Addicted to Blogging

It started for me with a post on an early Tuesday morning. It was 2am, and I was exhausted, physically and mentally, as my head occasionally fell to the carpet, and my eyes strained to read an entire sentence. I knew I should be sleeping, not sprawled out in front of a computer screen in the middle of the living room, but I didn't give a shit. I had to finish. Finally close to satisfied, I pressed the publish button around 3:30am, and the exhilaration of seeing my article appear washed away the fatigue and left me with a sense of relief.

In the months since that initial post I've added numerous more. Any time I go beyond a day without writing I can actually feel myself weighed down by all the frustrated thoughts demanding to be expressed. And now that I've discovered blog layouts, color schemes, templates, and the host of nifty buttons available, its become even worse, because when I'm not writing I can still spend five hours searching the web for how to set up an RSS feed (If anyone has an idea please let me know).

So looking at the evidence, my conclusion is that I'm addicted to blogging, which is an odd thing for me to say because I'm not sure I've ever been addicted to anything, and believe me, I've tried. I don't think its to the point where the mental hospital will tie me up in a straight jacket, place that Hannibal Lecter contraption over my face, and have two staff members throw me into a rubber room with a couple CCs of sedatives coursing through my bloodstream for good measure, however, if I were forced to spend a couple days without being able as to so much catch a glimpse of my blog, I might be severely agitated.

It would be great if there were a nicer way of phrasing my fondness for blogging. I could suggest that I have a blog fetish, but to me, the term fetish always conjures images of whips and paddles and tall Nordic women snapping on latex gloves so that they can best punish you for being naughty. Something along the lines of blog obsession doesn't seem awful at first glance, but then I think about those cheesy black and white perfume ads where shirtless models on horses just whisper obsession incessantly to one another as they gallop across the countryside en route to nowhere. Other possibilities also fall flat; blog mania sounds like I'm going to don spandex and wrestle my blog, while blog infatuation creates the impression that I might sheepishly ask my blog if it will accompany me to the springtime formal.

I guess that after further review, blog addict might be the best term of the lot, and thus I will answer to it proudly. All that I ask is somebody give me notice prior to any sort of intervention; if I'm going to be busy for a few hours, I'd like to be able to get in a little blogging first.

[Addict] [Fetish] [Hannibal Lecter] [Mental Hospital] [Obsession] [Intervention]

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New Kids on the Block Must be Stopped

According to the investigative journalists over at Yahoo Headlines, the groundbreaking boy band New Kids on the Block will be re-uniting for a world tour. This means that somewhere out there, five special guys are getting shot up with Botox and fitted for new sequin vests, while hundreds of thousands of women in their 30s and 40s will soon be Hanging Tough and abandoning their children for the night so that they can rekindle the magic of decades past.

I was thirteen when the New Kids phenomena first hit. The girls in my eighth grade class talked about them incessantly, and possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of each member’s personal information that extended from their favorite food to the color of their underwear. For those unaware of the phenomena, here is a breakdown of the group's members:

Jonathan Knight-The ring leader who ensures that everyone is focused on the gig at hand by shouting catchy phrases like “yeah” and “come on.”
Jordan Knight-The bland older brother kept around for supervision and in case anyone needs to serve jail time.
Danny Wood-The pseudo-ethnic complete with fake tan and gold chain. Often mistaken for limo driver/cook/housekeeping.
Donnie Wahlberg-The guy with premature facial hair who looks like he’s got a pot of meth and a fourteen year old backstage.
Joey McIntyre-The androgynous young heart throb. Took longer than a member of the girl’s Chinese gymnastics team to reach puberty.

The success of these five kids spawned not only lucrative albums and concerts, but dolls, lunch boxes, t-shirts, and anything else you could imagine affixing their image too and selling at a 2000% mark up. One girl actually trampled me, not out of malice, but because I was standing between her and her hot pink New Kids thermos that she had to show to her friends so that they could come in with one the next day. The fact that the thermos was empty, or that I was on the ground suffering from internal injuries, was irrelevant. More important than the merchandise, New Kids would create the blueprint for future acts like NSync, 98 Degrees, and Backstreet Boys, who carried the boy band mantle into the new millennium.

Looking back, my only regret is that no one stopped New Kids the first time around. I was merely a child, but where was everyone else? Where were the listeners of good music to combat the possessed pre-teen hordes? Where were the parents to tell their children that supporting certain musical acts was unacceptable and would result in grounding? Where were the Terminators? If the future could send them to fight over scruffy resistance leader John Connor, you would think that someone in 2050 would care enough to send them to stop New Kids and save the future from generations of shitty rip off acts.

But none of this happened. New Kids thrived, and if the reports are true, they’ll be back shortly. Although it seems as though it’s too late to put the breaks on NKOTB, perhaps their inherent suckiness can somehow be counter-balanced in the musical cosmos by the reunion of an amazing group. As far as I’m concerned, there is only band up to this challenge: Guns N’ Roses.


The original Guns N’ Roses, the one with Slash instead of that guy wearing a KFC bucket, is the only antidote to the bubble gum scented, streamlined pop of New Kids. In case you’ve somehow forgotten, absorb an eye full of the pic above, and you'll be reminded how every song on Appetite for Destruction reeked of booze, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. Mix in thrashing guitars and Axle Rose’s catchy, misogynistic lyrics, and you have arguably the greatest album of all-time.

I know there are challenges to a G&R reunion; particularly that everybody in the band hates Axle, and the original drummer, Steven Adler, had a drug induced stroke that left one side of his body paralyzed. However, money, time, and more money are known to heal major rifts among bandmates, and as for Steven, if Def Leopard can play with a one armed drummer, then I’m sure Guns could rig something that would work for Steve (Maybe saw a drum set in half, let him play with his good side, and then crazy glue a couple tambourines to his bad side).

Whatever the answers, a plan for G&R is needed, and quickly, because a New Kids on the Block reunion show may be coming to your town sooner than you think. Without at least the promise of a G&R concert in the near future, there will be nothing to sustain you if you happen to find yourself standing between a much older, much bigger, yet no less passionate New Kids fan and her thermos, a position just as dangerous today as it was in 1988.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/eonline/20080128/en_music_eo/3740734d8c3a_43e3_9959_6a0ee4d6832a

[New Kids on the Block] [Slash] [Guns N' Roses] [Axle Rose] [Backstreet Boys] [Def Leopard]

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Making Friends on the Internet

This a transcript from a brief online chat I had on Friday afternoon with a 34 year old Malaysian blogger inviting me to be his "friend" on Technorati.

START
Him: Hello
Me: Hey
Him: Do you have big peni?
Me: What?
Him: Do you hae big peni?
Me: Are you asking me if I have a big penis?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Dude, that is sick.
Him: No?
Me: Well, yes.
Him: So you have big peni.
Me: Listen, I'm not into that.
Him: We be friends.
Me: Uh, no.
Him: We be good friends no?
Me: No.
Him: Yes?
Me: No. I have to go.
Him: Chat later big peni?
Me: Never!
END

I think the best part of this conversation is that even though I was not down with this guy's indecent proposal, I still had to make sure he knew that my equipment is substantial. This will no doubt go a long way towards enhancing my rep in the notoriously fickle Malaysian gay community. And just in case there was any suspense, I ultimately declined his friend request. We haven't spoken since.

[Technorati] [Malaysia]

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Subtle Racism in Sports

I'm sick. I probably have a cold, a flu, or pneumonia, but I'm not sure how to tell the difference. All I know is that I've got a wicked cough that makes my throat seize up, my whole body aches, and I can feel the fluid building in my nose. Not helping matters is that my project at work involves cutting and pasting thousands of zip codes into a spreadsheet, a task my boss has told me may or may not actually be needed.

Along with the shitty job, I blame my illness on the excitement from football last weekend. I watched the Giants game with "Irish" Patrick, who grew up on a cattle farm outside of Galway, and spent the entire contest with a glazed look on his face. His only moments of excitement came when he showed me the Blade Trilogy DVD Box Set he had recently purchased, which he then pressed to his chest, as though he wished that somehow the former vampire hunter and current tax evader Wesley Snipes could suckle from his bosom until he was strong enough to shoot Blade 4. When the final whistle blew, and a Giant's win was secure, I began raising my arms in victory, while Irish turned to me and asked, "Is the game over?" Obviously, my attempts at assimilating him into American culture have a long way to go.

Something else I noticed that has a long way to go is sportscaster's vocabularies, particularly when it comes to describing certain players. Obviously, there's the notorious Kelly Tilghman "lynching" comment in regards to Tiger Woods that has drawn so much well-deserved publicity, but the kind of language I'm talking about is often more subtle in nature. All one has to do is watch a regular football or basketball game, and they will find TV analysts use certain words exclusively to describe white players and other words only for black players. These are just a few examples likely to be heard on any given broadcast:

White Player/Black Player
1). Scrappy/Has a swagger
2). Shifty/Explosive
3). Moves well in the pocket/A threat to run
4). Needs to get more athletic/Needs to get more fundamentally sound
5). Reminds me of Ricky Proehl/Reminds me of Randy Moss
6). Stiff/Fluid
7). Typical Coach's son/A natural athlete
8). Heady/Emotional
9). Hard worker/Has so much God given ability
10). There's Mom and Dad in the stands/The whole family is here tonight

Look out for such descriptions next time you watch sports on TV and I guarantee you'll recognize at least a couple of these stereotypes. This overlooked form of discrimination does not appear to be malicious, and probably exists at a subconscious level, however, a little imagination and persistence could make such statements relics of the past. Not that it matters for Irish Patrick; he's got nine hours of movies to re-watch before I make him sit through the Super Bowl.

[Super Bowl] [Racism] [Sports] [New York Giants] [Blade] [Wesley Snipes] [Black Athletes] [White Athletes] [Randy Moss] [Ricky Proehl] [Tiger Woods] [Kelly Tilghman]

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Movie Review: Juno

Ratings (2 1/2 out of 4 ):

The other night I caught the flick Juno at the Georgetown AMC 14. I had heard positive reviews, so the bar was set pretty high. Expectations only grew when I learned the film's scribe was a former stripper and blogger by the name of Diablo Cody. I've already got the blog going, so maybe I need to dust off my thong and get a respectable Brazilian wax if I'm ever going to make it as a writer in Hollywood.

My company for the evening was Mandi, a 29 year old artist from Virginia who dreams of someday getting a large, green nose piercing. This being our third date, I was expecting some play, so I apologize for being occasionally distracted. I actually like Mandi, and she's the first girl I've dug in a while. I'm not sure how she feels about me, as her only comments on the subject thus far are that I "make her nervous." When I inquired as to whether this was "good nervous" or "bad nervous," she was unable to answer.

For my reviews, I'm not going to waste time regurgitating the plot; you can find that elsewhere. Instead, I will recount my thoughts exactly as I had them throughout the film.

7:55: We arrive during a preview for PS I Love You starring Hillary Swank and the guy who played Spartan King Leonidas in the fabulous movie 300. Only the power of Hillary Swank could transform the formerly mighty Leonidas into another whipped Scotsman delivering kisses and sage lessons on lost love from beyond the grave.

8:05: The actress Ellen Page, who plays the title character, is pretty cute, but I'm not sure I'd hit it if she were pregnant. She also talks a lot, dishing out snappy one liners chalked full of crunchy, retro slang at a somewhat irritating clip.

8:15: A cameo from Dwight of The Office, sans glasses and pocket protector.

8:25: I begin peering over at Mandi to my right, and I think she wants it. I'm going to put my hand on her knee. Sweet.

8:40: Actor Michael Cera is entirely unbelievable playing the love interest of anyone, much less Juno. He plays the same fucking character in every film. I'm sure it pays well, but my God, show a little range.

8:55: Jennifer Garner looks really serious. I prefer her work in the highly underrated Dude Where's My Car?

9:05: What deal did Jason Bateman make with the devil to be in all these movies after being MIA for over a decade? And how long can it be before we're inundated with a barrage of Justine Bateman flicks?

9:10: Jason Bateman has sexual tension and light petting with jail bait Juno. I'm waiting for a perturbed Chris Hansen from the To Catch A Predator series to barge into the room and ask Jason what exactly he was thinking.

9:20: Juno is very fat, and in labor, but I stand corrected, I'd still hit it. Speaking of that, Mandi is so turned on, she's practically going to attack me as we leave the theatre.

9:30: Surprise ending. Can't say I expected that. Lets get out of here.

Overall, I felt Juno was good, yet far from great. There were some really fine performances turned in, particularly by Page, as well as JK Simmons and Allison Janney, who play Juno's shell shocked Dad and supportive step Mom. I also enjoyed the mounting tension and awkwardness that envelopes the film and only grows with Juno's expanding belly. However, to call this movie great speaks more to the homogenous nature of today's cinema than to anything special about this film. A lot of the time I just felt like it was trying too hard to be witty, when being simple and genuine would have sufficed. But perhaps we're all guilty of that sometimes.

As for Mandi and I, it turns out my premonition that she wanted to jump my bones was slightly off base. In fact, we had a discussion where she explained that she really wanted to wait until a serious relationship before getting too sexual. I told her that I respect her decision, which I do, however, there is another part of me that feels deeply hurt and rejected by this. I guess in my mind the idea that she is so willing to wait suggests a serious lack of passion and creates an air of everything being almost contrived. Planning is great for work, or a home equity loan, but to me, if your really into someone you shouldn't be able to hold back, even if it goes against your better judgment.

So I guess I'll have to keep you updated on what happens with Mandi. As I reflect upon our relationship, and the relationships I've had over the years, I think Juno's Dad Mac sums it all up pretty well:

"In my opinion, the best thing you can do is to find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think that the sun shines out your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with."

[Diablo Cody] [Juno] [Ellen Page] [Michael Cera] [Stripper] [JK Simmons] [Jason Bateman] [Justine Bateman] [Movie Review] [Hillary Swank] [Chris Hansen] [Allison Janney] [PS I Love You]

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Taunting Tigers and Getting Drunk at the Zoo

There's an article in today's USA Today which says that the Christmas day victims of the tiger attack at the San Francisco Zoo had been drinking and smoking pot prior to the incident. The article also cites evidence that the three victims had been taunting the tiger, although there is disagreement as to the extent of the harassment. The Zoo spokesman, upon learning about these new facts, practically had an orgasm, saying "Those brothers painted a completely different picture to the public and the press," and "Now it's starting to come out that what they said is not true."

There are so many strange parts to this story, starting with the three victims. Call me conservative, but who gets drunk and high on Christmas? I understand that the chronic makes a great stocking stuffer, and I don't expect three dudes in their twenties to sip eggnog and sing carols all morning, yet taking a few hits just seems like an odd thing to do on Christmas. However, the weirdness doesn't end there, because where do you go after you've gotten all toasty from weed mixed with a few shots of holiday vodka? A friend's house? Maybe visit family? A restaurant? Of course not. You go to the Zoo, because there you can look at animals that are really cold and imagine them wearing Santa Claus hats.

Apparently, picturing exotic animals in festive Christmas attire wasn't all these guys did, as it is alleged they "yelled" and "waved" at the tiger from atop of her enclosure. According to Zoo Officials, this is most likely what prompted the tiger to escape from it's habitat and attack the men. Now, I'm not encouraging people to go out and taunt animals, I learned my lesson after a close encounter with a couple monkeys at the Great Adventure Drive Thru Safari in '89, but the idea that these guys taunting the tiger can be used as an excuse by the Zoo is ridiculous. I don't care if they waved, clapped, or flipped the tiger off with a diatribe full of the most foul, objectionable language, cursing everything from it's patented vertical stripes to it's limited fertility period that allows for reproduction only 3-4 days per year. The tiger doesn't understand. It isn't sitting on the grass saying to itself, "Hey, I think those guys just gave me the middle finger. Who the fuck do they think they are. Now, I've had it."

The bottom line is that it's the Zoo's job is to keep the people and animals separate, and this responsibility applies even when the people are drunk and acting like idiots. When you build an enclosure the tiger can leap out of, for any reason, you've failed at this task. I think the Zoo could learn a lot from legendary tiger handlers Siegfried & Roy, who not only taught us that German men have nipples, but also that while nature can become familiar, it will always be wild.

http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2008-01-18-tiger-attack_N.htm

[USA Today] [Tigers] [San Francisco Zoo]

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Tale of the Tape: Dr. Phil vs. Britney Spears

VS.

I admit it; I have been sucked in by the drama surrounding Britney Spears. For me, it all started with her performance at the MTV Awards, where she stumbled around the stage bloated and half-naked as backup dancers tried to look sexy while avoiding the aroma of her vodka scented lip syncing. Throw in the head shaving, parental neglect, and outright abandonment of panties, and it is easy to see why she has become like that giant overturned tractor trailer engulfed in flames on the side of the turnpike that is impossible to ignore. And just when you thought the situation had deteriorated so far that she was beyond help, here comes fifty gallons of pure, unfiltered Texas crude oil to be poured onto the fire, in the form of none other than TV's favorite crank doctor, Dr. Phil McGraw. You see, Oprah's most loyal whipping boy (sorry Steadman) couldn't bear to stand on the sidelines and watch Britney's demise from afar. No, Dr. Phil saw in her pain, confusion, and of course, ratings!

So naturally Dr. Phil did what any reasonable medical professional would, he decided to pay an unsolicited visit to Britney in person so that he could become part of her problem. It's almost as if he's saying, "You think things are bad now with the paparazzi chasing you, wait until you have a fat, bald TV psychologist following you to your car." The best part is that Dr. Phil then planned a television special highlighting Spears' mental illness, because what she so desperately needs at this critical time in her life is more media attention and scrutiny. Dr. Phil later decided to cancel the program out of concern that the situation was "too intense," as such a classy move clearly illustrates why his morals supersede those of other talk show luminaries like Maury Povich and Jerry Springer, who no doubt would've aired the special and basked in the controversy.

Since Britney wasn't thrilled with the intervention, it seems that the relationship between her and Dr. Phil is on hold for now, but this is probably subject to change since decision making has never been Britney's strength, regardless of whether the topic is husbands, child safety seats, or hair styles. However, in the interim, maybe the good doctor could swing by and start working with Britney's 16 year old sister and Nickelodeon star Jamie Lynn, who recently announced she was pregnant. Think about the possibilities of a Dr. Phil teenage baby love triangle. Yes, chaste Jamie Lynn claims the father is her 19 year old child molester boyfriend, but I'll reserve my doubts until we see if that baby comes out pedaling self help books in a Texas twang.

I think the moral of this whole Dr. Phil/Spears saga is that celebrities, no mater how messed up they are, are still real people with real problems, who should get help from real doctors. And if they can't get her a real doctor, getting her some real panties would be a good first step.

[Britney Spears] [Dr. Phil] [Jamie Lynn Spears] [MTV]

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