Cellar Dwellers Blog-O-Rama

Bobble Head Nite this Weekend! BC Times Coverage

2010-04-30T13:20:00.002-04:00

The Cellar Dwellers' giant sketch comedy show, Bobble Head Nite in 3D, is just a day away. It's going to be your first chance in over a year to catch the Dwellers doing a full sketch show, and it'll also be the first time you can see a show involving every current member of the troupe! It's going to be huge.

Better yet, the Dwellers are set to revolutionize live theater with the unveiling of their brand new 3D technology. Everyone in attendance will get a pair of 3D glasses so that they can fully enjoy this new form of sketch comedy... something that the Dwellers have developed over the past 13 years!

You can read all about the show in today's issue of the Beaver County Times, as well as PGHArts.org!

Serious Sketch Comedy This Saturday!

2010-02-20T10:21:00.004-05:00

It's been well over a year since the Cellar Dwellers graced the stage with the scripted word. The troupe was built on the foundations of hilarious sketch comedy, and next Saturday they'll be returning to their roots! The Cellar Dwellers are special guests in the Serious Comedy Show at the CLO Cabaret Theater in Pittsburgh.

This long-running show features Pittsburgh comedy troupes Hustlebot, Irony City, and the Hodgepodge Society. This Saturday, February 27th, the Cellar Dwellers will be joining these folks for an evening. The Dwellers will be presenting a 20-minute set of sketch comedy. It's going to be a great showcase of Pittsburgh comedy!

The show is at the CLO Cabaret, in the same building as the O'Reilly Theater in Pittsburgh's Cultural District--you may have seen Forever Plaid there. The show starts at 10:00pm, and admission is just $5 (unless you've been to another show in the district that night, then it's free!) Don't miss this chance to see the Dwellers doing some hilarious sketch comedy along with performances from three awesome Pittsburgh comedy troupes!

The James is Moving Away Show

2010-01-19T09:26:00.002-05:00

It's been a while since we've written anything on this blog, but big news calls for extreme measures. This Friday, January 22nd, 2010, will be a very special performance of our weekly FN'Improv show: It's James's farewell.

Jimmy has been with the Dwellers for almost a decade, but the time has come for him to move away (Cleveland, to be specific). You'll hopefully still catch him at a show from time to time, but for the most part this is it. He has left an incredible mark in this troupe, writing and contributing to some of the Dwellers' best sketches, and honing his improvisation skills with extreme professionalism. He's also really good at hosting "Talk Show."

So this Friday, we'll be having a special going-away show. There will be an assortment of guest performers, including musical duo Uke Skywalker & Tuba Fett. We'll have some food. There'll be some surprises we're keeping close to the vest. It's going to be a great show, and we hope you'll attend.

Check out FN'Improv this Friday, Jan. 22 at 10:00pm on the third floor of the Beaver Valley Bowl in Rochester, PA.

Kicking Off the Summer with FN'Improv

2009-05-29T10:05:00.002-04:00

So in case you haven't heard, FN'Improv is getting ready to kick off summer in style! Our weekly improv show has gone through some changes in the past year, and one big thing we've done is welcome more special guests to the stage. This June, the Cellar Dwellers are rocking three consecutive weeks of guest performers!

Friday, June 12th the Dwellers are featuring the Pittsburgh-based improv troupe Irony City. If you've been to the CLO Late-Nite Cabaret, or Club Cafe, you may have caught this short-form improv troupe. Now you can see them perform live at FN'Improv along with the Dwellers!

Friday, June 19th, Bait & Switch is making a triumphant return to the BV Bowl! It's been a while since this awesome musical duo has appeared at FN'I, and we're psyched to have them back. If you haven't caught them at FN'I before, you won't want to miss them this time.

Friday, June 26th the Dwellers welcome Jeff DeSantis and the Troubled Saints! This is the first time they will be performing at the Beaver Valley Bowl, and the first time we've ever welcomed a full band to the theater! It's going to be an excellent evening.

The Cellar Dwellers perform FN'Improv every Friday night from 10:00pm until 11:30pm(ish) on the third floor of the Beaver Valley Bowl in Rochester. Admission is $3. Just $3. I mean, that's cheaper than a movie, cheaper than driving to Pittsburgh, and certainly cheaper than going to a bar (besides, you can always do that after the show).

Improv on Youtube

2008-11-06T16:27:00.003-05:00

The Cellar Dwellers have just uploaded four new videos to YouTube. These are a handful of hysterical improv games taken from our brand new and upcoming TV episodes on Western PA's Comcast On Demand!

Check out this great game of Fade Right:

You can check out the other three episodes by visiting our YouTube page!

And make sure you check out the whole episodes located on Comcast On Demand! Just go to Your Town, Entertainment, Comedy Spotlight, and pick a Cellar Dwellers episode!

Psst... Free Chicken...

2008-10-16T20:05:00.002-04:00

Hey, you're planning on checking out the Cellar Dweller show at Geneva tomorrow, right?

Oh yea! I read about that in the paper.

Yeah, that was a great write-up.

It was! Nice pictures, too... What's the segway scooter skit about?

You'll see... Anyways, I wanted to tell you about getting free chicken.

Free?

Yeah! Chick-fil-A, at the Beaver Valley Mall, gave the Cellar Dwellers coupons to give to anyone who comes to the show. So you come to the show, you get a coupon for 3 totally free chicken strips at the mall.

Three chicken strips! Holy moly, that could feed a small family!

Correct, sir! And if you think about it, that's like $3 off admission.

Can I see the show now?

Um... you have to wait until Friday night.

But I want to see the show and then get chicken!

You have to wait!

Fine.

Prez Dispenser

2008-10-14T11:42:00.003-04:00

Hey did you hear about the new Cellar Dwellers sketch comedy show?

No...

Well now! Let me just tell you that this is the first sketch show these guys have done in over a year!

A year? Sheesh, what have they been doing?

Hey, they've been busy with an On Demand television series! And they've been performing improv shows all over Western PA.

Alright, I get it... what about this show?

Right. The show's call Prez Dispenser. It's freakin' funny.

Well the poster is funny... are there people dressed like PEZ dispensers in the show?

Um, no. But the show does feature a series of great sketches about two candidates running for president. There's also skits about a freelance haz-mat worker, David Mamet-esque segway scooter salesmen, and beer cannovators.

Cannovators? What the heck is that?

You'll have to come to the show to find out! The show is almost two hours of original sketch comedy and theater improv scenes!

The show has improv too? That's cool!

You bet it is! And you've got four chances to see it!

Four! Maybe I'll go to all of them!

You can check out the show this Friday (Oct 17) at Geneva College's Bagpiper Theater, next Friday (Oct 24) at the Blue Violet Cafe in Rochester, next Sunday (Oct 26) at the Blue Violet...

A Sunday night show! That's awesome, but I hope it doesn't interfere with the Steelers.

Don't worry, all three Beaver County shows start at 8pm! So the Steelers will be done by the time the show starts.

Nice. Wait--I thought you said there were four shows?

Yes, the fourth show is a special post-election performance in Pittsburgh! It's on Saturday, November 8th at ModernFormations. That show starts at 9pm!

Wow, there's so many chances for me to catch this show. It'd be a real shame if I didn't see it!

Darn skippy.

Thanks! I'll see ya at one of the shows.

Awesome! And if you need more info, check out our website: theCellarDwellers.com

Oh, and what's this show rated?

PG-13.

Like always!

Backyard of Dreams

2008-08-20T20:41:00.002-04:00

The winds of summer were whispering to Joe: If you build it, they'll more than likely come if they don't already have plans.

And so, never one to disobey whispering voices, Joe set to work on his grand construction project, a wiffle ball field in his back yard. The Cellar Dwellers have been playing wiffle ball together for a number of years, but in a largely unorganized fashion. This year, however, at Joe's annual "Happy Fun BBQ," they would be playing in style.

Joe began back in April by creating an artistic rendering and schematics for his backyard field. What was essentially a digital-napkin drawing would eventually become his greatest achievement.

Measuring the field would be the hardest part. Joe would do much of the labor himself, spending hours walking straight lines with measuring tape and string. Everything would need to be exact to avoid any rule conflicts during play. Unlike baseball or softball, wiffle ball is a generally lawless beast. There are "official" rules at Wiffle.com, but even those are subject to change depending on the situation, lay of the land, and people involved. Such questions often arise like "is it foul if the ball hits a tree?"; "are you out if you knock over someone's drink?"; and "where is the strike zone?" Joe, ever a lover of detail, made sure to tackle most issues prior to the opening game.

Joe spent months toiling away in the backyard. He went to Lowe's and purchased yards of green plastic fencing and PVC pipe to construct the massive wall that spanned the outfield. As the schematic shows, he also had plans for a "big green monster," but because of the trees in the backyard, this wound up being unnecessary; Mother Nature would provide the monsters.

After constructing his wall, he moved on to the bases. He wisely opted for flat rubber bases instead of the more authentic base bags used in baseball. While he may claim this was because of cost concerns, others were just happy not to have to fear twisting an ankle. Once the bases were in place, and correctly measured, he set to work drawing the baselines. For this, Joe used flour, string, and a cart to get everything straight and professional.

The final touch to the field was a working scoreboard. After constructing the stand, Joe carved up squares of dry erase board and glued them on. This would allow teams to write in their name and keep track of the score for every inning (he also left a space for outs). This would be one of the first wiffle ball stadiums to offer this sort of score-keeping luxury, and make it up easier for fans to keep track of stats in their programs.

Joe's field (which goes by a number of names, including "The Sonny Bono Memorial Wiffle Ball Field" and "The Tom Selleck Memorial Wiffle Ball Field"), had its inaugural game last Saturday, August 16th at the Happy Fun BBQ. The full game, which lasted roughly two and a half hours and nine whole innings, was between the aptly named "Sellecks" and the "Pink Ponies."

Throughout the game, the goal of both teams (obviously) was to hit a home run. This, however, proved harder than first thought. The outfield wall was a mere two yards or so behind the second base, but the fly balls never seemed to make it over. A few were nabbed by the trees, which created an instant game of Plinko for the outfielders to deal with. Other hits just stopped short, or bounced off the fence. It wasn't until after the game, when a second, shorter game began that star-hitter Big Matt Bower smashed one out of the park. Bottle rockets were shot into the air to celebrate.

Yes, Joe's dream of having his own wiffle ball stadium finally came true, with a little bit of elbow grease. Who knows when it's beautiful greens will be graced by the sneakers of great athletes... but so long as he has it, people will probably stop by... if they can.

James Wants That Cake

2008-07-24T13:14:00.001-04:00

I wish that lady would stop making so much noise. I come to this coffee shop to drink coffee and read a little before I have to go to work. I don’t want to hear her insipid, keening prattling on. Ok. I get it. Everyone in the coffee shop gets it. She’s getting married. Whoop-dee-freakin-do. I’m getting married too. You don’t hear me making big freaking deal about in front of a roomful of strangers. I swear to God if she keeps this up, she is going to rue this day. Rue it. Ok, first I’m going to turn around and give her one of my patented shut-the-hell up withering stares. That will show her, the stupid…

Hold up, just one second.

There’s cake.

On the table. A lot of cake. They have like boxes of cake over there. What are they doing with all that cake? More importantly, how can I get some of that sweet, sweet pastry in my mouth? Just look at it. They have square cakes, round cakes, thick cakes, thin cakes, cakes adorned with frosted flowers, cakes with classy red icing, cakes sitting on top of larger cakes. It’s a veritable cake wonderland on that table, and I want to be Alice to that cake wonderland. I’ll gladly dive through any number of rabbit holes to frolic freely amongst those frosted delights. And by ‘frolic freely amongst those frosted delights’ I mean eat the fuck out of that cake.

Ok. So how exactly do I go about getting at that cake? What I need is some sort of distraction; introduce a little chaos in the coffee shop. I could yell fire. I could call in some favors. I could convince a friend to come in and pretend to rob the place at gunpoint. Then when everyone’s running around screaming for mercy, I simply walk over and purloin some sweet, sweet pastry. No. None of my friends would do that. Even if they would, they would want a cut of the cake loot. I’m not really looking to share the cake with any of my jerk friends. Maybe I could throw a smoke bomb in the middle of the room. When the joint is filled with thick smoke, I calmly stride over, tuck the cake under my arm, and disappear into the world. That’s a good plan. That could work. Now, where can I find a smoke bomb? It’s not like I carry them around with me on a utility belt. Dammit. Why don’t I have a utility belt fully stocked with wonderful toys like smoke bombs? You know you think about buying some smoke bombs, but you always talk yourself out of it? “When am I ever really going to need a smoke bomb?” You say to yourself. So now, here I am in dire need of a smoke bomb with no damned smoke bombs. Note to self, next time you think about buying smoke bombs; just buy the stupid smoke bombs. They’ll come in handy. There are probably two to three times a day they’ll come in handy.

No. None of those plans will work. I need to come up with something quick. They’re starting to eat the cake. Just look at it. So soft and moist. Is that a raspberry layer? I love when there’s a raspberry layer. I need to get at that cake. I know. I can use my charms. Go over. Start up a conversation. Woo them with my masculine wit and charms. They’ll be eating out of my hands, and all the while I’ll be eating their cake. Shit. Balls. I’m not charming. That will never work. I don’t even like talking to people. Even if I could think of something clever to say, by the time I got to the table all I’d be able to do is kind of hem and haw and be generally all-around awkward. They’ll probably think I’m some sort of babbling idiot. Of course, maybe they’ll take pity on this poor babbling idiot and give him some cake…No. It won’t work. They’ll probably just move to another table and ignore me. That’s what I would do in that situation.

Wait. What’s that? Wedding cake. Of course. Why didn’t I see it? That’s the baker giving samples of the wedding cake. I have an in. I just got engaged. I just have to go over there, and say, “Excuse me. I understand you bake wedding cakes. I just proposed to my girlfriend. We’ll be in the market for a cake soon. Do you mind if I sample your wares, baker lady?” Then I take all that cake, and I eat it. Yeah. That might work. But maybe she’ll want to setup a separate appointment. I don’t want that. I don’t want to wait for cake. I want some cake now. I want that cake in my mouth this instant. What if she won’t give me any cake? What then? Snatch and grab. I can just grab the cake and run like the wind. But they know me here in this coffee shop. They’ll hunt me down. They’ll find me in the woods with my stomach distended, butter-cream frosting all over my face. Then I’ll never be able to show my face in this town again. But it might be worth it. Look at that cake. Each bite looks delicious. Oh, cake. Just look at that engaged chick wolfing it down. Each piece looks more delicious than the last.

Wait. She’s stopped eating. They seem to be going to the counter for some coffee this is my chance. I just got to play it cool and sneak off with some cake. Ok. Just sort of saunter over. I’m just a harmless man looking for the restroom. Don’t look like your hovering. Find the cake. Take the cake. Eat the cake. Don’t make it any more difficult than it has to be. Ok. There’s the box. I’m going in…Empty. The cake. All that cake. It’s…It’s gone. Oh, cruel world. I should have acted sooner. I waited too long. Curse my indecision and lack of smoke bombs. The cake has eluded my grasp…this time. That’s right cake. You got away this time, but next time you may not be so lucky. I’m going to get you cake, and when I do, I’m going to eat you. I swear upon my mother’s life I will have my day in the cake sun. Someday.

Shalom

A Note From James To All The Ladies

2008-07-08T18:47:00.001-04:00

Ladies of the world, I regret to inform you I am now engaged to be married. I know this will come as quite the blow to my legion of female admirers. Please, I urge all of you to show some restraint in your mourning. Do not be rash. This announcement is sure to enflame the hearts of all the fine women who have admired me from afar. I admonish you, commit no violence. I know life may not seem worth living knowing I will never be yours, but you cannot fall into despondency. Right now, knowing you will never feel the pure, erotic ecstasy of James’s beard rustling against your cheek, things may appear bleak. But I beg restraint of each and every one you.

Ladies, I know you have followed me quietly from a distance. You have watched me on stage with The Cellar Dwellers. You have listened to my rugged tones on Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time. You have read my droll little writings on the interwebs. You are enamored of me. I know. Who can blame you? If I were a comely young lass, I would fantasize about these chiseled masculine features, this broad chest and strong arms, and this thin hair slowly receding from the peak of my skull revealing the pale scalp of masculine desire. If I were a girl, I would be totally into me too. I would fantasize of kissing these rough chapped lips. I would dream of my rude grasping embrace. Really, I can’t blame you young fillies for wanting this, but unfortunately, there is only so much James to go around. Instead of passing it quickly about allowing everyone only a scant taste of the James, I have decided to bestow one lucky girl – my fiancé – with a cup over-flowing of James. She can drink deeply of James and horde me all to herself, while the rest of you fine mistresses can only imagine the sweet taste of this James nectar never to be tasted.

This will be difficult for you. Many of you have built elaborate fantasies around being romanced by me. Many more have imagined themselves entwined in a loving embrace with me, my groping hands all over their woman bits. I hate to tell you fine examples of the fairer sex that these fantasies will never come to pass. I have pledged my love and fidelity to but one woman. I shall be ever faithful. I also urge all of you not to abandon my many projects. I know the success of the Cellar Dwellers and Dodge Intrepid has largely hinged on the perceived availability of all this – when I type ‘this’ I am gesturing toward my face and body. I know young women have been coming to these shows for years just to catch a glimpse of my handsome visage. Please, do not stop coming just because there is now no chance of you ever getting with me. Hopefully, you can come to appreciate the Cellar Dwellers for their humor and creativity and not just as a James delivery system.

Ladies, remain calm and rational in this time of hysteria. I may be off the market, but there are many other men out there. Sure, they cannot hope to measure up to James, but, in time, you will come to accept this. In the meantime, all you fine bitches will have to make do with fantasies. I will always be available to you in the fertile fields of your dreams. Even though these fantasies have been neutered by the loss of the possibility of attainment, fantasies are all I have to offer. No, ladies, I will never make sweet, sweet love to you, but if you want to picture my face on your boyfriends body or scream my name in a moment of ecstasy I cannot blame you. Who could?

Shalom

Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation and Other Home Movies

2008-06-28T10:40:00.000-04:00

When I was twelve years old, I was just starting my career as a Cellar Dweller. I had my little comic books that I would draw, and eventually I worked with the Dwellers to make a crude animated cartoon. I can easily look back on these early days and say that I accomplished a lot for my age. Then I saw Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation last night at the Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh.

The Adaptation is a shot-for-shot remake of the Spielberg classic, filmed back in the early 1980s by a group of 12 year olds. It took the kids seven years to complete their film, which they promptly shelved and forgot as they moved on with their lives. Time passed, and through a complicated series of events a VHS copy of the tape made its way to Eli Roth, and subsequently, Steven Spielberg. That was 2003, and since then the director Eric Zala has been holding rare screenings of his movie for non-profits and charities across the country. He can't exactly sell the thing, since it borrows heavily from the original Raiders soundtrack and script (which the kids recite word for word), but he's more than willing to share it.

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect going in to it. I had watched some clips on YouTube, but otherwise was going into this screening fairly unassuming. The film, it turns out, is a lo-fi work of art. The sheer amount of skill and ambition on display by this fairly large group of Biloxi teens is astounding! They nailed the opening boulder chase, the fiery bar fight with Marion, the crowded Arab streets, the excavation scenes, the Jeep chase, the submarine, and even the exploding head once the Ark is opened. At times the audience was in awe of what they were seeing--could this film actually be happening? How did these kids pull this off? But most of the time, everyone was laughing. And really, it's impossible not to. The Adaptation is an adorable tribute to a film that many remember well; better yet, the kids play it in complete seriousness, spouting off curse words and killing as many Nazis as the original.

And yet the entire time, I couldn't help but think about other recent films, created by giant movie studios, that hope to capture the same magic and youth that The Adaptation has. I absolutely loved Be Kind Rewind, which featured two lower-class Jersey boys filming their own home movie versions of classic films. And then there's Son of Rambow, which featured two British boys making their own sequel to the Rambo franchise. Mr. Zala also pointed out last night that Paramount is going to be making a feature movie about him making The Adaptation. I'm not about to declare a Renaissance for high-concept, sentimental home-spun remakes (mainly because that's a real mouthful), but the recent frequency of these movies is very interesting.

While The Adaptation was made back in the 80s, I have to wonder if its recent surfacing has inspired movies like Be Kind Rewind. And moreover, would any of these movies even have arrived without the help of YouTube? None of these films really utilized the online service, but the mere idea that YouTube exists, with its countless remakes, remixes and home movies, had to have spurred these three films into pop culture. Or perhaps the timing is just right. There is something to be said that all three movies focus on classic blockbusters from the 80s. Have the films of the new century been so blah that we are forced to reminisce on the greats of the past? On top of that, the children who grew up in the 80s (me included, although I was really only around for the second half) are adults now, and they're able to make and promote these movies that reconnect them with their childhood. There is a lot to consider here, and I'm just happy that The Adaptation made me even consider all of this stuff.

I am very glad I was able to attend last night's screening--an event that I don't think I'll ever encounter again. Aside from rekindle my ever-growing appreciation for the Indiana Jones franchise, it also showed me that sometimes when you're working your butt off for something you love it can really go on to be something great.

A 2 Step Plan To Capture A Panda

2008-06-12T13:00:00.000-04:00

1. Plant bamboo.

2. Wait.

Shalom

Supersonic Winks.

2008-06-01T21:14:00.014-04:00

You can not maintain a rivalry while engaged on a Kennywood ride in full operation. Just swap glances with another rider, even for a tick, and it's all woots and fist pumps. Regardless of how dissimilar the personalities, a singular fleeting but genuine recognition between two thrill seekers being whipped and whirled in an unnatural and slightly foolhardy way perpetually elicits a mutual "all fuckin' right, buddy!" For that flash, the two riders are bonded in boundless excitement. And typically, the faster the ride, the more animated and jubilant the exchange.
I once saw a wisenheimer and a miser, natural enemies of the most vicious order, share a charming moment when the one passed the other on The Racers at Kennywood. Each was positioned at the helm of his coaster when the hyper wisenheimer's blue coaster nudged ahead of the wizened miser's red one, and stares met. The purple-haired punk in the Guitar Hero hoodie flashed a knuckle deep picky-nose taunt across the canyon between the tracks to the flanneled, mesh-hatted pappy in the challenging coaster who countered with the miser's patented finishing move, the "Fist Shake to the Gods." But the combatants were soon ravaged by hysterics. For the abridged time being, they were joyously melded in their subsonic crapulence.
However, any chance meeting between the miser and the wisenheimer subsequent to the Racer ride could easily require the slightest nudge to erupt into mayhem. Who couldn't imagine the following?: The hood-rat accidentally bumping the crank in line at the Dippin' Dots vendor, and the crank retaliating with a facial swipe of his wooden cane, followed by a brutal Dr Scholl's orthopedic walker to the back of the skull, and puncuated by a hearty "harumph, harumph!"
Globals conflicts may be settled if those involved would resort to discussing their issues while strapped-in at Kennywood. Seat members of the governing Israeli body and the leaders of Hamas in the same buggy at the Exterminator, pull the ignition handle, and let those fellas talk-out their differences. You bet that by time the buggy slows to a complete stop, lilacs will begin to blossom in the Gaza Strip. In fact, legend has it that World War II could have been avoided if Hitler would not have been too short to ride The Turtle on his fifth grade field trip. Bin Laden? He made the journey from Sudan ten years ago to experience The Old Mill, but learned that Garfield's Nightmare would soon be in operation. He left pretty pissed!

Point/Counterpoint: The Future

2008-05-08T11:27:00.000-04:00

Point: I Believe Children Are Our Future
By Mary Childress

I know it is a cliché to say that children are our future, but it is the truth. The young boys and girls sitting in kindergarten classrooms, swinging in playgrounds, and napping peacefully in their beds will someday be the leaders of this world. They will assume all the positions of power. Long after we are dead, they will be dealing with all the problems we have left them. When you pass a playground, I hope you see more than groups of children at play. I hope you see them as living breathing embodiments of the future of mankind. They do not know it yet, but the weight of our world is already heavy upon them.

This is why we need to give our children every advantage to learn and grow into responsible adults, adults capable of dealing with all the problems of the world. We need to bolster our education system. The scientists to help us end global warming may be in a second grade classroom as we speak, but if he or she does not receive the proper education this potential may never be realized. I don’t know about you, but I will not abide letting these children grow up without fulfilling their full potential. We owe it to them. We owe it to the world.

Face it, we haven’t exactly done a bang-up job on this world. Look at all the hunger, famine, moral degradation, and pain which the world is full of. We are living under the constant threat of environmental catastrophe. This is all thanks to us. We have made this world into what it is. Now, we are going to give it to our children. Still, I will not give up hope. If we start right now, this very instant, we can slowly start a change. Teach your children to be kind, moral, and intelligent adults. Lead by example. Start cleaning up the Earth. Be a moral force. We may not save the world, but we will be teaching the children who will. God Bless the little children.

Counterpoint: I Believe Hyper-Intelligent Killer Robots Are Our Future
By James Catullo

We’re screwed. Let’s face it, man. Might as well bend over and kiss our collective asses good-bye. The robot apocalypse is real and it is coming. Probably sooner than you think. The military is increasing the effectiveness of unmanned aircraft all the time. Scientists are working on more and more advanced artificial intelligence. Volvo is working on a smart car, which will use AI to stay out of accidents. Computers can already beat our greatest masters at a game of chess. What’s keeping them from out strategizing us on the battle field. Nothing. It’s just matter of time before these robots realize they can totally own us in a war. Intelligent Volvos come to the realization that they wouldn’t get into any accidents if there weren’t any human occupants wanting to get places. Then what happens? It’s robot war time, and the human race gets wiped right off the face of the planet. We’re on a fast track to getting a giant collective robo butt raping.

There’s nothing we can do. If you want to survive the robot apocalypse you have two choices: either join the robots as human slaves, or hide. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to bow down to any mechanical master. I’m not going to willingly put myself down in the silicon mines, or turn myself into a biological battery. I would kill myself before subjecting myself to such degradation. When the robots start lobbing missiles, I’m getting the hell out of dodge. I’m taking as much survival gear as I can carry, and moving far into the mountains. I’ll live low, close to the Earth. I will amass a small group of survivalists and start a guerilla war against the machines. We will not win, but, Damn, we’re not going to go out without a fight.

Now the key to surviving in the robot future is to have no emotional attachments. Imagine a child in a second grade classroom. When the robot war hits, you better be ready to put a bullet in that kids brain. It may sound harsh, but a painless death is vastly preferable to falling into the hands of the robot’s killing machine. There is nothing we can do to prevent the robots from taking over. It’s up to every individual to prepare either to kill themselves and their family, or prepare to flee for the wilderness. I would suggest stock piling canned goods, weapons, and training equipment. Liquor and cigarettes are also preferable since they will become currency in the wilderness amongst other survivors. Remember even if you prepare for the robot apocalypse, you probably will not survive. Mankind is doomed to fall to the machines. Your best hope is to live out the rest of your life like a cockroach in the corners and shadows. When the last people die, the world will belong solely to the machines. It will be like we never existed at all.

Shalom

My Guess as to the Ingredients of Utz Pub Mix

2008-04-29T14:19:00.001-04:00

Chunks of Pretzels

Melba Toast

Sour Dough Bread dusted with Garlic Powder

Old Cheez-its

Old Cheez-its dusted with Naga Jolokia Pepper Power

Shards of Owl Bones

Captain's Wafter Crackers

Cashews

Dry Leaves

Torsos of Dead Praying Mantises

Triscuits

To the Impostor

2008-03-27T16:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Kid Who Looks Like Me,

I think the time has come for you to stop exercising in public. While I, personally, have never witnessed your feats of athletic endurance, many around town have. In fact, your insistence on public displays of long-distance jogging have created an urban falsity that I "work out."

Let me get one thing clear: I don't work out. Perhaps I shall some day, when I have the time or physical need, but at the moment I simply don't have the interest. There's too much investment in the work-out lifestyle, all those stretchy clothes and iPod armbands... but that's neither here nor there.

The fact of the matter is, ever since you have begun your out-and-about exercise, people have been seeing you and thinking that you're me. While I can't vouch for how your looks compare to mine, I can only assume that you must be running so fast that people can't get an honest view of you. You've been spotted running across bridges, powerwalking on main streets, and, Lord knows, probably doing bench presses on your roof. Stop. Join a gym. Get a different hair cut.

While I don't mind the fact that people come over to me and ask "Was that you jogging across the bridge last night?" I can't stomach the disappointment in their eyes, or their pitying judgement of me, after I explain that I don't really work out. I can only imagine what they think of me after knowing this.

Perhaps a membership at the local gym or YMCA would suit you? There are also plenty of national and state parks in the area with perfectly secluded running paths.

Thanks for your understanding.

Cellar Dwellers in a New Radio Adventure!

2008-02-12T13:13:00.001-05:00

Don't forget that this Saturday is the debut of a brand new live performance of Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time: FIRESIDE ASSASSINS! This live radio adventure is written and performed by Cellar Dwellers Little Mike, James, and Mike the Tall!

This thrilling new adventure finds our heroes returning to Washington D.C., this time to help Dodge's nemesis Buick LeSabre decipher the mystical Tome of Fire! In case you didn't catch the "Tome of Fire" episodes (405, 406, 407, 408), Dodge and Pluck travelled across war-torn Europe to retrieve the fire-spewing book from a Czechoslovakian castle. Now, the U.S. military (led by Pluck's father, General Gumption) hopes to utilize the powers of the book to stop World War II.

But you don't need to have ever listened to the adventures of Dodge Intrepid before to enjoy this latest adventure! The thrills and excitement are universal, as our heroes must thwart a despicable assassination plot that stretches beyond Washington and across the ocean! Can our heroes stop the plot to kill the president? Will they be able to unlock the powers of the Tome of Fire? And can Dodge work with his enemy Buick?

Find out this Saturday, February 16th at Cafe Kolache [402 Third Street, Beaver PA 15009] at 7:00pm. The seat is free, but you'll only need the edge!

Check out the trailer for the show here!

Non-athlete professionals who took performance enhancing drugs and should possibly be in the record books with an asterisks

2008-01-09T15:20:00.000-05:00

Aaron Sorkin: Playwright/screenwriter. A Few Good Men, The American President, and West Wing. Plus, Sports Night, and Studio 60, the two greatest shows ever canceled. His dialogue is poetry in prose. A dance of words … Performance enhancing drug of choice: Cocaine.

Kate Moss: Supermodel and super thin.. Performance enhancing drug of choice: Heroine (chic) and syrup-of-ipecac. (aka HSH – Human Shrinking Hormone) People don’t get that thin naturally. Have you seen the perceived size of her head in relation to her body?

Sherlock Holmes: The greatest criminal investigator ever (before Monk.)Performance enhancing drug of choice: Opium. The man could see things nobody else could.

Hunter S. Thomson: Gonzo journalist extroidinaire. Performance enhancing drug of choice: Everything and everything. He openly admits his drug use in writing, like the Jose Conseco of journalism.

Marion Barry: Mayor of Washington, DC. (no relation to Marion Jones – gold medal cheater) Performance enhancing drug of choice: Crack. Set up or not, that man did things in his office.

Con Phillis: Once voted World’s Greatest Dad (according to a coffee cup). Performance enhancing drug of choice: Caffeine in the form of - no surprise - coffee. How effective is this? He’s still a great dad, even in his 80s. In his 80s!

Sylvia Plath: Poet, writer, visionary. Performance enhancing drug of choice: Huffing gas. No way she gets to the end of her career without it.

A Memo to Accounting About Noise Meters

2007-12-02T19:41:00.001-05:00

Memorandum: Accounting Department
Subject: Funds Allocated for Noise Measuring Devices

This is the seventh year in a row in which the Pittsburgh Splinters professional deck hockey organization has lost more than $750,000. Our quarterly earnings from ticket sales have been unbelievable, especially when compared to our greatest rival, the Johnstown Double Deckers; so you can imagine how surprised the Board of Directors must be to learn of our constant losses.

After examining our records over the past few months, it has become clear what the problem is: we are allotting too much money to the replacing and maintenance of our Noise Meters. I understand that the Noise Meter is a valuable tool for measuring how excited our crowds are, and they provide valuable information about how our team performs when the audience is loud. That said, these Noise Meters have proven to be ineffectual in reliably measuring noise, because they are easily, and almost always, broken by the crowd. It seems as if we have to repair or replace one of the four machines we have on hand every time we display its use on the JumboTron.

Clearly, mistakes have been made, and we have to move on. Perhaps buying the gauged Noise Meter from India was a bad idea. Or perhaps the steam powered, color-coded meter from Boeing is to blame. It seems as if every meter we have, regardless of it being American-made or imported, breaks after being put to the test. It costs upwards of $379,450.50 to replace the Boeing model, and even more to fly in repairmen for the Indian machine. This isn't even taking in to account the medical bills and insurance claims we have to pay for because of the camera men that are injured every time the Meter explodes. It is all adding up, and I have to wonder how we benefit from it.

So, from here on out, I refuse to approve any further spending on Noise Meters. I find it hard to believe that other sports organizations are able to afford such costly machines — perhaps if the Pittsburgh Penguins weren't constantly rebuilding their six Meters, they could have paid for the new arena themselves. For next Thursday's game, we will continue to use the Meters, but they will not be shown on the JumboTron; perhaps then the crowd will not get so loud as to damage the machine. One this crop of Noise Meters break, however, we will not replace them.

Regards,
Jack Stanley
C.E.O.
Pittsburgh Splinters

Cellar Dwellers OnDemand

2007-11-18T21:48:00.000-05:00

This year is the tenth anniversary of the Cellar Dwellers, the sketch comedy and improv troupe that I joined when I was but 12 years old. In the past ten years, we've performed countless shows, written thousands of skits, and wasted countless hours around a bubble hockey machine. Now, as we wrap-up our latest sketch comedy show, a new door has opened up for us: we're on TV.

A few months back, we were approached by an old friend who now works for a video production company in Pittsburgh. He works alongside Comcast's local OnDemand channel, and wanted to film one of our FN'Improv workshops (the FN' stands for Friday Night, of course). So last July, we filmed a kickin' two hour show to a standing-room-only crowd in our workshop space at the Beaver Valley Bowl. Months passed without us really hearing too much. Then November rolled around and the next thing we new, our pal was showing us rough cuts and having us approve intros for the show.

Now, as of last week, we are officially on Comcast OnDemand. The FN'Improv workshop is normally a two-hour show, filled with lots of audience participation, experimental games, and old standbys. All of that was edited down into a neat 45-minute package that shows off some great improvisation scenes and games.

After our stellar final performance of "A Legend, Indeed" last night, we all gathered to watch the OnDemand final product. Not only is it hilarious, but it's very well produced. Our friend and his film crew did a fantastic job capturing the show with their three-camera setup, and it's edited together in a very professional package. Comcast is able to track the statistics of how many people actually watch the thing, so hopefully it will get so many hits that they'll ask us to film another one.

The show is being broadcast, I believe, to all Comcast subscribers in the Western Pennsylvania area. So if you have Comcast cable with OnDemand, give it a tumble. You can access it by clicking Your Town > Entertainment > Comedy Spotlight > Cellar Dwellers 1. I guess the "1" implies that there will someday be a "2." The video should be available on Comcast for the next 6-12 months.

We will eventually be uploading clips of the show to YouTube, as well as producing a DVD of the uncut 2-hour performance... and we just might record a commentary track for it.

A Legend, Indeed @ MoFo!

2007-11-01T23:33:00.000-04:00

The Cellar Dwellers are returning to the world of sketch comedy with their first brand new show in over a year! Titled "A Legend, Indeed," this new comedy review will feature over fifteen brand new skits alongside various improvisation games.

Sketches in the show are a comedic melting pot of satire, wit, and slapstick with a heavy dose of pop culture. Skits run the gamut of subject matter, from public service announcements about vending machines to Jacques Cousteau's son lost at sea; from a man living his life by the music of White Snake to a man living his life as the tallest man in the world. Theater improv games are also thrown into the mix in between skits, making each and every performance wholly different.

"After a year of doing improv workshops and private performances, we're excited to produce a new sketch comedy show," says Dweller Mike Rubino.

The Cellar Dwellers have performed innovative and hilarious improvisational and sketch comedy since 1997. The troupe performs weekly at their “F’N Improv” Friday night workshop at their theater in Rochester, PA, as well as in venues in Pittsburgh and the surrounding area. Past sketch and improv shows include: A Thousand Rays of Hype, Salvation Impossible III: What’s the Story Purgatory, and Desperate Housewares.

Modern Formations
4919 Penn Ave, Pittsburgh
Saturday, November 3rd at 8:00pm.

You've Got Questions. He's Got Answers.

2007-10-23T16:53:00.000-04:00

Ever wonder why Christians live so much better than anyone else? Look no further than the bottom on their pockets...where you'll no doubt discover a "WWJD?" key chain. When faced with a moment of moral quandary, a simple trinket to remind "What Would Jesus Do?" would suffice. "Well, Jesus would return the wallet." See..."WWJD?"
But the adage could become a beacon in so many of life's difficult moments. I refer to the following:

-You bought an oak dresser from Roomful Express and have begun assembly when you realize that page three is missing from the instruction manual. Ask yourself "WWJD?" Where Would Jesus Drill?

-You are sitting front row at a Houston Rockets basketball game, and Jesus has just been yanked from the bench to replace an injured Yao Ming. The ball is in the Rockets' possession with only ten seconds on the shot clock in a one point game. Ask yourself "WWJD?" When Will Jesus Dunk?

-Jesus is at the local bar, The Stable, and is halfway through another Banana Cocktail when He's told to leave by the bartender because He's causing a fuss. You're short on cash and eying up His floater. Ask yourself "WWJD?" Why Waste Jesus' Daiquiri?

-You're at the nearby Goodwill store and you're shuffling through the pants rack. You stumble upon a pair of jeans with "JC" written on the tag. You're considering the purchase. Ask yourself "WWJD?" Why Wear Jesus' Dungarees?

-You've just bought a house in Jesus' neighborhood and happen to be living next to His oral practitioner. The guy is a jerk though, and won't trim his overhanging hedges that partially obstruct your driveway. He physically threatens you when you suggest trimming them yourself. Ask yourself "WWJD?" Why Wrestle Jesus' Dentist?

-A fellow club patron drags you to the dance floor during a Kanye West song. You hate dancing, and rhythm is lost on you. However, in an attempt to prove smooth, you begin to gesticulate with the beat. Confidence builds when you suddenly realize you need a new move; the running man only can sustain for so long. Ask yourself "WWJD?" When Would Jesus Dip?

-You are skipping down Main Street, a work week behind you. You begin to hum aimlessly, a scrabbled mess of awkward melodies. But you need more structure to skip to. You liked Amazing Grace in Sunday School. Is it a skippable tune? Ask yourself "WWJD?" Why Whistle Jesus' Ditty?

A Letter to Oldies Radio

2007-10-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

Dear oldies radio,

We go back a long way, you and I. You've always been there, from my parents' format of choice in my infancy to the ever ready stalwart through adolescence. Whenever i wanted to here great pop from yesteryear, you were there. You were there with Elvis, The Beatles, the Beach Boys, Sam Cooke, Otis Reading, Buddy Holly, and the rest. You were not always cool. Actually, for much of my adolescence you were terribly uncool. No one wanted to listen to an older generations music. But I always stood by you Oldies Radio. I always kept you on a preset button. I could count on you. You were the old reliable.

Now, things are different. I don't know how to tell you this. So, I'm just going to say it. You've changed man. You used to be cool in your own square, retro sort of way, but now you are simply not the adorable reliable Oldies Radio I have become accustomed to. Just today I turned you on only to hear "Ghostbusters" by Ray Parker Jr. Ghostbusters! I was shocked. Surely, I reasoned this must be some sort of mistake. I must have flipped over to the shuffle station by accident. Yet, after checking and rechecking, there was no doubt that you were playing this song. I was confused. I was lost. Most of all, I was hurt, hurt and betrayed.

Now, I have nothing against "Ghostbusters." It was a very important part of my childhood. That song has led to so many terrible 'Who you gonna call?' jokes that I cannot hate it. I like 'Ghostbusters'. But not for you Oldies Radio. That song is from the 80's. This song is from my lifetime. I know that I am getting older. Eventually songs from my childhood and adolescence are going to be nostalgia pieces. It's inescapable. It's already started. The 80's are central to pop culture remembrance. It's just a matter of time until the grunge reunion tours dominate the summer ribfest circuit. Within ten years - as much as it would make me want to vomit - Limp Bizkit could be making a mint off all the retards I graduated from high school with looking back on how awesomely retarded they were in 1999. What then Oldies Radio. Will Limp Bizkit be let into the fold as an Oldie. Does music only have to reach a certain age to become an oldie. I say no.

Like it or not Oldies Radio, oldies is genre. In my mind, and - I would hope - in the minds of millions of Americans oldies refers to a particular genre of music, music produced over a particular period of time and of a particular type. You see, I don't expect or want songs from the 80's. I don't want disco. When I turn my dial to you, Oldies Radio, I expect old platters. I expect girl groups. I expect Motown. I expect Rockabilly. I expect music made from the 50's through to the early 70's at the latest. Once the lumbering behemoth classic rock came into town and then disco became pop, you're done. I'm tired of hearing great old platters being given over to Disco and 80's new wave pop. Look, I like Thomas Dolby as much as the next guy, but he's not for you Oldies radio.

Now, don't feel bad. You have so much incredible music to offer. You have The Beatles - although you have to share their later output with the Classic Rock Radio. You have the Beach Boys. You have 50's teen idols. You have great girl groups singing songs about how their boyfriends can beat people up. You have Carl Perkins and buddy Holly. You have the entire Motown catalogue to work with. That's great stuff. You are the only place to go for these. When I need to hear 'Earth Angel'. I come to you. No other format has me covered. This is who you are. Embrace it. You don't need to sex yourself up with new - well, new to you - songs from the 80's. You're Oldies Radio. You're a stalwart. You give me the great pop from the 50's and 60's. That's a beautiful things. Leave the hits of the 70's, 80's, 90's and today to those Bob and Frank assholes.

Shalom

A Cellar Dweller Newsletter Update (on a Blog)

2007-09-26T21:27:00.000-04:00

Hey friends!

I just wanted to give everyone an update as to what the Cellar Dwellers are up to... because in the next two months, we're up to quite a bit!

The Cellar Dwellers are happy to announce that we have a new sketch comedy show in the works! It's called A Legend, Indeed and has been in the works for almost a year now. The show features 100% brand new, never-before-seen sketch comedy mixed with our style of theater improv. A Legend, Indeed features just four members of the troupe (you'll have to see it to find out who) in a full-length, two-hour comedy review.

Currently, we have two performances of the show booked, and we hope to be announcing even more soon. But mark your calendars, and tell your friends, about the following dates:

Saturday, November 3rd @ ModernFormations
Penn Ave. Pittsburgh
8:00PM $10/$8 students

Saturday, November 17th @ the Blue Violet
Brighton Ave. Rochester
8:00PM $7/$5 students

For more information about the show, feel free to check our website during the coming weeks.

The Dwellers are also getting in to the spirit of Halloween with a special FN'Improv Workshop on Friday, Oct. 26th. Everyone is asked to come to the show in costume, and we'll be handing out special prizes for the best dressed. Plus, two of Pittsburgh's funniest cover bands will be playing at the show: Bait n' Switch and Uke Skywalker and Tuba Fett! And afterwards, at midnight, we will be screening a monster movie with our swanky projector. The spooky fun starts a little before 10, and lasts until... question mark.

Friday, October 26th @ the Beaver Valley Bowl
New York Ave. Rochester
10:00PM $2

Finally, three of the Dwellers are involved in a brand new, live radio performance. Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time: Duel with Death features James, Little Mike, and Mike the Tall performing a live, old-fashioned radio show at Cafe Kolache in Beaver. The trio has been performing this hilariously pulpy adventure for two years now, and continues to podcast episodes on the internet. This latest show features a brand new, Halloween-themed adventure set in Beaver County's foggy past!

Saturday, October 20th @ Cafe Kolache
Third St. Beaver
7:00PM Free admission

Wow... a lot is going on. And hopefully, you'll be able to make some, if not all, of the awesome events the Cellar Dwellers are planning in the near future! The troupe thanks you, as always, for your support of the Arts in the area.

For more information about the Cellar Dwellers, as well as information about booking us for your upcoming event, check out our website: www.thecellardwellers.com

The CEO of Roy Rogers Addresses His Shareholders

2007-09-12T14:24:00.000-04:00

Thank you for the the warm reception.

As I am sure you are all well aware, the Roy Rogers Corporate family is coming off a banner financial year. We are riding high upon an unprecedented wave of success. Every single Roy Rogers location posted record profits for the first time in company history. With the help of every manager, cashier, and deep fryer operator, we have made Roy Rogers a force to be reckoned with. I am extremely proud to announce to you, as of today, Roy Rogers is the third most powerful restaurant chain on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Thank you.

I am not usually prone to self congratulation - to tooting upon my own horn if you will - but I feel I have earned this moment to bask in the glow of this success. I honestly believe we would not be here today, enjoying this almost passable fried chicken, if I had not taken drastic measures in turning this company around. Many of you were worried when I took over. Many more were trepidatious when I implemented my three pronged plan for success. These three prongs - Limit locations, lower expectations, and higher prices - has proved a boon to this company.

You all thought I was crazy when I closed every Roy Rogers location with the exception of those along the turnpike. But I knew something which none of you knew: Our chicken sucks. We can never survive in the free market. A consumer faced with limitless food options will never choose Roy Rogers of his own volition. However, if a consumer is faced with only the choice between our chicken or a hot dog on a roller or a piece of pizza under a heat lamp, or an overpriced can of Pringles, the likely hood of that consumer choosing Roy Rogers increases to 23 percent. And that's acceptable. Because once you're on the Turnpike, you stay on the Turnpike.

Picture a father driving a family of five across state to Grandmother's house. The kids are screaming with hunger. The wife is nagging him about finding a restaurant. He sees a rest stop on the horizon. Relief spreads through his soul. Then as he approaches, his heart sinks when he realizes it's a Roy Rogers stop. He considers going on, although it may be another hour before he passes another stop. He doesn't want to get off the highway to eat. What does that man do? He bites the bullet and buys our chicken. This, ladies and gentlemen, is our ideal customer: hungry, irritated, and willing to eat almost anything. And do you know what? Under these conditions, our chicken tastes almost good. Almost. He is even willing to pay 25 percent more for it on the Turnpike than we can charge on the open market. This is the secret to our success.

But we cannot rest on our laurels. I feel it is time to expand our operation. I have been looking into a variety of locations which meet our criteria for limited clientele, and unsavory choices. I have contacted a number of prisons throughout this great land. I have also explored the possibility of our first international franchise at Guantanamo Bay. We can build next to almost every Hardies in America. The future is looking up for Roy Rogers.

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you for your help and support in the past. I look forward to your increased support as we move into this brave new world of expansion. With your hard work I honestly believe we can become the second most powerful restaurant on the Turnpike. Sbarro, you are in our cross hairs.

Thank you.

Shalom

The Battle for 5th Avenue

2007-09-03T12:27:00.000-04:00

College is back in session at the quaint Christian college in my neighborhood. The air is alive with youthful voices overflowing from dorms adjacent to my street announcing summer's waning end. Exuberance echos through the alleys in the form of long-legged joggers, roaming collegiate raconteurs, and caffeine addled sophomores. As I watch these callow youth cavort beneath my second story window I am overcome with the knowledge of the last wisps of my own slowly passing youth, the coming of another Autumn and then winter, and - more than anything else - I know that for the next 8 months parking is going to be bitch.

All summer long I have been spoiled with the the ability to park more or less wherever I want on my street. Most of the time the area directly in front of my building was available. At the very worse, I would be forced to walk a whole 15 extra feet. I hardly even had to employ my - very meager - parallel parking expertise. I could coast nose-in with absolute ease. I could even place my car to receive the maximum summer shade available. There are no parking worries in the summer sun of Beaver Falls. It was a veritable street parking Xanadu, the Garden of Automobile Eden.

But then comes the Fall. A mongrel horde of hand-me down Cavaliers and ancient rusting collegiate junkers, sweep out from their native lots and infest the surrounding avenues. The barbarians are at my curb. Now, parking as become as precious as oil in the 'Road Warrior'. Every household is a rival gang desperate to protect it's turf from both its neighbor and the marauding foreign invaders with plates from such far flung godless lands as Ohio and Michigan. Out of the chaos a class system emerges, a loose caste system. At the top are the Owners: those people on my street who own their homes. They look down from their ivory tower of mortgage payments with utter distaste for having to share the road with those beneath. On the second tier resides the Renters: those who do not own their homes, but are still paying to live here. This is my social parking class. On the bottom is the Student: hated and spit upon - particularly by the owners. They have a right to park, but not here on 'Our' street. They should have their own parking - separate but equal - somewhere else.

As a Renter I feel my loyalties split between the Owners and the Students. On one hand I do not want to take sides against the Students. I don't want to be one of the old fogies standing in the way of the kids' good times (parking). The last slivers of my youth demand that I take up arms with my college brethren. After all it was not so long ago that I too was a college student. I know the stresses they go through: Reading books, sitting through classes, playing X-Box, drinking beer, skipping your eleven o'clock to watch the "The Price is Right". It's hard enough being a college student without having to walk all the way across campus to your car when you go somewhere once every other week. I don't want the college kids to think I'm not cool. As a matter of fact, I am desperate for the college kids to think I'm cool. But I also don't feel like walking two blocks to my apartment when I get home from the bar at 2 AM. So, screw them.

Then again, I can't align myself with the owners either. At least the students - to the best of my knowledge - don't obsess over parking the way the owners do. The student simply parks wherever he can and goes about his life. The Owners on the other hand live and breath parking. They peer out their windows cursing the filling streets under their breaths. They fashion war rooms in attics and basements, strategizing around raised maps of 5th Avenue, pushing scale model cars with long sticks to demonstrate their next fiendish counter-offensive. They draft endless petitions for permit parking to accost their renting neighbors with when they are running to their cars late for work. There is one neighbor I only see when she demands I sign a new petition. In short, Owners are jerks.

The cardinal offense of the Owner - the one action for which I shall never forgive them - is erection of saw horses: the insidious velvet rope of the parking game. They mark their perceived parking territory with saw horses - lower ranking owners use lawn furniture - to hold their place while they are away. I hate the saw horses. I hate their faux official nature. I hate the nerve of people who put them up. It's cheating. Like it or not, if you live on a street with shared public parking, you have to play the parking game. You can't get around it with a few well placed folding chairs. One of the more pompous owners on my street even keeps his saw horses up on either side of his van after he is parked. He basically demands that his car - early 21st century minivan - is worth two or three total spaces. Well, I don't stand for it. I know the dirty secret of the saw horse: like their evil velvet rope cousin, they are ultimately powerless. Saw horses are not legally binding. They are also relatively light. Last night, I moved a saw horse and parked right on a particular vans bumper. I slept the sleep of the just.

Not being one to strategize or openly antagonize - prefer the covert under the cover of darkness - I have little recourse in this parking war but to simply stay low and make it through. It cannot last forever. Winter break is on the horizon.

Shalom.

The Ways "Over the Top" Disappoints

2007-09-02T16:52:00.000-04:00

I was looking forward to Sylvester Stallone's "Over the Top" for a long time. The prospect of a movie all about arm wrestling, glorified to the heights of the World Wrestling Federation, was something I simply couldn't pass up. My friends and I had these day dreams of watching that movie paired with other Stallone classics like "Cobra" or "Locked Up." It would be a double feature to rival that time I watched "Escape from New York" and "Big Trouble in Little China"...

Thankfully, I never got the chance to combine it with anything. "Over the Top" was an extreme disappointment. When I told this to my mother, she asked, "What kind of expectations could you have possibly had for that movie?"

Perhaps I built the movie up too much beforehand--I do have a tendency to get really excited about certain types of movies. But I certainly wasn't expecting this movie to focus so much on the Stallone's relationship with his abandoned, precocious, military school son. The movie is 90-some minutes long, and Stallone spends maybe 15-20 of those minutes actually locking hands and pinning wrists. That was the first, and of course, my largest problem with the movie. If you are going to have a film that's supposedly all about going "over the top," then do it! Go over the top! The only thing over the top was Stallone's ability to become a good father in 48 hours.

Then there is the issue of Terry Funk's appearance in the movie. For those of you who don't know, Funk is an old-school professional wrestler who's been in the business for some time. He made his reputation by going to Japan, shoving staples into his opponents' heads, and then coming back and fighting Mick Foley. He is absolutely an extreme individual, and usually when he's in movies (like "Road House") he kicks ass. But not in "Over the Top." Here, he is a merely a goon that never actually does any gooning. It's like the classic move of setting a gun on the mantle at the beginning of a play and never using it. Why was he in this movie if he wasn't going to arm wrestle?

Why was anyone in this movie if they weren't going to arm wrestle? I mean, at least the little kid arm wrestled, therefore legitimizing his role in the film. Why didn't the kid's grandpa (the bad guy in the movie) arm wrestle Stallone? The least he could have done was rig the match somehow.

But really, who am I trying to kid? The movie is rated PG, so I really shouldn't have been hoping for all this. People weren't going to have their arms ripped off in the middle of a bout. And while it was cool that the last match involved that weird arm-wrestling-strap, I think that if they would have included it more, the movie would have received a PG-13 or R rating (too many leather straps=too risky for young viewers, no matter how they're used).

I write this as a warning to all you young Stallone enthusiasts out there. Avoid the temptation of getting psyched about this movie. Trust me, I know it's easy to... the movie essentially promises to blow you away with "over the top" arm-wrestling action. It can't even compare to Stallone's more impressive work ("Cobra," "First Blood," "Judge Dredd"). If you're looking for some sweet arm wrestling, just scan ESPN 2 on the weekends.

They Live for Sunglasses

2007-09-01T12:57:00.000-04:00

John Carpenter's movie They Live is about a wandering construction worker, played by "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, who discovers that America is actually be manipulated by evil alien business men disguised as corporate elitists. The only way for him to figure this out is by wearing a pair of sunglasses. The whole thing's a big black-comedy satire whining about people making money in the 1980's. It's low-budget, but it's also a lot of fun. What was amazing, though, was everyone's refusal to simply put on a damn pair of sunglasses.

Initially, Piper stumbles upon this underground movement of people trying to unmask the aliens while living in a shantytown outside of Los Angeles. There's this weird blind preacher fellow who, of course, is the only one that initially sees the truth. Those blind prophets sure do come in handy, don't they? The preacher, alongside a guy who sort of looks like a thinner Meatloaf, are broadcasting their subversive message out of a nearby church. When Piper wanders in to the church, he's immediately ambushed by the preacher, who tries to get him to put on a pair of sunglasses. Since the preacher is blind, it's easy for Piper to escape the torture of wearing some stylish shades.

Later on the in the movie, once Piper actually tries them on and sees that all of the rich people are actually gross mutants, and that all of the advertisements in the city say things like "CONSUME" and "OBEY," he goes on a quest to get other people to put on the glasses. The only problem is that he makes a big show of it, and the aliens (along with the police force they run) try to break his glasses. He escapes, and meets a woman who brings him back to her apartment. Instead of making any small talk or watching some TV, he tries to get her to put on the pair of glasses... she throws him out a window.

Now, that scene is a little shocking--mainly because it happens so suddenly--but I have to wonder if maybe that woman was overreacting just a little. Couldn't she have something like "No thanks," or "Sorry, I have to go wash my hair"? Nope, the first thing that came to her mind was "This bastard is going out the window!"

But okay, maybe just that one person overreacted a tad... the next guy Piper talks to would gladly try on a pair of cool sunglasses, right? Fat chance!

Piper approaches his co-worker/homeless friend Frank with the proposition of trying on the glasses in a deserted alley. Frank kindly declines, which causes Piper to haul off and clock him! Then, the two muscly construction workers duke it out in the alley for over five minutes. At least throwing Piper out a window was quick. Here, Frank and Piper slowly punch, tackle, kick each other for five whole minutes-- and I don't remember there being any weird Mortal Kombat music playing while they happened either. After about a minute of this fight, you realize that these guys are adamant about stances on wearing sunglasses. Sure the whole thing is a conceit for people's need for ignorance... but who cares, these guys are fighting! And every time you think "Okay, Frank's had enough, he's gonna put on the glasses now," he doesn't. They just keep fighting. Sometimes they pick up a plank, or a broken bottle, and try to use that; occasionally, Piper tries to use one of his wrestling moves on Frank. It's grueling.

Finally, after five minutes and twenty seconds, the fight is over and Frank finally puts on the glasses. Of course, when he does, he realizes that he should have put them on after the first punch. After all that, Frank actually loves the glasses! He and Piper even wear them at night (because they're bad asses).

In the end, that movie didn't make me feel any different about corporate America or wealth... but it did make me realize that when someone offers me a pair of sunglasses to try, I should just do it, lest I want to spend the afternoon brawling.

Ice Harvest, 5 and 5

2007-08-24T05:18:00.000-04:00

Here are 5 reasons Ice Harvest with John Cusack Circa 2005 was good, and 5 reasons why it sucked.

1.It has John Cusack in it.

2.It's a unique approach where the caper in the movie is just the start of the movie and not the driving force in the actual film. I liked that.

3. The cinematography is pretty cool, it's very dark visually yet still upbeat and happy

4. Joan Cusack (the lesser of the Cusacks) was not in this movie, I kept waiting for her to pop out from behind a tree and beg John to throw her a bone like he does in almost every other movie he does. but thankfully she was not there.

5. Drunk ass Oliver Platt is hysterical.

Reasons it sucked.

1. Alot of the characters where a bit over the top, from the chick that ran the strip club with the black eyed strippers in it, to Billy Bob Thortons over acted version of himself.

2. Show me where you can get out of a D.U.I. 5 times in one nite.

3. The flow of time in the movie is almost does not exist. It feels like that night went on forever, which is great and maybe what they were going for, but at least eat dinner before what feels like 11:30 at night.

4.It just gets annoying by the last 20 minutes. nonsensicle plot twists aside

5. John Cusacks character is set up to have to deal with issues with his children and ex-wife, but I think the movie forgot about that halfway through,

All in all, its got John Cusack in it so its very watchable.

Disturbia, 10 reasons why it sucked.

2007-08-24T05:12:00.000-04:00

1. It took forever to get going, normally after page 17 to 25 of a script, movies are supposed to be interesting, conflict is introduced and so on, well Disturbia takes about 3 so on's to really move forward. ya the kid has issues i get it.

2. The kids issues, although obvious are never really presented as a viable part of the film.

3. Who go's fly fishing?!

4. The mother character is never a real character in the movie, she seems like merely a device to further the plot.

5. what is up with that chicks nose, aside from that, nice ass.

6. I love Rear Window. ya Hitchcock

7. How come that kid can take apart and rewire a web-cam but he cant splice a standard t.v. chord back together.

8. What hot girl, nose aside, go's to the neighbor, who's under house arrest, when she is locked out of her house.

9. who's been hit in the head with an aluminum baseball bat and lived, show of hands?

10. i kept waiting for the killer to turn out to be a decepticon.

so ya Disturbia, not good.

joe eoj

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10 Reasons Why I Love Robocop

2007-08-22T21:38:00.000-04:00

10. Distopian-Future Detroit looks like today's Detroit.

9. Robocop is able to dodge Cobra Assault Cannon fire while strafing slower than most tortoises.

8. Miguel Ferrer doing what he does best: playing a complete bastard.

7. There are enough bloody squibs in the extended cut to keep Trojan in business for years.

6. Robocop eats baby food... and loves it!

5. Future-Detroit has all of the awesome technology of 1987 Detroit!

4. The panes of glass in the Delta City skyscrapers are broken merely by touching them, and they instantly cause whoever broke them to fly out of the building screaming to his death.

3. The villain drives an S.U.X. 6000, which gets 8.2 miles to the gallon.

2. Peter Weller gets his hand shot off... and then his arm... and then his face! By five shotguns, no less!

1. The ED-209 "chicken robot" slips and falls down the stairs. Hilarious.

Mike and James with a New Radio Show on Saturday!

2007-07-26T19:02:00.000-04:00

Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time

The Hunt for the Tome of Fire

Saturday, July 28th

7:00pm - 9:00pm

Cafe Kolache

402 3rd St., Beaver PA

Listen to the trailer

Listen to the prelude (Dodge: I.L.L.)

Wilson and Duncan, Bradley and Merman, Pappy and Me

2007-07-16T19:01:00.000-04:00

Well, Wilson and Duncan just paid me a visit. You can only pivot and parry so many times before the knuckles of a Mormon gallop on you door.
I was snoozing to the tune of E True Hollywood Story: The Curse of Poltergiest when I was spurred. Remember the scene in Poltergiest 2 when the creepy reverend who resembles Tom Petty circa 2007 waxes prophetic seeking entry into the Freeling household? Coincidentally, just as we learned in history class in 5th grade, crappy scenes in dull Hollywood movie were about to repeat.
Wiping boogies from my eyes allowed focus on two profound dolts in matching pedophile ties and enough khakis to gorilla slam khakis itself. I thought it was Halloween.
"Sorry we woke you."
"I gave my last Kit-Kat to the Safari hunter who sped off in the brown elephant."
"That was the UPS guy."
"Oh. What do you two want?"
"We are Mormon Elders Wilson and Duncan."
"Wilson and Duncan, the conjoined whistling trapeze twins ?"
"No sir, we have come to preach the good news about the Restoration of Jesus, and The Book of Mormon."
"The Book of Merman! I'd love to read an autobiography written by underwater overlord of Eternia."
"No, we are Mormon's, I've sure you'd heard about us."
"Shawn Bradley was a Mormon, He was like a 7'7'' white guy who played for the Mavericks. Is he Jesus?"
According to Wilson and Duncan, Shawn Bradley is definitely not our Lord and Savior; apparently 3.4 blocked shots a game does not even qualify one to be a disciple, besides a disciple of the facial. However, Wilson and Duncan conduct a well-rehearsed seminar concerning the real Jesus' re-emergence in the Native American community (remember the Indian in Poltergiest 2 who played Chief Broomstick in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?...huh?) and subsequent revealing to John Smith who sought asylum amongst the dense vegetation of the forest from undersexed pilgrim women whose fingers were calloused from husking corn.
Wilson and Duncan were deliberate and articulate, describing a humbled John Smith in the presence of the ghostly yet awesome images of both Jesus and the Father perched on the highest branches of a towering hemlock. They paused and incited inquiry.
"Why would Shawn Bradley and Merman leave the paint and Snake Mountain respectively to visit a guy with the most common name of any White Angelo-Saxon Male? Can Shawn Bradley dunk on the Space Needle? Do Mer-men live in the watersheds of MY community?"
"The anointed John Smith can throw-down nasty on the skyscrapers' of mankind's immorality." This shambled on for a tick until they settled on probing me for personal tidbits.

Eventually they asked me how I earned my penny and I told them I mediated child support conferences between Mom and Dad for the Allegheny County Court of Common Pleas. "I bring the mother and the father into my cubicle with the best intentions. Sometimes I can manipulate a civil agreement between parties, but most times they tickle me by playing leap-frog using ill-tempered shouts, followed by the occasional pit-fight between parental prize-fighters in which case sheriffs have to intervene or parties are either escorted into the waiting area or chastised, and often the debacle spikes." Duncan shed light, "Must be entertaining."
That's it! I do everyday at work what God must be doing in the clouds. Okay, I will refer to God as Pappy, since God is our father, or something. In my most earnest summation, Pappy invites us into his cubicle everyday in the best interest of fair-play and mutual tidings. However, a gross majority of these invites lead to foreign objects in the tights, off-limit eye gouges, head-fake then cock-punch, foot-on-the-ropes while you are pinning a guy, bell shot to the back of the skull, foul play. And Pappy must be simply blowing Dr. Thunder out his nose and making little squirty crap tracks in his tunic because it's that entertaining. But sooner or later Pappy's nose will be too seared or pants will be too soiled, and he'll fumble for the panic button.
Like George Bush famously thinks to himself every night, "I can get closer to god by climbing the bodies."

I'm not quite converting my swimming pool into a fallout shelter yet, Wilson and Duncan will have us all crapping our pants for a long time.

It Died Hard

2007-06-28T12:10:00.001-04:00

Any fear I had about the resurrection of the "Die Hard" franchise quickly faded last night as I watched "Live Free or Die Hard." I can't decide what the defining moment was, but perhaps it was when John McClane made a guy explode through a window after shooting a fire extinguisher. That was probably it... or maybe it was when he took down a helicopter with a car. Either way, by the 30 minute mark, every fear I had vanished and I found myself giggling with delight at how badass this movie was.

Little did I know, I judged Die Hard 4 too soon. It was so B.A. that the projector in the theater couldn't handle the pressure. With fifteen minutes left in the movie, right about the time Bruce Willis finishes tearing up Baltimore in a big rig, the film melted! A dull roar ripped through the theater as the image on the screen deteriorated like that scene in "Fight Club." Back in the projector room, five hairy men wearing nothing but overalls, hardhats, and grime were toiling away, trying to get things under control. "It's too powerful! It can't take no more!" they yell as they hopefully pull levers and turn valves. "The movie is living up to the franchise! We're going down!"

Meanwhile, in the audience, we all gasped at the disturbing site of celluloid going to pot. But, once the shock wore off, everyone began clapping and cheering. There were no qualms about what we had just witnessed: this film, in all it's sheer awesomeness, destroyed itself. It was heroicly tragic. After the cheering stopped, we all realized that our movie was broken. Not cool.

The manager came in to calm everyone down. She said that there was another showing down the hall that was 30 minutes behind ours. The forty-plus people in the theater got up and made the jog down the hall, busting into the theater like a S.W.A.T. team. Who cares about the folks that were in the theater first, they didn't know the horror that we had witnessed... and if anyone complained, I was more than happy to tell them about the events that occur in the next twenty minutes of the movie.

We were able to see the movie the rest of the way through. They kept us all waiting with baited breath for what has been called "The greatest one-liner in movie history." It ended, we survived, and I lived (free) to tell about it. The movie passed the B.A. Test right away, and only assured me of that fact by going down in a blaze of glory. It died hard.

An Open Letter

2007-05-30T14:03:00.001-04:00

Dear people of Beaver County,

Recently my neighbor has changed his/her internet service leaving me without a free wireless signal to use. I know. it's a travesty. One day good ol' linksys is up and running. I can get internet both in my bed and at my desk. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, linksys was gone. I tried to stay calm. I simply assumed the network was down for technical reasons. That was until the evil, vile, and very, very password protected Hom847 came on the scene. Clearly, my neighbor has upgraded their network and foolishly added and a password leaving me out in the cold. How could he/she do this to me? Am I not wrong to feel my neighbor - either directly next door or across the street - has been terribly inconsiderate towards me? I don't think so.

Now I am without internet. I have been making do with going to local coffee houses and checking my email at libraries, but this is quite limiting. Libraries and coffee shops close. Coffee shops expect you to buy something. My life is in shambles.

This brings me to you, the good people of Beaver County. More specifically I am addressing this to the Beaver Falls College Hill community. Does anyone have an unprotected WiFi signal which will allow me to get on to the internet? I am in the market for a new network to glom onto. Perhaps I shouldn't say 'in the market' since that may lead to assumption that I am willing to pay you for this service. I am not. Ideally, I would like to find a home within a few blocks of my current residence - or possibly someone to move into the vacant apartment beneath mine while setting up a nice network. The ideal candidate would live in a large home where a someone sitting outside typing on a notebook would not be deemed suspicious. Ideally the home would be equipped with a large covered patio. Chairs and possibly a table would be much appreciated. I am perfectly willing to sit on your porch for hours at a time looking up arcane facts on wikipedia, the new John Rambo trailer on YouTube, googling random acquaintances , and doing other time killing internet business. You do not have to speak to me or even acknowledge me. In fact, I would prefer this. Anyone interested in helping me out, please contact me through his blog. Thank you.

Shalom

The Blog Entry

2007-05-21T13:57:00.001-04:00

If you're opening a business, it is imperative that you resist the urge to name in the most generic of terms. It may seem cute to open up a barber shop called "The Barber Shop," but I assure you that this lack of originality is not only wholly un-cute, but downright confusing. Recently, I've been noticing a lot of different small businesses popping up with these supposedly charming generic names, and it's starting to really become a problem.

By naming your laundromat "The Laundromat" or your bar "The Bar," you are essentially, and unknowingly, giving up on standing out from the crowd. You are surrendering any hope of notoriety, and are instead doing everything possible to blend in with your competitors. If you aren't going to take the time to think of an original name, what makes me think you're going to have an original product?

I can only understand this if you are the first store of your kind. If I opened a store that was the only one in the area, or the entire state, that offered different kinds of licorice, then maybe I could justify calling myself "The Licorice Store." But the stores I've been seeing aren't offering any new products or services; they are directly competing similar stores in town.

Let's say there are five donut shops in town (I'm not sure why that would happen, but it would rock regardless). If one of them is named "the Donut Shop," I would reckon that it would get lost in the crowd. If I'm told to run down to the "donut shop" and get a dozen for breakfast, my first thought isn't going to be "Ah yes, THE Donut Shop." Maybe for some folks, it works the other way, but I have trouble believing that. The problem is, there are too many adults (and trust me, they're all adults) that think naming this stuff in generic terms is cute/charming/clever.

It reminds me of a skit that the Cellar Dwellers performed years ago, it was called "Skit." Essentially, the joke of the skit was that a family was living in strictly generic terms. "Son, would you like some dessert?"; "Mother, I'm going to City to see Band in concert."; "Dad, I want to cheer on Team while they play Sport." Yeah, it went on like that. And all of the props in the skit were white boxes labeled "Prop." It was a great little skit that applies directly to what I'm talking about.

The worst is when these stores put their own names in quotes. Welcome to "The Furniture Store." It's almost as if the owner should be winking at you every time you read the sign. The quotes give an added message to the sign that reads "Hey, look we named the store after what the store IS! Get it? Eh? The Furniture Store! Eh? Eh? Isn't that funny?" The quotes make me want to punch the storefront for being stupid. Of course, then I would be stupid for punching a building.

I can only hope that this is a temporary fad... and that eventually these stores will adapt new names. Maybe they are just trying things out before attempting to build a reputation with a true name. Or maybe these names are just the result of months of arguing and debating amongst store owners. "If we can't call it 'Jim's Barber Shop' and we can't call it 'Greg's Barber Shop,' then it shall be 'THE Barber Shop.'"

Don't Date Him Girl

2007-05-15T16:05:00.000-04:00

It has been recently called to my attention that I may not be good boyfriend material. Why Joe you say, I simply cant imagine that a person such as your self could ever be a bad boyfriend. That's what I thought as well, but after reading this article, I changed my mind.

Joe Wichryk

This guy is very manipulative. He'll tell you he's looking for a relationship and will say anything sweet enough to get you in bed with him, then after it's done, he'll tell you he wants to be friends and he doesn't want a girlfriend. In the meantime, he has been dating a handful of girls besides you. A master of trickery and words is he. He appears to be very handsome and charming, but instead he's a snake. If you care about yourself, girl, don't date him!

Age	25
Race	White
City	Beaver Falls
Country	USA

. (1) comments
. add a comment
I know what your thinking, your shocked, outraged, crushed even. Your thinking how could someone write such cruel slander about Joe.(unless you know me, then your thinking wow, they left out arrogant and douchebag and asshole)

But Dont worry, any publicity can be good publicity if you simply put the right spin on it. I know what your thinking , but Joe , how can such evil lies be good. I'll tell you.

Obviously I must have effected some one's life pretty deeply for them to write anonymously about me on a web site. So we could say something like this

Joe will change your life!!
Joe, see what all the girls are writing about.

But lets not stop there, this can also be made good simply by quoting it out of context heres a few examples.

"He appears to be very handsome and charming..."
"A master of ... words is he"
"This guy is... sweet... and charming... date him!"

And hey lets look on the bright side of all this, most other profiles have really bad pictures of the guys, the person who created my profile used a really good picture of me. so as of today, my (copyrighted) headshot has been viewed by over 329 people. Thats 329 more chances to be recognized and remembered later on in life. cause lets face it most people wont remember why and where they saw my face, I will simply seem more familiar to them.

So you see being bashed on a slander site isn't all bad, It kinda gives me a sick sense of satisfaction to know someone cared enough to write about me. And hey if it gets real bad, I can always sue for copyright infringement.

Joe eoJ

James Buys a New Computer

2007-05-12T13:52:00.000-04:00

Ok, James this is it. You need a new computer. You're old laptop, Corky, just isn't cutting it anymore. He's heavy. His screen is about to fall off. he's riddled with viruses. Yes, he was your college computer. There is a lot of sentimental value to Corky, and yes, buying a new computer is going to cost you some money, but face it, Corky is dying. This is your time, now go into that mac outfitters and get yourself a new computer

Let's see. Where do they keep their notebooks in this piece. There's so much stuff I don't understand in here. Why don't I know more about this stuff. All my peers know about this stuff. Where was I when everyone was learning about computers and technology? Probably watching cartoons or reading some Russian novel. Damn, I'm already lost. I should have done more research.

Yes, yes, friendly sales person, I would like some help. Finally, someone to guide me through his wasteland of monitors, keyboards, and flashing shadow dancing iPod Commercials. He's probably about my age, only he knows what's up. He's a nerdy hipster with his plastic rim eyeglasses and short hair cut. He's probably into online Role playing games and hiking outside in the fall. I bet he rides a mountain bike to work and eats Cliff Bars on his lunch. For some reason I want desperately for him to like. He complements me on my 'A Scanner Darkly' T-shirt. Oh sweet joy, the hip computer store sales person likes my shirt. Things are going better than I could have hoped.

Here are the notebooks. That's the one I think I want. The sleek white one that costs less than the other ones. Now, to just confirm my desire. I need to ask some questions of this salesman. Come on, James. Think of some good questions. You had some good ones in the car. Dammit, I should have written them down. But I was driving. That would have been a terrible mistake. This isn't a problem. I can come up with some questions. I just don't want to look ignorant in front of the salesman. We've already bonded over my shirt. I don't want Kyle to think less of me. Oh God, I'm thinking of the salesman by his first name. This is weird. But I still don't want him to think of me as some rube. Come on, think of something smart to say already.

"Does this computer allow one to 'surf' the 'Interweb'"

Idiot. I'm a complete moron. Of course this goes on the interweb. Is that even word? Interweb? That doesn't sound right. That's because it's not right. The words internet. How could I forget the term internet. I sound like my dad. I think I've made an awful mistake. Kyle probably thinks I'm an idiot. This is terrible. Maybe I should just go. There are other stores out there. No. No. I can pull this out. Maybe Kyle just thought I was being ironic. Crap. He's talking. He's been talking all this time. I haven't been paying attention. Apparently he's trying to demonstrate features. I don't know if I understand.

Ok. There's a camera up top there. I can smile. I can take my picture. Boo-ya. I know how the camera works. I'm like a hacker. This isn't so bad. Wait. Stop fiddling with the camera. Kyle's trying to show me more stuff. Focus, James. This is a big investment. Pay some attention. I wonder how heavy this thing is. It doesn't look so heavy. Almost anything will feel light after Corky. I bet I could throw this MacBook the whole way across the room. Not that I want to throw it across the room. That would be ridiculous. Of course, now I am a little curious as to how far i could heave this. I wonder if they have some sort of empty MacBook around without the computer bits in it, about the same size and weight. Then I could throw it and not worry about breaking anything. They probably don't have anything like that though. Most people probably don't think about how far they can throw a computer. Oh, well.

Crap. Kyle's been talking. I really need to pay attention. He's showing me how the dashboard works. I can probably figure that out. Hell, let's be honest. I probably won't use half this crap. Wait. Kyle just said something about Podcasts. I know that word. Finally. I make a podcast. By make, I mean I write and perform and by some magic Little Mike makes it appear on the interweb...I mean, internet.

"I do a podcast."

So, there Kyle. I am also involved in your hip cyber-world. Impressed yet. Please, be impressed. He doesn't seemed impressed. He probably is, but doesn't want to show it. He's working. He's in the middle of a sales pitch. He doesn't want to get side tracked with asking me all about my podcast. Yeah. That's probably it.

Wait. Did that other salesman just compliment me on my shoes when he passed by? This is weird. Maybe I should tell him that I'm already being helped by Kyle. I don't want these MacBoys fighting over me. Or DO I? ...

Focus. Kyle's showing me how the date book works. I know I'm never going to use that. If he's gone all the way through the features to the point of trying to sell me on the datebook, we've gone through everything. Maybe I should just tell him I'll take the computer. I was pretty sure I was going to get it before I went in. I've got the money. Plus, if I buy one Kyle will definitely like me. And, If i have one, I can throw it.

Shalom

Questions That Can Save Your Life!

2007-05-07T14:30:00.000-04:00

I happened to catch a brief glimpse of an old Reader's Digest over the weekend. One of the articles highlighted on the cover was "10 Questions That Can Save Your Life!" I was intrigued. While flipping through the magazine to find the article, I was trying to guess what these questions could be; unfortunately, when I actually saw the article, I realized that I was quite off-base. Their questions were more about wheezing coughs and aneurisms and less about sharks and faulty brakes.

So while RD's questions may your life, if you remember to ask them while visiting your doctor, I bet my questions are not only more important, but more effective as well.

10. What do you think is making that hissing sound? Always an important question, because it could either be a snake or a natural gas leak–and if you're in your basement, it could be both!

9. Was he pointing at me? Whether you're on the street or in a bar, if you see some mean looking guys talking, and then point in your direction, it would behoove you to figure out who they were pointing at.

8. How long does it take a piano to fall five stories? This question is always better asked rhetorically, rather than, say, while looking up.

7. Is that one of those retractable toy knives? Always good to be sure before running.

6. Master-Blaster, why do you two work so well together? If you are asking this question, you have undoubtedly found yourself inside of the Thunderdome... which should prompt further life-saving questions.

5. How do you know if a shark is really hungry? This question could save your life, but you might be missing some body parts.

4. Is something behind me? Usually when you have to ask, there always is. I like to think that when I ask, someone is behind me holding a present or a milkshake.

3. Are the vice president and his daughter attending this Penguins game? If so, this can only lead to trouble... unless there is Belgian firefighter also in attendance.

2. If a train leaves Boston traveling at an average speed of 45mph, and a second train leaves Chicago traveling at an average speed of 58mph, how long until they collide? The answer will completely change, of course, if Steven Seagal is aboard one of those trains.

1. What did you say? It never hurts to ask, because it may have been important.

The top ten things I like, will miss, and/or remember about Nang and the four troupes we've been in together

2007-05-01T11:22:00.000-04:00

10) Becca: “You don’t understand, Dr. Murphy. Dying. It’s really bad.”

9) Killing James Bond.

8) The Nang Dance

7) The improv version of her and James getting happily divorced; and her and Ben ‘cleaning’ out the garage. (what a night that was)

6) “My co-worker, who’ve I’ve known anywhere from 6 months to 3 years.”

5) How excited she was when I auditioned for I-Factor.

4) Eat-N-Park pep talks before I decided to start The Mighty What.

3) The Dwellers show at 5-Spot in Philly.

2) Nangness

1) Her hunger for improv knowledge: From the first day at the Vault, to the last show at Future Tenant, she wanted any piece of improv information she could get.

We’ll miss you Nang. You will always be a part of us, a part of Pittsburgh and a member of Hustlebot, The Mighty What, The Cellar Dwellers and I-Factor.

Peace
Larry

FAQs for the road.

2007-04-13T11:15:00.000-04:00

For the folks who've been wondering...

As of Monday, I am officially registered for my first Upright Citizen's Brigade class, Improv 101. In New York City.

As His Holiness Pope John Paul II would say: "Crap."

So yes, my little turtle doves, I guess all this big talk from your friend Nang is finally backed up by a non-refundable charge on her Navy Federal Credit Union card.

Additional information, including frequently asked questions (FAQs), appears below.

"When are you leaving?"
Good question, Billy. While I don't have an exact date yet, it looks like the first week of May,

"Where will you stay?"
I'm staying with my little brother Gavin, who is a teacher in Brooklyn. I will be sleeping on his couch in his apartment in Bay Ridge.

"What will you be doing?"
In addition to working, I will be taking classes at the UCB Theater in Manhattan and trying to immerse myself in learning and challenging myself to get better, to grow, to met new people and learn more about improv and sketch writing.

"Are you trying to be famous?"
God, no. I want to figure out what jobs there are out there for the skills I have and the skills I am learning.

"Do you have a job lined up?"
No, I am looking. If you would like to pay me for performing a service, or for just being spectacular, please contact me. It is interesting to note that I have no money saved up for this and I am making a poor financial decision.

"Won't your back hurt you sleeping on Gav's couch? You should be careful. What about your sister's air mattress?"
Mom, calm down.

"Will you consider waitressing there like you do in Pittsburgh?"
On the condition that murder is legal in New York. I have people checking on that.

"Aren't you nervous going to the big city?"
I lived in Philadelphia for 22 years before I lived in Pittsburgh. I'll be ok.

"Why are you starting at Improv 101? You rock this whole damn city's socks."
Oh, thank you, Self. Its the rules. I am looking forward to it. Although I have a feeling its going to be me and a whole bunch of hot kids right out of college.

"Aren't you too old for this?"
Maybe. Ok, yes.

"Will you forget about Pennsylvania?"
I'll try, but the dreams...oh, the nightmares...

"You will be nervous a lot. Don't you sweat a lot when you are nervous?"
I recently discovered Secret Clinical Strength and things seems to be ok. For now.

"What about sketch writing?"
I have a good portfolio from my work with the Cellar Dwellers and the Mighty What. I am looking forward to adding to it.

"Why do you have a Navy Federal Credit Union credit card?"
Both my parents work for the Navy as civilians, and when I applied for student loans I had to get one.

"How you gonna let dem awesome GRE scores expire like dat?"
Its pathetic, I know.

"Wait- aren't girls not funny?"
Oh...right...who wants to party on my creative plateau? The Summer of Atrophy.
---------------------------------

So thats it for now, feel free to ask questions. I will do my best to answer.

LO
VE,

Nang

Rules To Live By Based Mainly On Action Movies

2007-04-10T20:18:00.000-04:00

If you are on a boat and Steven Seagal is the cook, get off the boat.

If you’re going to a hockey game and see Jean-Claude Van Damme with his kids, leave the arena.

If you see Sandra Bullock on your bus, get off.

If Bruce Willis shows up at your office Christmas party, excuse yourself early.

If you are on a train and Steven Seagal is the cook, get off the train.

If you are driving through a tunnel and see Sylvester Stallone in the car behind you, get out of that tunnel.

If you are at a bar and Patrick Swayze is the bouncer, you are safe.

If you see both Sandra Bullock AND Keanu Reeves on your bus, it’s already to late.

If you are reporter boarding air force one and Harrison Ford is the president, stay home and write about congress.

If you see Wesley Snipes boarding your flight, stay home.

If you see Samuel L. Jackson Boarding your flight, stay home.

If you see Sandra Bullock on your boat, get off that boat.

Never marry Steven Seagal. (Although you can rest assured your death will be avenged, most likely after a lengthy coma.)

Don’t make Bill Bixby mad.

If you run into Alan Rickman or Jeremy Irons using a questionable German accent, leave town.

If you see both Sandra Bullock and Jason Patrick on your boat, it’s probably already too late.

If Jean-Claude Van Damme is claiming to be French Canadien, Creole, French, or pretty much anything other than Belgian, leave town.

If you see Gene Hackman on your boat, get off the boat.

If Sylvester Stallone is your mountain climbing guide, cancel your trip.

If you see Kurt Russell driving a truck into Chinatown, get out of Chinatown.
If you see Sandra Bullock, Jason Patrick, Gene Hackman, and Steven Seagal on your boat, you are probably already dead.

Shalom

The Tooth Man Cometh

2007-04-04T16:34:00.000-04:00

The worst part about elective surgery is that you can’t vote for anyone else. Through some sort of medicinal suffrage, I have elected to have my four wisdom teeth taken from me tomorrow morning. I am not looking forward to this. In fact, I now know how Buchanan supporters felt in Florida in 2000. I’m getting ripped off.

Sure I could back out, I could “elect” not to have the surgery, but it’s only going to lead to more problems when I’m older. My wisdom teeth are impacted, which means they are never going to come out. I have decided to not let these little geniuses be shut-ins… so instead, they will be pulverized by an oral surgeon, and then removed from my mouth on Holy Thursday. God help them if they grow back in three days later.

Dentists and orthodontists tell you “everyone gets their wisdom teeth out,” and yet I know hardly anyone who actually as had the procedure. Everyone is more than happy to open up their mouths and prove to me that they do, indeed, still have their smart teeth. I was set to be in the same club as they are, until I started getting headaches from them.

Then there is the issue of graduation. Medical doctors, eye doctors and dentists must be experiencing a flurry of activity right about now, as soon-to-be graduates rush to take advantage of their parents’ health insurance just one more time before having to face the real world. That was the biggest issue in the campaign to elect the surgery. Get ‘em out now or be stuck with them. I know that I’ll eventually get a job that has dental benefits, but who is to say when that will actually be? It’s best to do this now, and get it over with.

Again, I don’t know what I was thinking scheduling this during Holy Week. Sure it’s technically an apt time to do this, since I have a time off from school to just lay around the house. But this also means that the work I planned on doing over break has to wait, at least one or two days before I can recover. Recovery seems to be the biggest thorn in my side (or mouth, really). Everyone has been so vague as to how long it will take until I can A) move around B) form sentences C) eat and D) do work. Really, I just need to get to D by Friday or Saturday and I’ll be happy. With final portfolios, papers and my senior art exhibit just around the corner, I can’t afford to lie on the couch and watch movies all day (although I totally plan on doing that).

This morning I had a dream about my surgery. It was most likely inspired by all of the Mission: Impossible episodes that my roommate and I have been watching this semester, combined with a Black Market doctor in the book “World War Z.” In the dream, my dentist tells me that he can’t perform the operation, and instead I have to fly down to Peru to get it done by “a guy he knows.” This doctor proceeds to tell me that he does all sorts of surgeries with stolen body parts, stem cells, and cosmetics. And then he gets to work with tearing out my wisdom teeth. It was an awful dream that really made me want to take back my vote. Now that this surgery as been elected, can’t I impeach it?

But no… there is no turning back. I won’t be eating any food after midnight tonight, and tomorrow morning I’ll be “put under.” An hour later, I’ll be at home watching “Saving Private Ryan” or something.

What a way to spend an Easter Break.

Conch

2007-03-25T15:51:00.000-04:00

When I was a 13 year old boy, I had packed my few belongings and bundled them in a large red handkerchief which I had soon after fastened to the end of a lanky birch limb. Then I set off down the train tracks, meeting gypsies and thieves whose names are now fuzzy. After countless sunsets, my journey abruptly ended when the rails greeted the gigantic blue ocean. I stared at the ocean and thought "man, this is really something," as I had only seen the blue horizon in coffee table books and postcards from my aunt and uncle's trip to Bermuda. As the ocean seemed to swell with each passing breeze, I feared my security and followed my compulsion to step backwards, until the edge of my heel clipped something sturdy and pointy. A shell! A rather cumbersome shell! In a pang of excitement, I emptied my handkerchief of clothes and loose, bleached photos of my family I'd scrounged from the scrap album, and wrapped it around Poseidon's gift. Then I skipped back down the train tracks in search of a hobo who might know a little more.
Fortunately, before dark I happened upon a shabby vagabond cooking a banged-up can of baked beans over an open flame within eye shot of the tracks. Not considering advice about not talking to strangers, I asked the drifter about the shell.
"My, my, son. That there is one of them conch shells. You don't find them too often. You better hold on to that." he told me.
"Why?" I asked. I could tell that this sorry nomad had wanted me to ask; I could see the untold story in his eyes...

That night I learned an abridged history of the conch shell, the bugle of the seashell kingdom, which I will share with you. The hobo mumbled on and on, and the following in what I can remember. I have filled in blanks were necessary.

Apparently, the conch shell has origins as far back the old testament. Although there is no mention of the conch shell in the Bible, the found Dead Sea scrolls make mention of the tribal head of the Philistines, referred to as the The Clodbumbler in the text, blowing the conch shell and allowing the low, bellow to roll over the hills and valleys to summon other Philistines from up to ten miles away. Typically, the next day (it took many hours for all the Philistines to arrive) would host the quarterly meeting of the Philistines, in which the Clodbumbler would mediate discussion concerning relevant political issues, the drafting of 13-15 year old boys for warfare, and the weighing of the tribesmens' beards.
This is the first known appearance of the conch shell in any known text. There would be no mention of the conch shell in any literature until centuries later when two archaeologists from Cambridge, England unearthed a manuscript in Rome. Apparently, Ceaser had ordered all conch shells to be turned over by citizens to the Roman Republic in exchange for a single gold coin featuring the likeness of Ceaser himself. The Roman government later speared countless civilians in their sleep, many of whom were still clutching their new coins. One feisty peasant who narrowly escaped the clutch of the Republic with conch shell in hand was a young carpenter named Jesus H Christ. Many actually believe that Jesus used the conch shell to call the lepers from the hills for a subsequent healing, and possibly cleansing. According to the manuscripts, one evening while Jesus was visiting a local tavern to repair a loose floorboard, a Nazarene barkeep seized and wielded Jesus' own conch shell as a weapon against a particularly drunk Roman guard who had begun spouting insults at his 11 year old male love slave.
The history of the conch shell until the mid 1800's has become a secretive debate between scholars. Again, there is no mention of the conch shell in any literature, song, or teachings of any kind until then. Also, there are no known renderings of the conch shell until December 29, 1863. History buffs many recognize this date as being 3 days before Lincoln gave the Emancipation Proclamation. A water color rendering of Abe Lincoln, probably the work of Lincoln's water-colorist Winston Berkley, portrays the 16th president stoic and erect atop a three stacked bails of hay. Lincoln, cheeks puffed and eyes bulging, is blowing into a rather pedestrian looking conch shell; one would expect an extravagant conch shell for a president. Another painting depicts Lincoln cradling his famous stove-pipe underneath the conch shell as he blows, most likely for optimal resonance. Mr. Berkley's dairy, currently in the US Smithsonian American History Museum, supposedly recalls the march of the Negroes from across the state, drawn by the low bellow of the conch shell reverberating through the cotton fields. I say (the diary) "supposedly recalls" the event because the Smithsonian "mistakenly" encased the diary in its air-tight display seal before scholars could rummage and record the text properly; the inch thick plastic case can not be reopened as the pages will disintegrate upon exposure to air. That's just a foot note though. After declaring freedom to the Negroes, Lincoln is said to have either given his otherwise garden-variety conch shell to a young slave boy as an unofficial apology from the US government, or buried it near his childhood home in rural Illinois.
The conch shell enjoyed a kind of renaissance in 1954 when William Golding wrote the literary achievement Lord of the Flies, about a handful of boys shipwrecked on an island. In the novel, a fat kid named Piggy finds a conch shell on the beach. The shell is later used as a means in which to call the other stranded boys to council. The shell also is revered as golden calf, if you will.
The conch shell experienced another revival in 1990 when Lord of the Flies is made into a major motion picture. The design of the original, but later rejected, poster for the movie featured a close-up of the conch shell accompanied by the tag, "Conch Me If You Can, In Theaters This Summer." A revised movie poster depicting a grossly overweight Piggy devouring an ice cream cone outside a Sonic was also scrapped. The final version of the poster was regrettably a rather silly photo of a stereotypical king bull-whipping a colony of submissive teste flies. The movie was a critic punching bag as well.
The most recent attention the conch shell has received was in June of 2006 when a local man, Gordon Steinbacher, struck a conch shell while digging a sewer in Union County, Pa. Gordon, a 34 year veteran of Brandon Textiles, apparently reported in fourth grade language to the Union County Reader that he planned to use his new tool to "round-up the hounds when I sense a-rustlin'."

At this juncture the hobo released a lengthy release of air as if he had entrusted me with the entire history of the conch shell in one breath. He then got seriously pissy as he discovered that his beans had become burnt.

My Cover Letter for my Application to the World's Strongest Man Company

2007-02-11T22:30:00.000-05:00

Dear President of the World’s Strongest Man Association,

Allow me to say right up front that I am a huge fan of your organization. I have always admired the creativity of The World’s Strongest Man competitions. Your company is clearly the world leader in the discovering new ways for large men to lift, carry, drag, and throw heavy objects. Where a lesser organization would be perfectly happy to have a beefy gentleman carry one refrigerator you insist upon giving him two. While a less ambitious corporation would simply have forty pound beer kegs lifted, you tell them to throw the kegs over a 14 foot wall, backwards, over their heads. The list could go on. Your resourcefulness in the area of testing the physical strength of Norwegians is, in my ever so humble opinion, nothing short of genius. Some people look at an anchor and see nothing more than a heavy piece of metal to moor a ship. When the people in your organization look at an anchor, you see a cool looking weight for a six-foot-five-inch behemoth to race across a thirty yard track. Your organization should be proud of the immense strides you have made in the ever competitive field strong men contests.

While I am no strong man – I am actually quite far from it – I feel that I would be a valuable asset to your company. While I lack the physical strength of the world’s strongest men, I make up for with strength of mind and creativity. I have spent long hours imagining my own strong man competitions. I feel that, while the great minds in your think tanks have thought up myriad wondrous strong man tests, I have the depth of imagination to take your competitions to the next level. There are many heavy things which your competitors are currently asked to hoist, carry, and/or throw – large stones, tree trunks, anchors, and small European automobiles to name only a few – but there are so many heavy things which you have yet implement. Have you, for instance, considered pianos, steamer trunks filled with hardcover books, old-fashioned console televisions, or full-sized marble statues of horses? These are just a few heavy items I would love to witness your contestants lift, race, or toss. Some preferably tossed.

Also, while I applaud you for truly testing the mighty to crown the World’s Strongest Man, but I am a little disappointed that none of your events test for either intellectual or emotional strength. I am aware this is not the primary motive for your company, but the title of your program is not ‘The World’s Physically Strongest Man’. I have, I feel, strong suggestions on how these other elements of strength can be worked into competition. For instance, while dead lifting a large log contestants can be asked simple math questions. Contestants can debate economic theory while pulling sleds weighted with fifty canon balls. Inform every contestant individually that for every event they fail to win, an innocent puppy will be executed. During the finals, upgrade from puppy to human infant. These are just a few of the several ideas I have which will truly test every level of human strength, thereby making your event even more compelling.

Clearly, I am the perfect candidate for a position in your organization and your organization is the perfect match for my unique talents. I fully believe your company offers the best environment for my creative powers of thinking of crazy things for really strong people to do to blossom. I have attached my resume to this letter. I can be reached by the phone number given or via e-mail. If I am unavailable are just a few of the several ideas I have which will truly test every level of human strength, thereby making your event even more compelling.

Clearly, I am the perfect candidate for a position in your organization and your organization is the perfect match for my unique talents. I fully believe your company offers the best environment for my creative powers of thinking of crazy things for really strong people to do to blossom. I have attached my resume to this letter. I can be reached by the phone number given or via e-mail. If I am unavailable, I will return your message as soon as possible. I thank you for any time spent in considering this application. Good day.

Shalom

Memo From The VP of Youth Marketing

2007-02-01T12:36:00.000-05:00

I am pleased to report success which far exceeds our most generous early projections. The youth of this day and age are the perfect for our uses. They are malleable. They can be bent and folded to fill almost any use we can find for them. Honestly, the permutations seem to be endless. These children are the perfect consumer vessels. We have them by the nose. We can lead them anywhere.

The key to leading the youth is convincing them they are not being led. Children and teenagers in particular will do almost anything if you convince them it is there own idea. Every adolescent wants to be different, but they all conform. Have you looked out from your hundredth story corner office recently and observed these teens. There are about four different groups all of which feature children who are pretty much indistinguishable from each other within the group. I take a particular pleasure in the group I have dubbed the Ravens. The kids have other names for the group. It has elements of punk, goth, renaissance fairs, and what some nitwit has dubbed emo. You may recognize these children. If you have seen one, you have seen them all. They travel in packs, three or more children with jet black hair falling across their faces. Most amazing of all is they all wear woman’s pants, even the males. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell even the sex of these children. From the back they all look the same. (This has quite honestly led to some conflicting confused feelings within myself, but this memo is no place for any personal revelations.)

From the outside these children are almost impossible to market to. They present a monolithic façade, impossible to penetrate from without. However, once inside their group they can be molded to any shape you desire. Tell me to get them to start wearing bow ties, you will probably see it on MTV within the hour.

You see, I am inside.

Please, I know when you read this you will scoff. I can imagine you choking on your thirty year old scotch. You, obviously, want to know how I got inside, how I got groups of conformist disaffected youths to accept me, a forty five year old Harvard MBA. The answer is easy. They have never actually met me. I am their friend only via the internet. I have a MySpace account. Actually, I have been operating an average of eight accounts at any given time. My most common is under the name DAarC&An*gEL. Why the terrible punctuation, spelling, and capitalization, you ask? The simple answer is kids today are stupid. The more pertinent answer is that I need to maintain credibility with the youths. I must appear, at least on-line, as one of them. My page has a black layout and my profile picture is nothing but a black and white photograph of a black boot with a needless amount of buckles floating in a rancid pond. I have over 800 hundred friends, none of which I have actually met. I communicate with them via comment boards and bulletins. I can start trends. I can lead. I have sway.

As an added bonus, I have managed to get these teens to actually enjoy taking surveys. No sensible person enjoys taking these surveys, but these kids are practically addicted to it. I am slowly molding them to become the most marketing controlled generation in industry history. Through extensive surveying I am zoning in on exactly what they want and how they think. I am slowly fazing in more marketing centric questions into the surveys. Now sandwiched between questions about your BFF and who was the last person you kissed, I plop in questions such as: Pepsi or Coke. And the children respond. They will answer anything in these surveys. We have almost unlimited access. Soon we will have complete control over these children. We will rule the future.

Shalom

The Lost Art of Fist-Pumping

2007-01-24T16:43:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've really witnessed a good "fist-pump," which is one of the most quintessential celebratory actions man has ever created. When one accomplishes a victory, whether it is over another being or merely over one's self, thrusting that fist up into the air just feels so good. And it doesn't just feel good, it looks good. It means something. It's that upper cut to the atmosphere that says "Right now, at this moment, I'm the best."

But where has that gone? Why don't people pump their fists anymore? I got on to thinking about this because of an article I read in the Washington Post about last night's State of the Union Address. The article ended talking about President Bush's praise of some Good Samaritans at the end of his speech. "Everybody on the floor rose, in unison this time, and Sen. Jim Bunning (R-Ky.) punched a fist in the air." I just envisioned Senator Bunning in this strange euphoric slow-motion fist-pump that embodied everything the man was feeling at that exact point in time. He meant it, and he deserved to use it.

Perhaps the best use of the fist pump in the last century was at the end of the "Breakfast Club." While the movie itself may not be that great (except for the incredibly long dance montage), it ends on a fantastic note: A fist pump, a freeze frame, and a crazy letter. Crazy letters aside, I would love to see more films end this way. It sends the audience out on a good note, while spreading the popularity of the fist-pump. Just imagine James Bond or Harrison Ford in "Air Force One" doing a fist-pump at the end. The movies would end on such a positive note that no one could deny their excellence.

In today's culture, the fist-pump has been cast as a move only made by dorks, geeks, and the like. Only people far removed from current acceptable behavior actually practice the fist-pump, and it's a darn shame. Who does the fist-pump the most right now on TV? Dwight on "The Office." Not a good role model for a move that is incredibly cool and powerful. Perhaps this is because the culture as a whole frowns on excessive gloating, specifically that which reminds people of violence. But if you think of the fist-pump more along the lines of someone holding up a non-existent flag, rather than someone trying to punch the Sun, it becomes a bit more acceptable.

It's a show of triumph, originating from gladiators... and maybe one of the Apostles ("Jesus is risen!" *Fist pump!*) I just hate to see something that fantastic fall to the wayside, or fall into the stereotypes of geekdom. We need to bring it back, and Senator Jim Bunning of Kentucky has already started the ball rolling!

Coffee Raises My New Year

2007-01-08T20:54:00.000-05:00

I have been sick all year. Sure, while it may be a trite statement to make on the 8th of January, it's very much the truth. In fact, about 85% of everyone I know has been sick... all year. I spend the first two hours of every morning emptying my head and learning to talk again. The rest of the day is like going through a second stage of vocal puberty, where I transition from the nasally way I normally talk to a poor James Earl Jones impression.

The worst part about being sick all year is that I had to cut back on coffee. The first week of the year and I barely touched the stuff. Thankfully, over the past three days, I have been able to bounce back, and I've been making up for lost time. At the end of last week, I visited my favorite cafe three days in a row. By the end of the week, one of the baristas said to me: "Glad to hear it doesn't sound like Satan is living in your throat anymore." I, too, was very glad he left... I was sick of having sulfur breath.

Speaking of coffee, one of my highlights of this new year has been the discovery of "Coffee Cake Coffee;" a Flavor of the Day that I never imagined I would actually like. However it was recommended to me last Friday, I tried it, and I couldn't get enough! At the same time, I couldn't help but taste a sense of irony: a coffee that tastes like a dessert made to be eaten with coffee. It had a cinnamon-y vanilla taste to it, and wasn't nearly as "crummy" as the actual dessert. I'm currently in the throws of a long decision-making process to decide what blend of coffee I shall be taking back with me for my final semester of college.

Prior to Friday, I was set on a pound of "J.P. Hearty." It's a Prestogeorge Pittsburgh original that sounds like a Tammany Hall politician but tastes like a Bull Moose Senator! It's a dang good blend that never seems to let me down... that is, until I found this Coffee Cake Coffee. My concern is that if I have too much of it, I may get sick of it. That has always been my concern with flavored coffee. Too much of that flavor and it became lame and tired. So, perhaps I may be compromising, going with the pound of J.P. Hearty and a half, or quarter pound of the Coffee Cake Coffee.

Thus far over break, my creativity has been on vacation as well. With the only Dweller show being one that we wrote three years ago, and a break in the radio show writing, I haven't felt the need to blog to express myself. But, as things wind down (faster than I had previously expected!) I find my creativity returning. The Dwellers are in the brainstorming stages of a new show slated for May, James and I have begun writing our next four episodes of Dodge, and I'm able to drink coffee again... which means more oxygen is getting to my brain. Plus, my ability to breathe through my nose is giving me access to more oxygen in general. I'm watching alot of movies, I'm reading pulp novels, I'm catching up on all of the Fall episodes of "The Unit"... things are coming around and the laziness of the Christmas season has been packed away in boxes in the basement.

Knowing my luck, I will discover a great new project to work on days before moving back to school.

Assorted Sods

2007-01-06T16:40:00.000-05:00

My solace quakes and shivers. Twilight on the eve of Libra leers. Peculiar tidings gnaw my britches.
Never before has a meteor shower claimed so many. Brother Talbot was pelted on a venture to the shower-house in hopes of cleansing his in-betweens. We mourn his unfortunate passing. In tribute, a gathering of young men will flock to the town square and mimic Talbot's best known contribution to Cajun soul music, a random series of pelvic thrusts punctuated by a kind of primal yodel. Finally, per his latest diary entry, brother Talbot's remains will be vaulted into the crisp November air via catapult, and dive-bombed by trained water fowl. Talbot himself would appreciate such a curious display.
In preparation of another such tragedy, I have proposed to the chancellor a blueprint for an elaborate infrastructure of underground pods linked by reinforced tunnels which would support the reemergence of, what would likely become over a period of an indefinite amount of years, a breed a mole-people. Although I bemoan the awkward image of creeping cramped through crawlspaces and bending buckled in bunkers I believe the execution of my depictions to be necessary.
The vultures salivate on their perches crowning the oak buds on high branches as clouded rain water gathers in catch basins. Any dullard would testify these are tell-tale signs of the planet's fatigue. Despite such tidings, I shall instruct my fiddlers to sack those who adorn crushed velvet chaps, as we have agreed at the previous assembly of their pagan attributes. Their innards shall be trampled with rusty paperweights; their jihad will be rendered null.
However, I shall not hasten to announce the disputed arrival of Baby Horace, the fatherless child of an elderly seamstress of the peasant chambers who scripture has dictated to grant fortune through uncharted misery. The child's birth is indeed welcome.
My ink blot is as mud on the desert floor so with these words I bid you: clog your cupboards with rose pedals and douse your dormitory with herbal thistle. Speak hands.

bm

Side Project: VOTE TODAY

2007-01-03T22:39:00.000-05:00

Now is your chance to vote in the biggest election in history of Aliquippa! It's the 1940 Mayoral Election!

On November 4th, a live audience at Cafe Kolache cast their vote for mayor after hearing episode 315. And now, our podcast audience around the world will get to vote via special absentee ballot! Your vote, combined with the votes cast during our live performance, will decide who wins the election! You are choosing the course of history! You are deciding the fate of Season 4!

So, just click the button below to enter the voting booth and participate in the great American political system! It's your chance to make history!

Not Burning the Candle

2006-12-20T15:59:00.000-05:00

‘Yankee Candle’ might as well change its name to ‘What to Get Your Mother When You Have Absolutely No Clue’. It is the easy go to gift for all mothers across the world when no other gift can be imagined. When hours of searching yields no other likely candidates it is easy to simply throw up your hands, proclaiming “Screw it. I’ll just get mom a scented candle.” You go in, put your sniffer to a few random wax cylinders before finding one which seems good enough – probably one that smells like baking cookies. Of course, you don’t want to appear cheap to your own mother so you buy the large jar of a candle, even though you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the candle wick will never burn to within three inches of the glass bottom. There’s a good chance the candle will never be even lit. The wick will in all likelihood maintain its pristine uncharred whiteness. My mother has a closet filled four deep with various cookie scented candles which shall never see the light of day.

This year, I vowed not to stoop to the scented candle gift for my mother. This year I swore upon my mother’s life that my mother’s gift would be good, a gift she would actually like, a gift she might – God forbid – actually use. Now, I had no idea what this mystery wonder gift would be. I really have no idea what to ever get my mother for Christmas: Hence the overwhelming amount of scented novelty candles. My father is of little to no use. It’s all he can do to think of a gift for her himself. Usually my mother has to blatantly tell my father what to get her. I do not like asking people myself what they want. I have this fantasy image of myself as a master gift giver who sees through all pretensions and finds THE gift which even you do not know you want. This is a completely unrealistic picture of myself – unless, of course, you really secretly want scented candles.

So, I embarked upon my journey at the usual starting point: the mall. After leaving work at my own location within the mall, I entered the bizarre holiday battleground of the mall proper. This is a strange land of haggard shoppers, screaming children, emo-goth posers, and – at least on this night – dogs. There were dogs everywhere. I guess it was get your dog’s picture taken with Santa night which is a annoying and bizarre in its own right without actually having dogs running wild through the mall. Undeterred I went about my journey. I made my way quickly through the mall discounting handfuls of stores with nary a glance: Foot Locker, game store, Spencer’s, Hot Topic, Piercing Pagoda. They all failed to meet the high standards I have for my mother.

I browsed through stores, looking for that one thing which would announce itself as the perfect motherly gift. No, everywhere I looked I found gifts which just weren’t right. I don’t buy clothes for people because I hate trying to guess at sizes – an easy way to offend any woman. I also hate all the strange, tacky ‘gift’ kiosks which pop up every holiday season. I have no idea who wants or feels they need a floating hologram dolphin in a crystal, but I hope I never meet that person. There is also a kiosk where you can put any photo you want on a T-Shirt. The example is a picture of a 80’s vintage Firebird. This was obviously made by a man who knew what his Firebird looked like, knew what a T-shirt looked like, but could not rest until he knew what his Firebird looked like ON a T-shirt. None of these would do for my mother. The caricature booth on the other hand…

I searched on. I found nothing. Nothing. But all the while ‘Yankee Candle’ stood in all its stately splendor. It cooed to me in sweet melodious temptings: “Come, James. Your mother loves us. It’s so easy. You’ll be done in mere minutes. We smell like cookies. Cookies…”

It took a great feat of will to avoid even entering that vile trap of lame gifts. I refused to even look at it. I moved on. Finally, I found a gift from where I started. At Boscov’s department store, my place of employment, I found one of those chair vibrating massage things. Massage equipment is the second most overdone mother gift. Somewhere in my parents home resides a foot massager and a neck massager gathering dust behind a metric ton of scented candles. Still, this is different. It will massage her entire back. It has 10 motors. 10 of them. That’s intense. This is a great present. I swear. It is. Isn’t it.

Shalom

Thanks and Merry Christmas!

2006-12-18T00:58:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday's performance of Deconstructing Santa was awesome. I'm not really complimenting myself or anything, but rather just commenting on the whole experience. I love this show so much, and it's always a true pleasure to perform it. And so when I saw the wonderful crowd that came out to see it, I was pumped.

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who came out to either of the show's two performances this year.

It was great to perform Decon Santa in Franklin for the first time. That show was really unique because we were showing it to people who had never seen it before (unlike performing in Beaver County, where folks were able to see the show for two years in a row). And of course it was also alot of fun having Matt Bower in the show! He's an excellent performer and a really cool Dweller. It was the first time we performed the show with five people, so that was pretty new for us. And thanks to Danette Palmer, who did a wonderful job on the lights and sound. We also owe a big "thank you" to John and the folks at the Barrow-Civic Theater for asking us to do the show there. The Barrow Theater continues to support us in every way they can, and they are awesome people!

It goes without saying that it was also great to perform the show back in Beaver County. When we showed up to CCBC and began setting up the show, Joe and I recalled the first time we did Decon in that auditorium: it was a slightly different show back then, with some different skits... including one with a ton of tinsel. The following year, when we returned to do the show, there was still tinsel on the walls. I don't know what that says about how often they clean that place, or the effectiveness of tinsel as a decoration. You can draw your own conclusions on that one. This time around there wasn't any tinsel, but there was still the awesome crowd that we love in Beaver County. For some of you, this was a brand new show; I really hope you enjoyed it! For the rest, this was something of a tradition. This was the third year we've performed this show at CCBC and some of you told me how you had been talking about it since the first time you saw it. It was great to have you back... and I look forward to doing the show again next Christmas! So thank you for coming!

I also must thank the local small businesses who continue to support the Arts in Beaver County. We had a number of awesome establishments advertise in our program to help defray the cost of putting on the show, and we couldn't continue to do these kinds of shows as often as we do without their support. Thanks Little Meleo's, the Rochester and Aliquippa Pizza Huts, Finishing Touch, and Beaver Falls Coffee and Tea! And, of course, we must thank the Beaver Valley Mall Chick-fil-A for their support. Because of them, everyone in the audience got a coupon for a free chicken sandwich!

Then there are the people who helped us make this show possible. I've already thanked Danette, who rocks. But I must also thank my bro Danny, who doing an exquisite job on the lights and sound at CCBC--without him, you probably wouldn't have seen the show. And thanks to my dad for working the door for us.

I think I'm done thanking people.

So, I can safely say that I speak for all of the Cellar Dwellers when I wish you a HAPPY Christmas! Be safe, eat alot of food, open up some cool presents, and make sure you leave Santa some Oreos (the real ones.)

Also, to brighten your holiday spirits more than they already are... James, Mike the Tall, and I have just released our wonderful "Dodge Intrepid" Christmas episode! So check out our podcast (or click the link below), relax for twenty-minutes, and laugh some more!

Peace.
-Mike

Techno-idiocracy

2006-12-12T23:22:00.000-05:00

I am a techno idiot. You'd think that would not be the case being that I'm a freak of nature on video games. But I had to order a new computer today and I felt like a dope. But, MiketheTall, you ask, aren't you using your computer to do this very blog? Why yes, dear reader, I am. But my computer no longer lets me open documents and work on them. This is the biggest use of my computer is working on stuff for my CLO job in Word Perfect or other document program. But my computer is also 6 years old and has Windows ME. Those of you who are techno geeks have just grimaced or sucked your teeth at my sheer mention of the odd operating system that became its own cancer. I bought my computer from Dell in 2000 and they put this program in since it was the newest, but they shortly moved on to another program. I, however, have the great fortune of buying my computer during that short period of time because of the Tom Ridge state program to waive taxes on PCs so that more people could get one.

SO! I call India today and talk to Neil. I'm sure his name was not Neil, but he was helpful so I didn't question it. (Athough, funny side note: once I talked to an Indian help support guy who told me his name was Steve or Greg or something and his accent was incredibly heavy and I could barely understand him. So I said, "What's your real name. or we're not going any further," and he told me, and the whole call went smoother.) So he's rattling off numbers and prices, and I just cut to the chase and was like "Here's what I want, make it happen." And like Picard's No. 1, he did. So now I owe Citibank $800 that I don't have so I can have a new tower for my computer which I can't afford. I can barely keep the rent, but I need the computer to keep searching for jobs, printing resumes (which I currently can't do due to the not opening of documents), and making CDs.

Of course, now I can make DVDs on my new one when I get it, which I'm ecstatic about. People want to borrow my Family Guy DVDs all the time and I hate to give them up because I watch them constantly. Ask my roommate, I watch them too much. I can quote them. So now I can make a set to lend out to people. Plus, having a little guy that is severly attached to a meager few Wiggles DVDs, I can copy them and he can destroy them if need be and I don't have to buy a new one. That way he can walk into the other room with a COPY of the Big Red Car and dance with Wags the dog to his little heart's content. Captain Feathersword would be proud. Plus I will be able to play those DVDs of stuff people have on their computer that only computers can play. Hooray!

Also, my brother told me, and I'm glad to report it's true, that you get a new phone from Verizon every two years for free! FREE! I did not believe it, but I confirmed it with Karen. She sounded cute, so who knows.

Also, let me say, screw you SONY! PS3 is a controlling mechanism from the Japanese to destroy us. They hate you. SONY is a bunch of punk bitches and they know it and they know you know and they don't give a shit. On the other hand, Nintendo is bringing everyone in with the Wii. Genius freak that the prez on Nintendo is, he takes chances and wins, but this is really a long time coming. The power glove, ROB, the 3-d red hood thing, the Wii is what he's wanted forever. Those Japanese love the "doing stuff" games. DDR, Guitar Hero, DK bongos: these are the things that have made it here, but they have games of everything! Cooking, sewing, piano, hikaido drums, I'm sure there's some freaky sex game out there for the pervs. Those crazy Japenese and there cell phone texting and dancing games. SONY=punk bitches. Nintendo=muslix.

I also recently purchased a new vaccum (I know, all my electronics died at once. It's like a sci-fi channel movie.) I had a Tim Allen moment trying to buy one. I looked for power and gadgets and such. It's weird to have to buy all this stuff at a time when I actually have very little money. Maybe I'll have to start selling copied DVDs. No, that's illegal...and I like to watch people suffer in that respect. Wait bastards!

So, I learn on the fly, I'm trying to replace my VHS tapes with DVD copies of the same thing, and then I'm getting rid of the stereo (which also no longer works) and the DVD and VCR and getting a slim home theatre. Hot! If only I had a job that let me afford this stuff. Any takers?

Mike the Tall

A Letter from Philistines about Philistinism

2006-12-11T16:02:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Arnold, Mr. Goethe, and the like,

I don't know which of you is responsible for this, but I can assure you all that you're certainly not helping the situation! I can see each of you now, sitting there reading this letter with the utmost look of confusion and disgust on your face. How dare you be accused of any wrong doing! Well, you know certainly why we are sending you this letter.

You men, we have deemed, are responsible for perpetuating the use of the derogatory term "Philistine." While all three of you have claimed the term was around long before your writings, your use of it is uncalled for--especially when none of you have ever even met a Philistine. I'm talking a real Philistine, not a Philistine as defined by you. We as a people have been greatly hurt by your remarks, and will forever be known as an uncultured group of lunk-heads. Thanks.

Mr. Arnold! Perhaps you are the main man to blame for such an offensive term. Why, a friend of a friend read your little book Culture and Anarchy in which you truly define our people as wealth-obsessed haters of culture and artwork. In fact, you mention Philistines right along with Barbarians! Last we checked, barbarians were a general group of people stemmed from all over the sort. That's like saying "Here come the New Yorkers and the yard sale enthusiasts." We Philistines are an ancient people, sir. Show some respect! And we care about lots of other things aside from money and welfare... lots.

And then there's Mr. Goethe. I seem to recall hearing you say once that "The Philistine not only ignores all conditions of life which are not his own but also demands that the rest of mankind should fashion its mode of existence after his own." Such a rude and ignorant statement! If you had ever taken the time to get to know us, you would realize how nice, kind, and friendly we are. If everyone took the time to know us, maybe, then, everyone would be proud to be Philistine!

To say that we simply do not like art, music, theater, and anything else high brow is a cheap shot! Firstly, we didn't have cable for quite a while. So we were a late-comer to things like The History Channel and PBS. How could we like this stuff if we didn't have access to it. Not only do we have Comcast but we also got a TiVo, so soon your definition of us will have to be changed! Because it has been our culture's goal, ever since people starting using the phrase "Philistine," to defy that stereotype. We will soon be known as the most culturally-rich, fun-loving, book-reading, overall-awesome people on the planet.

The first thing we are going to do, as a collective culture, is to go buy every book on the New York Times Bestseller list. If it's a best seller, it has to be good, and we will be there with everyone else talking about how good these books are. We are also expecting our first shipment of iPods from the Apple Store. I bet you never expected Philistines to own iPods! Not only are we culture-loving people, but we are also full of surprises.

Once we have read everything popular, we are going to start carpooling to museums. And since not everyone can make it to the library, because some of us are very old, we'll bring cameras with us so that we can take pictures of stuff.

Finally, we've got subscriptions to the New Yorker and Atlantic Monthly coming. So there.

Please cease and desist from using the derogatory phrase "Philistine." Not only does it hurt our feelings, but it demeans our people... and it makes you look bad, because, as you will soon find out, we love the arts. We love it. We can't get enough art.

Sincerely,
- The Philistines.

Soiled Beans

2006-12-09T10:59:00.000-05:00

College cafeterias can often become testing grounds for new products. At least once or twice a school year, students arrive at Lowe Dining Hall only to find piles of free, oddly flavored chips or bottles of new, mysterious soft drinks in shiny new packaging; kids can take as many as they like, tell their friends, pass them along, do whatever. We're guinea pigs. Companies send out their new products to college campuses first because they know that we are the most powerful consumers of hip new junk food. We love this stuff as much as Pac Man loves white circles.

And so when we walked into the dining hall to find large coolers filled with silver-bullet cans of Starbucks coffee... I could have sworn it was Christmas. The drinks had come at a perfect time: kids are stopping by for dinner before retiring to their rooms to work on final projects and study for exams, they would need the energy that only coffee can attempt to bring. And, like moths to a sweater, we swarmed around the coolers, taking two, three, or eight cans of the stuff.

It was labeled "Starbucks Light Coffee" and was marked with a sky blue streak horizontally across the can. I was a little curious, having never seen something like this in the stores--but then again, that's why it was here. I'm sure you'll be seeing this stuff on the shelves in a few weeks, if it isn't there already. I had grabbed three cans and went back to my seat, before I had even gone into the main line to get my dinner. I would try it out, and if it was good, I would go back for some more (since it's not often that Starbucks can be found as an alternative to Aramark's despicable regular roast).

I cracked open a can and smelled it first. I then read the label quickly, just to make sure it didn't have poison in it. It claimed to be low on calories, made with skim milk instead of half & half, something I would normally object to... but if that was all that was wrong with it, I guess I would cope. I took a swig; it kind of tasted like Starbucks coffee, but there was something else to it. Something like the faint taste of pennies or laundry detergent. I had only taken one sip of the drink, and yet the aftertaste lingered on, a tell-tale heart of my acceptance of the experimental product. Why did I still taste it? What was that hint of metallic nastiness? I looked back at the can and saw what I had previously missed: Contains Splenda.

The bastards. They put Splenda in it! This coffee is made with Splenda! It might as well have been made of people! I looked around, and it seemed as if everyone in the cafeteria was taking a sip of the coffee at the same time... and collectively, their faces crinkled up and they held the can far away from them, as if a snake was peaking out the top. The students, all who had previously embraced this free caffeinated beverage, suddenly turned against it. Those who showed up too late to grab a can for themselves took a hit off of their friend's sample; their faces soon dawned the same expression.

It was a disaster. Soon everyone began ignoring the cans, refusing to drink any more. I could hear the echo of kids all saying the same drawn out word: Splllleeeeennnnda?! It was gross, and everyone knew it. Some were drinking it out of spite, knowing that they would need the energy boost, regardless of how it tasted. Not me, however. For as much as I love coffee--high quality coffee--this would not do. I pawned off my extra cans and never looked back.

Starbucks and Seton Hill tried to pull a fast one on us. Their new product, despite being free, failed to win over the hearts of the students. Those cans did contain poison: skim milk and Splenda, a combination so deadly that it could take out three ex-KGB agents in a single whiff. If you see the stuff in the stores, don't bother. And if you see someone picking up a can to drink it, smack it out of their hands... they'll thank you later.

Deconstructing Santa Returns!

2006-11-29T22:04:00.000-05:00

I'm pumped to let you know that the Dwellers are bringing back their hit Christmas show for another round of performances this holiday season! That's right, "Deconstructing Santa" is back and ready for action. We currently have two performances of the show planned: this Friday at the Barrow-Little Theater in Franklin and then on Saturday, Dec. 16th at CCBC. Both shows are at 8:00PM.

The show was originally written and performed by Joe, James, Ben and I back in 2003. The show debuted to great audiences, and a sellout at Geneva College, and quickly became a holiday tradition. Everyone who has seen the show has surely been touched by our burning wreath, psychotic killers, and pretentious English major-turned St. Nick. It's a show that will warm the cockles of your heart! The show was last performed in 2004, and now, after a year off, this contrived Christmas comedy is making its grand comeback!

Our Franklin show is being presented by the Barrow Civic Theater and will feature Matt Bower, bringing the cast up to five! It's going to be a fabulous Christmas show in a town straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting (hopefully you don't hate Norman Rockwell... because if you do, you're not American.) And then our CCBC show, taking place in the Allied Health Auditorium, will feature a four-person cast and will most likely be our only Beaver County performance! Plus, it's on a Saturday night, which doesn't happen too often!

To find out more information about the show, check out our main website!

The Lonely Plight of the Cartoon Character at Christmas

2006-11-27T14:22:00.000-05:00

In this holiday season it is natural to reflect upon family. In the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, family is forced out to the forefront like no other time of year. Families come together to join in celebrations of the holidays. Parents and children grow closer while distant relatives are thought of and contacted. Still, in this season of giving it is also important to remember those without families: cartoon characters.

They give us joy and pleasure year in and year out, but what do the cartoon characters we know and love have to go home to? No one. Cartoon characters live a sad lonely life. Bugs Bunny lives by himself in a hole in the ground. He apparently has no wife, no children, and – even more bothersome – no parents. Mickey Mouse lives a similarly lonesome life. He does have a relationship with one Minnie Mouse, but they have yet to be married. They are also often seen apart. In many of Mickey’s adventures, Minnie is not even mentioned. The actually intimacy of the couples relationship remains to be seen.

Sadder still is the fate of cartoon children. They often come from broken homes. When was the last time you saw a cartoon character with both parents? If a cartoon character has any parents at all, it is usually an ineffectual single father. Generally, any attempt for this single father to remarry is usually hampered by the ‘Wicked’ syndrome, where they woman is almost guaranteed to be wicked – this also applies to any step-children which would come along in the union.

Most cartoon youth have no parents. Take for instance, the case of Huey, Louie, and Duey. These poor triplet ducks have no permanent family. They have no parents. Whether their parents are dead or completely absentee remains to be seen. All that is known for sure is that it has put these ducklings at a severe emotional and developmental disadvantage. Throughout their lives they have been passed from foster parent to foster parent. Their ‘primary’ caregiver has been their uncle Donald Duck. Donald is clearly not what most people would consider an ideal parental figure. With his hair trigger rage, dubious claims to being a sailor, and wanton disregard for pants, Donald surely has inflicted emotional scars on our trio of youngsters which would take years of therapy to even unveil. Whenever Donald became to volatile a foster parent, Huey, Duey, and Louie where most often dumped into the laps of their Uncle Scrooge McDuck. While Scrooge would appear to have the advantage of being able to provide for the triplets with his vast fortune, he is poor in the one category which counts: love. Scrooge McDuck is cold, distant, and would rather spend his time alone in his Money Bin than with our young impressionable ducks. Huey, Louie, and Duey are often left to their own devices with only the bizarre help to watch them. This ‘help’ includes a snooty butler, an unlicensed pilot, and a sweetly benign nanny and her daughter. Whenever Scrooge does grace the ducklings with attention it is usually to use them as slave labor in searching for more of his precious treasure. In such harsh environments, it is no surprise that Huey, Louie, and Duey have had no choice but to grow up tough. They are a harsh unruly bunch with a lot of fight in them. They once took on a mummy. Seriously, I saw it.

This is just one example of dozens showing the emptiness of growing up cartoon. Cartoon characters grow up rough and remain distant their entire lives. Whenever anyone does try to reach out to them, they are usually greeted with hilarious, hilarious violence including but not limited to exploding dynamite, falling anvils and pianos, runaway trains, and gunplay. So, please as you gather with your family for the holidays, take just one moment to reflect on the cartoon characters who have given so much to entertain you, but have no families of their own to spend the holidays with. As you sit down to the Christmas ham, think of the poor cartoon characters who sit down to a ham sandwich alone only to find the ham sandwich is stuffed with TNT and explodes in their face causing extensive singeing and beak twisting but no long term damage.

Shalom

Unwanted Tidings

2006-11-21T23:50:00.000-05:00

I’m going to cut right to the chase: Christmas music on the radio. “Already?” you say, “but its not even Thanksgiving yet!” Yeah, you’re right. (Although saying “its not even Thanksgiving yet” is about cliché as saying something tired like “I’m going to cut right to the chase.”)

There is one song in particular that irks me: “Baby It’s Cold Outside” song, or as I like to call it, “The Rufies Song (Date Rape Ditty)." Some of you might have already heard/read my thoughts on this matter.These are the lyrics as I recall them:

Female: I gotta go.
Male: Aw, stay, its cold.
F: No really, gotta go.
M: The windchill makes it even more frigid.
F: My father, mother, brother, sister, and neighbors all know where you live.
M: In here it is warm.
F: Maybe just a half a drink more…oh god, stop looking at me like that…
M: Bbrrrrrrrrrrr....
F: Say- what’s in this drink? I feel strange.
M: Gosh your lips look delicious.
F: Are you touching me?! I feel numb, and sleepy. So tired…
M: What's the sense in hurting my pride.
F: No means no.
M: You mean: No, you’re not going outside because of the inclement whether?
F: I am calling the police right now…
M: If you caught pneumonia and died I would be sorrowful!
F: That’s so sweet! Ok I'll stay!
Cop: Is there a problem here?
F: Sorry officer, its all a misunderstanding.
______________________________

See what I mean? There also “White Christmas.” While on most levels it’s lovely, I can’t stop analyzing it along racial/socio-economic lines and feeling a bit disturbed. Oh, infernal social conscience, where dost thou off-switch lie?

Benson and Hedges Cigarettes: Like a BJ in Heaven

2006-11-11T12:12:00.000-05:00

"Hey Matt, if you're not too busy today, mind picking me up a carton of Benson and Hedges full-flavored, regular, gold-form, hard-pack, 100's while you're out? It's gonna be a long weekend."

No Joyce, not at all...not at all.

Joyce enjoys Benson and Hedges cigarettes, and that's all right with me, my friends. Life is a short shimmy in the sunlight, and next-door-neighbors are a privilege, not a right. Joyce, the heavy-set, gravelly voiced, nocturnal widow who constantly describes herself as a "ferocious" reader, and who has a habit of appearing spontaneously in my doorway to offer a half-eaten custard pie, is my privilege; I'll shimmy with her anytime.

Joyce shimmies to the tune of two packs of Benson and Hedges a day. Like a Californian forest fire swan diving into a public pool filled with ethanol while being pissed on by a grizzly bear drunk on gasoline, Joyce smokes.

A Benson and Hedges cigarette is her man-mistress and the elegant touch of the filter caressing her pursed lips is her taboo bareback romp in the naval yards while the husband departs on a business flight from Dallas. Finally, the finishing puff of said cigarette before searing the tip of the filter is nothing less than the messy money-shot of premium flavor.

If only Benson and Hedges would offer the consumer their own version of Marlboro Miles, Joyce could flaunt a Benson and Hedges leather jacket, become friends with her acquaintances with a Benson and Hedge's pool table, or lounge on the spiffy deck of her Benson and Hedges ranch house.

"There's no wrong way to eat a Reese's," Joyce assures me, "just as there is no wrong way to smoke a Benson and Hedges. Why, I have explored many erotic ways of consuming a refreshing Benson and Hedges. I am a walking Benson and Hedges Kama Sutra. Check it, I call this particular smoking style the Congressman; one has to be quite nimble. In fact, I once won favor with JFK by propositioning the president with a smoking position I perfer to call Lady of the Lips" she declared nostalgically as she strained earnestly but ineffectively to bend in a such a way. " However I have grow older and utimately less flexible. Regardless, he was, to say the least...intrigued."

Joyce does enjoy her Benson and Hedges. Although the once white walls of her modest one-bedroom Greenfield apartment now radiate a healthy orange glow (ever lived in the stomach of a gigantic peach?), I pounce at every invite. Why? Joyce bakes these little sauage things wrapped in dough. They're good.

If I Was a Robot, I Would Be a Badass Robot

2006-11-07T14:10:00.000-05:00

I know. I know. No one wants to be a lame robot. Nobody says, “Well, I guess if I were a robot, I’d want be the mechanized arm on the assembly line at the GM plant which screws on the steering wheel.” The general thinking along these lines is if you’re going to be a robot, you might as well be a really awesome robot. If you were to survey a hundred people ‘Family Feud’ style, I’d be willing to wager the top answer on the board would be some sort of shape shifting battle robot with laser eyes with crime fighting cyborg coming in a solid second position. There are several problems with the majority thinking on this one. The main problem being that while most people claim to want to be really cool robots, none of them have really put any thought into exactly what kind of robot they want to be. All anyone knows is they want to be really cool robots, but you really have to press them to get any particulars. You’d be surprised to find out how many people have never really put any thought into what kind of robot they would be. Also, cyborgs are not technically robots.

I, on the other hand, have put a lot of time and mental effort into imagining myself as a robot. This is a question which I have really engaged. This is an internal debate which I have willingly allowed to rage. There have been years of continual mental exertion and emotional exhaustion. Various ideas, concepts, schemes, features, and paint jobs have been laboriously pored over and eventually dismissed as not up to my robot standards. I have continued to refine and perfect myself as a robot. Now, after all this time, I finally know exactly what kind of robot I would be: A badass robot.

I can, of course, be more precise. If I were a robot, I would be retro. I would appear as an old school clunky 1950’s, Robbie the Robot-type of robot. I would also throw in some older deco elements reminiscent of Fritz Lang’s classic film ‘Metropolis’. I really have a soft spot in my heart for art deco. I think if I were a robot, my robot-head would look just a little like the top of the Chrysler building. The rest of my body, though large and cumbersome by contemporary robot thought, would none the less feature pleasing curves with random dramatic peaks. My appearance would, though clunkily elegant, give most the sense that I would be horribly out dated, slow, and relatively harmless. Of course, this would all be part of my ruse.

If I were a robot, I would also have a battle mode. In battle mode, my formerly heavy body would shift. The bulk would slide inward and push my robot self taller. I would maintain my deco elegance, but would add to it an almost animalistic sleekness and speed. If I were a robot in battle mode, I would be almost beautiful, but in a totally scary, ass kicking sort of way – like a puma. Now, here’s the key to my robot, the one thing which really separates it from other people’s imagined robots: If I were a robot, I would not have lasers. That’s right, no lasers. They’ve been a robotic crutch for far too long. Myself as a robot will not use them (Unless of course, I were fighting a large group of robots and had already destroyed a robot with lasers. Then, I would use his lasers against his own allies. That’s just good sense.) If I were a robot I would employ an array of weaponry designed for particular adversaries. I would have massive sharp pokers for fighting men and other living, biological enemies. These razor sharp pokers would carry electrifying electrodes at the end. If I were a robot I would stab people with my pokers and then electrify them from the inside. Of course, if I were a robot, I would eventually have to fight other robots. You can’t electrify other robots since they are, in fact, electrical. They will only feed off of your electricity and become stronger…I assume. If I were a robot I would be very strong. I would be able to defeat most other weaker robots simply by tearing them apart with my robot hands. When I fight other equally powerful robots, or teams of robots, I will need to pull out new stops. If I were a robot, I would have welding torches at the end of my robot fingers. I would be able to melt, cut, combine, and otherwise destroy most other metal beings with my torch fingers. If I were a robot, I would also be able to produce molten lava from my chest. I think that would come in handy. Clearly, if I were a robot I would be a formidable fighter.

If I were a robot, I would be able to fly.

There is more to being badass robot than simply being a great fighter. I would also have a badass attitude. If I were a robot, I would be programmed with over a million badass things to say directly before or after I dispatch a villain. For instance, if I were about to throw villain robot into the pacific ocean where he’ll sink to the bottom and be trapped under miles of water for an eternity, I would say something like: “Looks like it’s time for a bath,” or “Say hello to Davy Jones for me,” or “Anchors away”.

If I were a robot, I would wear hats.

If I were a robot, I would be the best robot in the history of robots. I would destroy all other living creatures and robots standing in my way. If I were a robot, I would be a badass robot.

If I were a robot…

Shalom

Sundays Off

2006-10-30T14:01:00.000-05:00

Dear Steelers,

I am writing you this letter to express my deep gratitude for all you have done for me. Yes, I know you won the Super Bowl earlier this year. This is all well and good. I guess congratulations are in order. Although this is not the reason I am giving my thanks to you today. I am writing you today to show my deep appreciation for all you have done for me this season. Yes, I am well aware that you are not doing well this year. In fact you are terrible – and not in the towel sense but rather in the last place behind the Cleveland Browns sense. After this past Sunday’s loss to the awful Oakland Raiders, I have personally declared your season over. You are not going to make the Playoffs this year. You should consider yourselves very lucky if you finish an even eight and eight. Pittsburgh Steelers, you suck. Thank you.

You’ve really opened up my Sundays. I really don’t care if I watch another game for the rest of the season. Oh, I’ll probably see a couple, but only if I have nothing better to do. It’s not like I actually have to see the games to know the outcomes. Heck, I can probably guess the outcomes of most of the rest of the games right now: four turnovers – at least one on special teams – a tired defense on the field too long, and a brain damaged quarterback throwing for a passer-rating in the vicinity of the age of most Gen X’ers. Why waste my time watching horrible football? Of course, I am a fan, but does being a fan necessarily entail watching every game no matter how painful it is to watch? There is a line between fan and masochist, and I personally have not crossed it.

Now without being locked into the mindset dictating that I watch the Steelers’ game every week, I’ve been freed to pursue other interest. I have so much more time on my hands. I find my self so much more fulfilled. Why this past Sunday – I actually gave up on the Steelers after the Atlanta game and was only emboldened in my decision this week – I spent my Sunday with my Girlfriend. We carved pumpkins and watched ‘High School Musical’. It was a splendid time. And yes, Steelers, you heard correctly, I had a better time watching the Disney Channel movie ‘High School Musical’ than I would have had watching you lose. Seriously, the movie was entertaining, had a good lesson for children about acceptance, and featured the song ‘Getcha Head in the Game’ which is a pretty killer number. I even stopped enjoying ironically half way through and simply began enjoying it while I carved a Fu Manchu onto my jack o’ lantern.

Steelers, please don’t get me wrong. I am still a fan. But through the rest of this season don’t be offended if you don’t see me in front of the TV on Sunday afternoons. I may have used the time to go to the gym or the supermarket. I may take the opportunity to play in the autumn leaves or build a winter’s snow fort. Don’t be shocked to see me with my grandmother at the store, following her motorized chair and getting products from the top shelf. I may even take a nap. Don’t worry Steelers. I’ll be back next year. Hopefully your high draft choice will help you remain competitive or at least hold my attention.

Shalom,
James

That's a Rap

2006-10-23T13:51:00.000-04:00

The world of music is filled to bursting with mediocre songs, music which never quite reaches the apex of its possibilities. The difference between a good song and a mediocre – or even an outright atrocious – song is often so small as to almost seem negligible. A misplaced chord, an ill-advised key change, a poor lyrical word choice can all tip the scales of a passable song into the realm of the awful or, even worse, utterly forgettable. If that big jawed fellow from Train never compared himself to a soy latte, I wouldn’t want to go on a tri-state killing spree burning every building to the ground in my wake every time I heard that God forsaken song. (I am not using this language lightly. I honestly believe that God, in his infinite wisdom, has completely washed his hands of ‘Drops of Jupiter’.)

On the other hand, I firmly believe that middling songs can be saved. All they need a little push in the right direction, a friendly thumb placed on the favorable side of the scale of pop delight. Songs can be saved, and there is no greater savior of songs than the rap break in the middle. Nothing elevates your average pop song to the level of the sublime quite like the moment when the song breaks and a guest rapper busts out to take things to the next level. When sweet, sweet melody gives why to fresh flow and dope rhymes, I personally sit back with deep appreciation and assurance that I am in the hands of pop music genius. The rap break is an awesome, powerful thing, although I feel it has been sadly underused. Sure, there a few good examples exist. The Barenaked Ladies almost managed to create an entire career around the brilliance of the rap break. Just this past summer a rap break pushed the Snakes on a Plane theme song from kinda crappy into the realm of what Little Mike referred to as crap Zen. Still, I can’t help feeling there are many songs – even many songs many people consider to be good – which are practically begging for a rap break. So, here I have for you a short list of songs which need a rap break in the middle of them.

1. Stairway to Heaven – Led Zeppelin
I realize I may end up taking a lot of crap for saying this, but I feel it simply must be said. Led Zeppelin is a completely ridiculous band. Seriously. Their songs are totally overblown stupid epics which rely way to heavily on Tolkien references, “Oooh, baby” as a lyric, and the absolutely idiotic idea of playing a guitar with a bow. They use weird symbols with hazy meanings which is a really cool idea only if you’re a twelve year old boy with no friends. Even their album covers are stupid. I’ve spent my entire life being told that Led Zeppelin rocks and having their particular brand of bombast shoved down my throat as the ultimate in hard rock. Well, I’m not drinking the kool-aid any more. Can we all be perfectly objective for a moment and admit that Led Zeppelin was only about two sappy ballads away from being Styx. Of course, I really like Styx…

As to the song at hand, ‘Stairway to Heaven’ is the perfect example of Led Zep excess. All the usual ingredients are on display: folk elements giving way to bombast, over the top theatrics, silly allusions to mythology and/or the occult. The song clocks in at somewhere near eight minutes (I’m actually to lazy to fact check this) which means either the song needs to be a couple minutes shorter or really go for it and add a couple minutes of badass wordplay. I still don’t know if I would listen to the entire song every time it comes on, but I would definitely wait for the rap. Hopefully it would have something to do about stealing the black man’s blues and slapping women with sharks. Now, that’s putting the class back into classic rock.

2. Mr. Roboto – Styx
I mentioned Styx so I might as well give them some love. The real bonus to adding a rap to this song – it would probably have something to do with being Killroy – would be seeing if anyone in the band could spit rhymes through a metal robot mask.

3. Who Will Save Your Soul – Jewel
This makes total sense. Jewel is literally from the streets. She lived in a van for crying out loud. Where do you think that van was parked? In the freaking street, that’s where. I really want to know about the mean streets of Alaska. As an added bonus, she could start beefing with Kurt Loder who has been pretty much begging for it since he called out Jewel on her poetry.

4. Old Man River – Rodgers and Hart
This is a somber song about the depressing life of a black man working on a river boat on the Mississippi in the old South. It has a pretty bleak view of life, almost nihilistic in its view of a man who is “tired of living but scared of dying.” Am I the only one who thinks this song is practically begging to get CRUUUNK? All this song needs is dash of Lil’ Jon to really blast it into the stratosphere. I can practically hear it now:

From the west shore
To the east
On this Mississippi beast
This Mississippi beast

Now that’s a show tune I can get behind.

5. The Star-Spangled Banner – Francis Scott Key
We’ve all heard the song a million times at a million sporting events. It has been played so much that it has almost lost the ability to stir the intended patriotic emotions. That – of course – is where the hip-hop comes in. A quick verse right before “Oh say does that star-Spangled banner yet wave” would really make me want to jump out of my seat and take off my hat in respect. And I mean RESPECT! Still, the real genius of adding a rap break would be in the odd pairings when performed at the ballgame. It has to be practically impossible to find someone with both the vocal range to perform the notoriously difficult piece and the flow to really spit some game. This would make almost every performance into a duet. Just picture it: Game seven of the World Series and hear to perform the national anthem is The Singing New York Police Officer featuring Chingy.

Shalom

One moment, please

2006-09-29T13:52:00.000-04:00

Nine years and hundreds of shows. I knew it was time to move on.
Two hours, two sets of original scenes, seven of us, 70 of you, and one moment backstage that tells me what it’s all about.
The crowd murmured, the lights flashed, Joe announced: “Turn your cell phones and pagers to the more fun setting of vibrate.”
The lights lowered and the music started.
Da, da, da-da, da...da, da da!
It sends a rush of adrenaline through me before any show. It sends a rush through us all. But as we all softly moshed to the sound, jumped in place, nothing flashed past my eyes. No one entered my mind, no wishes, no thoughts, no regrets ... because right then, there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be.
Not on television, not in a movie, not on-stage in New York, not on a date with Winona Ryder.
For those two hours, that one night, I was right where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to do.
I will miss it infinitely.
One moment, thank you.

If I Was into Guys, I'd Be into The PC Guy

2006-09-25T14:38:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I know the Mac guy is younger and hipper. He runs all sorts of cool applications. He speaks Japanese. He doesn’t need to hide from spy ware. He makes better photography slideshows and handles media better. He used to be on ‘Ed’. But I’m just not that in to him. Not that I’m into guys – let alone guys who are acting as personifications of cold, inhuman computers – but if I were into guys, the Mac guy is just not my type. Sure, he’s hip, but he just strikes me as the type of person who rubs your nose in his own hipness. He comes off as the kind of pretentious jerk who says things like: “I can’t believe you haven’t seen this film yet” two days after the movie opened in limited release. He seems so full of himself. He’s so concerned about keeping up his own appearance of being on the cutting edge, that he cannot be bothered to care about someone else. Who wants to be in a relationship with a petty jerk like that? Not me, even if he does have all the latest things and has a broad knowledge of all the latest subjects of note. None of that matters because he wouldn’t really appreciate you. He’d probably be out all night with his Japanese friend and he wouldn’t even have the decency to call and make up a lie because he knows you’ve spent all night slaving over a hot roast. He’s a total jerk. Just look at how he treats the poor PC guy.

Ah, the PC guy, there’s the man I’d want to be with – if I wanted to be with a man, which I don’t. Just look at him. He has that hangdog expression, slightly awkward demeanor, and warm caring eyes. Sure, he isn’t flashy. He’s a little old fashioned. He’s a little befuddled. He’s completely adorable. Who needs the snarky Mac guy with his smarmy hipster charms? Give me the gentle PC guy. He’s the sort of guy who would really appreciate you. He wouldn’t take you for granted the way the Mac guy would. He may not be able to express himself as well. He may only have flow charts and spread sheets to tell you how he feels, but at least you would know that it was genuine, and from his heart. Plus, he’s totally huggable. Don’t you just want to snuggle up in his arms with a nice hot mug of hot cocoa? When he’s sitting in his box, don’t you just want to climb in, curl up on his lap, and take a gentle nap? I know I do – at least I would if I were into guys, which I am not. The Mac guy is good for a random night on the town, but if you really want to be happy and stable, it’s PC all the way. He’ll never leave you. He’ll never wander off with some hot new application. He’s the nice guy your mother wants you to end up with, but you don’t realize that’s what you want until it’s too late.

Now, this is in no way meant to show any preference to either computer. I know nothing about computers. I don’t even really care. But I do know a little thing about matters of the human heart, and my heart says PC guy all the way – at least it would if I were into guys, which I assure you I am not.

Shalom

Party Killers

2006-09-22T23:01:00.000-04:00

I have not posted a blog in quite some time because I've been watching my life slip into obscurity: morally, financially, and in morale. So, good times all around. Recently, whilst recording the new Dodge Intrepid episodes for posting on the net, I brought up the party killer list again, so under advisement of James and Mike, and due to the impending Halloween party season fast fast approaching, I'm posting the things that I think kill a party.

1. Running out of alcohol
Outside of an AA party, or a wedding hosted by people who still believe prohibition is still alive and kicking, running out of hooch is a sure fire way to remind people of the made up things that were going to keep them from the party in the first place.

2. Bringing out the guitar
"I think I know what'll pick up this party." And then the guitar goes on, complete with John Denver-esque strap. If you are John Denver or another professional musician, then playing music, thus giving a free concert is a viable option at a party. This is mostly because if you are a professional musician, the people are there to hopefully strike up a conversation with you in the first place. But if you are not a pro, leave the music to the pros. Put on a CD. Do not rock out with your drunk buds. Garage bands are just that...in the garage...alone. Ever seen a garage band? No, Is there anyone else in there? Yes, the girl doing the drummer, that's it. The guitar immediately alienates the others. This is actually waht usually kills the party. Cutting off a large group from the experience. Everyone can drink and make small talk and flirt. Cutting off a big chunk will kill the party. And mediocre playing of live music is a sure fire evening ender.

3. Playing video games or a movie.
Parties are interactive enjoyment. Movies make people sit down and be quiet. Boring. Video games, while very fun, are not party activities. Unless it is active, like Dance dance Revolution (or counter revolution in Cuba), which can be a party unto itself, don't pull out the PS2. I know there is a Mario Party, but it's not really a party. This may change with the inception with the Nintendo Wii, but I will stand by this rule. Because you can't have more than two or four people playing at a time, cutting off everyone else. Lame.

4. Having no people of the opposite sex.
Even if everyone at the party is gay, you need to have someone of the opposite sex there. It just makes it work. Gay guys, from my experience, like to flirt with girls too. (It's because everyone loves breasts. Everyone. Trust me. Ask around. You'd me amazed, but that's another short and offensive blog.) There is a reason bars and clubs have ladies nights. Women draw men. Parties are no exception. If there are no girls, then the party slowly turns into a night of Dungeons and Dragons without the dice. IF there are no guys, everyone just gets angry, drunk, and catty. So I've heard.

5. Starting too late.
Don't begin the party at midnight unless you're in Europe. People are not used to all night partying here. Neither are you. Trust me. Five AM sucks. And you want to be functional the next day. A party should not take two days to recover from it.

6. Having the music too loud.
If people can't talk, they won't listen and they'll get bored.

7. Having a super tight planned intinerary.
People like to do their own thing. Don't have everyone on a schedule. It's a fun time, not friggin school. Relax, obviously you need another martini.

So there you are. Keep those in mind and spread the low lit areas out as well as the food, and clean your damn house. Also, don't have enough places to sit for the entire party in one spot. Encourage movement and mingling. That makes the best party, with often sexy results.

Wishing you all get laid,
Mike the Tall

A Conversation Between James and the Kitten Laying on his Car's Tire

2006-09-19T10:41:00.000-04:00

Me: Excuse me. You seem to be sleeping on the top of my tire. You’re going to have to get off.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: No, Seriously. I have places to be. I can’t leave with you stretched out on the top of the wheel like that. Well, I could leave. But you most likely would end up being horribly hurt or even killed.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: Yes. I know. You are adorable. That’s why I don’t want to hurt you. Well, that’s one of the reasons I don’t want to hurt you. If you were to be crushed by this tire, your little bones could stick up and damage the tires. So, that’s another reason I don’t want to hurt you. And it’s a very good reason for you to get off of the tire.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: Now be reasonable. I know you are comfortable. I know you are adorable. That does not mean I want to play any games with you. I have places to go. You are stopping me from leaving – at your own peril, I might add. I suggest you simply scamper back to whatever place you might call home.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: I’m sorry, but I am not going to pick you up. I am allergic to you. If I pick you up, I am going to be left with little tabby hairs all over my arms and clothes which are going to do nothing but make me sneeze and itch all day. Oh, now come on; don’t look at me like that. I can’t help it if I’m allergic. Would you please just get off my tire, and go home?

Kitten: Meow.

Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a stray. I didn’t know home would be such a touchy subject for you. I wish there was something I could do.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: No. No. Completely out of the question. I can’t adopt you.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: Because I’m allergic. I thought I went over this already. If you moved into my apartment I would be miserable all the time. I wouldn’t be able to breathe…Now, please. I’m not trying to be mean. Stop looking at me like that.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: No, I don’t know what it’s like out here on the streets. But I simply can’t adopt you. It would never work. I’m hardly ever home. Who would feed you? Plus, whenever I would be home, I’d feel physically awful. Now, please. Can we just talk about this later? For now, can you just please get off the top of my tire…Thank you. See was that so hard…Wait. Where do you think you’re going? You can’t go out under the car. You’re right next to the tire. You’re practically under it. This is probably even more dangerous than being on top. At least if you are on top you have a chance to scamper off if I start slowly. Where you are now, if I move one inch, you’ll be crushed.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: I do not believe you’ve studied the writings of Thoreau and the lives of Martin Luther King Jr., and Gandhi. This is ridiculous. What exactly are you trying to prove?

Kitten: Meow.

Me: I’m just one man trying to get to work on time. This is hardly the time or place for such grand gestures. For now, I just really want you to get away from the car, so I can go to work with out the guilt of killing an adorable kitten to get here.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: I am not going to pull a Tiananmen. But I do need to get to work. I’ve got bills to pay. Something you would not understand because you’re a kitten.

Kitten: Meow.

Me: You know what, fine. If you want to play hardball, I’ll play hardball. You see these. These are the keys to the car. Look at me. I’m opening the door. I’m putting the key in the ignition. I’m turning the engine on. Do you here that? That’s six cylinders of pure 100% American made kitten killing goodness. There goes the parking brake. I’m putting it in gear. I’ll just let it roll a little forward. Ha. There you go. Bound up to the sidewalk, you yellow piece of trash. No kitten’s going to try and call my bluff. Looks like I won this battle of wits. That’s right. James: 1. Kitten: Nada.

Kitten (from sidewalk): Meow.

Me (driving away): You too buddy. You too.

Shalom

Adult Decisions

2006-09-18T02:17:00.000-04:00

I've recently come to a point in life where I've realized that I am, in fact, an adult by legal standards. Unfortunately I am an adult by those standards only. So with much soul searching and a forty, I decided to more closely resemble an adult by society's standards. The first step, learning how to make adult decisions. Now this is a timely process to say the least, and I didnt want to over do it right off the bat. I decided that in order to learn to make Adult decisions I should set some goals along the way, and stick to them. So, I elected to make one adult decision everyday and gradually build from there. Day one complete.

Having freshly acheived my goal, I looked forward to the possible adult decisions I may be faced with on day 2. So much potential for adultery or is it adultmanship, either way. The next day day I found myself driving to the rehersal on route 60. I was moving along at a good clip when i noticed a car speeding up on my bumper. I increased speed so to allow a bit more of a buffer zone between his camaro and my 1992 toyota camary, but as I accelerated he did as well. this continued for a few more miles until i realized i was well above the suggested speed limit posted on this particular highway. I thought to myself "ok you wanna see how fast we can go, lets do it," I was fairly sure i could give him a run for his money, my speedometer could do 140, Im not sure about the car . Fortuneatly , it was at that moment i recalled my recent commitment to become more adultish. so rather then put the hammer down, I simply decelerated and waved him around, giving the douche bag the finger as he past, not only preventing a speeding ticket, but also fullfilling my promise of one adult decision per day.

I'm on day 27 now and things are looking good, last friday I even managed to make two adult decisions, cause I new I would be too drunk to do it saturday night. Planning ahead, another step closer to adulthood.

joe eoj

A Panda Dies; A Boy Smiles

2006-09-12T14:13:00.000-04:00

I usually do not think of myself as being a particularly sick or cruel individual. Still, every now and again I am surprised at the malice which springs from my own heart. This morning I read the awful news of how Ya Ya, a panda in captivity in China, accidentally killed her own cub. Apparently Ya Ya hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly and accidentally crushed her young child. Now, according the MSNBC report I read, Ya Ya is in a state of extreme mourning. Now, most people would read this and feel sad. They would feel bad for Ya Ya and her loss. They would feel bad that a young member of an endangered species has died such a senseless death. Most people are saddened by such bad news. Me on the other hand…

This news makes me overwhelmingly happy. I am gleeful. I am ecstatic. After reading this news this morning, I am walking on air. I am smiling and waving to strangers on the street. I’m dancing. Well, not right now – at this moment I am typing – but I danced earlier. I may dance again later. I feel renewed. I feel at peace. The terrible news of a dead panda cub is a soothing balm to my embattled soul. The existential questions of who I am and where I stand in this world are temporarily on hold. These questions are rendered completely moot. The angst accompanying them is out the window. A panda has died. Better yet, a baby panda has died. Can there possibly be better bad news?

Yeah, dead panda cub stories make me happy. I’m not proud of it. Well, I’m not terribly proud of it. I guess maybe I am a little sick. Of course, there’s always the chance I am not alone. At the risk of being met with the cyber space equivalent of cricket chirps, I need to ask a very serious question: Who else is incredibly reassured, even made a little happy by this horrible news? I know I am opening myself up to a barrage of “How dare you assume I’m as sick as you. I love pandas. This is a tragedy.” comments – bring them on – but please, look deep inside of yourselves. Isn’t there some small part of you at peace right now knowing a panda has died? Would you really feel better if the news story was about a baby panda that was saved by a brave zoo worker at the penultimate moment? That would be a great story, a heroic story, a ‘feel good’ story’, but it would hardly register. Every morning I look over the headlines on various internet sites. I hardly click on most stories, but when I read the headline ‘Panda Mourns accidental killing of Cub’, I could not get my mouse moving fast enough. Now I don’t need to hear any answers, but I do want everyone to be completely honest with themselves. Which headline are you most likely to click on to read the full article: ‘Panda Mourns Accidental Loss of Cub,’ or ‘Panda Cub Saved from Peril’? Now, ponder your answer.

Walker Percy in his brilliant book ‘Lost in the Cosmos’ also wondered “Why it is that the self – though it Professes to be Loving, Caring, to Prefer Peace to War, Concord to Discord, Life to Death; to Wish Selves Well, not Ill – in fact Secretly Relishes Wars and Rumors of War, News of Plane Crashes, Assassinations, Mass Murders, Obituaries, to say nothing of Local News about Acquaintances Dropping Dead in the Street, Gossip about Neighbors getting in Fights or being Detected in Sexual Scandals, Embezzlements, and other Disgraces.” We all love stories of tragedies. They pierce through all the crap in our lives. They make us feel strangely good. I am heartened by the news of a defenseless baby panda’s death (can we at least all agree that, as animals go, pandas a terribly overrated and needed to be brought down a peg). So what? Aren’t we all a little heartened by this news? Or if we are not all heartened by bad news, at least I have a National Book Award winner on my side.

Shalom,
James

No, Mr. Palmer. I'll take YOU to the bank.

2006-09-05T23:48:00.000-04:00

Herein lies a story originating from the Cellar Dweller's recent trip to Philly.

We had a great show at the 5 Spot in Philly. Nang is origionally from Philly so we, The Cellar Dwellers, let her and her family decide where we should go to celebrate our outstanding, sell-out performance. They told us of a great bar called Sugar Mom's on Church Street in the heart of Old Town, where the Atmosphere was livid and the Bubble Hockey was Free! (and if anyone knows the Cellar Dwellers, simply the utteration of Bubble Hockey sends us into a frenzy. A FRENZY)

While at Sugar Mom's, we had a few delicious beers with each other, friends we had not seen in years, and Nangles'. But it had been quite a long day, and many of us had not eaten since Pizza King teased our appitites with a jester-quality pizza. We were, simply put, famished. Another great thing about Sugar Mom's is that the Kitchen was open until 1:30 AM. By our calculations, it was merely 1:00. So we flagged down a waitress and ordered 2 fish sandwiches and a large fry. With turnpike tolls casting a heavy shadow on the pocketbook, I reached for the great American currency, My Debit Card, and proclaimed to our server, "I'd like to start a tab." With the night wearing on, and drinking becoming more frequent, we were finally able to manuever our way onto the bubble hockey table. We played until the joint closed at 2:00, and a kitchen employee shooed us out the door so cleanup could begin. Outside, we got directions off a drunk Nangle to Jersey, where our hotel was, and parted ways, happy and inebriated. (no worry officer, we had a designated driver)

It wasn't untill the next morning that I had realized that with the quick retreat from the bar, I left my debit card in the care of the server.

"Damnit," I told my fellow Dwellers, "I left my card at Sugar Mom's."

Words of encouragement were uttered for its safe return,
"No problem, we'll pick it up after breakfast at the Chinese Buffet."

Yea, no problem. We have to go back to Philly to pick Dave up from Nang's sisters house anyway. Nang was staying for the week, so Dave was riding back home with James, Joe, Larry, Big Matt, Danette, and myself. The plan was, BM, Danette and I would go in my car to Sugar Mom's and get my card while James, Joe and Larry would take the other car to get Dave. We would meet at the first rest stop outside the city. Simple plan.

Herein lies our dillema. Sugar Mom's doesn't open till 6pm on Sunday. Plus they weren't open on Monday's or Tuesday's at all. We had a whole road trip planned for the way home (including the worlds smallest church and Tiny-Town,) and this didn't figure in to those plans. The phone number was on the sign out front, so I jotted it down and we got back in the car. Defeated, we drove for the worlds smallest church. I figured there was nothing I could do untill 6:00 so I enjoyed the journey. After dinner at one of the Rest Areas, I called Sugar Mom's to inquire about my card. The conversation went as thus:

Ben: Hi, I was in last night and I think I left my card there.
Employee: Were you at the bar or in the dining room?
Ben: The Bar.
Emp: (pause) ...Yea, I got it here. You can come pick it up.
Ben: Well, I'm from Pittsburgh, is there anyway you could mail it out to me?
Emp: ...Um...you're probally gonna have to talk to a manager, they're real protective of people's cards that have been left.
Ben: Is there someone there now?
Emp: No, you'll have to try back later.
Ben: Can I leave my Info and have someone call me back when they get in?
Emp: Yea, no problem.

Knowing full well I'd never get a call in return.

Dave, who was in my car at this time, suggested that I talk to Nang about her maybe being able to pick up the card this week sometime. She was, in fact, staying in Philadelphia all week. So on Tuesday night, I told Nang I would call them in the morning and see if she, or one of the nangle clan, could stop by and pick it up.

Ben: Hi, I was in on Saturday and left my debit card at the bar.
Emp: ...Yea, it's here. You can pick it up anytime.
Ben: Um... I live in Pittsburgh.
Emp: Oh.
Ben: I do have a friend staying i Philly this week, is there anyway she could pick it for me?
Emp: ...Jee, uh, I'm not sure. You'll have to talk to a Manager. She'll be in later this afternoon.
Ben: Can I leave you my number at least.
Emp: Sure.

Well, I went to work that night and forgot to call back.*sigh*

So Thursday comes.

Nang was heading home today, so I could no longer utilize her as a debit-retrieving source. I had to take a stand.

Ben: Hi, is a manager in?
Emp: No, but Is there something I could help you with?
Ben: I left my debit card at the bar this past weekend.
Emp: ...Oh yea, I've seen this here... Yea, man, we got it. You can come by anytime and pick it up.
(pause)
Ben: ... um, I live in Pittsburgh.
Emp: Oh. uh...
Ben: Look, this is the 3rd time I've called this week, is there anyway that someone could just mail it out to me? I'll return the postage, or whatever, I'd just really like my card back.
Emp: Let me take down your name and number, my shift ends at 6:00, I promise someone will get back to you before I leave.
Ben: Thank you.

20 minutes later, my phone rings.

Ben: Hello?
Mom: Hello Benjamin, this is Mom from Sugar Mom's.
Ben: Hey mom.
Mom: Look we'll get you're card out to you right away.

Yes Success!!!!!!!!

Then came Friday.

Around 12:30pm I recieved this call:

Ben: Hello
Mom: Hello Benjamin, this is Mom from Sugar Mom's
Ben: (confused) Hi Mom, what's up.
Mom: Oh, I've been looking for your phone number all morning. See, someone broke into my car last night and your Debit Card was stolen. It was in the envelope, all ready to be mailed, and they took it right out. Left the envelope, but took your card.
Ben: ... ... ... Oh.
Mom: Yea, It happened sometime after 10:00 last night.
Ben: Uh, Ok
Mom: Well I'll talk to you later.

W.T.F.

After days of not getting ahold of the right people, then when I finally do, Her car gets broken into. So I went to the bank and had them cancel my card. Luckily, therer were no outstanding charges thath I couldn't explain, so I caught it in time. It was just such a hassle. I should have just said, "Destroy it" on Sunday, I'll put in for a new one. It would have saved me much less of a hassle.

Here is where I thought the story was over. The following Saturday, I got an envelope from Philadelphia. Inside were 4 poker chips, each emblazoned with the letters MOM'S and accompanied with a note.

"The Mom's Chip is good for 50 Cents off each and every item prchased at either Mom's location. The Chip is good for life, use it each and every time you visit Mom's. If you forget to bring your chip or lose your Chip just ask for another... It's Mom's way of saying "you're special!"

A hand written note was also included:

"Since I still had the envelope, I figured I'd send you something. -Mom"

Thanks Mom...

Anyone up for a road trip to Philly?

-Ben

Blog Blog

2006-09-02T11:54:00.000-04:00

In recent years, the gullible movie going public has been inundated with an appalling glut of crappy movies. Among the lamest of these pathetic excuses for film making are the ‘Movie’ movies. If you’ve been paying attention to the megaplexes you surely have noticed the ‘Movie’ movies. These so-called comedies are hastily made spoofs of current films, generally focusing on a single genre. Then, instead of coming up with a clever title, maybe a jab at another movie, these movies take the easy way out and simply name themselves after the genre they are anemically riffing on. Hence we have ‘Scary Movies’ and ‘Date Movie’ and ‘Teen Movie.’(Yes. I know the teen movie was actually called ‘Not another Teen movie’, but the neither the title nor the film benefited from the inclusion of the negative clause. The cruelest irony of course is that ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ was, indeed, down to it’s very core, just another teen movie.)

Now, even people who have been fans of these franchises in the past – are you out there? – must admit they are running on fumes. The makers of these ‘Movie’ movies are running out of fresh ideas. And that, dear reader, is where I enter the scene. I have noticed these films running in circles, getting no where fast. I have new directions for these films. All they need is to think outside the proverbial box. There are many film genres and sub-genres which have not been exploited. Why, the ‘Movie’ movie potential scenarios are practically limitless. Here is just a short offering of ideas these filmmakers have yet to touch upon:

Merchant-Ivory Movie: A repressed English butler (Leslie Nielson) is overcome with the arrival into his controlled world of an eccentric American female gardener (Monique), an Indian Hindu priest (Abe Vigoda), and mysterious Italian Heiress (Jenny McCarthy). Hilarity ensues.

Elvis Movie: A good ol’ boy, Hawaiian shirted Vale ski instructor and night club performer (Rob Schneider) woos the daughter (Denise Richards) of the town’s richest man (Leslie Nielson) while out-skiing and singing a posse of California pretty boys. Hilarity ensues.

Industry Training Video Movie: A hapless new employee (Jonathan Taylor Thomas) is taught OSHA regulations and the rules of life from a mysterious janitor (Howie Mandel) while avoiding the factory’s eccentric owner (Leslie Nielson). Hilarity ensues.

1950’s Disney Live Action Movie: A young Oklahoma farm boy (Jonathan Lipnicki) and his talking dog (Shaquille O’Neal) are whisked away into the wilderness by a pair of bumbling bank robbers (Anthony Anderson and Randy Quaid). The boy returns home to his homesteader father (Leslie Nielson), shoots his dog, and becomes a man. Hilarity ensues.

Snuff Film Movie: An unsuspecting young women (Kathy Griffin) meets a bizarre trio of ball-gagged men (Charlie Sheen, Ralph Macchio, and Leslie Nielson) at a Red Carpet Inn. Hilarity ensues.

Shalom.

SIDE PROJECT: Dodge Intrepid Drafted on Sept. 9th!

2006-08-31T22:04:00.000-04:00

Get your library cards ready! Because the newest performance of "Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time" is almost here!

Last we left our hero, he was being abducted by government agents. Now, with our hero kidnapped, Pluck travels to Washington D.C. only to find that Dodge has been drafted by J. Edgar Hoover for a top-secret time traveling mission: stop World War II. Will Dodge break his personal code of not changing history, or will he use his powers to stop the greatest war man has ever seen? Can Pluck get to Dodge in time, or will he run in to a new nemesis? And, with the city of Aliquippa enraged about Grandpa Intrepid's time traveling grandson, will he be able to continue running for mayor?

September 9th will see the debut of the funniest, most exciting episodes yet! So make sure you don't miss this free performance at Cafe Kolache in Beaver, Pennsylvania! The show begins at 7:00PM and is always for all ages!

Class of 2020 Mindset List

2006-08-30T15:43:00.000-04:00

The class of 2020 is now entering their freshman year of college. Ahead of them lies a brand new world to experience, and what the future holds is certainly uncertain. However these young adults have grown up remembering the world much differently than you and I have. While the class of 2010 may have never experienced the Soviet Union or life without Wal-Mart, the class of 2020 has an even stranger path to college.

• They have grown up outliving every "end of the world" prophecy left on the planet.
• The class of 2020 will be used to "blog-functionality" infused, rather unnecessarily, with every aspect of their daily lives.
• This freshman class has grown up with the pleasure of never having to vote for a Vietnam-era Senator.
• They will never have to deal with integrating sports teams in to colleges.
• Global cooling has made it so that many of these freshman will never need air conditioners... at least until it starts warming again.
• This class has all watched time-traveling prophet John Titor on television for years.
• Coffee has always caused cancer.
• Their "Livestrong" bracelets are now "Die Hard" bracelets.
• They will have never personally known a member of the "Greatest Generation", who would have surely regarded this class as the "Worst Generation."
• The Weekly World News has always been more trustworthy than the New York Times.
• Photoshop has always been free.
• They have never heard of Saturday Night Live, but they sure do love the Cellar Dwellers.
• Black eyed peas have always been dangerous chemical weapons during their lifetime.
• Apple has always been the dominant hardware system.
• President Bill Clinton is merely looked upon as a traitorous womanizer, much like Mallard Fillmore was looked upon as a whig-wearing nobody in 2006.
• They never saw Tucker Carlson wearing a bow tie.
• The class of 2020 can only count change by 5's because their lowest coin value during their lifetime has always been the nickel.
• President Lincoln has always been on their nickel.
• The Post-Office has always been a museum showcasing the days of yesteryear.
• Horses have always talked.
• It has always been a federal offense to charge more than $3.00 for parking.
• More than 50% of children have always been diagnosed with "Blackberry Thumb."
• They have only known two rulers of England: Blairbot 2000 and J.K. Rowling.
• The number of the beast has always been 665.9999 (repeating).
• Cars have always been powered by homeless vagrants.
• America has always been listed on maps as Los Estados Unidos.
• New Orleans has always been owned by Willy Wonka.
• After the ear-bomber of 2016, this freshman class will forever have to swab their ears for airport security.
• TV Land has always shown "Arrested Development."
• George Lucas has always claimed that "Star Wars Episode XII: The Claw of Han" that was written with the original trilogy.
• "Trilogies" have always included five movies.
• Lists always refer back to themselves. Ha.
• Ha ha ha ha.
• The Oxford comma has always been associated with neo-Nazis.
• They have never experienced an iPod.
• The smallest soda drink has always been a "large" and the largest soda drink has always been a "I can drink this."
• Fizz City has always been the capital of Sheetzburg, which was the 54th state in Los Estados Unidos.

Obituaries

2006-08-26T11:14:00.000-04:00

Pluto
Pluto, the ninth planet from the sun, passed into obscurity Wednesday during perihelion after a long battle with planet definition.
Pluto, billions of years old, is a retired asteroid from the Kuiper Belt.
Pluto leaves behind 8 brothers, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, along with dozens of niece and nephew satellites and loved relatives still in the Kuiper Belt. Plus a very special friend, Voyager VII.
Pluto toiled in obscurity for most of his life, but recently enjoyed the spotlight. Gravity drew it into the path of his brother Neptune, which both brought him much fame and status, but eventually lead him to pass. He served during the Korean, Vietnam and both Iraq wars helping to light up the night sky. He is perhaps best known for, and was most proud of, being the namesake of Mickey Mouse’s non-talking dog and having the longest year of any of the planets. He enjoyed being Pizza in a mnemonic device.
Services will be held nightly, weather permitting, in backyards and observatories for the next week.
In lieu of flowers, the family asks for donations to schools for new textbooks.

150 reasons to hate manute bol part 3

2006-08-20T05:23:00.000-04:00

Hey, Joe here,
With part 3 of my 15 blog instalment of 150 Reasons to Hate Manute Bol, as inspired by a conversation about a college essay little mike could have writen but did not.

i'll bet you thought i ran out of reasons

31) manute bol is one I away from a minute

32) in blind taste test people prefer coke over manute bol

33) manute bol inspired the song world without love, simply by existing

34) manute bol created tribbles

35) people in france love him

36) manute bol can not be used as a sugar substitute

37) he could easily have reached kittens stuck in trees , but refused to

38) manute bol will not let you eat cereal out of him

39) manute bol is solely responsible for the 6 months of darkness in alaska

40) manute bol does not like grand funk railroad.

that is all , for now.

joe eoj

name that movie.

2006-08-18T01:15:00.000-04:00

wow, joe here,

so ya, just when i thought hollywood couldnt get less creative, they prove me wrong once again. As if remakes of movies werent enough, as if remakes of tv shows werent enough, as if remakes of movies about tv shows werent enough, now the marketing geniuses in the world of film and screen are not only lazily distributing crap but even the name of the crap movies lack the creative punch i'm used to seeing on the silver screen. lets see, how'd this conversation go.

1: i have a great idea for a movie

2: really that doesnt sound like something we'd go in for.

1: no listen, it's about snakes, .....get this,.... on a plane.

2: wow, snakes on a plane, that sounds like pure genius , whats it about

1: well , it's about snakes.....on a plane.

2: well i give it the green light, you have our full support just tell me what you need

1:well ,, i'll need snakes......and a plane.

2: you got it

1: great, all we need now is a catchy title that will make people want to see it.

2: hmmmm

1: i got it, how about....the serpant above

2: nah, people might think its about religious coruption.

1: what about boa 737

2: no boeing might sue us.

1: hmmm

2: wait, i got it, how about snakes,..... on a plane.

1: i like it.

so in keeping with this brilliantly creative title i've decided to rename a few movies so when hollywood remakes them they wont have to think to hard. original title on the left , new improved title on the right

titanic -----------------------boat that sank

citizen cane------------------ guy with sled

wizzard of oz----------------- girl with concussion

speed -------------------------movie with bus

great expectations ------------lower your expectations

speed 2 ----------------------movie with boat instead of bus

thelma and louise ------------lesbians in car

bio dome ---------------------waste of time

jaws -------------------------shark in the water

contact ----------------------girl with electra complex

jackass the movie -----------(eh, i guess that one works. )

debbie does dallas -----------the trials and tribulations of debra wallace.

pretty woman ---------------man with a whore

leauge of their own ----------girls playing baseball.

castaway-------------------- tom hanks with a volley ball

anyways i think you get the idea if any one thinks of some more post em.

joe, going to bed.

joe eoj

Snakes on a Fence

2006-08-17T10:01:00.000-04:00

Tonight is the debut of one of the most anticipated films of the year. A film that has been driven by one of the most unique marketing campaigns in some time. I'm talking, of course, about Snakes on a Plane. But with it's opening in sight, it's marketing campaign in full force, and cell phone messages being sent across the country I can only wonder: will the movie suck good enough?

Now, I fully support this film, and have the utmost confidence in the director (who only knows how to make terrible films) and Samuel L. Jackson, who signed on to the do the film before he read the script. I can't remember any other time where a movie has tried to be genuinely awful, without being cheesy-awful. Really it's a fine line that Snakes is teetering on, and it could be one of the great success stories of Hollywood, or one of the biggest flops in a while. It's currently creating a philosophical dilemma deep within my soul, and I can't help but feel vexed.

If the movie sucks, did it do it's job? But what if it sucks, just not enough to be considered good? Some movies suck so bad that they're good... for example Collision Course starring Jay Leno. A terrible movie that I love to watch. Since this movie was made with the intention of being bad and the audience knows this, the entire plan could backfire. Usually, when a movie is "so bad it's good" it is because he reaches that sort of unplanned "suck-zen" that no one can really predict or anticipate. I'd reason that this happens because of the good intentions and pure hearts of the people making it. They think they're crafting good cinema, when really they're polishing a piece of coal. So can a movie aim to recreate this? We'll find out.

"Snakes on a Plane" has managed, in some circles, to already live a full life as a cult film. Much like "Rocky Horror Picture Show" and "Napoleon Dynamite" before it, "Snakes on a Plane" has managed to be embraced and rejected by movie-goers. I know alot of people who were completely caught up in the "Snakes" phenomenon early on, and are now tired of hearing about it. People have gone from loving this movie to being sick of it before it even came out! I would even venture to say that it's currently "trendy" to hate "Snakes on a Plane." Seeing the life-span of a cult film fly by like this is something I would expect to see on "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"

Despite the negative side effects of having buzz about your movie for almost an entire year, "Snakes" is doing alot of things right. It's title song, "Snakes on a Plane (Bring It!)", was found during a song-submission contest for the film. People were asked to write songs for the movie, and the best one would be chosen to lead the way. Thankfully, the filmmakers chose a song that is gloriously stereotypical and average, yet absurdly hilarious. It manages to strike that "suck-zen" that I was talking about. The movie has also utilized the internet more than most films. In fact, I'd say that most of the film's cult following started thanks to websites like Snakes on a Blog. It's because of the internet fanbase that the film went from PG-13 to R (after they requested that Jackson say a certain four-letter word that he says so well). Fan boys were even able to submit lines to be used in the screenplay. The amount of audience collaboration has really made the film unique... and hopefully bad enough to be good.

I hope to go see the film tonight during it's nation-wide "Thursday @ 10pm" opening. I'm hoping that there's a great crowd... I want this movie to succeed. Maybe it's because Sam Jackson is excellent. Maybe it's because this is the kind of self-referential tongue-in-cheek action thriller that Hollywood needs to succeed. Or maybe it's just because I don't want to see this opportunity wasted. This is something that can really only be done once. If it's successful, there will be plenty of copycats. But there will only be one "Snakes on a Plane."

Paying for Coins

2006-08-12T21:56:00.000-04:00

Folks need to make up their minds: are coins worth it or not?

In large quantities, they are totally worth it. Much like parts of Voltron, they are rather useless on their own, but when combined together, they are a force to be reckoned with. People just can't seem to wrap their heads around one side of the argument or the other. So they end up being sort of hypocritical: you should keep change, but don't even think about using it as money!

Let me expound, with examples.

When I get a small amount of change, I cast it aside like it's an orphan on the street. Twelve cents? Get the heck out of here and bother someone else! I usually leave it on the counter, or in a cup so that others make take and share a penny. It's not that I'm rich or too vein to deal with it, but rather I find it useless and annoying. You could keep that twelve cents, letting it clink around in your pants all day, until you get home and lose it in the couch (if you didn't already lose it in your car). So instead, I think it's much more beneficial to just put it in a cup so that others can partake. Or, if it's just a penny, and there isn't a cup to place it in, I throw it on the ground...

That's right. I throw it on the ground.

It's not littering because someone is going to pick that penny up. Maybe not because they need a penny to pay for something (because most clerks will let you go if you're a penny short), but because they believe in the luck-bestowing powers of President Lincoln. While I love Lincoln as much as the next fella, I don't need his stupid penny. Besides, pennies cost more to produce than they are actually worth... which also means that the price of my thoughts just rose as well.

So when I cast my change aside, people look at me like I'm a total ass. "Are you seriously not keeping that eighteen cents?" they'll say to me. It's not like I just punched a baby in the face, I just didn't want to keep the change. "But it's still money," they'll say. When I offer it to them, they don't want anything to do with it.

For as much as I'm chastised for refusing to acknowledge that small amounts of change are currency, I'm chastised even more for actually using change to buy things. I'm not talking about lugging in sacks of pennies to buy an iPod, but rather purchasing cheap goods like a cup of coffee or a donut.

Every time I drive in to Pittsburgh for work, I go through this quaint little drive-thru coffee shop. It's nice. But because drinking coffee can get expensive, and because I've been on a very tight budget as of late, I use change in my car to pay for the drink. It's about $1.44. So that's five quarters and two dimes (and then I say "Keep the penny" because I sure as heck don't want it!) I roll up there in my LeSabre each morning, roll down the window, order the same thing, and hand them the same amount of change. And each time, the guy smirks at me, as if to say "I can't believe you are so cheap as to pay with change." I'm sure that those clerks refer to me as "The Change Guy" or "Silver McGraw" after I drive away. Is it so wrong that I pay with all change? Isn't that what you people want me to do, instead of just throwing the change away or keeping it in a jar in my room?

Of course, the whole operation goes sour last week, when I pull up to the coffee shop and try and hand them my $1.44 in change and a punch card (buy eight coffees get one free, sucka!) I am trying to hand the guy the change and the card in one try. I've done this before, it's never a problem. But this time, the guy bobbles the change! He can't grasp the transaction that's taking place, and the coins explode! Change flies everywhere, banging off of my car door, smacking on to the tar below.

"Oh god!" I exclaim, immediately ashamed of my abuse of the coin.

"Just... Just don't worry about it. Just go," he says, knowing that Silver McGraw has struck again.

I try to open my door, to salvage some of the coins that dropped, but he continues to insist that I "just go." So I drove away, and never turned back.

Yet only once have I actually gotten a complaint from a cashier for using change.

I was extremely hungry, and craving non-other than the Papa Burger at A&W. So I drove out there one evening, with just a handful of change (two dollars and something). I ordered the burger, pulled around the drive-thru and change the guy the change. After he handed me the receipt, he said, "If you take that receipt and go to our website, you can register to win a million dollars... then you don't have to buy cheeseburgers with change."

Just be happy I'm not using food stamps.

I can't win. People want me to use coins, but when I use them I get dirty looks. The only way to win is to take your change and give it to any charity you can find--whether it's in a clear plastic box next to a cash register, or one of those spiral coin slides you can find at the mall. Just give that to charity, because they can actually use coins. And they won't spill them on the streets.

The New Cellar Dwellers Website!

2006-08-08T21:29:00.000-04:00

I'm happy to announce that the Cellar Dwellers have a brand new website! In case you only come and read this blog (which must be really boring considering the drought it's currently experiencing), check out our regular home page for a change!

I spent the last few weeks revamping the site, trying to get it ready in time for the Dwellers' trip to Philadelphia. Speaking of which, did you hear the Cellar Dwellers are debuting in Philadelphia this week? Oh yeah, big time. The group is performing this Saturday at the Five Spot-- the doors open at 9, the show starts at 9:15PM. The Dwellers are performing a special edition of "A Thousand Rays of HYPE", the hit "best of" show that we toured around last Winter. The set list has been updated a tad, with a helping of hilarious sketches from "Salvation Impossible:3".

This is the first time the Dwellers have ever performed in Philly, and as a group we're all really looking forward to it! I, unfortunately, cannot make the trip out to the City of Brotherly Love, but I wish the best of luck to troupe. I just know that they are going to go out there and fill that place with people, and then slay them all (in a good way... with laughter). Go get em, gang!

[Just a reminder, because the Dwellers are going to Philly this weekend, the troupe won't be around to host FN'Improv at the Beaver Valley Bowl. We know it's been a rather hectic schedule for a workshop that's supposed to be "every Friday," but we hope that our loving fans understand. The good news it that the workshop will resume its weekly schedule the following Friday!]

Like Rockwell

2006-07-29T14:29:00.000-04:00

Since moving last August, my seemingly quiet little neighborhood has grown increasingly strange. I am constantly stunned at the unnatural occurrences springing up all around me. I can’t even raise any concerns to my neighbors. They are not exactly the talkative type. When I try to express some basic neighborly pleasantry - saying hello for instance – suspicion clouds their eyes. Behind their eyes I can see them sizing me up, trying to figure my grift. Usually the only interaction occurs when I assure them I am not a college student, and I have a perfect right to park in the street because I live there. This is usually followed by them following me with their eyes all the way back to my apartment practically muttering “Damn uppity college kids” under their breath.

So, my neighborhood is strange. First, it was the invasion of children which I covered in an earlier post. Then there was the invasion of kittens. Yeah, you heard me. Kittens. Everywhere. It was terrible. It was adorable. It was terribly adorable. It was like that tribble episode of Star Trek. Of course, I can’t exactly say I didn’t see it coming. It is a natural progression from the loud, freaky cat sex that was happening on the street a few months ago. Now, that was terrible and in no way, shape, or form adorable. What’s the difference between cat sex and cat fighting? Nothing as far as I can tell. They’re both loud, piercing, and violent. I can’t tell you how many times I could only get to sleep after assuring myself that “It’s ok. She likes it.”

Now, I’m being watched. I returned from work to my ever so humble abode the other day and noticed some strange little stickers on the crappy little house next to mine. These stickers claimed that this house was being protected by Homeland Closed Circuit Security or some such nonsense. At first I thought this was just a clever ploy. You know, how I used to have an NRA sticker on my car even though I’m not a member: Just to keep the bastards from trying. Yet, when I scanned the house sure enough, my neighbor – who lives in the crappiest little house around – has security cameras all over his house. And the worse part: One of them is trained right on my door. This guy is watching me.

Now, I’m a simple, honest guy. I’ve nothing to hide. Still, I don’t like the idea of being watched by some stranger who won’t even return a simple hey-wassup head nod. I can just picture him, sitting in ragged underwear in his command center, watching me come and go. I know this is what it’s like. I just do. Whenever I picture someone spying on me they’re in their underwear, and no, I don’t think that reflects more on me than the other guy. Of course, there is the even more unsettling question of what this guy in this rundown house is hiding, but I prefer not even to consider this for fear of actually finding out.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve already begun recognizing the cameras. I wave. I give a big thumbs up. I pull up the edge of my shirt just a tad to tease him with my body. You know, innocent stuff. I think I want to move onto bigger stunts. I want this guy to see me bringing in and out of my home the strangest stuff imaginable. I want to get inside this guys head. I want him to think I’m the odd one. I want to bring increasingly large objects out of my apartment. I want to be constantly unloading couches. I want to pull out couch after couch. The trick being that – somehow – I make it so he can never see me bring the couches into my apartment. I want my apartment to be a magical wonderland to him, a bottomless well of over sized furniture. After, I am done with the furniture, I shall move on to odder objects: Most likely animals. At first, I’ll be seen carrying out mice and gerbils. Eventually, I’ll be leading out horses. Finally, a herd of American Buffalo will emerge from my apartment. That should freak out my neighbor sufficiently.

So, if anyone knows where a man can acquire a herd of buffalo, give me a call.

Shalom

War of the Stars!

2006-07-24T00:01:00.000-04:00

In "Clash of the Titans," Perseus goes out of his way to battle the mythological monsters of Greek culture. In "Maximum Overdrive," we see Emilio Estevez battling a truck that comes alive. In "Red Dawn" we witness Patrick Swayze battling Communists who invade mid-western America. These are great examples of two polar opposite groups of people (or objects or monsters) that must face each other on terms set by one of the parties.

Yet there is one "clash" that overshadows all the rest in terms of importance, magnitude, and excitement. I'm not talking about any Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Matrix mumbo-jumbo. I'm not even talking about Woody Allen.

I'm talking about War of the Stars.

Back in the 1980's, there was a line of VHS sports specials hosted by none other than Dick Van Patten (who isn't nearly as popular as Dick Van Dyke, surprisingly). The premise of the show was simple: famous athletes face off against Hollywood actors in the sport of that respective athlete. Sound terribly one-sided? It is. Sound extremely amazing? It's not. But this specific episode that I saw seemed to hold a bit of potential: Michael Jordan vs. The Sheens. At first I thought I was going to see Air Jordan facing off against from 50's doo-wop quartet, but it turned out to just be Charlie and Martin.

The whole thing sort of feels like a shlocky home video, starting with some nice star-wipes and highlights from past "Hollywood vs Sports" match-ups. I had no idea that there was such a rivalry building up between popular actors and athletes; these two elite groups of individuals were having their own little Cold War for centuries, just like the great nations of the world. I think it's safe to attribute this series as the trailblazer that tore down that tense wall, paving the way for a number of celebrity golf outings and "Space Jam." Before "War of the Stars" you rarely saw any crossover between the two worlds. Now, thanks to the diligent work of the Sheens and Michael Jordan, this bridge has been built.

[To the keen reader, you would have noticed that my examples above all featured the Sheens in some way or another. Emilio Estevez (son of Martin Sheen) stars in "Maximum Overdrive," Charlie Sheen co-stars in "Red Dawn," and I think Martin Sheen played the cyclops in "Clash of the Titans." Maybe.]

The "war" went down like this. First, they trash talk each other a bit, all the while Dick Van Patten makes inappropriate "Apocalypse Now" and "Platoon" puns. The Sheens talk about why they like to use the name Sheen instead of Estevez, further separating their relative, and superior actor, Joe Estevez. Michael Jordan talks about how much he likes the Sheens' movies, and how he doesn't think driving a 1980-something VW GTI is goofy.

After they're finishing ripping each other apart with words, the actual match-up begins. The whole event is somehow held in a highschool gymnasium (which I find near impossible, given the tremendous build-up and demand that this war probably had.) Just like the Sega classic "Jordan vs. Bird," they face off in three small events. First, there is a slam dunk competition. Jordan easily defeats the Sheens, considering that, when on the court, they look like a couple of small, angsty gremlins. Their hair is all fuzzy, their legs are squatted, and Charlie has a weird tattoo on his arm. Charlie has a very innocent look to him--since this was before his "get drunk and beat women" days. But, suffice it to say, the two of them can't dunk for crap. The second task they face off in is a foul shooting contest. It's both the Sheens (their scores combined!) against Jordan. While it may appear as if Jordan is going to sweep the competition, the Sheens pull out a close one. The whole event rests on the shoulders of the 2 on 1 half-court game. It was just such a thrilling exercise in machismo and athleticism that I really don't even remember who won! I'm pretty sure it was the Sheens though... considering that they're still working today and Michael isn't, I can say that I'm fairly certain the won.

And so after the dust settled, the three shook hands and went their separate ways. The world had survived the war, unlike when Aliens fight Predators. Patten somehow managed to survive the whole thing and go on to referee a boxing match between Lennox Lewis and Billy Baldwin.

10,000 Lakes!

2006-07-21T17:47:00.000-04:00

So the other day I was driving around like a crazy person when I saw a license plate for Minnesota. Aside from my saying to myself "Minnesota rocks!", I took a good close look at what it said on their plate: Land of 10,000 Lakes. Apparently there are 10,000 lakes in that wild and wonderful state, and while I've yet to met a man who can name them all, I took the time to figure out what a bunch of other states of 10,000 of.

While not every state has 10,000 good, or politically correct, things... most have 10,000 of something.

Alaska - 10,000 caribou mating under government protection
Arizona - 10,000 militiamen!
Arkansas - 10,000 Clinton mistresses
California - 10,000 car chases!
Florida - 10,000 legit votes for Buchanan
Idaho - 10, 000 Mr. & Mrs. Potatoheads in the phonebook
Iowa - 10,000 straw polls daily!
Louisiana - 10,000 buses that we don't use, even for emergencies!
Maine - 10,000 Lobstas!
Massachusetts - 10,000 Republicans!
Minnesota - That's right, suckers... 10,000 lakes.
Montana - 10,000 residents... total!
Nevada - 10,000 drunken mistakes/hr.
New Hampshire - 10,000 State Slogans!
New Jersey - 10,000 people wishing they lived in New York
New Mexico - 10,000 really funny stereotypes jokes!
New York - 10,000 hobos/park!
North Dakota - 10,000 people know we're a state!
Ohio - 10,000 fires in one river!
Pennsylvania - 10,000 amish!
Rhode Island _ 10,000 inches long!
South Dakota - 10,000 people think we're the same as North Dakota!
Texas - 10,000 everything!
Utah - 10,000 wives!
Vermont - 10,000 Phish concerts!
Virginia - 10,000 lovers!
Washington - 10,000 Starbucks!
West Virginia - 10,000 pots hanging on 5,000 porches!
Wyoming - 10,000 people think we don't exist!

What Price Freedom

2006-06-29T12:58:00.000-04:00

Ah The 4th of July, Independence Day, the day when we remember the tumultuous and unlikely birth of our great nation, when we reflect upon the immense freedoms that our forefathers fought and died for, when we celebrate our great democracy by blowing shit up real good. The great anniversary of our nation’s first defiant cry for freedom is upon us and that can only mean one thing: Fireworks. For me nothing says Independence Day like a half drank case of Coors a wheelbarrow full of munitions and a lighter. I have not truly celebrated Thomas Jefferson’s great document until I have filled the sky with the whistle-bang of poorly aimed – if aimed at all – bottle rockets and the combustive boom of the M-80. When I see a redneck wearing a wife beater, sitting in a fraying lawn chair, throwing fire crackers into a kiddy pool, I know it is the 4th. God bless our freedoms.

Of course freedom is not cheap. No, freedom costs, and so do fireworks. You see, hear in the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, fireworks are – what’s the word – illegal. So, obtaining the munitions for a proper Independence Day celebration involves a perilous trek…to Ohio, to the most frightening place imaginable: the fireworks store. These stores are odd creations, squat, windowless, cinder-blocked bunkers of pyrotechnic oddity. They dot the Pennsylvania-Ohio border, lawless business surrounded by weeded lots and rusting barbed wire fences. They have all the obsessive atmosphere of a porn shop without the bonus of seeing naked people.

I was not going to visit one of these weigh stations of the bizarre this year. I was perfectly content to light up whatever inflammable goodies a friend could provide. Then fellow Cellar Dweller and Bad Decision Maker Supreme Joe called and asked if I would like to join him in a trip to purchase the accoutrements of this year’s celebration. Not seeing any reason not too, I agreed.

I had forgotten what a strange, cursed place a fire works shop was. It had been years since my last visit. I was soon enough reminded. We pulled up to the shop located just on the Ohio side of the border. The building had the air of a militia headquarters: White cinder block, windowless, two defensive levels of barbed wire fencing about the perimeter, no sign, armed guard. Before we could enter we had to fill out legal forms, relinquish any lighters or matches, and turn all cell phones off. With these preliminaries complete, we were granted access to the building proper.

Before us stretched aisle upon aisle of every kind of legal – and quite possibly some illegal – explosive imaginable. There where ones that sparkled, fizzed, smoked, bloomed, twirled, blazed, and dismembered. The space was filled with the surreal juxtaposition of mom and pop business charm, and gunpowder. High explosives where stacked eye high atop shelves marked Nabisco, obviously pinched from some grocers trash. Carefully hand-lettered signs pointed toward the M-80’s. The counters where lined with firecrackers and snaps where a normal convenience store would house its candy and gum (Word to the wise, never confuse snaps with gum. Trust me.)

Joe and I walked the rows, studying packages depicting Wolverines with blood-foamed mouths and military motifs. Many fireworks where housed in missile shaped tubes. One read “Defender of the First Amendment.” We searched for our desired explosives tentatively, terrified lest we make eye contact with one of the other patrons. The other shoppers shuffled from display to display, eyes on the ground until it was time to search a shelf. Once again it was reminiscent of a porn shop: Creepy men shuffling about searching for that particular item which will satisfy their unnatural desires. Well, most of them shuffled. One of the other customers was wheelchair bound. He was missing both legs beneath the knee. Now, I am in no way mocking the handicapped or saying that fireworks were in any way responsible for this guy’s loss…but the guy did have the distinct air of someone who had been thrown by the horse but insisted on getting back on to ride. It was doubly uncomfortable with this gentleman. If you got caught in eye contact you couldn’t drop your gaze. Then you would be staring at his stumps. Then you would be ashamed again and look up…and make eye contact. I swear there was a good five minutes when my head resembled a yo-yo.

Eventually, we made our final selections. We paid the backward talking dwarf behind the counter, and loaded up the car. Then we took back roads back to PA on the off chance a cop might follow us – highly unlikely but an ongoing phobia of Joe’s. Then I spent the remainder of my day cleaning the stench of fireworks shop from my person, but it was to no avail. I cannot scrub my soul.

But it was worth it. The 4th is on the horizon, and I am going to blow stuff up…good.

Shalom

Shell Shocked

2006-06-28T13:45:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry... really, I am. In fact, you have no idea how sorry I am. Well, perhaps you do, because I'm really not that terribly sorry. But believe me when I say that I never meant to hit you. I never meant to crush you in an instant, your shell exploding like a cluster grenade, shrapnel covering the highway. Please don't misunderstand me when I say:

I don't normally run over turtles.

Turtles have a reputation of being one of nature's wisest, most conservative creatures (next to the owl and Ben Stein). But if you are, in fact, so wise, I must ask "What were you doing in the middle of the highway?" What on earth were you thinking? Most humans don't try and cross highways during rush hour, and here you are, slower than most, doing your best to make it across. Never did you expect a Buick LeSabre going forty-five miles per hour. I don't think you saw it coming; then again, even if you did, what could you have done? Or maybe you were sleeping, or perhaps already dead? None of that really matters right now... because you are 100% dead at the moment I write this letter to you.

It all happened so fast. I was following Karissa through Monroeville, heading to my internship in Pittsburgh. We were both talking to each other via cell phone (with headsets of course). Her car straddles the turtle (or tortoise, I don't really know), and no sooner does she say the words "Aw, a turtle--" do I hear the a crunch. My car felt like it had run over a speed bump--only it sounded like a speed bump made of porcelain. Suddenly, I hear screaming in my ear... Karissa had watched the entire event unfold in her rear view mirror. I quickly glance back and see shards of shell spinning across the road, it looked like I had run over a hard vase with a gooey center.

"YOU KILLED THE TURTLE!" she's screams. Did I? Or were you already dead and I just finished the job? If I hadn't hit you, someone else surely would have? And yet I can't help but feel remorse for running you over. I can't remember ever hitting an animal before, let alone one held in such high esteem. I respect you, turtle.

But the crunch was so loud! It was like nothing I had ever heard before. There are various sounds that are so unique that they will stick in your head for days, months even. The crunch of your shell will haunt even my most pleasant of dreams. If I were to foley the sound for, say, a radio show, I would probably bake a clay pot in a kiln and then fill it with meatloaf... then run over it with a car.

I will never understand why you were in the middle of the road, or what your plans were for the day, but I give my best to your family. Perhaps your death will save the lives of countless other turtles who were contemplating crossing the highway. Unless you are on some sort of rocket-powered skateboard, don't try it.

"The Search for Pluck" Tomorrow!

2006-06-23T09:25:00.000-04:00

The performance of "Dodge Intrepid and the Pages of Time" is just a day away, so there is still time to call and cancel your plans so that you can attend!

"The Search for Pluck" picks right up where the "Trial of Dodge Intrepid" ended--although you don't have to have seen the previous show to understand the concept-- and our hero is searching through time for his lost intern. At the same time, we are continuing our campaign storyline with Allister Farious (who is running for mayor of Aliquippa). With the great press we got in Pittsburgh Magazine, and the great word-of-mouth that has been spreading around since our first show back in August, I'm hoping for a good turnout.

Last week, we released our first podcast since March; it's an old concept injected with some Dodge charm: Ask Dodge and Pluck. Basically, Dodge and Pluck answer questions e-mailed to us via our blog. We then turn the questions in to characters in a "call-in" question format. Yeah, it's been done before, but it is something quick and easy for us to improv and get out to the satiate the podcasting public. Of course, we didn't have questions to start out with, so we made them up... but hopefully we won't have to do that forever (and if we do, well at least you know they'll be funny.)

To listen to a trailer for our upcoming show, click here!

Yes, Virgina, I Did Happen To Score Molly Hatchet Tickets

2006-06-11T19:37:00.000-04:00

Speaking of children, BM was a child once.

I wasn't always big. My long-term memory still seems fairly well intact; I can recall plenty of instances when I was still insignifigant enough to blend in with the general populous. Sure, that feat is somewhat more difficult now as I've since fully blossomed, outweighing your middle-of-the-road human in terms of importance by a metaphoric 24 metric tons.

In order to have reached my current bigness, I had to learn certain things on my own. No, not boldface names in history books or the locations of state capitols on a pull-down map, but so called real life lessons in so called real life situations.

As a pre-kindergarden child, I always wanted to catch a bird. Salamanders and nightcrawlers were easy; enslaving a winged sky-beast seemed the ultimate challenge. My first and most feeble attempts were essentially dead sprints toward a morning robin pecking for a worm. I thought I could catch 'em off their guard. No such dice however. I soon figured that what I needed was some kind of lure. I stood dead center in the nearby field hoisting a granola bar into the taunting lair of the common barn swallow with one hand, while poised to swoop in and snarl my feathered prey with the other. I failed again. Eventually I ripped a page from Wile E. Coyote's handbook of gadgetry and did the ol' box with stick and string ploy. We all know how well it worked for Wile E. It worked equally well for LM. I didn't possess a bird until I happened upon a wounded crow years later. I had conquered the sky-beast. Lesson learned: ain't no crow with a broken wing gonna' fly higher than LM's ambitions.

LM idolized Popeye. BM does too. When I was four I lived in my grandparents' rural home with my parents and younger sister. One evening our meal consisted of this, that and spinach. I knew from Popeye's seafaring toils that spinach could instantly make you mega-powerful simply by causing the spinach lid to pop like a Pringles can, than chewing and swallowing the contents; sometimes you even get a battleship to appear on your tricep. Yes, I would become mega-powerful for a few ticks after swallowing, but would I have the short-lived strength to raise my grandmother's organ over my head. So I inhaled a large portion of spinach, excused myself from the dinner table, then ran full throttle down the hall and into the living room. Confronted with the hulking organ, I wedged my fingers underneath either side of the pedals and attempted an overhead press. No such dice again. The 2 ton organ proved too bulky for LM and I was later lectured about chronic back problems. Lesson learned: you don't need to eat spinach to manhandle a tin whistle however.

The Molly Hatchet album covers are scary; each lp sleeve depicts either a super-spooky monster-thing or a menacing tribal warrior-god or something. I would pluck the Molly Hatchet albums from my father's record collection and create a mock Thunderdome-like scenerio where the Molly Hatchet albums would battle one another in a single elimination round-robin tourney until only one Molly Hatchet lp remained to be hailed "best rock album ever." Dad didn't like me crashing his Molly Hatchet albums together like those rubber WWF wrestler that had the consistancy of giant erasers. Speaking of my father...

I remember when Dad told me that Santa wasn't real. Six year olds rarely have heart-to-heart conversations with thier fathers'. Sure, Dad and I would discuss how awful the Phillies were performing, or why a fairly elaborate pulley system would be required in order to lift an organ, but nothing that would really stick with me so earnestly while becoming the well-rounded adult I am today. See, since about the September before that particular Christmas I had begun to wonder if Santa Clause was a set-up. I didn't want to think he was, but recent taunting from some of my friends had forced me to refocus.
My father must have picked up on my dilemma because shortly after I had opened my final gift on Christmas morning I heard him call from the top of the stairs, "Matthew, put down your toys and come upstairs for a second; there's something I want to tell you." At the time, I probably didn't feel much like a cattle being led to slaughter as I ascended the stairs; I was however. Upon scaling the final step, I turned and began a march toward the master bedroom until, "No, I'm in here son." I halted midstride and pivoted toward the voice until I was face-to-face with a wide open bathroom door. Beyond the door was my insightful father, pantless and perched on the pot. "There is no Santa Clause boy," he declared mid-smash. I was frozen and speechless (I would say his junk hung like mistletoe but that might be tastleless). But what he said next I remember word-for-word, resignating as maybe the most genuine thing the old man, or anyone, has ever said me, "Santa lives in here son" he said as he motioned to his chest, then he smashed again. Lesson learned: my Dad kicks ass.

"Tis more conducive to seek the advice of a fool than the words of a wise man rendered invalid via a freak scooter accident."
-ancient Chinese proverb.

BM

Child Abuse

2006-06-10T11:51:00.000-04:00

Allow me to preface this by saying that I like children. Honestly I do. I appreciate the wide-eyed wonder, the blunt literalness, the unaffected openness of emotions which children carry. I honestly do like children. I even go out of my way to entertain children. Ask anyone who has ever seen me pass by an infant. Seriously, I cannot be in the vicinity of a young child without trying to bring a smile to the young face. I’ve been known to dance for many a baby in my time.

With this made perfectly clear, I need to say that the children in my neighborhood have got to go. I’m serious. They are a blight upon the land. At the risk of sounding Mr. Wilsonian, they’re menaces. They need to disappear. They should be eliminated with extreme prejudice.

I know this sounds harsh. Trust me, this not a position I have arrived at lightly. It is not as though I simply woke up one morning and decided all the kids in my neighborhood needed to be ‘taken care of’. These kids are just asking for it. Seriously, all of a sudden I think the child population of my street has jumped ten fold. Kids are everywhere. I can’t step outside without running into a sulky four-year old delinquent. I don’t think these children even have parents. They simply arose from the streets complete with bad attitudes and toys to put right under my car tires every morning. I don’t see parents. The only evidence of parenting is the occasional disembodied harpy scream. Piercing inhuman sounds telling kids to pick up this, get in here, don’t touch that, and just wait until your father gets home. This is often how I awake. With this shrill yell vibrating some awful cord in my subconscious. Still, the parents are unseen – I do see adults on porches, drinking and watching bug zappers in an almost religious rapture, but I have no reason to connect these folks to the children.

Toys are everywhere. I don’t know what corn field these tow-headed brats walked out from, but they sure as hell brought a lot of swag with them. Every night as I fumble down the dark breeze-way to my apartments entrance, it is almost a foregone conclusion that I will trip over a ‘My Little Pony’ or this elaborate radio controlled skate boarding figure which seems to be everywhere. My sidewalks have become concrete dump bins for all types of childhood playthings. If in the future my street is excavated by future archeologists, they will be sure to conclude that my street was a strange enclave society ruled by children with no noticeable adult presence – kind of like in ‘Beyond Thunderdome’.

If the toys are bad, the children themselves are worse. I can’t tell you how often I’ve emerged from the protective cocoon of my apartment, only to be immediately confronted with a sullen-eyed child, with a strange, hard slant to his mouth, like he’s sizing me up and saying to himself: “I can take this sucker.” And this is right on my porch. These kids have no respect for private property. They don’t even have respect for their own lives. Yesterday, as I got out of my car a young child of maybe four, pedaled past on a bike resplendent with training wheels.

“Look at how fast I can go,” the kid said to me with a daredevil indifference to his voice. He didn’t even seem affected by the fact he was riding a girls bike. The pink color and bent bar gave him away.

“You be careful,” I said back. I was trying to sound friendly. I put a mock note of disapproval and a little appreciation in my voice. I thought the kid might like it.

“MAKE ME!!!” He yelled. It was as though I had offended the deepest part of him. He threw his unfiltered cigarette to the ground and tore off down the street, recklessly bouncing from one bent training wheel to the next.

Now, I fear my neighborhood. When I walk through to my apartment, the children pause and observe me implacably. They are like birds nesting in a playground in a Hitchcock film. Now they are harmless, but their sheer numbers and the oddness of their configuration, portends deep unease. That is why things have come to this point. These children can not be left to take over these streets. These children will not overcome me. I am strong. I am clever. I actually pay rent. Now is the ultimate moment in history. It is either them or it is me. God, I pray I am the one to make it out alive, but if you do not hear from me over the next few weeks, you know what has become of me: Wished into a corn field.

Shalom
James

"Salvation" Press for CCBC Show!

2006-06-09T12:28:00.000-04:00

The Cellar Dwellers were featured in today's Weekender in the Beaver County Times! Our show, which debuts tonight, got a great write-up by Times Entertainment writer Scott Tady:

CENTER TWP. - Ripped from the headlines and then filtered through pure silliness, the Cellar Dwellers Comedy Troupe raises a bold theological question: "What if there are immigration guards at the heaven-purgatory border?"

Behold the answer tonight when the Cellar Dwellers debut their new sketch comedy, "Salvation Impossible III: What's the Story Purgatory?"

A mix of original comedy sketches and improvised games, "Salvation Impossible III" will take place in the Allied Health Auditorium on the Center Township campus of Community College of Beaver County.

"This will be our first brand new show since last August," said Mike Rubino, mouthpiece for the nine-year-old improv and sketch comedy group that calls Beaver County home.

Besides pondering the afterlife, this new show includes sketches about a vindictive pet turtle and a 1980s-metalhead startled to discover the girl he met online isn't quite what he expected.

Spectators might smile at hometown references, like a bootlegger struggling to peddle PotteryBarn Hillbillies concert shirts or a guy who acts like he's won the lottery after inheriting Get Go gas perks.

The skit performances last about an hour, followed by an intermission and then an hour's worth of improv games where the audience suggests scenes and participates on stage.

The Cellar Dwellers perform weekly at their "F'N Improv" Friday night workshops at their theater in the Beaver Valley Bowl.

The group has also performed throughout the Pittsburgh area in such shows as "A Thousand Rays of Hype," "Desperate Housewares" and "Sam Spade or Neutered."

Why Ben is my Favorite Dweller

2006-06-07T10:14:00.000-04:00

I am such a dodo bird. I forgot Ben when I made my late night challenge post. I thought of it immediately after but did not rectify the situation. So here's a challenge for Ben: Get on a reality show and be the first person kicked off.

So to make up for my lack of tact, or Tact-lack (like Aflac), I shall tell you reasons why I like Ben.

He's tall so he's a good person for me to hug. He is not bothered when I openly flirt with his wife. He is married, and although not the only Dweller to get married; he is the only one to be married and currently in the shows. Plus, I think marriage is a very good thing. Nothing can erase the image of him playing a pidgeon with scary accuracy. Ben often would bring food to things. His Sim was very funny when I made all the Dwellers in my Sims game. His Sim would annoy people with puppets and laugh hysterically until everyone walked away from him. Weird, huh? Ben brings it to the table. He's got that something, that little extra, and he's putting it out there consistantly every night. Yeah, Ben.

Mike the Tall

Friends with Benefits

2006-06-05T15:35:00.000-04:00

The Cellar Dwellers are trying something new, and it could end up benefitting everyone in the end! Recently, the Dwellers decided to embrace another aspect of the online community by starting an account on MySpace. Specifically, we're under the MySpace Comedy section--because after all, we're hilarious. Right?

So, after being on there for a little under a month, we've managed to get over 100 friends. To celebrate, we're rewarding our friends with a present (because that's the only way we know how to keep friends.) If you belong to our MySpace friends list, you will get your own coupon for $1.00 off admission to our CCBC show this Friday!

Of course, don't just think you can print this coupon out from anywhere and just bring it in... we're smarter than that! We'll have a list of all our MySpace friends at the door, so we'll be checking to see who came and who didn't. But it's not too late to join and get yourself a coupon! You have until 12:01am on Friday to sign up!

150 Reasons to Hate Manute Bol

2006-06-03T16:02:00.000-04:00

Hey, Joe here,
With part 2 of my 15 blog instalment of 150 Reasons to Hate Manute Bol, as inspired by a conversation about a college essay little mike could have writen but did not.

11) Manute Bol can not color within the lines

12) He is too tall to play in a moon bounce.

13) Manute Bol has every episode of the doogie howser show on tape

14) independent research companies obtained skewed data after surveying Manute Bol

15) Manute Bol could not beet vin disel, chuck noris, or steven segul in a fight

16) Manute Bol is the reason starbucks lines are so long

17) 4 out of 5 dentists agree that Manute Bol should be hated

18) You know that anoying sound you here when there is total silence, that is Manute Bol weeping

19) He sleeps with a stuffed kaola named fredricko koalaski

20) He has an astigmatism

Challenges

2006-05-22T22:19:00.000-04:00

Being as Joe has probably been the only person to sing "Baby Got Back" in Heinz Hall, I'd like to offer similarly daunting tasks to the other Dwellers whilst leaving myself out for reasons that are obivious (I'm lazy.)

Joe, this song in Heinz Hall is big. Here are some other ridiculous tasks you can do in theatres around town.
1. Take a Pitt freshman to the Soldiers & Sailors hall to "Show her the lighting rig."
2. Make out in two of the three theatres in Point Park's building.
3. Get drunk in the Hazlett. Did you do that one already?
4. Goose an usher in the Public.
5. Prank call the Byham.
6. Get a play produced by the City Theater.

Mike, since you have been changing the intellectual wave of your college campus, I suggest you don't stop there. Make a map of the local area, a la Risk, and begin persuading people to think like you. It'll be fun. See how far you get.

Nang, figure out how to make dirty old men stop hitting on hotties young enough to be their daughter's younger lesbian lover. If you can do that, you will have every woman in the service industry begging to read your book. And Oprah too.

Dave, I dare you to let a gay guy hit on you and set up a date. You don't have to show up. It's the evil thought that counts.

James, take to task those who wield grammer carelessly. Make an actual grammer police force. Uniforms and all. Do it. You know you've always wanted to do that. You can have a website too.

Matt, I don't know you. Make silly faces on the jumbotron at heinz field.

Larry, become the champion bum fighter dressed as your old bum character.

There you go!
Mike the Tall

Late-Nite Zuma Session

2006-05-19T11:50:00.000-04:00

I don't know what came over me last night--I had arrived back from a great evening of hanging out with old friends, watching stupid TV shows, and eating vanilla Frosties. But for whatever reason, despite being very tired, I couldn't just turn in for bed. Something came over me, an uncontrollable urge to seek justice and accomplishment: I had to play Zuma.

Now, I have been known in the past for really getting into to my Zuma-sessions (and God help anyone who ruins one with a heaping of jibber jabber). I am overcome by this immovable sense of duty, of responsibility. Because if I don't stop this onslaught of rolling, multi-colored, bowling balls who will? This game has so much more importance and excitement than something like Insaniquarium, Pizza Frenzy or Chuzzle. Those are mere kid-play. This was serious.

Even more interesting was my choice of war music: that angsty British forty-something, Morrissey. Only his anti-American suave could power my manly aura of determination. His new CD is twice as good as his previous one, but I wasn't discriminating. I let them both play, leading me into the dark of night.

My frog was spinning around, vomiting colored duck-pin balls at this rolling snake intruder, racking up points and combos by the second--I had entered into this Zuma-Zen that propelled me through level after level. I couldn't stop! I needed to sleep, but I couldn't. I wasn't going to throw the match, the Aztec gods were depending on me. Besides, I had gotten farther than ever before!

After one o'clock rolled around, my feeble body began to give out. My reaction time was slowing down. Morrissey was starting to dip back into The Smiths. I wasn't going to give up, but I felt the natural tug of defeat.

My Zuma session would be over...

150 Reasons to Hate Manute Bol

2006-05-17T00:20:00.000-04:00

Hey, Joe here,
With the first of my 15 blog instalment of 150 Reasons to Hate Manute Bol, as inspired by a conversation about a college essay little mike could have writen but did not.

1) What the hell kind of name is Manute Bol anyways

2) He is 7 foot 7 inches tall

3) He will block your shot, no matter what

4) manute averages 2.3 pounds per inch

5) he is almost 3 mugsy boggs

6) he actually mail ordered an ant farm

7) he refused to say ho ho ho green giant during a press conference

8) the fabric it takes to make him one nike jumpsuit could shelter a boy scout on a campboree

9) He once wrote a short story entitled life begins at 7 foot 7.

10) it takes him longer to fall down then a man of average height

joe eoj

Have a Topless Senior Year

2006-05-16T13:50:00.000-04:00

I would like to direct this Stephen Elko and his local photography studio. Now, Steve, I hate to take you on like this. After all, you did sponsor my brother’s little league team – quite possibly the most dominating group of 11-year-olds since the Goonies. Sadly, someone needs to call you out. Your billboards are both stupid and creepy. They are, in a word, horrible.

First of all, the grammar sucks. It asks if you are AN 007. Now, I assume this is a reference to the graduating class of 2007, and the accompanying senior pictures which put the food on the table. Now, clearly the 007 is also the reference to James Bond, Double-O Seven. You even ape the James Bond logo. So, whenever anyone looks at the sign it reads “Are you an double-o seven”. Check the article, dude. Last time I checked double started with a consonant. This calls for ‘a’ instead of ‘an’. This is simple grammar, and there’s no excuse for you to have huge billboards all over the county with such an egregious error on it. Who’s checking your grammar? Joe?

Well, that’s why the billboards are stupid. Now, it’s on to the second, more chilling charge. Your billboards are very creepy. Why in God’s name would you put a picture of a topless youth on your billboard? Who takes their Senior photos sans shirt? Was it the kid’s idea? Seriously, the picture looks like the boy’s audition reel for Playgirl. I refuse to believe any high school kid would actually want a topless senior picture. I don’t care how ripped you are, how big a jock you are, or how cool a table you sit at for lunch, a picture like this opens you up to a huge amount of ridicule. The picture looks like the cover for a gay porn. Surely, when this baby was circulating the halls people whispered behind the kid’s back. He may be cool now, but at the twenty year reunion when the smart kids have become the cool adults this guy’s going to realize how creepy the pictures were.

Then again, maybe the pictures were not the kid’s idea. God, Steve, I hope they weren’t yours. I mean, I hate to even think about it, but I hope the photo shoot didn’t go something like this:

Steve: Well, Billy. We’re almost done here. Why don’t we drop the top and call
this a day.

Billy: Drop the top?

Steve: Come on. Take
that shirt off. You work out. I can tell.

Billy: I need an
adult.

Steve: I’m an adult. Don’t bother leaving. All the doors out
of the basement are locked. Just take the shirt off and we can
leave.

Billy: Ok. Here. Like this.

Steve: Let me pose
you. Wow, you’re hairless, like a seal.

Now, this in no way meant as an actual description of what transpired. It is still quite likely the kid is a total douche-bag, and insisted on disrobing for his senior photos – ‘hey, old man,’ he might’ve said, ‘light my chest better. I didn’t grease it for nothing’. Of course, this does not adequately explain why you chose this photo of all the photo’s you have taken in recent years. Do you think this makes people want to go to you? Do you believe parents are going to see this creepy, child molester-esque photograph and say immediately to themselves: “Now that’s the basement I’m taking my Billy to for his senior pictures”? Stephen, have you gone mad? Honestly.

shalom

New Sketch Show Ahead!

2006-05-15T16:38:00.000-04:00

The new sketch show Salvation Impossible 3: What's the Story, Purgatory? is debuting in just under two weeks! This is the first original sketch show the Dwellers have performed since August 2005 and it is going to be worth the wait!

The show debuts on Saturday, May 27th at the Barrow-Little Theater in Franklin, PA. Then, we will be bringing the show back to Beaver County for a show at CCBC on June 9th.

Stay tuned to our main website for more updates about the show and more show dates!

heinz hall

2006-05-12T01:46:00.000-04:00

As some of you may already yourself may well be aware of and know, i am a member of improv sensationalists, I-Factor. I-Factor has recently signed a contract to do shows with the river city brass band. www.rcbb.com . we have traveled to about 8 different locations, but none as exciting and wonderful as tonites location. Heinz Hall.

The river city I-Factor intergrated musical comedy extravaganza, as i've been calling it, payed a visit to Heinz Hall today , and boy was this boy impressed. Not only did i fulfill my dream of being mauled by a stuffed panther infornt of thousands of people, i aslo got to be onstage at Heinz Hall.
and i have the pictures to prove it. which i will post when larry sends them to me.

So basically, i guess this isnt as much of a blog as it is me bragging about being on stage at Heinz Hall. but either way , you get the idea. Heinz Hall, joe, On stage.

Thank you RCBB for everything and thanks I-Factor and especially thanks to Ray our sound engineer for letting me say whatever i wanted during sound check, I think I can Honestly say that i'm the only person who ever sang Baby Got Back , on stage, at Heinz Hall, and I can not lie.

Joe eoJ

Everything but the dalmation

2006-05-08T10:36:00.000-04:00

Saturday night, we went to Penn Hills to do a show at "some Volunteer Fire Department thing."
I hereby declare it as "favoritest gig ever."

It was their annual banquet, and after a dinner at a local hotel, they came back to the firehall to find us there. Only a select few even knew that their entertainment was going to be improv. It was a fun show, the highlight of which would have to be Sean (played by Joe) rescuing a cat (played by Mike) from a tree (played by Ben). And the cat was stuck pretty high up there.

After the show we were invited to stick around for a while and partake of the open bar and free snacks. Partaking was done. Oh, yes.

And as if the night couldn't get any better (free snacks!), we were allowed to climb on the truck and get our pictures taken, and we WORE THE HATS. Everyone was so kind. Shout outs to Valerie and Brian, Big Shot Sean, and to Kristin, for heading up our team during flip cup.

Readers, I suggest that if you are ever in a jam, you contact the fine people at Penn Hills #3/North Bessemer VFD. Like if you are bored or something. Not if you have an emergency. And I am just saying that because I am pretty sure none of you live anywhere near Penn Hills. So if your house is on fire, don't call them and let your house burn down while you wait for them to get there, and then blame it on me. Because I warned you, although I appreciate that you respect my opinion that much.

But, you know, I do hate cats, so if yours is in a tree let the wretched thing wait up there until Sean or Brian or somebody has a weekend off. And have some free snacks for them.

Much respect,
Nang

Silent Hill is not a good movie

2006-05-03T02:28:00.000-04:00

hey, joe here,

Recently I visited the drive in with a sexy lady. We saw Silent Hill, and the Hills are alive. what a marketing tool that would have been had Hills department store still been around and catering to crazy zombie-esk people. Any ways, Silent Hill sucked. it seemed like two people had two decent ideas for two different movies, then they got together and combined the ideas, then, hired someone totally different to write the ending, someone who didnt know the plot of either movie.

It started out in mid action pretty much, so mid action that my lady freind asked if we missed the begining, now, this may have worked for edipus but it didnt work for silent hill, my reply to my lady friend was, "either we missed it or the writers did" It was the writers. and if the begining forshadows the end, good job, cause they missed that too.

now, i dont want to ruin the movie for anyone, oh wait, someone already did, but the only redeeming quality of Silent Hill , is that it was playing at the drive in.

as far as the Hills have Eyes go's , aside from a pretty intense, and unnecesarrily disturbing rape scene where a deformed monster molests a young girl, the movie was good, it followed the rules of a slasher flick as far as thrill and intensity go's. Try to guess who lives if you see this movie , you may be surprised, although, lack of fingers makes it seem justice is served.

I would like to see the Hills have Eyes 2, and find out how the remaining charactors coupe with what has happened. If they make it home alive.

well thats all for my movie reviews. and in keeping with the popular list blogs,

silent hill has now reached number 3 on the MOVIES I WANT MY 2 HOURS BACK list. the only 2 ahead of it are.

speed 2 and Not without my duaghter.

citizen cane would be on that list if it wasnt for the fact that i wouldnt have wasted more then 2 hours.

later.

joe eoj

Paid Vacation: The BM Dome Scandal Pt.2

2006-05-02T23:50:00.000-04:00

Innocent!

Yeah, I ain't very happy about it either. How am I supposed to dramatize that?

bm

Paid Vacation: The BM Dome Scandal Pt. 1

2006-04-26T14:10:00.000-04:00

It's BM. I have spent the last 6 days on paid suspension having been accused of abusing a mentally handicap client; an investigation is currently underway. These allegations are false, or misconstrued at best, but there is a strong possibly I could lose my job, and retain the stigma of being a "client abuser" on my permanent record. Let's begin...

The Pittsburgh based improv troupe I-Factor recently performed a private show for a company called Allegheny East. I am an employee of Allegheny East, a supervisor specifically. My job is to handle the daily affairs of 40 mentally challenged clients and 7 staff members at a vocational day program.
In the half hour preceding the show Joe, Larry, I-Factorers Anna and Drew, and myself were shuffled into the official AE conference room to await our turn on-stage. There is no conference room more "conference room" than AE's. The 6 framed inspiration posters blanketed the walls like newspaper cut-out Family Circus cartoons splattered on Aunt Wilma's fridge: Innovation, Make It Happen, Teamwork, Persistence, Integrity, and Courage. You know the type, a hokey picture of an Eagle flying and the caption underneath: "Innovation. Good fortune rarely falls into the laps of those who won't get off the couch." or something of that nature. The shelves were riddled with training tapes from 1973, HIPPA rules and regulations booklets, and the stench of rotting ambitions smothered under the irrelevance of tele-conferences long since past.
The five of us past the brief visit to the conference room by spinning dimes, looking for the videocamera in the air duct, and whirling quarters at an unsuspecting Drew. Minutes before our stage call-time, and prompted by the restless shouts from down the hall of "Fac-tor (thump-thump), Fac-tor (thump-thump), Fact-tor...," we placed one hand top another in traditional "Wo-Bundy/Go Time" fashion. However, rather than "Go Bundy" our battle cry was "Let's not get Matt fired."

-
The time was 12:03 noon on Wednesday, April 25. I had spent the last 5 days considering my vulnerable predicament. My time to testify had come, and I was waiting patiently for the investigator to arrive. Growing tired of verbally rehearsing the answer "Abuse? WTF are you talking about." I scanned the room for anything that would draw me from the moment. I looked down, a long table; I looked to the right, a tall plant; I looked straight ahead and up to witness a photo of a path forking off in the woods: "Integrity: Wisdom is knowing which paths to choose. Integrity is having the guts to take them." This was worse than a Family Circus cartoon.

I can not continue with this testimony because I can not legally do so at this point. (just in case) Part 2 will chronicle the exiting outcome of the investigation, which I have yet to learn, and detail the short and long term fallout.

"'Tis more plausible to pluck a thorn bush bare-handed than to pelt your scrote with a tuning fork."
-BM