you and me, just with nicer clothing.

As if that isn't bad enough, anything above slots descends into the bizarre realm of casual and somewhat civilized thuggery. Those slightly jovial people with the intense stares at the $10 blackjack table might seem innocent enough, but all it takes is ten or twelve hands for you to realize that the middle-aged mother of three (celebrating her third honeymoon) on your right and the overworked insurance salesman (in town for yet another trade show) on your left are both more than willing to shove the plastic straw from their complimentary drink in your eye if you mistakenly hit when you aren't "supposed" to and inadvertently take "their" card. Desperation can make people behave irrationally, but those who actively seek out desperation are a dangerous breed all their own. The twisted souls populating the Keno and Roulette tables are the most unstable of the bunch, and should be approached with extreme cation. The person who willingly places bets on a game in which they are fully aware that odds are firmly against them, only to become angry or disappointed when the law of averages declares them losers, is an unpredictable creature that demands equal amount of pity and respect, but only at a safe distance.

Of course, we aren't talking about table games or slot machines. My coworkers would simply like me to chip in on buying lottery tickets so as to increase their chance of beating the three-million-to-one odds against them by a fraction of a percent. It's all in good fun, but my natural inclination is to politely decline. Even when in good company, I still cannot find the joy in purposely setting myself up for yet another loss.

Then a frightening possibility occurs to me: what if they win? What if I politely decline to join in their office lottery pool, only to have my coworkers strike the jackpot. It would just be my luck to end up in an empty office on a Monday morning with everyone having called out sick to celebrate, with them mulling over stock portfolios while I process payroll for a bunch of nouveau riche, soon to be ex-coworkers.

So, I chipped in three dollars. Because the only thing worse than losing is being the only loser in the building.

PS - We didn't win.
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Thursday, March 24, 2011

Homeschooling: America's Biggest Joke

Ron Paul & Michele BachmannImage by Gage Skidmore via FlickrRon Paul and Michelle Bachmann, two of the Tea Party's hopeful (yet decidedly doubtful) 2012 Presidential hopefuls picked up the anti-public schools baton lobbed by ambitious GOP trend-setters like Chris Christie and Scott Walker over the past month. But unwilling to do anything half-assed (except draw logical conclusions or research historical facts, perhaps), Bachmann and Paul shot right past those evil unions and greedy teachers, and instead attacked the institution of government funded public education as a whole. Needless to say, their arguments come across as less than coherent.

Ron Paul, claiming that the government was seeking nothing less than "absolute control" over the "indoctrination" of children, adjusted his tinfoil hat and stated that "the public school system now is a propaganda machine. They start with our kids even in kindergarten, teaching them about family values, sexual education, gun rights, environmentalism - and they condition them to believe in so much which is totally un-American."

At first, one might pause to wonder what exactly Ron Paul has against teaching children about things like family values and the environment. This involves some reading between the lines, facilitated by the fact that Paul and Bachmann were speaking at a homeschooling rally (whatever that is), which is undoubtedly comprised of a majority of Far-Right paranoids concerned with shielding their children from what they consider 'Wrong' thinking. With this in mind, it now becomes understood that when Paul accuses public schools of teaching children 'Family Values', he is really accusing them of teaching kids that homosexuality isn't a crime against God and society. 'Sex Education' translates to 'Birth Control & Abortions as Viable Options', 'Gun Rights' become 'Guns are Dangerous and Should Be Restricted', and 'Environmentalism' as 'Regulating Polluting Corporations and Reducing Consumerism'. In the right-wing mind, all of these are inherently evil forms of juvenile brainwashing.

Am I being unreasonable here? After all, shouldn't parents be expected to show concern that their children are being exposed to belief systems to which they don't subscribe? Yes, that would be a fair assumption. However, these groups that yank their children out of formal education to save them from hearing about condoms and global warming are the same ones that want students to be openly led in prayer, and balk when religious symbols is stripped from holiday celebrations out of concern for those of other religious persuasions. Paul doesn't mention evolution in his laundry list of educational sins against our children, but if he did it would have garnered just as much applause. Most of these rabid homeschooling proponents are against any kind of indoctrination other than that which follows their own firmly held beliefs. If the schools were spreading propaganda that called gay marriage an abomination, sex a dirty shameful act, and gun ownership a patriotic necessity in case of a Communist attack, you wouldn't be hearing a peep out of these people. Do I have any direct evidence that this crowd falls into such a category? No, but I have just as much proof as they do that God exists, so who are you to judge?

Bachmann followed up Paul's fearmongering against formal education by claiming that homeschooling is the "essence" of freedom and liberty. Actually, homeschooling is the essence of being an isolated frontiersman with no real connection to society. She went on to croon "It's about knowing our children better than the state knows our children," she said. Which is endearing sentiment that moves me to wonder why the government feels the need to interfere with our children when it comes to the consumption of alcohol or tobacco? Don't parents know better than the state whether or not their children are mentally and emotionally mature enough to smoke or drink? And what about laws against child abuse and endangerment? Aren't parents are the ultimate judges of how much physical and mental assaults their children can take before punishment crosses over into abuse? Talk about the Nanny State.

"It is not up to a bureaucrat to decide what is best for your children," Bachmann said. "I am so tired of the establishment telling us that they know best. We know best." Except when it comes to physics, perhaps. Maybe algebraic equations. Or, in the case of Bachmann, American History. Come to think of it, her argument that the act of pumping out a couple of children suddenly endows the parents with an accurate and infallible concept of what is 'Best' is a little more than dubious. Sure they might all want the best (and even that claim is a tad dubious), but does every parent actually know what is best for their children? What about all of those parents who bought trampolines for their kids, or left guns unattended in nightstands to be played with, or told them that being popular is the most important thing in the world. I'm sure Billy Ray Cyrus wanted all of the best for his little Hannah Montana. But did he actually know what was best for Miley? I rest my case.

Bachmann's a favorite at these events because she has homeschooled all five of her own children, a fact that is somewhat frightening when you consider the number of historical inaccuracies and illogical statements attributable to her in just the past couple of years. We can only be thankful that the government intervened and prevented her from subjecting her twenty-three foster children to a similar fate.

Despite claims to the contrary, the majority of the homeschooling movement boils down to parents afraid of Non-Christian influences swaying their children's world view, so it is no surprise that the master of ceremonies was Justin LaVan of the Network of Iowa Christian Home Educators, who stated that homeschooling was a way get children "talking about our Creator - our rights that came from our Creator, acknowledging that and giving him the glory, folks."

So, where do I get off calling homeschooling a joke? Surely, there must be examples of homeschooled kids who were not raised by religious zealots fearing heathen influences would turn their children into Gay Hippie Atheist Democrats. I can't possibly be dismissive of an entire movement simply because of the religious undertones of their overall message of wanting greater control over their children's education?

You bet your ass I can. The IQ of the average American currently hovers around 95%, give or take a few. Taking in consideration that this means half of the US population is actually (through statistical reasoning) dumber than that, what would you consider the ideal IQ of your average teacher? Would you want your child educated by someone with a merely average intellect? Or would you prefer someone a tad smarter than the average bear?

I know this might sound rather elitist to some people, but i'ts hard to put a ribbon on the ugly truth: rational people don't just want their children to grow up to be average. The want them to be exceptional, to be superior, or to put it more bluntly, to be smarter than their parents. The idea that a parent knows what's best for their children in an educational environment is a self-important position that drastically restricts the growth potential of that household's progeny. To claim that you, and you alone, should be the basis for your child's education is to insist that you are more qualified than all others to communicate the accumulation of modern civilization's knowledge into your kid's soft little skull. That, my friends, is hubris on a grand scale.

But shouldn't parents be able to shape and mold their children's beliefs and world views according to their own moral and spiritual compass? Damn straight they should, and nobody is doing a thing to stop them. The schools only have their children for a limited number of hours a day and days of the year. The rest of the time can be easily be spent talking to your children, counseling them and helping them shape the knowledge they acquire and force it into whatever spiritual or philosophical pigeon-hole you wish.

The reason the homeschooling movement in America is a joke is because the entire argument for it is based on a convenient lie. Homeschooling parents aren't afraid of negative influences on their children's impressionable young minds. They are afraid that the child, after accumulating facts and weighing evidence beyond the scope of the their parents' knowledge, will grow up to someday tell them that they are wrong. And if there is one thing that the collective psyche of the average person can't handle, it is being told that they might actually be wrong. And by their children, no less? Why, that's downright un-American.
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Wednesday, March 23, 2011

What's Wrong With Crust?

Bread - Photo by Michel MarconImage via WikipediaI don't understand what appears to me to be a universal aversion to crust. From mothers who will force their children to eat Asparagus and Cauliflower yet willingly cut the crust off of their PB&J, to grown adults fingering past those first couple of slices in the bread bag and eventually throwing it away with the heels still inside, there seems to be some twisted bias against what is still a perfectly edible piece of bread. What is it about this completely illogical aversion to the slightly hardened edges of sliced bread that has it so deeply ingrained in our society's psyche? What is even more confusing is that this prejudice does not extend itself to other types of bread. Firmer, tougher crusts other specialty breads are eagerly devoured without a thought, yet the square sandwich loaf is continually taught to be ashamed of its protective outer shell. I don't know why this bugs me, but it does, and I can often be found making a sandwich out of the neglected heels in the bottom of the bread bag out of protest.
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Friday, February 18, 2011

The Hills Are Alive... RUN!!!


The bell tolls for me afterward, I suppose. Tonight I drive down to Princeton to meet Dead Wrong, Corey Sloan, and the rest of the undead cast and crew of Zombie Etiquette, the corpse-driven talk show based out of  Princeton, New Jersey. Usually, preparations for a television interview normally consist of worrying what to wear and remembering not to look at the camera. In this case, the question is whether or not to go armed with enough firepower to take down a swarm of man-eating ghouls.

Don't get me wrong; I have no doubt that I was invited on to be asked about my latest book, Performed by Lugosi, and my role as a writer and film commentator. The show has had some great artists and stars on in the past, and most of them have actually been seen again, so the mortality rate of  the show's guests is actually quite low. For example, the line up for the show I'll be taping next Friday includes controversial singer, songwriter, and comedienne Jessica Delfino, actress/writer Alexis Iacono (Kiss Me Again, The Ten, World of Warcraft: Cataclysm), and clothing designer Pamela Ptak with Alternative Model Kitty Kat Kailei. Someone's bound to notice if one (or all) of them going missing.


But then again, I still have my concerns. How long can you remain in a room full of flesh-eating zombies before they start to lose their composure? Has the show's lack of on-screen guest eviscerations merely been a barely maintained safety record just begging to be broken? At what point do the par cans and tungsten stop being mere lighting and start acting as the heat lamps at a hot buffet?

Hence my dilemma. Do I stroll into a studio filled living dead fiends armed with nothing more than a smile and good intentions, or do I march in with fire axe in hand and risk committing a major faux pas? I'll most likely settle on the former; it's probably hard to interview someone while they cradle a shotgun and glare suspiciously. But I'll be sure to send updates to my Facebook and Twitter feeds to keep you up to date on my safety status. Of course, my last words on Earth might end up being a poorly spelled tweet about being barricaded in the green room, but I guess that's a risk I'll have to take. Wish me luck.
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Sunday, February 13, 2011

Errata, by Charles Simic

Apples are an all-American success story-each ...                                          Image via Wikipedia 
Where it says snow
read teeth-marks of a virgin 
Where it says knife read 
you passed through my bones 
like a police-whistle 
Where it says table read horse 
Where it says horse read my migrant's bundle 
Apples are to remain apples 
Each time a hat appears 
think of Isaac Newton 
reading the Old Testament 
Remove all periods 
They are scars made by words 
I couldn't bring myself to say  
Put a finger over each sunrise 
it will blind you otherwise 
That damn ant is still stirring 
Will there be time left to list 
all errors to replace 
all hands guns owls plates 
all cigars ponds woods and reach 
that beer-bottle my greatest mistake 
the word I allowed to be written 
when I should have shouted 
her name 


errata Charles Simic





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Saturday, February 12, 2011

Short Story Saturday: The Unavoidable Dilemma of Chauncey P. Simm

The Unavoidable Dilemma of Chauncey P. Simm
by S. Michael Wilson 

            “Squeaky Cheese.”
            Those were the words she spoke to me before she walked out of my life forever.
Skull found in my backyardImage by katiecarman via Flickr            She stood framed in the splintered doorway of our spacious loft apartment, her full lips stained and puffy from an excess of pistachio nuts. I knelt in the far corner, the random fragments of my Berlin Wall Commemorative Beer Stein clutched in disbelieving hands. Her glare traveled across the room like a retired postal worker on a three day excursion through Fort Lauderdale, pausing momentarily near the singed potted palm for directions to the pitiful loser, then parking a few inches from my tear stained face and delivering her scorn through a passenger door window cracked open enough to let the contempt out and keep the air conditioning in.
            There was a pause during which I was meant to do or say something, but my copy of the event’s script had accidentally made it into the washing machine with my Day-Glo Buddhist robes, the words running together so that all I knew for sure was that I was supposed to do something with a ‘P’ and an ‘E’ in it.
            The moment passed, lost like a child in Sears, and before I knew what had happened, she spoke those fateful words.
            “Squeaky cheese,” she said.
            Then the door slammed shut, and I could hear her turn on her heels and stalk away huffily. I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat like an olive laced toothpick. That was it. She was gone.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

That Sinking Feeling...

Operation Shocktober on October 18th 2008 was ...Image via WikipediaI find that the older I get, the more I feel like the guy who accidentally joins a suicide cult, thinking it was some kind of social club. I can clearly empathize with the surreal sensation of confusion that must undoubtedly accompany the man as he stands there surrounded by smiling fanatics clad in purple robes, stares down at the Dixie cup of poison-laced grape juice clutched in his hand and thinks to himself, "Did I miss something?"
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Thursday, January 27, 2011

Paul Ryan's Response - Far From Scrumdidilyumptious

Movie PosterImage via WikipediaPresident Obama gave his State of the Union Address this past Tuesday. As is usually the case, it was quickly followed with countless voices screaming "You Lie!" into the void of white noise that is our News Media, with the occasional whining complaint of "I'm bored." (Yes, I'm looking at you, Joe).

As a self-confessed masochist, I spent some time reading the rebuttals, and the rebuttals of the rebuttals, and so on and so forth, and  Ieventually made my way to the transcript of Paul Ryan's GOP response to the SOTU (as we political savvy folks enjoy typing). It was near the end of his predictable list of reasons why Obama is so horribly and hopelessly wrong that I ran across this little gem:

"This is a future in which we will transform our social safety net into a hammock, which lulls able-bodie­d people into lives of complacency and dependency."

The first thing that came to mind was how much Republican love come up with these clever little catchphrases. Granted, this might not be the first time it has been used, but it's the first time I've really noticed it. Bumper Sticker Wisdom always prevails over any real intelligent communication, and I have no doubt that "Safety Nets becoming Hammocks" will soon take its place alongside such tired phrases as "Cadillac Benefits," "Tax and Spend" and "Limousine Liberals." I'd list more, but it hurts my brain to cram too many of these into one sitting.

The inanity of this obsession with witty quips in serious political speeches distracted me so much that it took a couple of seconds to realize that I had just been insulted. You see, I didn't actually watch the SOTU, or the official Paul Ryan and (hilarious) unofficial Michele Bachmann responses. I was busy taking notes in a late-night Biology class. Like many other Americans, I've had a tough couple of years. I lost my job - no, my career - of fifteen years when the recession first turned ugly at the end of 2008. I spent two years on unemployment desperately trying to replace my former lively hood in a job market more competitive than a runway model reality show, and am now working two low-paying part-time jobs with no benefits in a desperate attempt to make ends meet, while simultaneously attending school full-time in an attempt to enter a new career path.

Now, why am I whining about my own problems? Not to apologize for being unemployed - I could honestly care less what an anonymous person reading my blog thinks about me. No offense. But the point is that there is a story of struggle and hardship behind every unemployment check I received, and my story is far from unique, and nowhere near as tragic as other ones out there. Millions - MILLIONS - of people across the country are still dealing with the dark realities of this crippling recession as you read this, wondering every day how long they'll be able to last, how long until their luck will run out, hoping they can find some form of employment that will allow them to both feed their children AND make the mortgage payment.

So what does Paul Ryan do? Compare Unemployment Benefits - which you have to PAY INTO in order to RECEIVE, by the way, so Entitlement my ass - to reclining in the shade on a summer afternoon, cold drink in hand. Granted, he didn't actually mention Unemployment benefits, but considering that Unemployment is itself one of the top issues of the moment, I find it hard to believe he's attacking welfare. Besides, he's a Republican, so a hatred of Welfare recipients is almost implied. I don't see any other way to take this; Paul Ryan just implied that I'm a lazy bitch, and that anyone else in my position is just sitting back and letting others do the work for them. There's an appropriate response to this kind of slur, but I'm trying to cut back on my excessive cursing, which is harder than you might think when politics is the point of discussion.

As I mentioned with Welfare, this resentment of "Safety Net" programs is an ongoing theme in the Republican Dialogue. Conservatives actually get red in the face when they think of people cashing Welfare and Unemployment checks, or receiving subsidies or free college tuitions or, Lord have Mercy, free health care! There's this constant obsession with people receiving something they didn't earn, this overwhelming need to raise a ruckus whenever someone else gets something for free that they didn't. They are the hall monitors of the adult world, self-obsessed watchdogs on a constant search for anyone not living up to their high standards. They don't get free money from the government. Why should you? That's not fair! And get off my lawn!

Which brings me to the film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Tim Burton's self-absorbed abomination). Whenever I hear a Republican rant and rave about these "leeches" that are "draining society" by "living off MY taxes," my mind always flashes back to the Everlasting Gobstopper scene, in which Veruca Salt gets all bent out of shape because she thinks Violet Beauregarde got two Gobstopper, while she only received one.

These Republicans and Conservatives, who always seem so obsessed with anyone getting a "Free Ride" or "Something for Nothing," are the Veruca Salt of the world. Always concerned that someone is getting something they don't have, always making everything about them. The similarities don't end there, of course. In the true spirit of Free Market Capitalism, Veruca's father "earns" her Golden Ticket for by reaping the benefits of the hard work of his underpaid employees, offering a measly ten-pound bonus to the worker who finds the ticket, all of them receiving only slave wages for their diligent work while Veruca runs off to Candy Land with the results of that hard labor. And what better anthem could there be, for the party obsessed with the accumulation of wealth at any cost, than Veruca Salt's little "I Want It Now" song and dance number?


Do I think all Republicans are representative of childhood cinema's favorite Greedy Little Bitch? No, just the ones who act like it. In truth, I believe that there are only a small minority of Conservatives who think like this. Unfortunately, most of them act as spokespersons for the party, and the scream louder than the ones who actually care about their fellow man. And unfortunately, unlike the movie, the Veruca Salts of the world don't get sucked into the furnace by the Educated Eggdicater. In the real world, Veruca's father nails Wonka on a zoming violation and eventually acquires the Wonka factory in a hostile corporate takeover, Golden Geese and all.

And what happens to the majority of Americans, the meek Charlie Buckets who just want to live comfortably, want what's best for everyone, but are unwilling to sell anyone else out in order to obtain that dream? They'll just have to get used to stale bread for dinner, constant disappointment, and looking at chocolate bars through  storefront windows. Wishing they had that Everlasting Gobstopper to suck on, and waiting for that safety net to start feeling like a hammock.
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Thursday, January 6, 2011

Feel-Good Activism: The Healthcare Debate

WASHINGTON - SEPTEMBER 09:  Senate Minority Le...Image by Getty Images via @daylifeWith the GOP now holding a Majority in the House, you can rest assured that there are going to be countless attacks against any and all Obama legislation, and just as many (if not more) campaigns against so-called Republican reforms.

The first out of the gate, of course, is the drive to repeal "Obamacare" and it's anti Free Market approach to Health Care at the expense of profits. I'm not going to weigh in on which side is right. That invariably results in arguing the facts with someone of the opposite viewpoint, and with the political discourse in this country becoming more rabidly heated by the moment, I'd rather have a naked bowie knife duel to the death with Christopher Walken in a dumpster full of medical waste.

I would, however, like to give some humble advice: Think your arguments through. Example? There's a very well-intentioned movement right now called Repeal health care? Give up your own first! The goal is to get a petition signed urging GOP leaders to give up their own government-sponsored healthcare if they are so against socialized medicine of any kind. It's a cute little bumper-sticker wisdom campaign that, unfortunately, has no real teeth with which to bite.

First of all, petitions don't work, folks. Petitions are a great show of strength and solidarity, and that's about it. The only real upshot to a petition is that it allows a politician to ignore your cause in one big group, which is much easier than ignoring you individually. The assumption is also that anyone signing the petition wouldn't have voted for them anyway, so what do they care? Petitions are fun and feel good, but unless you're trying to get your favorite TV show back on the air (because advertisers pay more attention to what you want than politicians do), that's about all they accomplish.

But more importantly, make sure your argument makes some kind of sense, at least as far as the end result. The whole drive of this campaign is to ask Republicans in favor of repealing healthcare for those who can't afford it to give up their own free government-issued healthcare. Sounds good on the surface, no? Here's the problem with this little jab of logic: they can afford to. John Boehner alone (insert tanning joke here) is worth somewhere between three and seven million dollars, and he's at the low end of the average Capitol Hill employee spectrum. The people pushing to repeal affordable healthcare could not only afford to purchase the most expensive healthcare package available, they could easily do it without having to skimp on the grocery shopping or canceling their golf club membership. Threatening millionaires with economic hardship doesn't work. Think about it.

The funny thing about this movement is that the Republicans it is targeted at could actually call the bluff. John Boehner and Mitch McConnell could drop their government-sponsored healthcare and pay for their own medical insurance without batting an eye, claim to be willing to lead by example, and therefore imply that all of those hard-working families living paycheck to paycheck should do the same. This would quickly abolish this form of attack against them, and be seen by those in their camp as a sign of strength and principle.

But that's not the real funny part. The real funny part is that as easy and effective as it would be, they won't do it. The political climate has reached such a surreal level of obtuse bias that they don't even feel the need to pretend anymore. They don't feel the need to lead by example, uphold the principles they espouse, or even keep their promises. People have become so enamored with their political ideals that they have become completely blind to anything beyond sound bites and posturing. So they just do what they want. There's no motivation for them to do otherwise.

But by all means, enjoy collecting signatures for your petition. Odds are you'll be the only ones who read it.


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Friday, December 31, 2010

Happy New Year? Doubtful.

With the New Year rapidly approaching, a mere number of alcohol-soaked hours away, I find myself pondering the completely arbitrary and pointlessly ritualistic changing of the calendar year, and what it means about the events that have occurred over the past twelve months. For this truly is a holiday meant for reflection and anticipation, a weighing of the past's influences and whatever the future might hold.

Normally, the changing over of the old year to the new one is represented by the iconic images of Old Man Time and Baby New Year. The white-bearded elderly soul, back bent and crippled from the trials and tribulations of his past experiences, hands off the baton of responsibility for forging through yet another year to the innocent diaper-clad newborn, and scampers off on withered legs and a crooked cane without even attempting to warn this naive cherub about the horrors that await his brief and harrowing existence.

ⓘSAW †he dirty soul ☠Part I☠Image by CornérStoné via Flickr
Being a movie fanatic, I prefer to personify the New Year by comparing it to a film that contains the essence of what the holiday represents. In this case, with the complete nightmare that this past year has become, I don't seem to be able to shake the feeling that January 1 is coming upon us with all of the harsh brutality of a Saw sequel. Just look back at the massive amounts of abject misery and mindless destruction that have occurred over the length of 2010, and ringing in the New Year raises the same levels of terror and dread as waking up strapped into some psychotic cancer patient's homicidal shop project and hearing a prerecorded message explain exactly how gruesome your impending demise is going to be.

This past year has been so screwed up, they might as well have replaced last year's Time's Square ball drop with a bicycle-riding Jigsaw puppet rolling on to every television set in America:

"Hello people. I want to play a game. This coming year, your house values will be driven down by reckless and opportunistic lending practices. Unemployment rates will hover indefinitely high while new jobs are shipped overseas, and soulless corporations alter their business models to exploit the fear of downsizing to squeeze uncompensated productivity out of their underpaid workers. As you struggle to keep your head (and mortgage) above water, your ineffectual political leaders with put on lavish shows of false concern and hollow efforts of economic restoration as your quality of life rapidly deteriorates. Live or die, the choice is yours. Actually, you have no control over it whatsoever; you're basically doomed. Have fun." 

Instead of being a time of hope and celebration, this New Year's is like surviving one horrible Jigsaw trap, with other victims viciously destroyed before your eyes while you cling tenaciously to life, only to get shoved through a time-locked door where yet another perilous struggle for survival awaits you. I'm to the point where I'd rather wake up with a spring-loaded mechanical trap strapped to my face and a key surgically implanted in my scrotum than face whatever mindless, spirit-shredding madness 2011 has in store for us. Instead of slowly descending during Dick Clark's uncomfortably humorous countdown, that giant geodesic sphere hanging over Times Square should plummet to the pavement, eject hundreds of spring loaded spikes, then tumble at full speed down Broadway like a giant spiked bowling ball of death and destruction, impaling the crushed and mutilated corpses of the helpless inebriated onlookers, rolling over the unsuspecting crowds in much the same way that 2011 will eventually bulldoze over what's left of spirits.

So, this is Scott from Moviesucktastic, wishing you a Happy New Year, a fun New Year's Eve celebration, and a quick, painless death at the hands of our destructive sociopath Baby New Year.

Game Over. 

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Sunday, December 12, 2010

Dream Diary: Treasure Hunt

double scope ice cream coneImage via WikipediaI had this weird dream last night.

A group of people and I are involved in some kind of elaborate scavenger hunt that centers around us following clues and riddles scribbled on a pile random slips of papers, coasters, napkins and envelopes. One specific clue leads us onto an old fishing vessel, where we try to figure out the coordinates left behind be a dead fisherman that will supposedly lead us to the location of the Loch Ness Monster's ocean home. We figure it out when one of his former shipmates tells us that his old partner would often write the coordinates down wrong. This somehow enables us to figure out the right numbers, which lead us to a tape recording of the dead fisherman's voice under a pile of newspapers in the same room.

Meanwhile, in an unrelated portion of the dream, a serial killer has body wrapped tight in Saran Wrap, and is digging a hole in the floor of a cabin in which to hide it. The body, which bares a striking resemblance to Bryan Cranston from the AMC series Breaking Bad, has its face wrapped tightly with the plastic, mouth opened wide as if screaming. Suddenly, he comes to life, tears through the plastic and attacks his would-be murderer. I never return to this scene, and so I am unsure of the outcome of the struggle. 

Meanwhile, back at the bizarre treasure hunt... this clue-driven challenge somehow involves time travel (of course), and at one point I find myself walking through a lightly snow-covered field with an older woman. We reach a house supposedly belonging to her, at which point she asks if I am from the future. I confess that I am, and she asks me if I can do something about coffee cups when I go back. It seems that the paper coffee cups of whatever time I am currently in keep igniting when she drinks coffee, as she likes to smoke at the same time. I assure her that there is no need to worry; the coffee cups of the future are thick, heavy, and highly flame retardant. I then return to my future time to discover that, reminiscent of Ray Bradbury's A Sound of Thunder, my conversation with the woman has somehow resulted in all modern day coffee cups looking like ice cream cones.

Taking a moment to assess my situation, I thumb through the stack of clues and realize that there is no way I am going to finish this bizarre game before I wake up. Then I wake up.

Analysis: No more eating Coffee Ice Cream while watching Dexter reruns.
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Saturday, December 11, 2010

Scott's Dream Diary - Giving Unto Caesar

Benjamin-Constant-The Throne Room In ByzantiumImage via WikipediaHad this weird dream last night. I thought I was a Roman Soldier transported to modern times, and walked into a Roman-themed casino wearing a toga, carrying a broken spear, and demanding to speak to Caesar.

It turns out that they have an actor who sits in a throne room pretending to be Julius Caesar, so for some reason the staff decides to humor me and take me to him. They take me to the entrance of the "Throne Room," where I kneel and bow, and allow the broken spear to be taken away from me. I then spend the next ten or fifteen minutes talking to Caesar about fate and one's importance in the world, while the actor goes along and plays the part, possibly enjoying the chance to finally do some real acting. I can't recall the specifics of the conversation, but it was tinged with sadness about being out of place and time, and how we shape our own destiny.

At the end of our conversation, he grips my shoulder with a firm squeeze full of emotion, looks me straight in the eye, gives me a knowing nod, and comps me $10 on the nickel slots. Then I wake up.

Verdict: I've been playing too much Fallout: New Vegas before bedtime.
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Friday, December 10, 2010

PETA: Dead Puppies Aren't Much Fun

I have a theory that 70% of the people that complain about PETA going "too far" are just upset because the organizati­on's extreme push against animal cruelty makes them question their own inattentio­n to the consequenc­es of their actions, and they hate being made to think so much. The other 30% just enjoy complainin­g.



As far as the commercial goes, I think it woks on both angles. The message of the ad agrees with responsibl­e and emotional side of me that hates to think of animals being tortured and murdered to feed the pet industry, while the morbid humor of the ad appeals to the side of me that thinks children playing with dead dogs is funny. See? Everybody wins.

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