GMW #4: Is It 1984 Yet?

Okay. So this one is not really a movie at all, but it is definitely geeky. I think that, in and of itself, qualifies it to be posted here. Besides, I am the boss of this blog, and I'll do what I want, Snickerdoodle!

Do you ever have one of those weeks where you get a certain song stuck in your head and it won't go away no matter how many times you slam your hand in the car door on purpose. I'm having that sort of crisis here except that it's not a song. It's a super bowl commercial from the year 1984. If you are a true geek then you know exactly where this is going already.

Whenever I close my eyes I see this spectacle played out before my mind's eye. Over, and over, and over again, in the pristine, glorious detail that only my twisted memory can provide. So I am hoping that posting it here will exorcise it from my brain, sort of like that part in The Ring when Naomi Watts saves herself by putting the filthy video back out into the world again. It can not be stopped.



So thanks Ridley Scott. And someone please tell me why this is happening to me.

Christmas Presents!

So this year my christmas was a lot more complicated than it has been in the past. I had to buy and receive more than ever. It was a lot of stress in the preparation, but it was all good times in the end.

For Rachel I got this awesome turntable:

It was not as easy to find as I hoped for. It was quite an ordeal, in fact, but totally worth it because she loves it! I also gave her some Vinyl records to begin her collection including: Lady Gaga, Jason Mraz, and Jack Johnson.

I also got her the Planet Earth dvd, a Gargoyles & Medieval Monsters coloring book, some Play-Doh, some Ed Hardy temporary tatoos, this picture of James Dean)

and then there was a lip piercing jewelry (I'm not sure what you really call those and a mug from BadAss Coffee that says "I Love My Badass Attitude!".

It was a lot of fun trying to find things that she would like and then seeing her open them.

For other people, I had to get a Bruise Wheel:

for Alyssa, as well as a sweater with a scarf.

For my sister Heather I got a cookbook that she wanted. I also got a gift card for my parents, and a dvd of 500 Days of Summer for Trent.

Then there were the awesome presents I received:

Rachel got me a Blue Ray player, which is the best gift I have ever recieved. I feel kind of guilty about it, in fact. She also got me the BlueRay dvds of Up and Star Trek.

I also got the book Annie Liebovitz: At Work

which I have been badly wanting for about 2 years, but avoiding buying because it's an expensive book. She also got me a great thermal, that I am wearing right now, and a totally metal t-shirt that I plan on wearing often. I also got a bottle of Justin Timberlake's signature cologne. I smell pretty good right now, I can't deny.


It's hard to remember all this amazing stuff I got. There is so much of it. Rachel's brother Matthew got me Toxicity, by System of a Down.

My parents got me some frying pans and a spatula. Heather and Lance got me a Toaster. Trent gave me The Dark Knight on BlueRay. Derek gave me Batman Returns on dvd. (Hmm, I just realized I got two Batman movies this year. I need to think about that coincidence.) I also got some Skull Candy headphones, and lots of candy, and stuff. A couple of Barnes and Noble gift cards. (I love gift cards).

I'm surely forgetting a whole bunch of things right now. I do thank all you great gifters out there who showered me in wonderful gifts. I didn't get a single thing that I don't love. And all gifts aside, this really was the best christmas ever, but that is a different, and much longer story. I'll get to that later.

So I hope you all had a merry christmas too, and on now we go to the New Year. Yay for that.

GMW #3: Brick

"I've got five senses and I slept last night, which puts me six up on the lot of you."

Now that Christmas is over, let's get down to business and watch some bad-ass movies once again. Last night Trent was showing me and Rachel 500 Days Summer, which was completely awesome, by the way. But it got me thinking about the little known national treasure we have that is called Joseph Gordon Levitt. He may be perfectly adorable in 500 Days, sure. But you can't know him like I do until you have seen him get punched in the face a few dozen times.

Brick is a hard-boiled detective story like the kind they used to make in the fifties, except that it takes place in a high school. And that's a high-school unlike any I have ever known, even in West Valley. Everyone is filthy to the core, and the man won't stop until he has dragged his face thoroughly through that dirt. It's a soulless and beautiful thing.

GMW #2: A Christmas Movie

I think I'll just keep this geek movie thing going when I have nothing interesting to post. And in light of the yuletide season, I figure I should post a geeky christmas movie. I have been thinking all week trying to pick one. "A Christmas Story" maybe? No. Too geeky. Or perhaps "It's a Wonderful Life"? Not geeky enough. "Nightmare Before Christmas" is too creepy. I thought about "Die Hard" even. But no. "Die Hard" is way too awesome. But then I was talking to Twilight Rob at UPS and he was citing his old favorite line, and it hit me. He was yelling down to the supervisor, and he said, "Keep the change ya filthy animal!" I knew what is hands down the geekiest christmas movie ever made.

"Home Alone". The bittersweet tale of a boy who is left behind by his mother on Christmas, only to enjoy the sort of Christmas that we all secretly wish we had at least once in our life. And besides, it has Joe Pesci in it. So this holiday season, if you need to escape from reality for a while, I highly recommend it.

The scene I wanted to post will not allow embedding. So if you need a good, and proper laugh, please do follow this link to Youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKGTBwyVtdk

The Corbomite Maneuver

So there I was, at UPS. I spend all my time there during this festive season, shipping all of your packages around so that Santa Claus can sit on his fat butt and take the year off. Again. He has gotten pretty lazy. I say, make him fire up that old sleigh and deliver this crap himself. But never mind. I was at UPS and a supervisor whom we call 2Thug was explaining to me that I can not work on night shift next week because the double shifting is being cut off. And this after all the times I saved their lives?

Unacceptable.

Then He asked me if I was working for them on the optional Sunday sort. In fact he was begging me since the other pick-offs aren't going to be there, and he will be sorely hurting without all of us. I felt like I was being screwed. I was going to have to work Sunday and get what overtime I can since I'll be dropped like a sack of potatoes on Monday. But then I remembered that there is no such thing as a no win situation. I asked myself, "What would Shatner do?"

So I pulled the Corbomite Maneuver. I told 2Thug that I would only work for him on Sunday if he would get ST. Anger to let me work night shift next Monday-Wednesday. I was bluffing, of course. 2Thug didn't like it very much. He looked like he might cry, and he said somthing like, "You can't do this to me. You can't bribe me like that." I knew then that I had him. He didn't understand the situation at all.

"Yes I can." I said. "And I just did it."

"But it's not even up to me."

"Well then you better talk to St. Anger."

"It's not even up to him."

"Well just tell him that's what I said, and we'll see what he does."

About 2 minutes and 18 seconds later 2Thug came and told me that I could double shift for him next week. I win. Sort of. But now I have to work Sunday. Damn!

FML

Geek Movie of the Week #1

I don't really love Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It's not really about anything as far as I can tell. But sometimes you just need to let that geekiness wash over your soul and make you feel like a kid again






And, on another small note because I'm feeling a little bitter. Why do we allow James Cameron to call himself the King of the World. It has taken him 10 years and something like $750,000,000 dollars to make two movies, one about a sinking ship, and one about people who look like rejects from a pixar movie. Meanwhile, during the same time frame, Clint Eastwood has directed 10 movies for a fraction of the cost of one of King Cameron's movies. And Six of Clint's movies in those years have been nominated and/or won several academy awards.

I think it's time to dethrone someone from their high horse. I'm just saying'.

A Small Photo Success

It would appear that of the 31 photos I submitted to that Capture My Utah photo book, 7 were published. One of those is very, very tiny, but nonetheless it is there. This leads me to believe that regular people can actually like my photos. Now I just need to figure out how to get them to open up their wallets and pay me for it. I do have a general idea of how I need to start, but I have no money to get it done. So until someone pays me, I can't do more to convince people to pay me, and thus the vicious cycle of attempting to sell yourself out during a recession. But never mind. I just had to let that out for a moment.

Anyways. Thanks to all you who voted for me. You know who you are. Also congrats to Walt on also being a published photographer. This is the first time that I can say that I am published in a book that you can actually buy within the United States of America. I am featured in a book that exists in Taiwan, but that's another story.

Safety Ride

Imagine the following scenario:

You are hurtling down the 3500 South in West Valley in the terrible construction zone by the Valley Fair Mall. You are in the drivers seat, surrounded by several tons of brown metal, with 5 other souls encaged behind you. Their lives are in your hands. You can hear them quietly praying to whatever God they still want to believe in. You are approaching a green light. Everything is perfectly fine except the engine is roaring in your ears like a mad demon in heat. You are trying to remain in control in spite of the fact that everyone on the road is cutting you off. No one wants to be behind a big, brown truck. They would much rather cut you off so that you can roll over them and grind their bones to dust in a single chomp. You are almost to the light now and the light is still green, and is going to remain green, but then the Instructor screams, "YELLOW!!!" in your ear at the top of his lungs for no good reason at all.

What do you do?

a. slam on the brakes
b. put the pedal to the metal
c. wet yourself
d. nothing - He is just trying to piss you off
e. get pissed off - Because he is trying to piss you off
f. scream "No it's not you godless bastard!" back at him, and punch him in the face.
g. remain calm
h. chuckle and make an excuse for whatever it is you think you did wrong

?

And remember, folks, if you don't answer this question correctly you will be killed by ravenous timberwolves.

The correct answer of course is d. But you can get bonus points if you answered e, because you have to be a long-time UPS pro like me to understand that UPS management wants everyone to be pissed off all the time. If they ran the world it would become a better place overnight because the weak would be mercilessly killed and fed to the hub rats. Things are much more efficient when everyone is pissed off all the time. That's just common sense.

So remember to thank your UPS driver next time you see him, because after all, you don't know what he has seen.

A Long Week of Learning and Stuff

First, something a bit disturbing, and funny, and beautiful all at the same time.



That is one of the strangest, and best commercials I have seen in a very long time, and it was also the highlight of my work day. This week I am being trained how to be a UPS driver. All week long. Most of that consists of sitting around in a training room watching videos about hazardous materials, and memorizing a lot of things word-for-word so that I can pass silly tests.

Today was dedicated entirely to safety for 8 straight hours. We watched a lot of boring videos. A few really scary ones. (Don't ever drive a car. It's not worth it, I say.) But that one made me smile, and cry a little. Then we did some tutorials on the computer which made me want to punch myself in the face and die.

I don't really understand why the entire week of training to be a UPS driver requires all this sitting around, and only a couple of hours of actual driving. But it's forty hours of easy money, and I guess it does beat working.

Chewy Chompers and Other Such Silliness

How I Got Myself a Woman In Spite of Myself

October 25, 2008

*Alright, alright. I am now getting around to what I said I would do. Just a little late. So sue me. I’ve been busy.

My first date with Rachel, I must admit, was not my finest romantic moment. Actually, I don’t have very many romantic moments. I spent most of my life trying hard to avoid watching romantic movies. I mostly stuck to the ones where things blow up, and so I missed out on many valuable lessons on how to be a proper Don Juan. Nevertheless, I embarked on this date with a sense of adventure, and a near complete indifference to the rules of proper dating. I didn’t even know what those rules were. In fact, I still don’t.

My thinking, at the time, was that I had only talked to her on the phone. So the worst thing that could happen is that she could hate me and we never speak again. I might miss her sexy voice a little bit, but I could get over that. So I saw no purpose in pretending to be suave. If I got past this first date, somehow convincing her I was a smooth man, then she would figure out the truth soon enough. After all, I couldn’t possibly keep up the ruse for very long. So I decided to just let it ride.

I was also pretty much broke at the time. I had very little money. But for some reason I decided that this was not a problem. I asked her to go with me to this exhibit I wanted to see at the Utah Museum of Fine Art. Apparently that was a smart move, and was seen as impressive because it wasn’t the same old thing that every guy does for first dates. I’m not sure that I would have done anything different even if I hadn’t been in poverty at the time. I was just keeping it within what I know. I like art.

I picked her up from her house. It was a little bit tricky to find it, but I left early so that I could get lost on the way and still make it on time. I’m very experienced in the department of getting lost. But I’m never late, and I have always made it back home in the end.

I wasn’t entirely confident in knowing what she would look like, exactly. I had seen pictures, but you can never trust pictures. I know this very well. So I had this deep anxiety that she would have a sister or something that would open the door, and I wouldn’t be sure if it was her or not and it would cause a very intense situation. (This actually happened to me once.) I should have asked her beforehand if she had any sisters. It turns out she did not, and she answered the door promptly, avoiding any confusion. She did, however, look much, much cuter than her pictures which were pretty cute to begin with. I don’t consider myself overly shallow, but I am a man.

I was very badly dressed. Even I can’t really deny it. I just wore what I had. And it turns out that I didn’t have much. When a guy spends a lot of years doing nothing but working at UPS, and mountain bike racing, and camping, and getting lost in Iceland, and those sort of things, he doesn’t really take time to develop a proper wardrobe. That’s just the way it goes. My car wasn’t very impressive either. I had just bought it a few days before so that I would have a car for this date. Well, maybe I bought it for other reasons too, but that was one of the reasons. Because of my poor financial situation I was forced to buy a car on the cheap. That would come back to haunt me for a very long time, so let’s not dwell on those dark times.

As we drove North from Cottonwood Heights to the University we made pleasant small talk. Just the sort of talk that people make who have never met before. She asked me if I was nervous. Of course I was. But she told me I didn’t look nervous. I took that as a compliment. After all, if she only knew how I felt inside she would just laugh at me for sure. But she explained to me that she was so nervous that...never mind, let’s just say she told me she was very nervous. I didn’t think she looked nearly as nervous as I felt, but I had no doubt about my ability to look calm. Calm is my only facial expression most of the time. My life has mostly taught me that it never helps to lose your composure in high stress situations. Although I have now learned that it sometimes frustrates girlfriends when they can’t read you.

We arrived at the museum without incident. I paid the admission fee. I wasn’t a total bum. It turned out that we had missed the exhibit that I had wanted to see. My pal Walt had lied to me about the dates, it seems. But I will take the blame for not checking. Nevertheless, there is always a lot of art to see in the UMFA, so I took it in stride. As we explored the museum and all its art I had no idea how I was supposed to behave in this situation so I just decided to act as if I was hanging out in this museum with any of my old friends. Apparently this decision paid off because Rachel was very impressed that I didn’t hover around her all the time. If she wanted to go look at something across the room, and I was looking at something, I didn’t just follow her over there. Apparently space is a valuable thing. But at the time I thought she would think I was totally neglecting her.

I don’t even remember anything of what we looked at while we were there. Those details are all gone now. After we left we went to get some food at the Training Table, where I continued to behave badly and break all the rules of dating. I won’t go into detail. I don’t remember it all that well either except by what I have been told. Apparently I talked about myself a lot. I’m sure I was deciding to just lay everything out on the table and see what happened. A lot of people can’t handle my weirdness, so I probably just figured it best to get it out of the way.

After that I took her home, and I don’t remember that part at all. I just assume I took her home because if I left her at the Training Table she would have dumped me right then for sure. I don’t remember the end of the date at all though. I do remember that later I was debating in my mind whether or not I should call her again. I figured I had struck out in every possible way. I had flouted every rule of how men are supposed to behave in order to be attractive to women. She would reject me for sure, but hey, it had been a learning experience. Next time I would be better prepared to face down my weird anxieties. But I still wanted to call her again. I wanted to do better. I wanted another chance with this girl.

Although most of the date is a blur now, it was clear to me then that I liked her a lot. She was smart, and pretty, and laughed at my ridiculous adventures. (Some people just stare in horror when I try to explain myself to them). She had some good stories of her own. I was very impressed that she seemed to be a girl who could hold her own in life and wasn't just a crazy manhunter. I felt good enough about her that I figured I better follow through on it, or I would be sorry. So I told myself that I would call her again, and if she wanted to shoot me down than that was her choice. If she didn’t want to see me again, then she would just have to say so.

And so I called her again. Why not? And somehow here we are, a year later, still together. I don’t understand it, but I’m grateful for whatever it is that I did right. Being with her has made me feel a lot better about myself, and I know that she loves me for who I am. She sees through all my silliness and lets me keep it real. I don't want to be with anyone else. I know that she is right for me, and I hope that I am right for her. And that’s the story, or the parts I remember anyway.

Something Silly

I was out in the desert and saw this silliness at a rest stop.


It is important to note that that is a fake fire hydrant, donated by some generous soul so that your dog may pee on it.

I never saw one of these signs before either.

Fear and Loathing At the Millcreek Library Book Sale: No Country For Vampire Haters: and A Weird Tangent About My Weird Obsesssion With "The Road"

My phone rang at 9:49 AM and scared the bejeezus out of both of my cats. I sprung from my bed wild-eyed and confused, still shaking off the cobwebs of some old, re-running dream about The Destroyer, or something like that. I grabbed at my phone next to my bed just as I saw the furry shadows of Loki and Leonard sliding out the door.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Are you going to be at the library at 10:00?"

"Of course. I said. I'm on my way right now. I'm almost there, in fact. Don't you worry about me, little sister. I'm a responsible morning person. I'm in heavy traffic. See you soon."

I hung up and sprung into action. I had almost forgot about this trip. The Millcreek Library is closing, and all their books are up for grabs to the most brutal shopper. It goes without saying that as an amateur doctor of journalism, and professional appreciator of fine literature, I had to be there.

I wasn't expecting too much trouble, really. Just a bunch of old people crowding around tables and sifting through mountains of forgotten titles. I figured I could pluck myself a copy of "The Crossing" by Cormac McCarthy if I was lucky. Why not?

Nineteen minutes after I woke up I arrived at the scene, and was confronted with the sheer terror of a very long line. There were people backed up out of the rec center, and then for 100 yards or so down the sidewalk. I was already beginning to lose my will to live.

Now you should understand, I have worked hard for many years to avoid standing in lines. I always sneer at those who live in tents on the sidewalk in front of the BestBuy during November. Last year I actually asked one of them if he thought it was worth it to miss Thanksgiving Dinner to get a discount on a laptop computer? He told me that it was all good because his family was going to bring some Thanksgiving Dinner to him right there. At that point I thought about verbally assaulting him, or maybe a firm kick to the teethe was called for, but then I reflected that even if I did he would never understand why.

But that was a beast of a different flavor. This line would take no more than two hours at the most, I figured, and I was determined to get some books for 25 cents each. So I settled into the line with my sister. I made some casual conversation with some middle-aged ladies. It seemed like a civilized crowd. There were no sinister elements. We learned that every twenty minutes they were allowing 75 people inside who would then have 20 minutes to peruse, then they would be forced into the check-out lines, and out the door for the next group. All in all it seemed like a fairly reasonable, and efficient way of doing business. Two hours later I learned the truth.

At the door there was a shiny-headed man who briefly explained the rules to us, and then unleashed us beyond the doors. I was one of the first in the group, and I was walking quietly toward the fiction section when I heard a shrill voice ring out above the crowd.

"Quick! Go look for the Twilights while I look for....."

The rest of that sentence was lost to me. The mention of Twilight had suddenly kicked every female in the room into an hormone-induced frenzy. It was a bloodlust that I knew could only be satisfied by the death of all non-Edward males in the room. I barely had time to scream, "God's mercy on you bitches!" before I was trampled over and absorbed by the mob.

I tried to let myself go. Don't fight it, I thought to myself. It will be over soon. Just a few more agonizing moments and then eternal sleep. But then I found myself suddenly lying under a table clutching two strange books that I had never seen before in my life, and a voice was calling out, "15 minutes!"

I'm alive. There's no time to waste. I peered out to get my bearings. The bestial frenzy was magnificent to behold. Never before had so many people tried to look at so many things all at the same time. At this moment I understood with perfect clarity what is meant by the phrase, "running to and fro", because that is exactly what was happening all around me. Amidst the chaos there were a few calm souls. They were methodically scanning the barcodes of all the books one at a time with devices attached to their iphones. I have no idea what this means. But I didn't have time to think about it for very long.

I began scanning the titles of all the books in the fiction hardcovers, With my eyes.(Incidentally, I was doing this much faster than the iphone scanner people). I found myself a copy of "Cities of the Plain", by Cormac McCarthy. That book follows "The Crossing", in the Border Trilogy. But "The Crossing" still eludes my grasp. Alas. But I found a whole bunch of other worthwhile books in the process. All in all I bought 16 books for $7.00. I call it a successful shopping adventure. I now go home to nurse the stilletto heel shaped wounds in my back.






On another note. I also found my fourth copy of "The Road". I paid only 25 cents for it, of course. Before you accuse me of having a weird obsession, allow me to defend myself. It goes without saying that I do have a weird obsession with that book. I feel compelled to keep buying it. I have read it twice, and I think today I might read it again. I bought my first copy at Walmart because I wanted to read it. I bought the second copy at Sam Wellers because it was in hard cover and I intend to keep that. Then I loaned out my original copy to a lot of people. It is currently somewhere in West Valley at this moment. I'm not sure I'll ever see it again. Nevertheless, people keep wanting to borrow it, so I reluctantly loaned out my hard cover. It is somewhere in Provo right now. So then I saw a copy of it at Sam Wellers, of the first paperback edition, without any Oprah Book Club, or Pullitzer Prize stickers on it. So I bought that one, and almost immediately loaned it out somewhere.

I feel completely obligated to keep on spreading that dark gospel, so I think from now on I will just buy them whenever I come across them, and amass a ridiculous collection of it that can be spread across the globe so that whenever I want to read it I can just call up my nearest friend and demand they give their copy back to me immediately.

So you see, it all makes perfectly reasonable sense.

Pumpkin Carvings

Some intense brainstorming by Karalee and Ryan. All jack-o-lantern's must be previsualized with great care.


I like to pick the ugliest, most scarred pumpkin, and then I wait for it to reveal it's inner soul to me as I repeatedly stab it with a long knife.


Rachel prefers to play with the dismembered pieces of her victims.


Aww. So cute.

Brandon + Rachel Part 1: Message In A Bottle

It was exactly a year ago, as of yesterday, that Rachel came into my life. Has it really been a year? It doesn’t seem like that much time has passed. So many things have happened in between. Nevertheless, I feel that it would be appropriate to take a little time to look back and reflect on how we got here, and to express my gratitude for the mysterious fortunes that have smiled upon me.

It all started in Iceland where I had a weird sort of mid-life crisis. I won’t go into any details about that because no one cares. I’m not sure I even care any more. It’s in the past. Let’s just say that I went to the far edge of everything and stared off into the empty space on the other side for just a little bit too long. (I highly recommend it by the way, just not for too long.)

I came back hungry for something else. My life had degenerated into a series of bad reruns. I had seen all these episodes before. Basically, I was bored. Of course, I felt completely powerless to do anything about it. I felt like my life was following a pre-destined course that would require more than just your average monkey wrench to derail. So I swallowed my considerably snobbish pride, and made myself a profile on Match.Com.

For a long time this seemed to be just another failure. I tried all manner of tactics and strategies, but all with the same result. No women would talk to me. I read the advice that the site gives you for getting more female response. I did everything they advised. Still no women would speak to me at all. (Except for a couple of crazy, and/or scary women who would e-mail me for a while, but then even they would disappear.) So in the end, my only logical conclusion was that I was simply not cut out for dating. So I got over it.

Most women’s profiles on Match.com say something like this:

“I’m just a happy-go-lucky, 23-year-old girl. I just want to find a guy to date, and maybe more. I love sushi and drinking beer with the guys. I love hiking, biking, running, reading, flirting, and camping on the weekends. I want to find someone who is smart, confident, funny, open-minded, and will travel all over the world with me, and accept me for who I really am. I have an open mind and will try anything once. So send me an e-mail and we will talk. Also I don’t want to date any married men.”

I figured I had most of that covered. Except maybe the confidence, and the money to travel all over the world at the drop of a hat. So I couldn’t understand why I was being universally snubbed. I guessed that it probably had something to do with my profile picture, and/or the fact that I refused to tell them my income. Those were my two best guesses anyway. In any case, I stopped caring. I got over my mid-life crisis and decided that the glass was half full. Why should I worry so much about finding women to love me. I survived this long without love. Who needs it?.

The problem was that I had paid for my Match account through the end of November. So I figured I might as well keep it going for the sake of experimentation. I decided to take no more prisoners. I had some things on my mind that I wanted to say. So I changed my profile from whatever polite, generic bull crap it said before to the following:

“Live Every Week Like It’s Shark Week.”

“Let’s get down to brass tacks. I know you are looking for Mr. Right, and I don’t blame you. If I had my way I would be married to Tina Fey, or even Rachael Ray, but you and I both know they are far out of my league. I will admit that without shame. If my game was on that level I wouldn’t be here. I’m still young enough to want it all, but old enough to separate fantasy from reality.

“I don’t want a fairy-tale romance. I don’t need a woman to save my soul. You don’t need to agree with my political opinions, or share my odd musical tastes. I’m not looking for a hiking buddy or a travel partner. I would love to take you around the world, but I have walked alone on the far side, and I will do it again if necessary.

“I will be perfectly honest. The truth can’t stay hidden for long. I have many personal quirks to amuse you, but I also have flaws. These things might drive you wild, or even make you crazy. It’s hard to say what could happen if you never take a chance. I have made mistakes, and there are plenty more where those came from. Like Voltaire, I believe that meaning is found in the journey. Life is so much more than a means to an end.

“I am smart enough to know that I don’t know much. Life is too short to stop asking hard questions. I don’t expect you to know the answers. I’m not rich or powerful, but I don’t live in my Mom’s basement either. I take care of myself, so you won’t have to be my cook. I have a sense of humor, but I don’t live to entertain you. I don’t know my future after this weekend and I don’t want to.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. I won’t narrow down the search with a long list of criteria. I do understand if what you really want is a hard body with a huge chest and a fat wallet. I really do understand, and it’s ok. Just say so, and you can save us both a lot of time. We all deserve what we really want. I want to be with someone who loves me more than she needs me. If your profile says you want a man with a $250,000 income then I won’t bother you. Please don’t say you are open-minded to trying anything at least once unless you really mean it.

“I will try anything once. Most times I’m willing to try it at least twice. I used to hate shrimp. Now I love it. First impressions are often wrong. Richard Avedon said, “All photographs are accurate. None of them is the truth.”

“An e-mail is not a commitment. Send me one and I will be happy to talk. I don’t care if you are a 0% match to my profile. I really do have an open mind. I am willing to talk to anybody. If I e-mail you first, and you don’t want any part of me then that’s just fine. I can handle rejection. But please have the courtesy to say ‘No, thank you.’ It’s really the least you can do.

“That is about all I can say here. If you think I have told you anything at all then you will be vastly surprised by the real me. You can ask me anything you want. I don’t mind personal questions, but if you want my phone number, address, annual income, or my astrological sign, then you will have to be willing to look me in the eye first.”

Even I thought, when I wrote this, that it was extremely arrogant. Maybe even outright rude. It was bitter and sarcastic and kind of ugly. But it was also true. I also find it to be deviously clever and subversive. Those pointy words still tickle me a little. It also might be the best thing I have ever written because it changed my life.

Would you believe it folks? I started getting responses to the e-mails I was throwing out to women. Many of them were just telling me that they weren’t interested. I told them that I appreciated their direct honesty. Others were asking me questions about things I said, and then would disappear shortly after hearing the answers. Some other ones said they didn’t want to date me but wanted to be friends, then disappeared. A couple of them proceeded to actually exchange e-mails with me.

So now I was at least getting something out of the money I paid to Match.com. This proceeded for a couple of weeks before I sent an e-mail to Rachel. I don’t remember what it said because I don’t have my sent e-mails saved. But I know what she said back. On October 6, 2008, she wrote back to me that while she agreed with my appreciation of the classics I was all wrong about Twilight, and I should give it a try. I might be surprised. And that was how it all began. Now, a year later, I’m still not sure about Twilight, but I have found myself madly in love with this girl.

Internet dating is like throwing a message in a bottle into the ocean and hoping someone who picks it up on the other side knows how to read it. Somehow I got lucky in it all and found something truly special. I wasn’t looking for a fairy-tale romance. I ended up with something better. What Rachel and I have is real. I know that we do love each other for who we are, which is more important to me than anything else. She is also smart, sexy, funny, and all that generic stuff that guys are always looking for too. But most importantly she sees me and accepts me for who I am, not for who I might become. She also sees through my bull crap and isn’t afraid to call me on it when necessary. She pushes me to be the best person I can be, and I know it is because she genuinely cares and wants me to succeed. Did I mention that she is a smokin’ fox, drop-dead gorgeous, and drives me insane? But never mind.

Together we have been through a lot in the past year. And I know that we can get through anything together. More importantly I am ready and willing to accept that challenge. We both know that we have a long way to go before we cross the finish line, but I have no fear when I am with her. I still don’t know what the future holds, but as always I am eager to enjoy the journey.



..To Be Continued on October 25

Alcohol and Pain Killers

I have spoken before, in various places, of my friend The Stranger. He lived some of the time in the #22 of my building. I called him The Stranger ever since I moved in there because he would often stand outside at the railing, smoking a cigarette and speaking to anyone who might cross his path, but it was a long time before I learned his actual name, which was Kent Williams.

The residents of Central Park Condos are, for the most part, very quiet. We keep to ourselves as much as possible. Of the 30 or so residents I have only ever learned the names of about 7 of them. We pass by each other outside our doors and try our best to keep a safe distance. The Stranger, as strange as he was, somehow knew almost everybody. He would tell me all sorts of things about all of my neighbors. I’m not sure if I’m willing to believe all the things he told me, but nevertheless he seemed to know what he was talking about. I often wondered what he told the others about me.

He was often drunk, sometimes high. He was a person who had good use for pain killers. I suppose it was always inevitable that these things would one day do him in. He could be a very crude man at times when he was clearly under the influence. I often felt I had to warn new visitors to my home about him. He spoke with shocking candor most of the time, and I would get nervous about what he might say to people I brought around. Most folks, after all, are more easily shocked than I.

He would tell you scary things if you were willing to listen. He did serious time in prison for attempted murder, he told me. But I knew he was not dangerous. He also told me that he once had everything, but the world somehow got the better of him, and the ex-wife kept all the good stuff. His angry rants would sometimes give way to an undercurrent of existential bitterness. I always got the impression that he was once meant for better things, but somehow got just a little off the main road and never found his way back. I never judged.

There but for the grace of God go I.

Whenever I got home alone, and passed him smoking on the balcony, I would go over and say hello. I always had a feeling of guilt if I passed without that courtesy. We talked about a lot of things. He would sometimes yell at me like a crazy person. He would rant and rave, throwing out racial and sexual slurs like they were going out of style, and peppering it all with the most flagrant obscenities against any who would oppose his argument. I would usually just nod and say, “Absolutely, man. Absolutely.”

He possessed a large tool box. More than once I knocked on his door to ask if I could borrow a wrench or if he had an odd sized screw or bolt that I needed. He taught me some clever tricks for dealing with various technical difficulties with the pool. He had no car but rode his rickety bikes around town. Many times he knocked on my door to ask for advice on mechanical issues. Together we solved some very weird problems on more than one occasion. We helped each other out when we could. We were, after all, neighbors.

Just last week I gave him a ride to Checker Auto to get a new battery for his mom’s car. It was no big deal, but he insisted upon paying me $5.00 and a Diet Pepsi for my troubles. He put the money in my hand without a word, and I knew better than to refuse. A man who had everything once and lost it all must be allowed to keep his pride, if nothing else.

I did not see him again after that. Then last night I thought I heard a thud. I was watching Star Trek, so I wasn’t sure. My two cats both jumped. I listened for a minute, but did not get up to look out my window.

Oh God! Why didn’t I just get up and look out the window? It would have taken no more than 3 seconds.

A few minutes later I heard sirens approach and then stop. Then I heard a lot of feet coming up the stairs outside my door. I got up and looked outside and saw what must have been the entire South Salt Lake Fire and Police Departments milling around outside my window. I stepped out to see what was going on and there was a police officer with a point-and-shoot digital camera taking pictures of something below the #22 on The Stranger’s door. I took another step out and saw that it was, and was not, my friend Kent lying half propped against the wall in a pool of blood. Another officer was putting crime scene tape around. The paramedics were standing around, but not attempting to do anything. There was no doubt in my mind that he was gone.

His body lay askew in the doorway. It was as if upon walking outside his spirit had simply left and his body had just fallen right there in place like a dropped glove. I looked at it and didn’t cringe, or look away. I felt no fear, or shock. Just a sadness that seemed like it had already been there and I just hadn’t noticed it before. The whole scene was oddly peaceful, almost beautiful in a way I can not explain. It was cold, and sad, and horrifying, and yet compelling in a way that made me embarrassed. For some reason I thought of Robert Capa’s photograph of the Death of an American Soldier, Leipzig, April 18, 1945.

A couple of my nameless neighbors were standing out on the balcony watching. I could see other nameless eyes peering through window blinds. Several police were taking pictures and I couldn’t understand why. I walked up to one of my neighbors who lives next door on the other side. I don’t know his name, but he said, “Hey Brandon.”

“Hey. What happened?”

“Alcohol and pain killers”, was all he said.

“Oh.” I said. I could hear Kent’s mom Norma crying and giving some sort of statement to the police inside #22. Another of my neighbors was also in there trying to comfort her. The rest of the police and paramedics were standing around laughing quietly and asking each other about their kids. It happens every day. I wanted to go over and put a sheet over Kent’s body, at least. It all seemed so undignified.

I was shivering in the cold, but I wanted to stay. I had no morbid curiosity. There were no answers to be had. I had nothing to offer. I just felt like someone who knew him should be there. Soon the police got a call that someone had a gun at one of the hotels, and they all ran to their cars, leaving only one to stand guard over the remains, and one still questioning Norma inside. The curious neighbors withdrew into their units. A young girl, who appeared to be the official crime scene photographer, arrived and began photographing everything with a proper SLR camera. For hours people in various uniforms wandered in and out of the building. Eventually they put my friend in a bag and took him away, and I lost sleep over what is and what could have been.

My Number One

I want to give a shout-out to my amazing girlfriend, Rachel. I have not done the best job of expressing how important she has become to me. This week she took the time to go out of her way to get a lot of her friends to vote for my photos on the Capture My Utah thing, and it reminded me how much I have come to depend on her constant support and faith in me. I do have a tendency to get down on myself and overwhelmed by my fear of failure. But she is always there to pick me up and let me know that I can do it. So thank you, Rachel, for that, and for believing in me more than I probably deserve. You are the best thing that has happened to me.

A Surprise of Good Fortune

I was checking my Yahoo mail, which I never check almost ever, and discovered that last week I was among the select few who won the dubious honor of having a weekly pick in the Capture My Utah photo contest. I have always had mixed feelings about photo contests. This one has been a unique experience in seeing which ones the general public responds to and which ones they don't. The ones I like the most seem to get the lowest ratings, and ones I don't really care that much for get the highest. I'm not really sure what that means. Maybe it means that I'm not good at predicting the taste of normal people. I do have questionable taste.

The one in particular which has seemingly been recognized is a fairly insignificant shot of the McCune Mansion in Salt Lake City that I took as part of my final project for Whitney King's Intermediate Photography class at SLCC. Those were the days. Good times. Good people. Learning all about the zone system of Black & White photography, and all that good stuff about expansions, and contractions, and split-filtering, and whatnot.

Anyway, I'm just rambling. It's been a while since I had any good news for myself on the photography front, so I felt like patting myself on the back just a little. It's time to do some good stuff again.

Poseidon

After the tragic death of my old fish Kelvin, I got a new fish named Poseidon. I have not gotten around to posting about it because I'm still bitter about the whole Kelvin situation. And then I adopted some cats which have taken all my attention away. Nevertheless, I figured I should get around to it at last. Poseidon deserves his day in the spotlight, after all. So here are some crude photos of my second pet, the new lord of Chateau de Kelvin. (It is not even remotely easy to photograph through a fishbowl).

My New Roommates

Leonard


Loki


So my condo was recently claimed by a couple of furry creatures named Leonard and Loki. And since then most people have reacted with an incredulous leer and by saying, "But I never took you as a cat person." What does that mean? I wonder. How exactly does one qualify as a cat person?

In my defense I can say that I have watched both versions of Cat People, and thoroughly enjoyed them. I even watched The Curse of the Cat People, although that one doesn't actually involve any cats as far as I remember (It was great though). Those are all some fabulous movies and I would highly recommend them to cat people of all ages. Except for the 1982 one. You are never quite old enough for that one. Watch it at your own risk I suppose.


Cat People (1942)


Cat People (1982)


Curse of the Cat People

That's all I really got. Maybe I'm not really a cat person. Maybe I'm just a poser. But I do love those kitties already. They keep me company. They love to play hide and go seek. I'm pretty sure if you walked into my condo right now there would be no sign of their existence. It's surprising how hard it is to find them when they don't want to be found.

People also keep asking me why? Truth is, I don't know. I have wanted to for a while, and Rachel finally pushed me into actually doing it. I need a little help sometimes with my motivation to act.

So I don't know why I got them but nor do I honestly know why I never had any cats before. I offer no excuse. They are pretty awesome. What more can I say?

Jumping Off Cliffs With Friends

If you were ever wondering if I would jump off a cliff if my friends did first, the answer is, "Yes". I have done it. Although I must also point out that it is no simple task, and should only be done by professional adventurers like us.


Look at me. I'm so very tiny.


Colby calmly peers into the depths...and


He jumps, deftly maintaining his cool. Scores: Execution 9.7, Artistic Interpretation 9.4


Brandon tries not to throw up as he contemplates the meaning of life and death.


Flails wildly in one last defiant, panic-stricken gesture to the Gods. Score Execution 4.3, Artistic Interpretation 10.0

Inglourious Basterds

For lack of wanting to write anything serious still, I am going to ramble on about a movie. Again. I just watched Quentin Tarantino's new film, "Inglourious Basterds". Whether you will see that movie or not is predetermined so I will not bother trying to convince you, or anyone, to see it. I won't even bother to explain what it is about either, because I am not a film critic, and I see no point in the exercise.

What I really want to talk about is an observation I can now make that Quentin Tarantino films have a special way of pissing off the kind of people who piss me off. Asinine controversy seems to boil up around everything the man does. I will admit here that I like all of his films. "Kill Bill II", and "DeathProof", are nothing short of cinematic masterpieces, and the rest of his movies are all damn good as well.

"Inglourious Basterds" is in a tie with "Kill Bill I" as his least satisfying film overall (in my dubious opinion). But the thing that really saves "Inglourious Basterds", and makes it one of the most interesting films of the year (if not Tarantino's best) is it's appallingly bizarre climax. I won't give it away. Suffice it to say that it has pissed off all of those annoying people yet again. Furthermore the controversy that is being argued by the film critics and the movie snob elite (as opposed to Me, your average, middle-class movie snob) has raised some interesting questions that I will now list so that you may contemplate them on your own:

1. Is it the responsibility of fictional movies to portray an accurate account of historical events?

2. Is it the responsibility of film makers to be sensitive to the feelings of people who died almost 70 years ago?

3. Is it my responsibility in the audience to be sensitive to the feelings of people?

4. Am I a bad person because I sometimes enjoy watching nazis getting clubbed to death with baseball bats?

5. Should all movies be politically correct, and safe, and comfortable for the bleeding hearts?

6. Is it weird that Quentin and I both really like to look at women's feet?

7. Is it a film critic's responsibility to point out that "Inglourious Basterds" is incorrect spelling?

8. Exactly how many readers are there of "Time Out New York", or "The Portland Oregonian" who do not already realize that "Inglourious Basterds" is misspelled? And what would that say about the good people of New York and Oregon?

9. Does any of this even matter, or is it just a damn movie, people?

10. Why am I even asking these questions at 3 AM?

That about covers it I think.

Slow Drift: Somewhere Near Moab

"A person at his best, like water,
Serves as he goes along;
Like water he seeks his own level,
The common level of life,
And he loves living close to the earth,
Living clear down in his heart."

- - - Tao Teh Ching



We started out at noon. It was a late morning after a long night of heavy drinking at Woody's Tavern. I remembered the first three pitchers of Polygamy Porter, and then nothing until 10 am when I woke up to the ironic and sultry sound of Nouvelle Vague in my headphones, and walked back across the quiet town of Moab, Utah to find my truck. It was right where I left it, doors unlocked. I remember thinking it made no sense at all.

After a nutritious breakfast consisting of black coffee and stale donuts we loaded up the truck with several inflatable pool toys, two life jackets, a couple of short lengths of rope, 2 Holga cameras waterproofed in zip-loc bags, 5 rolls of film, and a tube of sunscreen.

Next we stopped off at the Moab Brewery to fill a couple of growlers. Colby chose something dark, and I went for the Dead Horse Amber Ale. Ah, good times. Then we headed out of town, Northeast along the Colorado River. We launched somewhere near Fisher Towers. With our growlers bobbing behind us, half empty and tied to our life-jackets, we pushed out into the flow of muddy water. The Holga cameras and our flip-flops in the spare raft.

Immediately we encountered our first set of rapids, and soon discovered that my raft was not holding air, resulting in a gashed knee, and a lot of confusion for the next 10 minutes. When things returned to calm we decided that I would have to use the spare. No sooner than I had situated myself to the condition of things when Colby tossed me a 1 liter coke bottle and said, "Here, have some of this."

"What is it?" I asked rhetorically, as I took a deep swallow of the fiery nectar of the demon Gods of Kentucky.

"It's coke." Replied the mischievous Colby.

"Mm huh." I said, dubiously. But then everything was all swirling colors of red and blue and green, and I found myself giggling like some doomed schoolgirl who just wandered into the boys locker room and hasn't quite figured out what she just got herself into. When I finally recovered my senses I felt like I had just lost some time. I looked down the river and saw Colby spinning around in the current and he was urging me to stand up. Why not? I wondered. And so I tried to stand up, but immediately fell into the river, head over heels with all the contents of the raft.

After struggling for about ten minutes to pull myself back up into my raft and collect the stuff that was floating all around me, including the Holga cameras which were no longer waterproof, I laid on my back and let the river take me wherever it wanted as I gasped to regain my breath. I was bouncing off of rocks here and there, completely unafraid now. I felt alive again. In fact, I remember at this point praying out loud to God, actually thanking him for showing me this ridiculous beauty as I stared up at the craggy cliff tops beneath the puffy, white clouds that rolled in psychedelic curlicues above.

Suddenly my head bumped into the side of a canoe. "What's this?" I exclaimed, and looked up to see two confused hippies looking down at me. Colby was alongside speaking to them, but I could no longer understand the human tongue. I was beyond comprehension of simple words by this time. I was communing with the river and the sky, and they were speaking to me, telling me things, dark things, wonderful things.

I was trying to explain to the river my intentions. The river was listening closely. But then I became aware that I was alone in this wild place. I looked down and saw Colby and the two hippies disappearing far down the river, and I was stuck in a back eddy that was stopping my forward progress. I had to roll over onto my stomach and paddle with every ounce of strength to escape the clutches of that swirling hole.

My perseverance was finally rewarded, and I broke free back into the mainstream current. I paddled on down the river for a while until I heard voices calling my name from the shore. I looked over and saw a bus in the river, with the word 'Thelma' on the front of it. Beside Thelma I saw the hippies waving to me, and calling my name. I didn't remember telling them my name, and I began to feel slightly worried about my understanding of the reality of the situation. But then I saw Colby was standing beside them also urging me to the shore, so I knew it was time to get out.

I started over, but then I noticed the remainder of the magic coke bottle drifting away from me. I tried to reach out, but I knew it was too late. I must go to shore, or get the coke bottle, but nary could I do both. The current was quickening toward some unknown horizon, and I had to return to the real world again, and so I bid good day to that river.

My legs failed me on solid ground. I staggered helplessly around, unable to control myself. I knew I was playing the fool, but I had no power to stop as I pranced merrily upon the sandy beach. I fell backward toward the river, but my back stopped against the side of the bus. Someone was taking my picture, and I smiled with great relish. Colby was speaking to me from somewhere, but I couldn't see him. "I'm going to hitch hike back up to the truck. I'll come back for you."

"Jus wun minna." I said. "I jus wun check ou this bus." I walked through the open door and scoured around the back of Thelma for a moment, but then some man was yelling at me to get out of there. I tried to explain my situation, but I couldn't understand it any more myself. I fell back out the door and nearly ran smack into the hippy pulling his canoe out of the water.

"Your friend went to get your truck." He said to me.

"Yeah. Colby went to get my truck man." I replied. Then we both nodded and grinned at each other for a time that seemed inappropriately long given the circumstances. "What was your name again?"

"Kevin." He said. "Colby said we could stay with you guys at your condo."

"Yes! Absolutely. We will discuss many things there. I look forward to it."

The female hippy was now grinning at me too. "I'm Lauren". She said. "I believe we have met."

"Have we now?" I wondered out loud.

Everyone disappeared then, and I found myself sitting alone on a rock watching them pull Thelma out of the river, and I had no camera to record this bizarre spectacle. What sort of place is this, where buses fall into the river, and I can be stark, raving mad like this without drawing the wrong kind of attention? Is this true freedom? And what happened to me anyway. I just needed a break from real life, but was this what I came for? These were the questions that began to haunt me as my mind began to regain it's fragile toehold on reality.

Eventually Colby came back with the truck and we headed back into town. I needed food badly, or else there was no hope at all. So we went to Zak's for the all you can eat pizza and salad buffet. After consuming as much as humanly possible we went back to the condo where Kevin and Lauren were waiting. Now that my brain was functioning again I was ready to meet them again for the first time. They filled in the blanks in my mind, describing my bad behavior in ways much weirder than I have confessed to in this ugly tale of transcendental intoxication. But with all that behind us now we had a long evening ahead to ponder deep mysteries like the unknown, supernatural effects of geography upon the human mind, and soul.

Life Lesson of the Week #3

Food stamps can not be used to buy Rock Star Energy Drinks. However, you can use them to buy Red Bull.

Post Modern Prometheus

Bakjwi

Oh yes! We are saved at last from boredom. Park Chan-Wook, the notorious South Korean director of "Oldboy" (a film which has scarred my mind many times), and "Sympathy for Mister Veangeance", "Lady Vengeance", and "I'm a Cyborg But That's OK". has given us this film, which will soon hit theaters in select cities of America:



Please let it come here. I need to see it.

R.I.P. Kelvin: Bad Water Days In South Salt Lake

Kelvin, the majestic King Betta fish that Rachel gave me for Valentines Day finally quit his long battle against apathy and took his own life sometime Monday night while I was working. I came home sometime around 2 AM, and tried to feed him. Strangely I found that he was nowhere to be seen in his fishbowl. I was perplexed. Fish don't just get up and leave. So I looked around and found him on the floor on the other side of the room. I will not describe his condition. It's too painful to think about.

Since I have no cat, I had to rule the cause of death as suicide. He had been acting strange lately. Last time I fed him he would put the fish food in his mouth, but then spit it back out and just glare at me. But I never thought it would come to this.

He will be missed.

That was just the beginning of my watery woes, however. When I woke up at 10 am I found that I could not read my watch because of the water condensing inside it's, supposedly, waterproof face. I should have taken this as an omen of things to come. I went outside and checked my pool. Everything seemed to be fine. But sometime around noon I went outside to check my mail and the health inspector was there checking out my pool. I walked over to see if everything was satisfactory, and this woman informed me that it was not.

Apparently my chlorine levels were too high. My test showed me that it was fine. Her test showed me that it was high. I do wonder a lot about the objectivity of these test kits. It all depends on how your eye interprets the color of water, after all. But I know better than to argue with inspectors. She then told me that my Cyanuric Acid was also too high. Since I've never heard of Cyanuric Acid in my life I can't say I was particularly surprised to find it too high.

The woman explained to me that I should buy a Taylor test kit like hers so that I can test for Cyanuric Acid in the future. I wish someone had told me this last year, and we could have avoided this problem in the first place.

So now I have spent too much time again trying to get my pool back into compliance so that it can be reopened before all my neighbors (who don't even use the pool anyway) come over with torches and pitchforks and nail me to the wall like the terrible pool boy I am. Why did I ever agree to this nonsense?

Land of the Lost: and a bitter lamentation on my own lost land of movies.

"Land of the Lost is a seriously deranged movie" - Roger Ebert





It is near the middle of July and there are only four movies in this entire year so far that I can honestly say I liked enough to ever watch again:

1. UP
2. The Hangover
3. The Soloist
4. Land of the Lost



If I have been posting a lot of blogs about movies on here it is simply because I feel nostalgic lately for the time when I could watch a movie and actually enjoy it. I still remember a time when movies were more about imagination than pyrotechnics, when people went to movies to feel something more than just a headache. Back in those heady years of my youth I can even remember going to movies without brand name actors or directors (gasp!). Megan Fox's cleavage had not yet been discovered, but somehow we all got by. Those times are slipping through our fingers, like sands through the proverbial hourglass people! I'm getting pretty depressed about it actually.


I wasn't even planning on watching "Land of the Lost" because I'm not big on Will Ferrell, or remakes of old, old television shows for that matter. But then everyone started telling me about how awful it was. That always catches my attention because people will usually put up with a lot of crap before they start complaining. They always say it was "alright". Or they say something like, "It was well done, and good acting and all, but it just wasn't my thing." Or, even more to my perpleximent, they actually end up liking the filth. One fine example is the new Star Trek which everyone absolutely loves. I love it like I love watching grass grow. It's not really, truly bad, it's just awesomely mediocre and bland, much like everything else. I can't even tell most movies apart any more. So when everyone says they hated, hated, hated Land of the Lost, and proceed to spew venomous bile about how terrible it is, my ears prick up like a Doberman's ears to the sound of a tasty morsel scampering into it's territory.


Even a truly terrible movie is better than the flat, gray, boring tripe like Wolverine, Transformers, Terminator Salvation, Public Enemies, G.I. Joe, Harry Potter, blah, blah, blah. The list goes on and on and the people eat it up like it's going out of style. But then comes "Land of the Lost" and all of a sudden everyone is pissed off. A movie with the power to enrage the hypnotized masses is always promising to a geek like me.


So I headed out to the ghetto flix to check it out, and Roger Ebert was absolutely right. It was seriously deranged in the most hilarious of ways. I would call it a guilty pleasure, except that I don't actually feel guilty for it. I will not apologize for loving every stupid, low-ball, ridiculous, wonderfully absurd, surrealist, scatological minute of it. Here's some snippets from my old pal Roger at the Sun Times, who does know what he's talking about:

"The film involves a gloriously preposterous premise, set in a series of cheerfully fake landscapes.....many jokes about dinosaur manure, dinosaur urine, dinosaur intelligence, dinosaur babies, and dinosaurs' hurt feelings. Also blood-sucking insects, carnivorous trees and the soundtrack from 'A Chorus Line.'....actors make not the slightest effort to appear terrified, amazed or sometimes even mildly concerned. Some might consider that a weakness. I suspect it is more of a deliberate choice, and I say I enjoyed it."





Roger is definitely not very well backed up in his opinion. Metacritic gives it an average rating of 32 out of 100. But I will add my own thumbs up in support of this madness, even if no one else will. It's the best time you are likely to have at a theater without taking your pants off for at least the next month. These are, after all, dark times we live in.


Most of the audience had already left Land of the Lost before the halfway mark. A movie like this requires a special kind of endurance I guess. And at the end the rest of the audience walked out pissing and moaning about wasting two hours of their lives. I was still rolling on the floor in laughter. I like to believe that the humor in this film is simply so stupid that you actually have to be smart to appreciate it. Or maybe I'm just crazy. But even without the cheap, dirty humor I still thought it was a sort of surrealist masterpiece. It must have taken some huge balls for the filmmakers to dare make a movie like this when they could have just made it more awesome like Transformers, and by awesome I actually mean banal.

So, in short: I think We have way too many movies these days that look like this:




...when what we really need is more movies that look like this:





Click Here to read Roger Ebert's cheerfully optimistic take on this most excellent piece of cinema.