Traveling Memories Part I

 On the 4th of July, I broke my usual tradition of watching consecutive Twilight Zone episodes until my eyes became glazed. For once in my life, I  celebrated Independence Day by relishing this country’s glorious (if not flawed) history.  Without the past, our own independence would not have a future, et cetera…et cetera…

    So I went to Philadelphia. I went to the Constitution museum, where I found out that I’m taller than James Madison. That right- That James Madison- the one that wrote the f@*$&in’ Constitution, bitches…

   Okay…. That came out of nowhere.

   Anyway, the Constitution Center, the Philadelphia Federal Reserve, the Betsy Ross Museum, and the Liberty Bell.  Each place had its own glorious ambiance,  pulsating with nostalgia; it was as though the spirit of the past  was right next to you, just waiting to be noticed.

  Of course the feeling wore off after awhile. Among other things,  I worked the graveyard shift the previous night and only attained one hour of sleep.

    Then there was Gummy Bear. It had been less than two months since we broke up. On the bus ride to Philadelphia,  thoughts of her lingered in my mind. Memories of our past times together flashed through my mind, with each memory sharply succeeding the next; it was like those cheesy montages you see in the movies, especially before the hero finally realized that he screwed up after all.

  If anything else, I wanted to call her. Maybe I left something at her house. Perhaps there she left something in my car. 

   I didn’t call, by the way. That would be too obsessive, maybe borderline criminal. Antistalking laws weren’t just for Jodie Foster fans, after all. Besides, it was time to continue my life- to “move on” in other words.

     Such thoughts repeated itself when I went on the Liberty Bell Tour. It came to the point where I just stopped following the group and pretended to read the inscription.

    And that was when I smelled perfume.

Lincoln’s Bicentenial

    I will write about this topic as quick as possible, considering that it’s very cold in this room.
 
 Today is the bicentennial of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th president in U.S. History and perhaps the most widely read about president ever. 
 
   Damn, its cold in here. Anyway….

 It is quite difficult to study Lincoln without thinking about Endurance. His term (1861-1865) can certainly ruled out as being  Pax Americana. Even before his inauguration, seven states had already seceded from the Union. Those states were South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas.

  Oh, and I was just told to remind you all that James Buchanan was a big pussy for not doing anything about the secession of those states.

 Moving on…

 Despite all the turmoil that transpired, Lincoln would later be transmogrified into a god-like figure. He’s on the 5-dollar bill and the Penny. The Battle Hymn of the Republic cannot be sang without thinking of his stoic face- a mug that has left an indelible mark on our nation’s collective memory. A Nebraska town was named after him in 1867, which was quite an honor in those days. Since 1922, the Lincoln Memorial has been the most popular destination for D.C. tourists.

 The response to Lincoln’s myth building alone-I think- has made him an inspiration to many who are politically disenfranchised or at least misunderstood by mainstream America. There is entire bibliography of Lincoln as someone who’s clinically depressed, a prostitute sympathizer, a vegetarian, a closet atheist, and…
 Wait a second. I will be right back…

    Okay, I did not want to tell you this, but the ghost of Abraham Lincoln is in my dinning room, floating just a few inches away from me. He has notified me via text message (apparently ghosts cannot talk) to tell all of you that no- despite what you might have heard, Lincoln is absolutely, unequivocally, NOT GAY.
 His message leads me to my next point. It is difficult to understand Lincoln without putting past actions into context. There has been much speculation, for example, that asserts that Lincoln had commit impeachable acts while president. Indeed he suspended Habeas Corpus. However, many scholars overlook that a rebellion took place and the constitution allowed Lincoln to suspend it among confederate soldiers and the like.  
 There was also a converjfo;jakf;adlfkja

 Shit! Sorry for that typo. Lincoln was trying to get me a massage. It was distracting as you can possible imagine. But I told him he was being inappropriate and he swore on his wife’s grave that he would stop.

 As I was writing, many misunderstandings about Lincoln have perpetuated myths, which although won’t ruin his historical reputation, still need to be addressed. History, after all, his understanding the truth of our past and the truth cannot be ascertained without accuracy.
 There is no evidence that Lincoln was a frequent log cabin builder. In-
- (sigh). I was just asked by the ghost if I could care to join him at his new log cabin.
- And he just placed a teddy bear on my computer desk. This is going to be a long day. I wish Gummy bear were here.

Part II

 The rumbling increased. The house windows started to vibrate. Ditto for my car window, which popped like a balloon, sending triangle shaped shards into my hair and on my face.

   I tried my best to keep my balance. I really did. But the vibration from the concrete proved to be too much. The vibrations hitting my chest did not help either. I fell down and streaks of snow spurted up in the air.

   Then came more snow- a large mound of it. It landed on top of me, basically forming a shallow wintry grave.

   RAWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL. That is about as accurate as I spell it. I wanted to be scared by, say, screaming. There was no time for that. Before I knew it, that very growl, sounding like a dragon who smoked one too many cigarettes, pushed me away to the to the next house. Again, the snow broke my fall.

   Then things started to get darker and darker. My eyes closed. Then there was nothing.

    I woke up several minutes later.  What I thought to be bird droppings landed on my face. They didn’t smell but they sure my eyes open.

   Then I realized it was not bird droppings at all. It was some thick, yellow mucus.  I could tell how thick it was, considering it was all over my body. So, yes- I was slimed in other words.

    I looked up.

    The thing must have been 10 feet tall or maybe more. God knows how many meals it was capable of consuming. It’s nappy white fur was embedded with various twigs, tree bark chips, and even bird feathers. Such things were on his legs.

   It’s eyes were blue but looked partially pink, in obvious sign that this thing- a yeti, a snowman or whatever- did not get much sleep. While frozen in more ways then one, I got this funny feeling in my head. What if it fell asleep and landed on me?

   Before that question could be answered, the thing picked me up by its left hand. Then another funny thought came to me: Pretend you’re on a Ferris wheel. Pretend I’m on a Ferris wheel? I’m about to be fucking eating alive.

   How do I know this? Well, it slowly moved me towards its open mouth. Its teeth were sharp as well as yellow and brown.

  This is it, I thought as I closed my eyes and breathed heavily. My life was over. Maybe I was wrong about being an atheist and God was nothing more than a large yeti who only wanted to be loved and have me not lust after my girlfriend unless I planned on marrying her.

  And that’s when he stopped. Its eyes widen, as though he remembered me from somewhere.  I did meet a lot of various unique beings at college. Maybe we had a class together.

   “Awwwwwwwww.” I did not say that. The yeti did.  Never did such a sweet interjection come out of such a guttural baritone. He continued.

     “Awwwwww,” the Yetti said, “Look at the cute teddy weddy bear. I will name her Jackie, put a purty liddle bow on its head, and love her until the sea stots tu crummmble. “

    “Excuse me, ” I replied, “but I’m not a gi-”

    -It was too late. It started hugging me tightly, almost to the point where I could no longer breathe. Oh, and the yeti shook me like a baby. The thing even patted its paw on my back. I did not burp, but I did receive a few scratches on my back- large bloody ones.

  Great! I went from being afraid of death to afraid of becoming a yeti’s bitch. It could not get any worse.

  “I lovvvve youuuuu. IIIII lovvvve youuu.”

   That’s right: The Yeti started to serenade me to death.

     “Three wooords that are sooo di-viiiiiiiiiinnnee.”

   And where were the authorities in all of this? They c chase down animal abusers but not human abusers?

   And what about the press?  Ok, I can see the local press was not coming. After all, I called the managing editor a walking shriveled penis with a tie. 

But what about the rest of the press? If this is not a human-interest story? Then I’m certainly not human.

   I suppose even if the ambulance came, I wouldn’t hear it. The yeti was now singing a Paul McCartney song- one he wrote when Linda was just learning to play the keyboard.

“Listen,” I finally had the courage to say.

   And that when he started to dance the waltz with me. 1-2-3, 1-2-3, he started spinning me around, all the while starting a minor earthquake.

   “LISTEN UPPPP,” I screamed and man, did I scream,. My throat was sore and I even felt bile on my tongue.

      Finally, he stopped.  “Yes, honey,” It replied to me.

     “Look, I’m not your honey. I’m a dude. How about UI make you some hot cocoa. “

       He then looked at me inquisitively, as though he was about to sign a contract. “With cute tiny marshmallows?” he asked gently.

   “Um… Yes. Yes, – hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.”

  After shrugging his shoulders he gently put me down. “I love tiny marshmallows, ” he repeated “they tickle my cheeks. Plus I read in the NY times that they dilate blood vessels and relieve stress. “

    Who knew?

   We sat at the kitchen table and had hot chocolate (marshmallows included of course). Apparently, the yeti knew a lot of subjects, ranging from American history to quantum physics out of all things. He even explained to me the difference between a hill and a mountain.

   When talking about 19th century philosophy, I spoke how ontological empiricism was a much myopic inquiry than its name suggests. As valid as it is, its not the only source of reality regardless of what Hegel espoused about the importance of recognition.

    Of course even before I mentioned Hegel’s name, the Yeti fell asleep. Apparently, I’m quite persuasive.

    The authorities came afterwards. No, I told them I was okay., he didn’t harm me.  I even mentioned I fed him hot chocolate. And with tiny marshmallows no less.

    The two men in black suits both giggled at the same time. “Yea, said on of them,” That sounds like David all right.

    Then after a few other black suits came in and transported its sleeping body, they were even nice enough to shovel the rest of my driveway.

      I think about that day as the snow starts to melt. I always wondered what happened to David. Did he go back into the wild? Did he shave his hair and lived as a human? Does he make his living washing dishes at Friendly’s ?

    Well, I got to go. I just received a text message from David. We have a lot of catching up to do

The Last Time I Shoveled Snow. Part 1

  
-  I’m glad the snow is not sticking to the ground and mounding up to my neck.
-     I still remember the last time I shoveled snow. The following is what had transpired.
-
-    Thick layers of snow encompassed the driveway and instantly I sighed. Why did I have to look out the window, I thought to myself
-
-        Considering I was working nights anyway, it was time to shovel. After putting on my long johns, double layer winter socks, a pair of work jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, my Irish revolutionary leather jacket, a pair of snow boots, and pair of Isotoner gloves, a thick winter hat, and a scarf around my neck- I discovered I couldn’t move. Just kidding!
-
-     After getting the shovel, I face the vengeance of each winter god.
-
-     When I closed the door, I heard something rumble. I thought someone was having car trouble so, I looked to my left.
-
-    There was nothing there. At least there was nothing visible; the wind was not too heavy, but it was nonetheless a little blinding.  So without giving the noise any more thought, I resumed shoveling the front yard porch.
-
-    Minutes went by…  Before long, half of the driveway was completed. I’m the type that shovels in systematic vertical lines. Trust me- it’s more productive and you also get some exercise to boot. What’s there not to like?
-
-      That is not to say I was having a picnic. My arms were getting sore, so I stopped for a breather.
-
-    Then the rumbling had returned. Odd, I thought.  For some reason, I thought it might be my stomach. I did have four slices of French Toast- a breakfast certainly not recommended by the Surgeon General. I’m 30 years old and these pleasures will haunt me eventually.
-
-    So I touched my stomach. I did feel pain. Therefore, I couldn’t be my stomach.
-
-    Then it came again. This time around, the rumble was much louder. So before making any assumptions, I looked in all directions. I saw nothing. I heard all- but I saw nothing.
-
-     BOOM!
-
-    To Be Continued….

Meet The Amazing Gummy Bear

A couple of weeks ago-ancient history in a blogosphere timeline it seems- I typed a tangent about “some hottie” I saw at my local library.

            I was wrong. Now here’s why.

            Since then, I met someone who warms my winter chills with just her words, for I know those expressions come from a loving and earnest place. Considering I have an anonymous identity here, the same goes for her. I will call her “Gummy Bear” considering that’s her favorite ice cream topping; that and she’s sweet.   

            Mere words do not adequately express how beautiful she is, both inside and out. I only know that she makes me happy. From our dates together and daily phone conversations, I’m glad to realize I do the same.

            So I write this, not to just emotionally recant that other blog entry, but because its need to be said how wonderful Gummy Bear is.

 She’s sweet and generous to everyone around her, even the mean customers that occasionally confront her at work- those who certainly do not deserve such kindness (she gives them the middle finger after they leave).

Gummy Bear’s concern for humanity as a whole and overall intelligence will make her a great social worker. Hell, it will make her a great anything. 

And she’s a reader. Ahhhhh. What a relief. I wish that was a common trait among most people, especially among college educated adults, but it is not. 

            She also keeps me in line but not in a nagging way. Gummy Bear balances me out. My close friends, on the other hand, just let me be even when I’m chasing William Shatner for an autograph on the Sana Monica freeway (just kidding, Captain). 

            And every time Gummy Bear smiles at me, it feels like I’m being hugged by a rainbow and kissed by a muffin.

            WHAAAAAAAAAT?

            The point is that I hope our relationship keeps on growing.

            Wish me luck.

Evidence We’re In Hell

 

            Evidence That We’re In Hell:

Psycho Cancer Strikes Again:  During this past week, America lost one of its great literary writers to lung cancer. That gifted man was John Updike, author of such classics as “Witches of Eastwick,” “The Rabbit is Rich,” “Couples,” and the underrated and underappreciated, “A Month of Sundays.”

Gamblers Love Psycho Cancer:  According to a recent survey I just read in the (Censored) Press,  47 percent of Atlantic City casino clientele think it’s “ok” to have smoking sections inside the casino facilities. According the article, a Minnesota resident said he would never go to the AC casinos if they banned smoking. Such is a sign of addiction.

Chocolate Canolis for Brains: Last Week, the Italian Prime Minister told reporters that Italian women were so dangerously beautiful that they need in armed guards to prevent them for being raped. The brain-fart comment was uttered during the same week that a brutal rape case had hit national headlines… IN ITALY?

 

 

Zack and Miri: A Review

  Yes, Zack and Miri is not the exact title of the movie, but I’m too dignified to complete it. It’s one of those titles that is arbitrarily long for the sake of making you roll your eyes or giggle. Just remember this: The name of the real title for Ace Ventura is really Ace Ventura:Pet Detective. 

    Essentially, this movie is about two people with no dignity left. Zack and Miri (Seth Rogan and Elizabeth Banks) are two roommates/platonic friends who are grossly  behind on their bills. As as result, there are using a metal garbage can as a heater. To add insult to injury, both work at the mall, which translates into existential dread; personally, I think it made more sense if these guys were suddenly laid off in a factory, considering that’s what happens in small towns like theirs.

   So why not make a pornographic film? They are in debt, both have minimum wage jobs, and both need to money fast. And furthermore, both have dead parents. ”So who are we going to disappoint?” Zack asks rhetorically. 

  That is when things get interesting to put it mildly. The plot requires that somebody know somebody; that way, it can be explained why the two schmo protagonists were able to get the costumes, a camera, a skilled camera man, costumes, etc..

   And yes, there is a real porn actress in this movie. Her name is Katie Morgan- the one who plays Stacy. How do I know this? I know this because some perv in the theater shouted- “Oh my God! That’s porn star, Katie Morgan.” That’s too weird to make up.

   And yes, that’s Tracy Lords as “bubbles.”

  Anyway, considering this is a Kevin Smith project, the story must have a deep subplot. In this case, it is Zack and Miri’s buried love for one another. Nobody has to be a genius to recognize their fate, however, Rogen and Banks pulled it off. Smith made the intelligent move of having their love grow in small steps, as oppose to the long monologues that you see at the end of most romcoms. Behind any good actor is a good rhetorician and both are convincing that making a porn is not the self-destructive move it would become in real life.

  If anything, the movie is an excellent diversion. I recommend it…. But not when your parents are around obviously.

WILLIAM SHATNER IS MY @#$%in Hero!!!

     Actually, that is not true.  Since I got your attention, I like to review Shatner’s autobiography, Up Until Now: The Autobiography.  Certainly it is not a movie, but since it is about a movie star I’m not breaking any rules on this movie blog.

     Some have been lucky enough to see the many faces of Shatner- from stage actor to sci-fi icon, to hammy actor, to Emmy award winning hammy actor. Oh, and let’s not forget the spokesman for Priceline.com 

        Autobiographies always offered readers the advantage of enjoying the many facets of one’s life and  from the point of view of that very person himself, in addition to discovering something you may have otherwise not known about the subject at all. You get both in Up Until Now.

         The following are things I have not known about Shatner until reading this book:

          1) Shatner was the star of 1965 movie, Incubus. That is not fascinating in and of itself. However, this is: Incubus was the only movie done entirely of Esperanto, an artificial language constructed in the 1800’s.

        2) Shatner loves horses. Many of you might reply, “duh” but Shatner does not seem to be the type to ride and raise horses.

        3) Shatner has a business degree. Can you believe that? Imagine him saying “Pleassssee. You must. Calculate your traveling the expenses by the… Utilization of the accrual method. And don’t forget to go on priceline.com. ” ( I kid because I love). But  perhaps since Shatner obtained the degree from a Canadian University or because he obtained it in the 1950’s, he officially has a “commerce” degree.

     4) Shatner did most of his stunts on T.J. Hooker. With lawsuits and liability insurance, do you really think someone can do that today?

     5) He says Star Trek positively changed his life. 

       Yes, Shatner mentions about Star Trek. He even gives Trekkies like me inside info as the first unofficial Star Trek convention( Newark Library, 1969) and the official one( New York 1972, three years before Shatner first convention appearence. And did you know that the first Spock fan club was established before the first Star Trek fan club? Set you phasers to Wow.

       The highlight of this book is Shatner’s unconventional style. There are times in the book where he “pauses” to go online to his website or make an antidote, which at first seems to have nothing to do with his previous point; but it does. In the first chapter alone, Shatner goes on a tangent about how it was to write the first chapter of the book.

     Overall, it was an enjoyable, funny reading. It was one of the few books, which I felt the intense tone of the entire narrative- a feet usually made in literary classics.  With the exception of the a few serious moments, Up Until Nowis funny from cover to cover. If this book does not make you a converted Shatner fan, nothing will.

The Matador: A Review

It’s like Pierce Bronson like you never seen him before. Such is a trite way of beginning this review, but it is the truth.

  He’s a hitman who trots around the globe, finishing assignments by fiinish lives.  Not only he  does he travels to exotic locations but he also has wild, mind-blowing sex with even more extoic looking women. What is there not to love about his uninhibited life?

  Oh, and he is also having a nervous breakdown.

    The same is true about Greg Kanneir. He plays a traveling salesman who not only has been laid ooff but also physically lost part of his house during a turbulent rain storm.Similar to Bronson’s numerous one-night hump sessions, the only thing going for Kanneir’s character is his supporting wife.

   Such is the set up for the funny but poigiant “The Matador,” a bromance about two midlife crises meeting each other and find blanance in an unlikely friendship.

    It is always ironic how movies like this one are about people in midlife crisises. For those who lived long enough without obtaining facial wrinkles,  human dred, unlike voting that supposed to buttress it, does not have a minumum age requirement. In that way, the Matador is univesal.

   It brings to the 2nd inrony in the film. The movie is also about the wife. She lost something more subtantial than a wild lifestyle or a fleeting comission-only career: She lost a child in an accident. Indeed Kanneir’s character also shares the lost, but it seems that since all children come from the the tradgedy is more personal for the mother; she, after all, lost something that was a literal part of herself.

   And yet, despite the dreaded set up, the movie is pretty funny in its own offbeat way. Most impressive is the subtlety of the jokes amplified by context.  Growing a moustache like your new best friend is not funny in itself, and yet, it makes you laugh simply because it makes sense.  Who has not adapted to the likes of those around them?

  Don’t get me wrong: psychoanalysing the characters is not the only enjoyment offered in “the Matador.” Some might complain that for a movie about a hitman there are no edgy action sequences. But who cares? It was scary enough seeing Bronson cry.  Ugh.

Evil Dead: A Review

 ”What movies I like? I enjoy horror movies with vaampiirrres, zooombies, and all that stuff. You like scary movies?

   “Not as much as I used to. I much rather enjoy being enlightened than scared.“

     The following was a dialogue from my last date which became horrible. She ended up being eaten by Zombies who had a craving for stuck up bitches. But I digress.

   I thought about that exchange when renting the cult classic, “Evil Dead.” The horror/comedy hybrid has been more to my liking, especially this time of year when the Halloween merchandise is already on the shelves.  

   A synopsis in this case is not necessary. You don’t need psychic abilities nor creative writing skills to figure out the plot outline but here’s one anyway:

 Basically, Bruce Campbell, his long chin and buddies go out to the woods for a weekend of good times and yes, some old fashioned whoopie making.  

   While the fellas go down stairs to investigate some creepy cacophony(that is a big word for “noise”), an ancient book is found. Like in all movies of its kind, it is written in an archaic language and reading it aloud in English is a very big no-no.

   Of course in movies of its kind, so breaks the rule. In this movie’s case, however, it is a tape recording of a scholar- one who visited the cabin in the during pre-television days or long ago in other words.

   That is the setup. The rest is up to you to find out.

    “Evil Dead” is one of the first movies of its kind. It makes you laugh one moment and then scares the crap out of you the next. In my case, I laughed and was scared at the same time, an emotional combo in which I never experienced previously.

   Never in my life did a blood spewing crotch seem so hilarious. But I digress.

       The horror genre is one that always took itself way to seriously. Sometimes the scares in similar gore fest are two fold: You are either scared from what you see on the screen or you are scared of the consequences if you just scoff at the spooky effects;just imagine Wes Craven chasing you with the ax and all because you laughed at the lame double-digit Freddy Krugger sequel . This movie is not the case, because it does not take itself seriously and most of all, it counters today’s torture porn that has mistaken as spooky Halloween fare among moviegoers.

   A movie like “Evil Dead” does not take itself seriously. Hmmm. Maybe with today’s real life scares, we should all be able to relax. Life is too short to live in fear even for two hours. After all, it was James Thurber who once said that humor is pain in retrospect. It only leads to one question: Who the hell is James Thurber?