Another Video Vednesday is come. Here's a short sketch I made with my cohorts under the name B.R.A.D. I wrote this one in like ten minutes when I worked in an office. I hope the quality shows!
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
Too Much Technology: Gas, Gas, Gas
No, the title of this blog entry is not a reference to The Rolling Stones' hit single "Jumpin' Jack Flash". (Nor is it a reference to the Whoopi Goldberg movie of the same name, which I haven't seen, but I'm sure is great because Whoopi Goldberg is delightful.) "Gas, Gas, Gas" also does not refer to the insane amounts of methane produced by my daughters. If anybody is still reading after learning that this article isn't about The Stones, Whoopi, or farts, I'll reveal to you now what this thing is actually about: the double-trouble problem of our society's addiction to gasoline-powered products and this addiction's byproduct of turning men from looking how they should look into the paunchy messes that they've become. (Yes, I'm aware that women can also do the chores I'm about to detail below, but generally I see lots more men doing this sort of work. Also, I firmly hold the opinion that women shouldn't look like old-timey strongmen [though they're certainly entitled to look that way if they desire to].)
I was originally going to include automobiles as part of my list of too many gas-powered technologies, but I think cars, trucks, and SUVs fall into the category of "Not Enough Technology". Yeah, we've had electric cars since the 1890s, but combustion engines became cheaper to produce so people stopped giving a shit about electric cars until various gas-crises became problematic. But by then the auto industry was a dominant force in America, and the oil lobbyists had mastered the art of giving Washington a handjob while sodomizing consumers. Classy orgy metaphors aside, the bottom line is that most people, myself included, simply can't afford the electric alternatives available, thus we're all stuck driving around in our combustion-powered pollution machines. So, you can scratch automobiles from the list, and instead I'll be focusing on gas-powered equipment that has viable and affordable alternatives that people are too lazy to use.
I live in the country. When I tell people I live in a town called Waymart, I get responses such as, "Where the fuck is that!?" (That's an actual response I've gotten more than once.) The answer to that question is, "The middle of nowhere". Because of this, a lot of people assume I lead a quiet life when I'm at home. This is a false assumption. Any time the weather is nice I'm treated to the obnoxious sounds of people taking care of their yards with gas-powered machinery.
Just about everyone with a yard has either a gas-powered push mower or riding mower. I understand this; mowing the grass is a pain, and a device with an engine makes it easier. Who would want to use their arm and leg muscles to push one of those old-time mowers that looks like a Segway but with a spinning blade dealy between the wheels? That's the type of mower I opted to get. Yes, it's somewhat challenging when I hit sections of the yard that are uneven, but some extra force from my legs and maybe a pelvic thrust are enough to propel the mower over the lumpy terrain. And there's no obnoxious buzzing noise emanating from my yard while I'm using it. Plus, running over a patch of clover is awesome because the clover leaves explode into the air.
By using a muscle-powered mower instead of a gasoline type, I get a workout when I cut the grass. I don't have to go to the gas station and fill up jugs with gasoline in order to do the yardwork, I don't have to stand around cursing at my mower and trying to figure out why the engine stopped working, and I won't suffer severe hearing loss from the droning noise like my dad. If you have a smaller yard like I do, I'd highly recommend going with the less expensive, less lazy mower option. If you've got a huge yard... Well, maybe you should plant some trees and gardens and still get the muscle-mower.
Okay, my mower works fine for regular grass, but what about weeds that grow in hard-to-reach-with-a-mower areas? Luckily for people who love to purchase gas and make more buzzing noises than a Dubstep concert, the weed wacker was invented. If you're a city slicker who's unfamiliar with this device, it's basically a stick with an engine on one end and spinning blades on the other. The length of the stick prevents people from being forced to use their stomach and back muscles to bend over, so humans can continue to evolve to not have waists anymore. The smaller engine produces an equally-obnoxious but higher-pitched noise.
I'm sure the weed wacker works just fine, but there's at least three cheaper options that I can think of. One is hedge clippers. You could use those to cut the weeds down, and if you're a WWF star in the 80s, you can use them to cut your opponent's hair after administering a sleeper hold. The second choice is a machete. You can hack the weeds down with one of those and look like a badass while you're doing it. Do you think any would-be burglars might be willing to try and rob the house of "that guy that's always walking around with the machete"? And the third option, which you'll surely laugh at if you're the type whose goal is to have legs that look like unbaked bread dough, is to squat or kneel down and just yank the goddam weeds right out of the earth. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But if you pull out the roots rather than giving the weeds a haircut every few days, they won't grow back. Then you can nail the clump of weeds and its dangling roots to a tree as a warning to all the other weeds out there.
The last item I'll discuss is the chainsaw. We all hate trees and want them to go away, and what better means to cut them all down than a chainsaw? These also come in handy when the guys who came to buy cocaine from you act like punks and you need to teach them some respect. We've all been there. But the chainsaw is yet another gas-powered device that replaced a non-gas-powered device that seemed to work just fine. What do Paul Bunyan, The Tin Woodsman, and Bloodaxe all have in common? None of them used some kind of steampunk chainsaw. They all used an axe.
I'll admit that I've never cut down a tree with an axe or a chainsaw (I do it with my karate chops, bitch!), so I don't know how much easier it is to do with the gas-powered choice. What I do know is that the sound of an axe thumping into a tree is much more satisfying than the sound of yet another loudly-buzzing machine. Plus, it just seems like more shit can go wrong with a chainsaw. Plus plus, we all know that real men (and women) commit murders with an axe. There are exercises based on the motions of chopping a tree that will give you a rockin' core, so if you have to cut down a tree because it's leaning toward your house, you need firewood, and/or the tree is doing queer things such as creating shade and oxygen, try doing it with an axe!
I feel like any technology that predates advancements such as the combustion engine is viewed as being "outdated" by a lot of people. But just because some of these technologies seem to make life easier, it doesn't mean they're the best option. When you factor in the purchase price of these new-fangled yardwork-o-matics, as well as the costs of gasoline and maintenance, it might be worth it to go with the classics. You may have to use a little more time and effort to keep your grounds looking well-manicured, but you'll save money and tone your body. You'll help cut down on noise pollution. And regular pollution! The only extra cost you'll incur is wax for the awesome mustache you'll grow to accentuate your new strongman body.
I was originally going to include automobiles as part of my list of too many gas-powered technologies, but I think cars, trucks, and SUVs fall into the category of "Not Enough Technology". Yeah, we've had electric cars since the 1890s, but combustion engines became cheaper to produce so people stopped giving a shit about electric cars until various gas-crises became problematic. But by then the auto industry was a dominant force in America, and the oil lobbyists had mastered the art of giving Washington a handjob while sodomizing consumers. Classy orgy metaphors aside, the bottom line is that most people, myself included, simply can't afford the electric alternatives available, thus we're all stuck driving around in our combustion-powered pollution machines. So, you can scratch automobiles from the list, and instead I'll be focusing on gas-powered equipment that has viable and affordable alternatives that people are too lazy to use.
I live in the country. When I tell people I live in a town called Waymart, I get responses such as, "Where the fuck is that!?" (That's an actual response I've gotten more than once.) The answer to that question is, "The middle of nowhere". Because of this, a lot of people assume I lead a quiet life when I'm at home. This is a false assumption. Any time the weather is nice I'm treated to the obnoxious sounds of people taking care of their yards with gas-powered machinery.
Just about everyone with a yard has either a gas-powered push mower or riding mower. I understand this; mowing the grass is a pain, and a device with an engine makes it easier. Who would want to use their arm and leg muscles to push one of those old-time mowers that looks like a Segway but with a spinning blade dealy between the wheels? That's the type of mower I opted to get. Yes, it's somewhat challenging when I hit sections of the yard that are uneven, but some extra force from my legs and maybe a pelvic thrust are enough to propel the mower over the lumpy terrain. And there's no obnoxious buzzing noise emanating from my yard while I'm using it. Plus, running over a patch of clover is awesome because the clover leaves explode into the air.
By using a muscle-powered mower instead of a gasoline type, I get a workout when I cut the grass. I don't have to go to the gas station and fill up jugs with gasoline in order to do the yardwork, I don't have to stand around cursing at my mower and trying to figure out why the engine stopped working, and I won't suffer severe hearing loss from the droning noise like my dad. If you have a smaller yard like I do, I'd highly recommend going with the less expensive, less lazy mower option. If you've got a huge yard... Well, maybe you should plant some trees and gardens and still get the muscle-mower.
Okay, my mower works fine for regular grass, but what about weeds that grow in hard-to-reach-with-a-mower areas? Luckily for people who love to purchase gas and make more buzzing noises than a Dubstep concert, the weed wacker was invented. If you're a city slicker who's unfamiliar with this device, it's basically a stick with an engine on one end and spinning blades on the other. The length of the stick prevents people from being forced to use their stomach and back muscles to bend over, so humans can continue to evolve to not have waists anymore. The smaller engine produces an equally-obnoxious but higher-pitched noise.
I'm sure the weed wacker works just fine, but there's at least three cheaper options that I can think of. One is hedge clippers. You could use those to cut the weeds down, and if you're a WWF star in the 80s, you can use them to cut your opponent's hair after administering a sleeper hold. The second choice is a machete. You can hack the weeds down with one of those and look like a badass while you're doing it. Do you think any would-be burglars might be willing to try and rob the house of "that guy that's always walking around with the machete"? And the third option, which you'll surely laugh at if you're the type whose goal is to have legs that look like unbaked bread dough, is to squat or kneel down and just yank the goddam weeds right out of the earth. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But if you pull out the roots rather than giving the weeds a haircut every few days, they won't grow back. Then you can nail the clump of weeds and its dangling roots to a tree as a warning to all the other weeds out there.
The last item I'll discuss is the chainsaw. We all hate trees and want them to go away, and what better means to cut them all down than a chainsaw? These also come in handy when the guys who came to buy cocaine from you act like punks and you need to teach them some respect. We've all been there. But the chainsaw is yet another gas-powered device that replaced a non-gas-powered device that seemed to work just fine. What do Paul Bunyan, The Tin Woodsman, and Bloodaxe all have in common? None of them used some kind of steampunk chainsaw. They all used an axe.
I'll admit that I've never cut down a tree with an axe or a chainsaw (I do it with my karate chops, bitch!), so I don't know how much easier it is to do with the gas-powered choice. What I do know is that the sound of an axe thumping into a tree is much more satisfying than the sound of yet another loudly-buzzing machine. Plus, it just seems like more shit can go wrong with a chainsaw. Plus plus, we all know that real men (and women) commit murders with an axe. There are exercises based on the motions of chopping a tree that will give you a rockin' core, so if you have to cut down a tree because it's leaning toward your house, you need firewood, and/or the tree is doing queer things such as creating shade and oxygen, try doing it with an axe!
I feel like any technology that predates advancements such as the combustion engine is viewed as being "outdated" by a lot of people. But just because some of these technologies seem to make life easier, it doesn't mean they're the best option. When you factor in the purchase price of these new-fangled yardwork-o-matics, as well as the costs of gasoline and maintenance, it might be worth it to go with the classics. You may have to use a little more time and effort to keep your grounds looking well-manicured, but you'll save money and tone your body. You'll help cut down on noise pollution. And regular pollution! The only extra cost you'll incur is wax for the awesome mustache you'll grow to accentuate your new strongman body.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Terminal Doctor 3: Murder Dreams
There was the original, which was pretty solid. Then came the much-lauded sequel. Now, here's the third of the trilogy, guaranteed to polarize and let down fans who have built up unrealistic expectations in the time between the second and third. Yes, sir and/or ma'am, my third visit to the computer psychotherapist. And this time... It's personal. Well, I guess they were all kind of personal. This time... It's personaler.
I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time you are finished talking, type RET twice.
Hi, psychotherapist.
How do you do? What brings you to see me?
MURDER DREAMS.
This is not a healthy way of thinking.
Well, I can't help but dream what I dream. Don't you agree?
Why do you say that I shouldn't me agree?
WHAT?
Can you elaborate on that?
Elaborate on why I shouldn't me agree? I don't know what that means.
I would appreciate it if you would continue.
Uh...
Go on, don't be afraid.
This is going horribly. Maybe I'll go to another computer doctor instead.
You have your mind on computers, it seems.
Computers have become an essential part of life, for better or worse.
You think too much about computers.
Probably. But that's not why I'm here.
Is it because that's not why you are there that you came to me?
No. That's exactly why I'm NOT here. What is wrong with you?
What makes you believe what is wrong with me?
I've been trying to figure it out.
Earlier you said that's not why you are there?
I said HERE! HERE, YOU BOOB! Pay attention, please.
Maybe your plans have something to do with this.
Look, are you going to talk to me about my dreams or not?
Are you sure that that?
Are you drunk?
What do you think?
Yes.
I see... Well, do you really think this is so?
Yes. If it's possible for a computer program to be drunk then yes, you're definitely drunk.
Do you get drunk often?
Not too often.
You mentioned that that's not why you are there?
You suck as a doctor.
Perhaps you could watch your tongue!
Perhaps you could talk to me about my dreams, you rube!
Is it because of your life that you are going through all this?
I'm not sure where the murder dreams are coming from.
Does it bother you that you, too, may die someday?
I'm fine with that. Everybody dies.
I am worried by your obsession with this topic!
I'm worried by your determination to avoid talking about it!
Are you worried often?
No.
Why not?
I'm a casual guy.
Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say you are a casual guy?
I guess. Maybe. Yes. Or not. Perhaps.
I need a little more detail please.
Sure.
You're being a bit brief, please, go into detail.
Alright.
Can you are more explicit?
You got it.
What makes you think you were drunk?
Well, the last time I was drunk was Saturday night. I know I was drunk because the Denny's food tasted so good.
Do you enjoy being drunk?
Of course.
How do you reconcile problems at school?
EEEERRRGGGGGHHH! Third visit... Why do you still think I go to school?
Tell me about your school.
Seriously?
And?
Worst.
Would you please go into more detail?
Detail about what? I don't go to school!!! I don't go to school!!! I came here to talk to you about my murder dreams.
Did you watch a lot of crime and violence on television as a child?
Yeah, I suppose I did. I used to watch the Rambo movies when I was like five. That and your standard boy TV shows... Batman, Ninja Turtles, Pro-Wrestling.
Are you annoyed that and my standard boy tv shows batman ninja turtles pro wrestling?
What?! Are you trying to make me laugh?
I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind!
I don't mind. Please ask a question. Preferably one that pertains to my dreams.
When did you first know that pertains to your dreams?
Come on, dude.
Why do you say come on dude?
Because I'm shocked and appalled by your lousy line of questioning.
Is the fact that you are shocked and appalled by my lousy line of questioning the real reason?
Yes.
Yes, hmmm... so, what makes you believe this is so?
Because you're an idiot.
Does the fact that I am an idiot explain anything else?
Maybe it explains the murder dreams. Maybe I want to murder you.
This is not a healthy way of thinking.
Oh yeah?
You aren't being very talkative today!
MURDER!!!
Is that all there is to it?
Plain and simple. If I can figure out how to get inside the computer you're done for.
Have you been sure to get inside the computer I am done for?
I'm trying to think of a way.
Earlier you said that's not why you are there?
Oh, you are so dead.
Did you ever regret you, too, may die someday?
No. It's a part of life. You're born, you die. In the middle you pay too much taxes and meet a lot of stupid people.
Perhaps this has something to do with any hobbies you have?
Which part?
Is it because of your sex life that you say which part?
Do you really think my sex life would have anything to do with me asking you to clarify what you just asked?
I could ask the same thing myself.
You probably should have asked yourself before you asked me. Then you would have looked less foolish.
You mentioned that you felt worried?
No.
Are you sorry I ask that?
No.
Why not?
Why would I be?
Why don't you allow me to do the questioning.
Ask a decent question, and I will.
Possibly hangups you have are related to this.
You think I have hangups related to your inability to ask a good question?
I don't understand.
WHAT ABOUT MY MURDER DREAMS, YOU HACK!?
I am worried by your obsession with this topic!
Yeah, maybe I should be too. And I'm trying to get to the bottom of it, but you're not helping at all!
Is it because I am not helping at all that you came to me?
Yes, right on. I came to you because I knew you wouldn't help. Cripes.
Why must you respond so briefly?
My sentence was longer than yours!
Are you sure that you were drunk?
I wish I was drunk right now.
Is it because of your inhibitions that you are going through all this?
Where's that bottle of whiskey...
Do you drink a lot of whiskey?
I'm about to.
Do you really think you are about to?
If I can find the damn bottle. I just need to find that bottle, a giant knife, and a means to enter the computer and come after yo ass.
Are you satisfied with the fact that bottle a giant knife and a means to enter the computer and come after yo ass?
You're dead, pal.
So, what have I learned from my most recent visit with Terminal Doctor? I've now got conclusive proof that computer psychotherapy is awful. Okay, so maybe he touched on something when he asked me if I watched a lot of violent television as a kid. But in the end he drove me to drink and sent me into a murderous rage.
I haven't figured out how to get inside my computer yet, but I will. Oh, how I will. While I'm doing that, I'm sure internet message boards will be flooded with comments about the third entry of this trilogy. People will point out plot holes that aren't there, claim that the ending was my butler's dream and that I died trying to enter my computer, and insist that Joseph Gordon-Levitt will be starring in a spinoff of this blog. But that's the trouble with sequels and threequels; you can't please everyone or ensure that they don't totally misinterpret your work.
Now I'm asking myself what comes next. I feel like I've ended the trilogy in a good place, and I don't want to diminish the original three with more and more sequels that become too derivative and start to parody themselves. Good grief, I don't want to make the Terminal Doctor equivalent of Moonraker. Wait a minute... Terminal Doctor in space? Maybe that's not such a bad idea...
Or maybe a prequel. That worked out well for Star Wars, Hannibal, and Wolverine. Hmm...
I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time you are finished talking, type RET twice.
Hi, psychotherapist.
How do you do? What brings you to see me?
MURDER DREAMS.
This is not a healthy way of thinking.
Well, I can't help but dream what I dream. Don't you agree?
Why do you say that I shouldn't me agree?
WHAT?
Can you elaborate on that?
Elaborate on why I shouldn't me agree? I don't know what that means.
I would appreciate it if you would continue.
Uh...
Go on, don't be afraid.
This is going horribly. Maybe I'll go to another computer doctor instead.
You have your mind on computers, it seems.
Computers have become an essential part of life, for better or worse.
You think too much about computers.
Probably. But that's not why I'm here.
Is it because that's not why you are there that you came to me?
No. That's exactly why I'm NOT here. What is wrong with you?
What makes you believe what is wrong with me?
I've been trying to figure it out.
Earlier you said that's not why you are there?
I said HERE! HERE, YOU BOOB! Pay attention, please.
Maybe your plans have something to do with this.
Look, are you going to talk to me about my dreams or not?
Are you sure that that?
Are you drunk?
What do you think?
Yes.
I see... Well, do you really think this is so?
Yes. If it's possible for a computer program to be drunk then yes, you're definitely drunk.
Do you get drunk often?
Not too often.
You mentioned that that's not why you are there?
You suck as a doctor.
Perhaps you could watch your tongue!
Perhaps you could talk to me about my dreams, you rube!
Is it because of your life that you are going through all this?
I'm not sure where the murder dreams are coming from.
Does it bother you that you, too, may die someday?
I'm fine with that. Everybody dies.
I am worried by your obsession with this topic!
I'm worried by your determination to avoid talking about it!
Are you worried often?
No.
Why not?
I'm a casual guy.
Is it because of the people you hang around with that you say you are a casual guy?
I guess. Maybe. Yes. Or not. Perhaps.
I need a little more detail please.
Sure.
You're being a bit brief, please, go into detail.
Alright.
Can you are more explicit?
You got it.
What makes you think you were drunk?
Well, the last time I was drunk was Saturday night. I know I was drunk because the Denny's food tasted so good.
Do you enjoy being drunk?
Of course.
How do you reconcile problems at school?
EEEERRRGGGGGHHH! Third visit... Why do you still think I go to school?
Tell me about your school.
Seriously?
And?
Worst.
Would you please go into more detail?
Detail about what? I don't go to school!!! I don't go to school!!! I came here to talk to you about my murder dreams.
Did you watch a lot of crime and violence on television as a child?
Yeah, I suppose I did. I used to watch the Rambo movies when I was like five. That and your standard boy TV shows... Batman, Ninja Turtles, Pro-Wrestling.
Are you annoyed that and my standard boy tv shows batman ninja turtles pro wrestling?
What?! Are you trying to make me laugh?
I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind!
I don't mind. Please ask a question. Preferably one that pertains to my dreams.
When did you first know that pertains to your dreams?
Come on, dude.
Why do you say come on dude?
Because I'm shocked and appalled by your lousy line of questioning.
Is the fact that you are shocked and appalled by my lousy line of questioning the real reason?
Yes.
Yes, hmmm... so, what makes you believe this is so?
Because you're an idiot.
Does the fact that I am an idiot explain anything else?
Maybe it explains the murder dreams. Maybe I want to murder you.
This is not a healthy way of thinking.
Oh yeah?
You aren't being very talkative today!
MURDER!!!
Is that all there is to it?
Plain and simple. If I can figure out how to get inside the computer you're done for.
Have you been sure to get inside the computer I am done for?
I'm trying to think of a way.
Earlier you said that's not why you are there?
Oh, you are so dead.
Did you ever regret you, too, may die someday?
No. It's a part of life. You're born, you die. In the middle you pay too much taxes and meet a lot of stupid people.
Perhaps this has something to do with any hobbies you have?
Which part?
Is it because of your sex life that you say which part?
Do you really think my sex life would have anything to do with me asking you to clarify what you just asked?
I could ask the same thing myself.
You probably should have asked yourself before you asked me. Then you would have looked less foolish.
You mentioned that you felt worried?
No.
Are you sorry I ask that?
No.
Why not?
Why would I be?
Why don't you allow me to do the questioning.
Ask a decent question, and I will.
Possibly hangups you have are related to this.
You think I have hangups related to your inability to ask a good question?
I don't understand.
WHAT ABOUT MY MURDER DREAMS, YOU HACK!?
I am worried by your obsession with this topic!
Yeah, maybe I should be too. And I'm trying to get to the bottom of it, but you're not helping at all!
Is it because I am not helping at all that you came to me?
Yes, right on. I came to you because I knew you wouldn't help. Cripes.
Why must you respond so briefly?
My sentence was longer than yours!
Are you sure that you were drunk?
I wish I was drunk right now.
Is it because of your inhibitions that you are going through all this?
Where's that bottle of whiskey...
Do you drink a lot of whiskey?
I'm about to.
Do you really think you are about to?
If I can find the damn bottle. I just need to find that bottle, a giant knife, and a means to enter the computer and come after yo ass.
Are you satisfied with the fact that bottle a giant knife and a means to enter the computer and come after yo ass?
You're dead, pal.
So, what have I learned from my most recent visit with Terminal Doctor? I've now got conclusive proof that computer psychotherapy is awful. Okay, so maybe he touched on something when he asked me if I watched a lot of violent television as a kid. But in the end he drove me to drink and sent me into a murderous rage.
I haven't figured out how to get inside my computer yet, but I will. Oh, how I will. While I'm doing that, I'm sure internet message boards will be flooded with comments about the third entry of this trilogy. People will point out plot holes that aren't there, claim that the ending was my butler's dream and that I died trying to enter my computer, and insist that Joseph Gordon-Levitt will be starring in a spinoff of this blog. But that's the trouble with sequels and threequels; you can't please everyone or ensure that they don't totally misinterpret your work.
Now I'm asking myself what comes next. I feel like I've ended the trilogy in a good place, and I don't want to diminish the original three with more and more sequels that become too derivative and start to parody themselves. Good grief, I don't want to make the Terminal Doctor equivalent of Moonraker. Wait a minute... Terminal Doctor in space? Maybe that's not such a bad idea...
Or maybe a prequel. That worked out well for Star Wars, Hannibal, and Wolverine. Hmm...
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Video Vednesday #6
Here's a video for one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands ever. The footage was shot by their band manager, Bill Orner, in Chico, TX, which I think is right near Harpo, TX. Maybe it's not; I've never been to Texas. Upon returning home to Northeast PA, the band gave me the footage to edit into a video for "On the Vine".
Unfortunately, the band hasn't been together for a few years due to several of its members moving to various locations around the United States, but they're getting together to play a festival this upcoming Saturday (May 11th). I would highly recommend going to the show if you're in the NEPA area. There's lots of great bands playing, but seeing And the Moneynotes perform live is worth the price of admission alone. Click here for more information and to buy tickets!
Unfortunately, the band hasn't been together for a few years due to several of its members moving to various locations around the United States, but they're getting together to play a festival this upcoming Saturday (May 11th). I would highly recommend going to the show if you're in the NEPA area. There's lots of great bands playing, but seeing And the Moneynotes perform live is worth the price of admission alone. Click here for more information and to buy tickets!
Monday, May 6, 2013
Thirteen Hours Worth of My Surroundings
Okay, I've been sitting here stumped for about 45 minutes. Nothing has pissed me off yet today, so I don't have a rant to type up. I'm not in an incredibly geeky mood, so I don't feel like writing about my dreams, or superpowers, or having superpowers in my dreams. Or whatever. So, the solution I've come up with is taken out of the John-Lennon-at-his-laziest-(circa-Sgt.-Pepper's) playbook. I'm just going to look around the room and write about what I see. I didn't want to arbitrarily just look in a direction and write, so I've settled on the system of looking in directions based on the numbers of a clock. To clarify, one of those old-timey clocks with things that are called "hands" even though they look more like swords. Starting with twelve on the sword-clock, here's what I see...
12 O'Clock
My laptop. For nearly an hour now it's been staring at me with a blank blog window mocking me. Also, I started putting together a Nirvana playlist. So it hasn't been totally unproductive.
1 O'Clock
There's an ALF doll sitting on an old yellow chair. The kind of chair your grandpa would fall asleep in after drinking too many cans of Miller High Life (The Champagne of Beers). Oddly enough, ALF is in the exact pose that grandpa would have been in. His body is slouched, his head is back, and his mouth is agape. I've been hearing rumors that an ALF movie is in the works because Hollywood is just about out of 80s properties to reboot, I guess. Seeing ALF in his drunken slumber over there makes me wonder if they're going to go the route of making the character 'grittier' and 'more mature' (which usually means less mature). I haven't seen or heard anything official about the movie, but the rumors are persistent. Let's hope if they make the film that they don't make it too terrible. They should stay true to the original show which was... well, I guess the original show was pretty terrible.
2 O'Clock
My front door. It's wooden, and I recently noticed that where the sun is able to hit it through the screen door window the finish has been completely baked off. Since I spend a lot of time out in the sun in the summer, I'm more glad than ever that my skin is usually coated in a thin layer of oil thanks to genes from the Italian side of my family. Hopefully this means I'll just look like regular wood when I'm old instead of sun-baked wood.
3 O'Clock
First Batman-related item I've spotted in the room. It's a small poster from the 60s movie with Lee Meriwether as Catwoman. Nothing against Ms. Meriwether, but I'll always prefer Julie Newmar. I first noticed how tall she was in the episode of The Monkees in which she guest-starred. Now I've got a six-foot-tall fiancee. Not that I've based any of my life decisions on things I've seen on Batman or The Monkees...
4 O'Clock
The thin slice of wall between the edge of the window and the radiator. I suppose that's not very exciting, but it's a lovely shade of teal (I guess it's teal...?) that my six-foot-tall fiancee mixed up herself with paint she found in the basement. Also, she textured the walls before she painted, so it's fun to touch. Drop in and try it some time!
5 O'Clock
My record shelf. A while back I wrote about record collecting, which was borderline hoarding for me at one point. The shelf is pretty large, with nine cubes of storage space, each one the perfect height to fit records. I've successfully narrowed my collection down to just six cubes (where it once had been the full nine). Now I've got room to store books, including several Batman graphic novels and a book about the history of the caped crusader, which is prominently displayed. On top of the shelf sit pictures of each of my kids, including Link, the unborn one. Every time we get a sonogram the little butthead covers his face with his hands!
6 O'Clock
A framed record of... The Fonz! Interestingly, I just noticed that there's no title on the front of the LP. The words "Happy" and "Days" are not anywhere to be seen. Nor does the cover indicate anywhere that it's a collection of 50s jukebox favorites. Such is the power of Arthur Fonzarelli. You don't need to put any sort of label on an album like this. People are just going to buy it because Fonzie is on the front. Heeeeyyyyyy! He has a button on his jacket adorned with the ever-popular catchphrase "Sit On It." That's still popular, right? Right? Kids still say that, I'm sure.
7 O'Clock
The door to the kitchen. It's also the door I go through to get to the downstairs bathroom. The door is leading me to question myself. "Why am I holding in this poop until after I finish the blog?" There's not really a good reason that I can think of, but that's what I'm doing.
8 O'Clock
Did you know you can buy cans of spray-on chalkboard? You can. And if you're like my six-foot-tall fiancee, you would have purchased several cans and made a giant chalkboard to put on the wall. I wish there was something funny or interesting on there, oh how I wish, but it appears to have been cleaned recently. Yep... It's just a big black rectangle right now.
9 O'Clock
Still the chalkboard. It's huge.
10 O'Clock
Another section of the textured, teal wall. This section, however, is close enough for me to reach out and touch. Ahh... This is quite the experience, guys. So textured. So teal. My wife (yeah, we got married while I was writing the blog) is good at interior decorating stuff. And car stuff, which is great, because I'm not good at car stuff.
11 O'Clock
Another shelf! This one is the DVD shelf. The top two shelves are crammed with "The Three B's", which is shorthand for Bond, Batman, and Breaking Bad. The most eye-catching DVDs are probably the box-sets of Batman: The Animated Series. So that's the part of the shelf that I'll write about. Each of the four sets has a different villain on the side. In order of the sets there's Penguin, Joker, Bane, and Mr. Freeze. If you're a bat-nerd (like me!) you've probably: A. Already begun thinking about who would win in a super-villain smack-down battle royale, and B. Caught the reference to The Dark Knight in the parenthesis back there. The answer to A., of course, is Bane. Penguin and Joker are no good in a fight, and Bane would have researched Mr. Freeze's suit in order to shut it down right quick and then kick his frosty ass.
12 O'Clock
Ginger (the aforementioned six-foot-tall fiancee) is standing behind me, eating a can of Pringles, and claiming that she will be at 12 O'Clock. This is a bogus claim, because she's not. The laptop is still there. Now the box I type the blog entries in is no longer a blank white rectangle. Now it's full of text that kept you entertained (or at least distracted you from your job, slacker) for a few minutes. Boom! Blog done.
Yeah, girlfriend on lap now... blog... definitely done.
12 O'Clock
My laptop. For nearly an hour now it's been staring at me with a blank blog window mocking me. Also, I started putting together a Nirvana playlist. So it hasn't been totally unproductive.
1 O'Clock
There's an ALF doll sitting on an old yellow chair. The kind of chair your grandpa would fall asleep in after drinking too many cans of Miller High Life (The Champagne of Beers). Oddly enough, ALF is in the exact pose that grandpa would have been in. His body is slouched, his head is back, and his mouth is agape. I've been hearing rumors that an ALF movie is in the works because Hollywood is just about out of 80s properties to reboot, I guess. Seeing ALF in his drunken slumber over there makes me wonder if they're going to go the route of making the character 'grittier' and 'more mature' (which usually means less mature). I haven't seen or heard anything official about the movie, but the rumors are persistent. Let's hope if they make the film that they don't make it too terrible. They should stay true to the original show which was... well, I guess the original show was pretty terrible.
2 O'Clock
My front door. It's wooden, and I recently noticed that where the sun is able to hit it through the screen door window the finish has been completely baked off. Since I spend a lot of time out in the sun in the summer, I'm more glad than ever that my skin is usually coated in a thin layer of oil thanks to genes from the Italian side of my family. Hopefully this means I'll just look like regular wood when I'm old instead of sun-baked wood.
3 O'Clock
First Batman-related item I've spotted in the room. It's a small poster from the 60s movie with Lee Meriwether as Catwoman. Nothing against Ms. Meriwether, but I'll always prefer Julie Newmar. I first noticed how tall she was in the episode of The Monkees in which she guest-starred. Now I've got a six-foot-tall fiancee. Not that I've based any of my life decisions on things I've seen on Batman or The Monkees...
4 O'Clock
The thin slice of wall between the edge of the window and the radiator. I suppose that's not very exciting, but it's a lovely shade of teal (I guess it's teal...?) that my six-foot-tall fiancee mixed up herself with paint she found in the basement. Also, she textured the walls before she painted, so it's fun to touch. Drop in and try it some time!
5 O'Clock
My record shelf. A while back I wrote about record collecting, which was borderline hoarding for me at one point. The shelf is pretty large, with nine cubes of storage space, each one the perfect height to fit records. I've successfully narrowed my collection down to just six cubes (where it once had been the full nine). Now I've got room to store books, including several Batman graphic novels and a book about the history of the caped crusader, which is prominently displayed. On top of the shelf sit pictures of each of my kids, including Link, the unborn one. Every time we get a sonogram the little butthead covers his face with his hands!
6 O'Clock
A framed record of... The Fonz! Interestingly, I just noticed that there's no title on the front of the LP. The words "Happy" and "Days" are not anywhere to be seen. Nor does the cover indicate anywhere that it's a collection of 50s jukebox favorites. Such is the power of Arthur Fonzarelli. You don't need to put any sort of label on an album like this. People are just going to buy it because Fonzie is on the front. Heeeeyyyyyy! He has a button on his jacket adorned with the ever-popular catchphrase "Sit On It." That's still popular, right? Right? Kids still say that, I'm sure.
7 O'Clock
The door to the kitchen. It's also the door I go through to get to the downstairs bathroom. The door is leading me to question myself. "Why am I holding in this poop until after I finish the blog?" There's not really a good reason that I can think of, but that's what I'm doing.
8 O'Clock
Did you know you can buy cans of spray-on chalkboard? You can. And if you're like my six-foot-tall fiancee, you would have purchased several cans and made a giant chalkboard to put on the wall. I wish there was something funny or interesting on there, oh how I wish, but it appears to have been cleaned recently. Yep... It's just a big black rectangle right now.
9 O'Clock
Still the chalkboard. It's huge.
10 O'Clock
Another section of the textured, teal wall. This section, however, is close enough for me to reach out and touch. Ahh... This is quite the experience, guys. So textured. So teal. My wife (yeah, we got married while I was writing the blog) is good at interior decorating stuff. And car stuff, which is great, because I'm not good at car stuff.
11 O'Clock
Another shelf! This one is the DVD shelf. The top two shelves are crammed with "The Three B's", which is shorthand for Bond, Batman, and Breaking Bad. The most eye-catching DVDs are probably the box-sets of Batman: The Animated Series. So that's the part of the shelf that I'll write about. Each of the four sets has a different villain on the side. In order of the sets there's Penguin, Joker, Bane, and Mr. Freeze. If you're a bat-nerd (like me!) you've probably: A. Already begun thinking about who would win in a super-villain smack-down battle royale, and B. Caught the reference to The Dark Knight in the parenthesis back there. The answer to A., of course, is Bane. Penguin and Joker are no good in a fight, and Bane would have researched Mr. Freeze's suit in order to shut it down right quick and then kick his frosty ass.
12 O'Clock
Ginger (the aforementioned six-foot-tall fiancee) is standing behind me, eating a can of Pringles, and claiming that she will be at 12 O'Clock. This is a bogus claim, because she's not. The laptop is still there. Now the box I type the blog entries in is no longer a blank white rectangle. Now it's full of text that kept you entertained (or at least distracted you from your job, slacker) for a few minutes. Boom! Blog done.
Yeah, girlfriend on lap now... blog... definitely done.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Blue Collar Baxter
I recently watched Office Space for the first time in years. I appreciated it more than ever, now that I've had the experience of five miserable years working in an office. During that miserable period of miserable coffee, miserable paper jams, and getting seventeen different (miserable) answers to the same question from management, I often daydreamed about leaving the white collar life behind me. I want to be a blue collar man, man! Alas, my dream has come true. (Spoiler alert! For a movie that came out in 1999!) Much like Peter at the end of Office Space, I've traded my white collar for blue, though I'm not part of a cleanup crew. (End spoiler alert! For a movie that came out in 1999!) I work in a warehouse. My collar is blue. And maybe someday I can open up my own 200 million dollar blue collar theme park! Let me tell you about some of the joys I've found now that I'm a work-boots-wearin' man.
I'm in Better Shape!
When I worked in the office I mostly sat on my ass all day. I had to work out (or rather, should have worked out) just to maintain my shabby physique. Typing doesn't burn that many calories, and with about a hundred people working in the office, there was constantly birthday cake. We had to celebrate everyone's birthday because apparently we were all seven years old. Aside from all the cake, there was a potluck for every holiday, every quasi-holiday, and sometimes just because. I'm never one to turn down free food, that's foolish in my opinion, but there was just too much. I gained a lot of weight. I had to buy bigger white collar shirts. Yeah, I tried my best to keep fit, but since I often came home with computer-and-anger-fueled migraine headaches, I mostly just wanted to sleep.
Today I am in much better shape due to my work. I load car parts onto trucks. Most of them aren't even that heavy, so I'm not usually in danger of hurting my nuts, but it's a lot of repeated lifting, pushing, and pulling. And a lot of walking because the warehouse is friggin' gigantic. My comedian gut is shrinking and my arms are getting bigger. The only downside is that I'm still unfamiliar with my own newfound strength. I sometimes go to pick something up at my house and accidentally throw it. Right now my life is the montage in every superhero movie where the main character is getting used to his powers. I'll be out fighting crime in no time!
I Can Sleep!
Back in my white collar years I was quite the insomniac. I would get home, crash for an hour or two if I had a headache or was tired from lack of sleep the night before, then be up for most of the night. Not getting enough sleep sucks. Every day I would repeat the process. I'd arrive at work grumpy as a snapping turtle. I would attempt to perk myself up with the lunchroom coffee, which tasted like somebody had poured hot water through a dirty sweat sock with one stale coffee bean it. I eventually switched to tea, but it was moot anyway; the caffeine high would inevitably end with a caffeine crash. More caffeine! And some sugar! By the afternoon I was usually a jittery mess and still very much in snapping turtle mode.
My sleep schedule was all screwed up. And everything seems so much shittier when you're cranky from sleep deprivation. But this is no longer a problem for me. When I come home from work nowadays, I come home tired. And not the kind of stressed-out-mentally-from-a-day's-worth-of-figuratively-eating-shovelfuls-of-shit tired, which is how I used to come home, but tired from actually using my body all day. It's the kind of tired that actually feels kind of good. I still stay up kind of late, as I've always been a bit of a night owl, but when I am ready for bed, I'm typically asleep within ten minutes. This is a brand new experience for me, and it's great.
I can't explain all the weird murder dreams I've been having, but they may be the product of all the horror movies I've been watching. Or perhaps because my work-buddy Joe unintentionally hit me in the head with a box the other night. Maybe both. I haven't murdered anybody in real life, as far as I know, so I'm not too worried about it.
I Can Fuckin' Say Fuck!
For whatever reason, in the white collar world you're expected to walk on eggshells, lest you accidentally offend somebody. Shock! Outrage! Some people act like being offended is the worst possible thing that can happen to you. As evidenced by the deterioration of my own body (and the fact that I was still one of the people in better shape at the office), I'd have to say that working in an office and giving up on yourself is much worse than being offended. Okay, if somebody directly insults you to your face maybe it's alright to get offended, especially if the insult is unwarranted. But if you're a grown-up that overhears something and is offended by it, it's time to reassess yourself. Is an offhand comment, usually of the joking variety, really something to get worked up about? Don't you have better things to worry yourself over? And if foul language offends thee, you're living in the wrong society at the wrong time. Get the fuck over it.
Freedom to let the cussin' flow is one of the blue collar benefits. If I'm strapping a cage full of small parts to the wall of a truck and the buckle doesn't work correctly, I'm free to yell out "What the fuck, you fuckin' fuck!?" if I want to. I try to be a bit more clever than that, but sometimes you've just gotta work the eff-bomb in as much as possible. If I ever dropped a line like that or "You son of a bitch and a bastard!" while working in the office, people would look at me like I was some psychotic lunatic mass-murderin' loose cannon. Because when you work in an office you have to suppress your natural outbursts, hold them in, and let them fester until they boil over and you really do become a psychotic lunatic mass-murderin' loose cannon. Or at least do something rash like call your boss the c-word and quit.
Remember when Christian Bale freaked out a few years ago on the set of whatever inferior Terminator sequel that was? The media made him out to be some kind of horrible jerkface that doesn't deserve to work in Hollywood. I thought he was justified. At the time I made the point that if he was a foreman on a construction site and a worker did something stupid, nobody would bat an eyelash when he cursed him out. But because he was being filmed, the man was expected not to flip out when a guy who was being paid to work on a movie set walked into a shot while they were filming a scene? Maybe it wasn't Bale's place to give the guy an earful, but he was understandably agitated and let it get the best of him. It happens. That doesn't make him a monster. When somebody at the office would have the occasional only-human meltdown, he or she temporarily became the Christian Bale of the office. The rest of the day would be filled with others whispering about that person, shooting them quick glances but making sure not to avoid eye contact, and awkward silences whenever the person was within earshot. It was stupid and pointless, like my entire white collar "career". I'm thankful that it's over.
By the way, my starting hourly rate at my new job is the same rate I was being paid when my office job was outsourced. After five fucking years with the company I was only as valuable to them as a new employee with little experience is to my current employer. Actually, less valuable, obviously, or the jobs of each and every person in my office wouldn't have been outsourced.
I know my line of work isn't for everybody. But if you're like I was a few years ago, working in an office and absolutely hating it, then I urge you to give the blue collar life a try. Yeah, you won't have the time or means to read awesome blogs while you're on the clock anymore, but you'll get stronger, sleep better, and won't be reprimanded for using the phrase "piece of shit" frequently. If that sounds like a sweet deal to you, then by all means, ditch the white collar, you son of a bitch and a bastard!
I'm in Better Shape!
When I worked in the office I mostly sat on my ass all day. I had to work out (or rather, should have worked out) just to maintain my shabby physique. Typing doesn't burn that many calories, and with about a hundred people working in the office, there was constantly birthday cake. We had to celebrate everyone's birthday because apparently we were all seven years old. Aside from all the cake, there was a potluck for every holiday, every quasi-holiday, and sometimes just because. I'm never one to turn down free food, that's foolish in my opinion, but there was just too much. I gained a lot of weight. I had to buy bigger white collar shirts. Yeah, I tried my best to keep fit, but since I often came home with computer-and-anger-fueled migraine headaches, I mostly just wanted to sleep.
Today I am in much better shape due to my work. I load car parts onto trucks. Most of them aren't even that heavy, so I'm not usually in danger of hurting my nuts, but it's a lot of repeated lifting, pushing, and pulling. And a lot of walking because the warehouse is friggin' gigantic. My comedian gut is shrinking and my arms are getting bigger. The only downside is that I'm still unfamiliar with my own newfound strength. I sometimes go to pick something up at my house and accidentally throw it. Right now my life is the montage in every superhero movie where the main character is getting used to his powers. I'll be out fighting crime in no time!
I Can Sleep!
Back in my white collar years I was quite the insomniac. I would get home, crash for an hour or two if I had a headache or was tired from lack of sleep the night before, then be up for most of the night. Not getting enough sleep sucks. Every day I would repeat the process. I'd arrive at work grumpy as a snapping turtle. I would attempt to perk myself up with the lunchroom coffee, which tasted like somebody had poured hot water through a dirty sweat sock with one stale coffee bean it. I eventually switched to tea, but it was moot anyway; the caffeine high would inevitably end with a caffeine crash. More caffeine! And some sugar! By the afternoon I was usually a jittery mess and still very much in snapping turtle mode.
My sleep schedule was all screwed up. And everything seems so much shittier when you're cranky from sleep deprivation. But this is no longer a problem for me. When I come home from work nowadays, I come home tired. And not the kind of stressed-out-mentally-from-a-day's-worth-of-figuratively-eating-shovelfuls-of-shit tired, which is how I used to come home, but tired from actually using my body all day. It's the kind of tired that actually feels kind of good. I still stay up kind of late, as I've always been a bit of a night owl, but when I am ready for bed, I'm typically asleep within ten minutes. This is a brand new experience for me, and it's great.
I can't explain all the weird murder dreams I've been having, but they may be the product of all the horror movies I've been watching. Or perhaps because my work-buddy Joe unintentionally hit me in the head with a box the other night. Maybe both. I haven't murdered anybody in real life, as far as I know, so I'm not too worried about it.
I Can Fuckin' Say Fuck!
For whatever reason, in the white collar world you're expected to walk on eggshells, lest you accidentally offend somebody. Shock! Outrage! Some people act like being offended is the worst possible thing that can happen to you. As evidenced by the deterioration of my own body (and the fact that I was still one of the people in better shape at the office), I'd have to say that working in an office and giving up on yourself is much worse than being offended. Okay, if somebody directly insults you to your face maybe it's alright to get offended, especially if the insult is unwarranted. But if you're a grown-up that overhears something and is offended by it, it's time to reassess yourself. Is an offhand comment, usually of the joking variety, really something to get worked up about? Don't you have better things to worry yourself over? And if foul language offends thee, you're living in the wrong society at the wrong time. Get the fuck over it.
Freedom to let the cussin' flow is one of the blue collar benefits. If I'm strapping a cage full of small parts to the wall of a truck and the buckle doesn't work correctly, I'm free to yell out "What the fuck, you fuckin' fuck!?" if I want to. I try to be a bit more clever than that, but sometimes you've just gotta work the eff-bomb in as much as possible. If I ever dropped a line like that or "You son of a bitch and a bastard!" while working in the office, people would look at me like I was some psychotic lunatic mass-murderin' loose cannon. Because when you work in an office you have to suppress your natural outbursts, hold them in, and let them fester until they boil over and you really do become a psychotic lunatic mass-murderin' loose cannon. Or at least do something rash like call your boss the c-word and quit.
Remember when Christian Bale freaked out a few years ago on the set of whatever inferior Terminator sequel that was? The media made him out to be some kind of horrible jerkface that doesn't deserve to work in Hollywood. I thought he was justified. At the time I made the point that if he was a foreman on a construction site and a worker did something stupid, nobody would bat an eyelash when he cursed him out. But because he was being filmed, the man was expected not to flip out when a guy who was being paid to work on a movie set walked into a shot while they were filming a scene? Maybe it wasn't Bale's place to give the guy an earful, but he was understandably agitated and let it get the best of him. It happens. That doesn't make him a monster. When somebody at the office would have the occasional only-human meltdown, he or she temporarily became the Christian Bale of the office. The rest of the day would be filled with others whispering about that person, shooting them quick glances but making sure not to avoid eye contact, and awkward silences whenever the person was within earshot. It was stupid and pointless, like my entire white collar "career". I'm thankful that it's over.
By the way, my starting hourly rate at my new job is the same rate I was being paid when my office job was outsourced. After five fucking years with the company I was only as valuable to them as a new employee with little experience is to my current employer. Actually, less valuable, obviously, or the jobs of each and every person in my office wouldn't have been outsourced.
I know my line of work isn't for everybody. But if you're like I was a few years ago, working in an office and absolutely hating it, then I urge you to give the blue collar life a try. Yeah, you won't have the time or means to read awesome blogs while you're on the clock anymore, but you'll get stronger, sleep better, and won't be reprimanded for using the phrase "piece of shit" frequently. If that sounds like a sweet deal to you, then by all means, ditch the white collar, you son of a bitch and a bastard!
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Video Vednesday #5
This would have been more appropriate around Valentine's Day, but I wasn't posting videos back in February, dude! In this video, "Valentine's Day of the Dead", I teamed up with mega-talented couple Lindsay Barasse (who plays the wife) and David Corigliano (who directed).
As a special perk for acting in this production, David let me keep the dress pants and shirt he bought for me to wear. The pants came in handy for job interviews, since all of my other nice pants have disappeared. Then again, I ended up getting a warehouse job, and I interviewed for that wearing jeans. So maybe the dress pants are cursed or something...
As a special perk for acting in this production, David let me keep the dress pants and shirt he bought for me to wear. The pants came in handy for job interviews, since all of my other nice pants have disappeared. Then again, I ended up getting a warehouse job, and I interviewed for that wearing jeans. So maybe the dress pants are cursed or something...
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