Statement Cookies

Fortune Cookies have become quite anomalous. Don't you think?

Naturally you order take-out Chinese Food and they throw in a few 'Fortune Cookies'. It typically doesn't matter if it's an American-owned restaurant or otherwise, as soon as you open that 'Fortune Cookie', they all have one thing in common. There's no fortune.

Case In Point:


I'm currently vying for the revision of the delectable Post-Orange Chicken dessert to be named the 'Statement Cookie'. Often it reads something like the 'Fortune' my sister got tonight, "You are very practical and analytical." This could easily be followed up with an authentic fortune, "This will become evident tomorrow when you involve yourself in a thorough debate pertaining to how grounded you are or aren't but ultimately leave that to be decided by your peers." But it never is... the very worst is when it's simply a command, "Giggle!"... What the hell?

In the end we are left with an ultimatum:

Change it to "Statement Cookie" or start printing real fortunes on the damn piece of paper!

I Write A Web Log

There's a certain history behind the word "BLOG" that not everyone is aware of. It is a hybrid of the two words WEB+LOG. Lazy bastards then abbreviated the word to BLOG... shortening a formerly 6 letter word... to 4 letters... 2 letters less. This is a lesson in english as well as math.

Now it's a given that the word Blog will be recanted in the future and you will find it's use extinct.

Why? WHY? Because when someone says BLOG... The first thought that enters your mind is likely the 1958 horror film.



If not that, perhaps the remake of the flick in 1988. Either way it's a B-rated independent horror film.

The Blob serves as a blemish on the filmography of many of today's Greats. Steve McQueen was the headliner of the original. The remake served as one of Frank Darabont's first big screenwriting credits and if you really want to make a stretch you might include Kevin Dillon and call to the conversation his future success with the HBO television show Entourage. Nonetheless, The Blob was not the stepping stone for the actors and/or writers (maybe Kevin Dillon).

So are we equally safe in assuming we may see future stars' past include a Blog or two? Well there's the recently praised Diablo Cody - though most will mention her films and memoir before the Blog. Time will tell, but for now, I refuse to be a "blogger" or the author of a 'blog'. If anything, you can reference the LOG I keep.

The Cookie Cutters

What a SHAM the 1950's were. Even the early 1960's.

Do your homework. I was just thinking of a plot I'd created a few years back based in the early 60's. It's a great period in our nation's history given the substantial amounts of political and social struggle that happened. But naturally with any period-piece you want to choose music that is from the decade... YOU CAN'T. Not with the 1960's! Everything was this Cookie Cutter doowop, crooning "Our pastelle-clad Wives & Children are grinning as they stand in the dog-shit-adorned front lawn".

Why didn't anyone see the opportunity to market to the depressive or the drunkards. Sure, you have Little Richard: Troubadour to the Gay's. Or Billie Holiday singing Strange Fruit... but other than that you don't see any seriously beaten and dispirited music until 67/68. What was wrong with our Country?! Why did it take an assassination and an anti-war movement to get the ball rolling on the somber recordings?

Now if you want to make a film about the decade you have to take the Tarantino route & have the characters dance & dance to something upbeat while you watch the sinister acts unravel - which may actually just make it seem that much more menacing.

Florida Keys Lime Pie

FLORIDA KEYS.



KEY LIME PIE.

FLORIDA KEY LIME PIE RESTAURANT. I CAN SEE IT NOW.

The Art of the Voicemail

In all honesty, there is no art to it. Anger Continued: Part II

I call you expecting you to answer, Cell Phones improved the communication between the peoples of the society. Let's take use of that. In the event that I don't reach you, I have likely already listened to thirty seconds of an extended beep or a pop-hit song that you ignorantly believe won't grow old after my third time of calling you (yes, Otis Redding still applies - whistling directly into my ear doesn't make "Sittin' On The Dock of the Bay" a good 'Ringback Tone'). Now comes the real horror: I have to listen to your recorded voice either A) psych me out by responding "Hello" and "What's up?" which fooled me the first time but just royally pisses me off now or B) Respond with a chipper tone to your voice instructing me to leave a message after the beep and 'Have a Nice Day'... that would all be well and fine if THAT WERE THE END. IT NEVER IS! It sadly continues on because you mistakenly set up your voicemail in some hurried fashion, ruining my own experience. In this case, after your incessant rambling the operator takes the helm & continues to tell me exactly HOW to leave a message, just as you've already taken the opportunity to do.

So I've decided to help our societal dilemma by kindly directing you through the phone prompts to set up a Voicemail with a "Personal Greeting" thus eliminating the Operator and brightening my day!



As you can clearly see (perhaps not, grab your reading glasses if you haven't already). I've highlighted the only buttons you will need to press (this is solely for Verizon users, I am unsure if this applies to their competitors).

#1. Dial your Voicemail.
#2. Enter your PASSWORD: this is followed by the # sign (the bottom right button pictured above).

NOTE: If unexpectedly you are forced to listen to the voicemail's left by friends and/or family which instruct you to call them back (I know, Mom. When I have a missed call from you my natural reaction is to CALL YOU BACK) - sift through these (either delete or skip) and the following will occur.

#3. The operator will inform you that you have no new messages & welcome you to the Main Menu.
#4. Oddly enough, you will press FOUR to reach your PERSONAL OPTIONS.
#5. Press ONE to change your PERSONAL GREETING.

#6. Now, this is where things become problematic. The Operator gives you a Monty-Hall-esque selection to choose one of the three following options. She repeats, and I quote, "To select a standard greeting with your telephone number that will let the caller know you are unavailable PRESS ONE. To select a standard greeting with your name that will let the caller know you are unavailable, PRESS TWO. For a personal greeting, PRESS THREE!"

PRESS THREE, PRESS THREE DAMNIT!!

Dustin Hoffman

Has Dustin Hoffman ever made a bad movie? Think about it.

I did some investigative reporting and found out that his lowest rated film through a few respectable circles is SPHERE circa 1998. Now I was obviously alive in 1998, and I'm interested in film, and I've never heard of SPHERE. Argo, Sphere doesn't exist - now if you continue to mark off the films Dustin Hoffman has done that I'm not aware of, his lowest rated film by the Rotten Tomatoes standards is Hook, (at an astounding 22%) a fun-filled family action adventure where Robin Williams plays a grown version of Peter Pan opposite Mr. Hoffman as the fictional Captain Hook (hence the title). It may very well be I haven't seen Hook since I was a mere 5 years old, however, this was a classic in the mind of a 5 year old film prodigy and is thus a "fresh tomato" in my book.

Moving forward on a list of the actor's filmography, I don't see one starring Dustin Hoffman that doesn't have or deserve a fresh tomato.

Conclusion: Dustin Hoffman has never made a bad movie.

The Negative Connotation of Water

At a time when I should be writing a paper for my ethics class, I am thinking of water. I just brushed my teeth before bed, a good 5 minutes as I multitasked filling a water bottle full of H2O as I was sure I would be up for awhile longer and it occured to me - water, in and of itself - unflavored and non caffeinated, has a negative connotation in today's society.

I went to the dentist two or three weeks ago and it was revealed to me that I have a cavity... ugh, cavities. Really, too many to name to reveal to the five readers I personally know and the internet readers which I'll never meet but am nonetheless embarrassed. See I like to think I have a generally nice smile... maybe not the best but proportionate in physical terms considering how good the rest of me looks. Joking aside, once I was told of the cavities I decided to drop drinking POP on a dime. I started to drink Diet Green Tea and Water...

It wasn't until the moment when I was brushing my teeth with one hand and filling a water bottle with the other that I realized - had no one ever told me of my cavities, the mind set I used to have would have gone for a Mountain Dew (being sure I would be up for awhile longer) because, very simply put, water is boring. How or when this came into effect is beyond me (with the ancient creation of coffee and our recent innovation of "pop", it's hard to distinguish any timeline to mark a dot with a caption reading, "YEAR X: WATER BECAME BORING".

I even find myself drinking Diet Green Tea more than water simply because of a small taste difference that society explains to you very early on makes a substantial difference.

So screw customs, screw homegrown traditions involving diet, and teach your kids to eat and drink healthy, they can screw up their health once they're old enough to know what endodontic therapy is.

Assassin's Creed

DISNEY'S ALADDIN FOR GROWN ASS MEN.

Raging Bull

I borrowed this to someone. Who is it? I want it back now.

All Hallow's Eve

A Merry All Hallow's Eve. I'm not sure as to the identity of this child in this picture (I'm sure that's what he intended) but he looks to be having fun. This may be the best fun he's had all night because he looks as though he's about to fall face first into the pavement. After which the parents will take him home, where he'll keep a pile of Candy-Corn in his hand just long enough to let the blood and tears drip from his face onto the candy before putting it in his mouth.

Better luck next year, kid.



Moving forward, Charlie Brown needs new friends, they're all assholes. No, Charlie Brown needs a new town to live in. I'm not sure if this is Charles Schulz's view of Saint Paul but if it is, he had a rough child hood. What kind of neighbors not only give STONES to Charlie for Halloween, they THROW it at him... Mayhaps there is a lost episode of The Peanuts where we realize why everyone treats Charlie this way. And we would see the previously unaired made-for-television movie and as the resolution comes to an end we, the nation, give a collective "OH", realizing Lucy is justified in delivering said pain via footballs.



My friends and I also went to Perkins at 1AM this morning/evening (?) and I ate a piece of Pumpkin Pie for the first time, I had no idea what I was missing out on. This only made me think of how I will, sometime down the road, open a diner in the southern-most point of the United States and call it "Florida Keys Lime Pie"... More on this later. Architectual blueprints are on their way.

Long Day's Journey Into Night

Here's an monologue spoken by the character of Edmond from the play Long Day's Journey Into Night, by Eugene Oneill. I'll be reciting this tomorrow in class. Wish me luck.

You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea.

Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the trades. The old hooker driving 14 knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me. Every mast with sail white in the moonlight - towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it - and for a second I lost myself, actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved into the sea, became white sails and flying spray - became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky. I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of man, to Life itself! To God if you want to put it that way.

Then another time, on the American line, when I was lookout in the crow's nest on the dawn watch. A calm sea that time. Only a lazy ground swell and a slow drousy roll of the ship. The passengers asleep and none of the crew in sight. No sound of man. Black smoke pouring from the funnels behind and beneath me. Dreaming, not keeping lookout, feeling alone, and above, and apart, watching the dawn creep like a painted dream over the sky and sea which slept together.

Then the moment of ecstatic freedom came. The peace, the end of the quest, the last harbor, the joy of belonging to a fulfillment beyond men's lousy, greedy fears and hopes and dreams! And several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or lying alone on the beach, I have had the same experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see - and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, stumbling on toward no where, for no good reason!

it was a great mistake, my being born a man. I would have been much more successful as a seagull or fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death.

Push the Envelope

I was thinking to myself today, wondering the meaning of the phrase 'To Push the Envelope'.

Any personal risk resulting from action is usually referred to as pushing the envelope. Considering this, when the phrase is mentioned I naturally think to myself that to push the envelope means to force the flap away from the sticky residue holding it shut. So if we can safely assume this, might we also assume that whatever is inside the envelope itself, contents tangible or otherwise, might be something similar to Pandora's Box?

Perhaps it's safe to assume that the ultimate risk would be actually Opening the Envelope.

The Darjeeling Limited

Another bold film from the auteur Wes Anderson. The part people love and loathe about Wes Anderson is that you're sure what to expect in his films before even going. He disregards any and every directing tool. Even still, ignoring all laws of film, he manages to churn out a "rare masterpiece" nearly every time. His latest, The Darjeeling Limited, is no exception, and is his most flawless to date.

In Darjeeling, you see a side of Wes you hadn't seen before, he literally trusts his loyal following to have already seen the prelude of a short film (Hotel Chevalier) and to understand the main players he includes in his productions (Bill Murray). And assuming that his followers watch these, Darjeeling continues as a story without interruption. The best part of it all is that should a young cinephile two, say three decades down the road, decide to pick up this Wes Anderson film, it will still make complete sense dispite missing a part of the puzzle (Chevalier).

Darjeeling Limited begins as Peter Whitman (Adrien Brody) runs along other hopeful passengers of the said Indian train (albeit faster) and after throwing his luggage on board, climbs on to join his brothers Jack (Jason Schwartzman, who also adds his first writing credit to his resume) and Francis (Owen Wilson) on a "Spiritual Journey" conceived by the latter after a year of their absence following their father's death. In the following days/weeks we follow the brother's on the excursion with a destination only Francis is aware of.

Adrien Brody serves as the best addition to Wes Anderson's list of players since Jason Schwartzman, considering how much he had to prove coming in with a backdrop in strictly dramatic films. Jason Schwartzman returns in a more mature character since Rushmore, and Wilson as his most neurotic yet. Even when it seems that Anderson is losing his focus in the plot (as he has in the past) assume that he is always building the story in it's entirety.

On every level in The Darjeeling Limited you will find Anderson at his best here, with equal ammounts comedy, drama and strict storytelling. As usual, if you're not a fan of his past films you may find the same here, but it's not a guarantee I'll make if only because it seems that this is a film that may appeal to a broader audience, and possibly widen that cult appeal that's been constantly growing since Bottle Rocket.

Autumnal

I want to make a record of this before time passes.

Upon meeting someone new, a love interest, for the sake of the story, it's not uncommon for the individual to ask that you tell something about yourself. I always have a few prompt responses in my hand of cards ready: the fact that I love the airport, or that I am by any and all means a cinephile. But the one I most like to share is that my favorite season (if I'm warranted to call it that) is the three week period during what you'll tag as 'Fall' each year. It's actually the last stretch of summer to the weeks leading up to Halloween that I enjoy most. When the leaves turn color and not one is missing from a tree but there seems to be an equal amount pushed against the curbs, risiding in the middle of the road and yards.

The three week period of fall that you might recognize by granting it's appearance to any number of home computer's default desktop picture, or the video cover of When Harry Met Sally. It's in these three weeks that you'll find your last fine round of golf, the same period when driving aimlessly seems to be the best idea you've had yet this year. When you actually step out into a bed of grass, the aforementioned leaves scattered, covering any lawn, bedecked in a smell that can only be associated with this very same three week stretch.

I'm saddened only because it's coming to it's end. More leaves are on the ground than above and it will be this way for a long, long time no doubt.

The Conception

This is how it begins.

The story moves forward. It's only the prelude to this book so naturally you're lead to believe the story has just begun. In reality, I am 20 years old and you enter, during one of three acts (hopefully the first) to a dark theatre. The audience is all but pleased you decided to shed an unnecessary light down the aisle, paling only before it reaches the stage.

What a shame.

I sit here, my own light shed upon this sequence of words you'll soon forget, but alas, you take a seat. Squinting from the final row to my packed house. The Opening Night of a new production, my government surname plastered across the marquee outside, the lightbulbs bordering the sign serve as the only heat source in the cold town of Pig's Eye. The sign, no doubt, has a few letters backwards or angled incorrectly given the countless subtitles: a pen name, another, monikers, etcetera. One of the said subtitles that likely found the ability to draw you in now has you confused as to who is the main character in such a production.

Time will tell. This is only how it begins.