THE ONE THAT (THANKFULLY) GOT AWAY

September 8, 2008

Sometimes, when my co-authors (is that too fancy a title?) and I start writing one of those RADAR lists, we quickly discover we’ve written ourselves into a corner. You just never know. Occasionally, a list idea will seem very fertile and then, by item fifteen, you realize you’ve made a horrible mistake. To my recollection, only once did that result in RADAR completely scrapping our list, with us starting over fresh and scrambling to complete a new list before deadline. That failed list was “100 DVDs Still In Our Netflix Queue.”

I have to take credit for this. I think it might have been my idea in the first place, and I was very confident we could come up with 100 great fake movie titles. Unfortunately, 100 great fake movie titles doesn’t make for a particularly compelling list. There’s no ballast, nothing to keep the list from drifting in several directions at once. For instance, it wasn’t always easy to tell what genre each title belonged in, and that missing information made the jokes more puzzling than funny. And some of the jokes were just parodies of a format which, again, would have made no sense out of context. (Kind of like if you stumbled on a copy of The Onion having never read a newspaper in your life.) Also, when you come down to it, it really was just a list of 100 fake movie titles and, seriously, who cares?

However, looking back on the list I guess my work wasn’t completely wasted. I am comforted in knowing it can be treated as a well I will occasionally return to when I am in need of a funny movie title.* I never saw the other writers’ entries, though I wish I had, but here were a few from my list I really liked (organized by genre, because they have to be):

COMEDY
Let’s Grab Some Tits!
The Black In-Laws
Snoop Dogg’s House of Scrizzles (booooo!)
National Lampoon Presents Fingerin’

HORROR/SUSPENSE
White Blacula
Kill Me Once, Shame On You
The Axe Effect
Nude Creatures 2: The Fuckening
University of Slashachusetts (Amherst Campus)

ROMANTIC COMEDIES
Time for Something
Some Such Thing
Now That’s More Like It!
I Object…to Love
You Have the Right to Remain Married

INDEPENDENT DRAMA
Whatevs.
Hannah Drinks a Latte
Even Shy People Eventually Do It

FOREIGN
Rape is No Big Deal
The Garden of Hitler
Café Au Lait: An Interracial Love Story

ACTION & ADVENTURE
Double Penetration, But Not That Kind
The Man Who Came Bullets
Dragonpuncher 3: The Battle for Karate Castle

FAMILY
Fribble McWillikers and the Huge-Mazing, Splend-tastic New-riffic McDonald’s Breakfast Sandwich
Battery-Operated Toy Truck: The Motion Picture
Pudding Camp!
The Dizzy Wizard Who is Also an Allegory for Christ
The Enchanted Cupboard Full of Things that Sound Like Robin Williams and Rosie O’Donnell

SPECIAL INTEREST
Hip-Hop Hospital II: O.G.-GYN
SNL: The Terry Sweeney Years
Best of Fear Factor: The All-Rhino Dick Edition
Learn to Rap Like a Local Weatherman
The Garbage People of Ngabu
The Unbelievable Story of EMF
Oh, Great: Penguins Again

*I have a similar file on my computer dedicated solely to “character names.” Sometimes these are real names I’ve heard, sometimes they’re just weird combinations of words that sound like they could be a person’s name. For instance, I was working on a freelance job recently and the subject of cruise ships came up. Someone in the meeting was talking about the specifics of cruise ship construction, and mentioned all of the various “hull coatings.” That sounded like the perfect name for a tough, no-nonsense badlands sheriff. Someone who might be played by Tommy Lee Jones or Beau Bridges. I actually ended up using it recently in something I’d been working on for a while, replacing a character’s original name–Sheriff Glenn Treetrap–with the even heftier Sheriff Hull Coatings. I wonder if many writers keep files like this, just filled with made-up names of people, books, films, or towns. I do hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s episode of my long-running web text series, MY INCREDIBLE ARTISTIC PROCESS.

MAVRICKS

September 5, 2008

Rather than continue to make myself angry wondering how so many people are willing to (enthusiastically, passionately) ignore reality…rather than hurt the property value on this website by writing one thousand vitriolic and inexpertly informed words on the subject…rather than cynically pray that someone with a possibly loving family and a somewhat significant civic responsibility is discovered to have aborted a child from an extra-marital affair, or that the former mayor of my city gets Cloverfielded…I think today I’ll just post some very childish images:

OK. That’ll do, pig.

DICK GREGORY

September 4, 2008

As I sit here, stuffing my foodhole two-handed with a smoked fish and cream cheese sandwich on a whole wheat everything bagel–or, as I like to call this sandwich, “The Filthy Jew”–I’m thinking about how things strike me as less funny now that I’ve taken an interest in politics. And when I say “taken an interest in politics” I mean it in the way most do, but will not admit. As I read various news sources, trying desperately to study the current world affairs in which I am so embarrassingly behind, I nonetheless insist on force-feeding my fontanelle-soft political opinions down the mind-throats of anyone within earshot. And when I say “my political opinions,” I mean the opinions of the latest liberal (or suddenly jaded-conservative) columnist I’ve read, making sure to focus on at least one solid and surprising fact. (Or at least conflate that fact with another.) After all, I am nothing without my (other people’s) strong opinions and I insert them into casual communication as often and as awkwardly as possible, like a Mirriam-Webster Word of the Day. My naivete in political matters is so dense it can be ascertained by a blind and deaf person, using only haptic clues.

Even though I feel better about being more informed these days, I also worry about the comedic consequences. I think as one begins to look at the world analytically instead of observationally, certain changes take place. For instance, you start referring to yourself as “one.” Also, you tend to treat things as more serious, more dire, and less like something you can just laugh at or shrug off. Your opinion gets upgraded to a message. For comedians, this transformation can often have one of three different but equally detrimental effects on their act:

  1. Ugly Condescension (“What’s the matter, sheeple? Are these jokes just a little too REAL for you? YOU’RE ALL LIVING IN THE WAL-MART PARKING LOT OF A FAST FOOD FANTASY WORLD!!!”)
  2. Toothless Political Satire (“Whenever I hear Dick Cheney it’s like hearing Darth Vader’s voice. It’s like, ‘Karl Rove…I am your father. I’ll be baaaaaack.’ Am I right? THE GUY IS EVIL AND ALSO GEORGE BUSH IS NOT VERY SMART AND PROBABLY READ THE 9/11 REPORT WITH A RICHIE RICH COMIC BOOK HIDDEN INSIDE. MAYBE THEY SHOULD HAVE LOOKED FOR THOSE W-M-D’s IN RUMSFELD’S A-S-S. BINGO!”)
  3. Ragtime (“Give my regards to Beltway, remember me in Deficit Spending Square!”)

A few comics have been able to keep their cool and remain deeply political, using satire (Jon Stewart), keen observation (Chris Rock), or just by carefully avoiding performing their act in front of anyone who might disagree with their point of view. (David Cross) Alternately, a political comedian can go even further, by carefully constructing a platform for his or her comedy that immediately informs audiences of exactly what they’re going to get. This can be communicated in a number of ways. For example:

  • Call your televised comedy special, “Bush’d!”, “The First Lady of Comedy”, “Ant: Paint the White House Pink!”, “Stand-Up Commie”, “Comedy for Hope”, or “Mind of Mencia”
  • Ask High Times magazine and Tom’s of Maine to sponsor your comedy tour
  • For the cover of your comedy album, choose one of the following photos: you, naked with an American flag draped around you; you, lighting up a huge joint that’s rolled in paper printed with the American flag; you, waking up in bed next to an Ann Coulter impersonator, sharing a post-coital cigarette (American flag sheets? Think about it!); you, as a giant,squatting over the hole in the Pentagon building with your pants around your ankles to take a poo, while reading the latest issue of Mother Jones magazine (For optimum effect, the cover of Mother Jones magazine should feature a photograph of you, holding an American flag dildo. Although you will be tempted to be photographed with the American flag dildo in your mouth and/or butt, resist this temptation because Wal-Mart will get mad and make you release a second version of the album with a plain and boring cover. Although…think of hours of highly-charged political comedy you’ll be able to mine from that fascist act! Up to you, really.)
  • In the liner notes of your comedy album, thank The Chicago Eight and “conservative weasels like Bill O’Retard and Rush Lame-bore,” for filling you with the outrage that energizes you in your “continued comedic struggle against the forces of humorlessness.” Alternately, in the liner notes of your comedy album, thank “liberal hippies” and “political correctness nazis” for filling you with the outrage that energizes you in your continued comedic struggle to reflect the national subconscious by telling jokes about how gay sex is gross and how Jews love pennies.

But yeah, I’ll probably just end up writing a ragtime song. That’s the part that really burns me up.

100 SIGNS YOUR COLLEGE IS NOT PRESTIGIOUS

September 3, 2008

This month’s RADAR features the latest “RADAR 100” list–Signs Your College Is Not Prestigious. I’m really happy with the way this one turned out. The full list is available online and, if you purchase the magazine, it also appears as a full-sized, pull-out poster suitable for dorm rooms. I think this might be my first “poster” writing credit.

I wanted to include some items from my list that didn’t make the cut but, honestly, this time around the editors actually picked most of my favorite ones. (And a few others I didn’t remember writing but in fact had.) Still, there were a few that slipped through the cracks, like:

  • Term papers graded on Hustler’s “five penis” ratings system
  • Graduation robes have “GOLDEN-PALACE.COM” printed on the back
  • The essay question on your enrollment application was, “What would you do for a Klondike bar?”
  • Your alumni newsletter has a “casual encounters” section
  • The alma mater has a twelve-minute guitar solo
  • Hanging in the dean’s office is an oil painting of Mahatma Ghandi beating off into a sweatsock
  • Hanging in the dean’s office is a oil painting of Benjamin Franklin using a glory hole
  • Campus shooter accidentally left his gun on safety
  • Figure drawing classes have a clearly posted “no touching” policy
  • Every diploma has a piece of gum inside
  • Your Semiotics professor insists on being called “Big Worm”
  • You were enrolled on a Halfbright grant

(And, though RADAR used “Your school mascot is a tiger in a wheelchair,” I had also included a few alternate mascots I kind of liked: “An eagle wearing a safety helmet” and “Calvin taking a whizz on the Harvard crest”)

YOU HEARD, OBAMA: LET’S MOVE ON, AMERICA

August 29, 2008

(i never noticed this about adam rich before–probably because i’ve never really noticed adam rich–but he looks a bit like patton oswalt with a hollywood makeover.)

MAKING ME EAT MY WORDS

August 25, 2008

A few weeks ago, I had some pretty harsh words for Manhattan-based coffee haus, Macchiato. It was then brought to my attention that Macchiato may not have the finest coffee, but they possess a secret weapon: fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Now I am nothing if not fair and thorough, particularly with regards to investigating baked goods. So, in the interest of promoting justice and balance in my final assessment of Macchiato, I visited this afternoon and purchased an iced coffee and a chocolate chip cookie. The coffee was weak and bitter–ring a bell, ARBITRARILY CHOSEN EX-GIRLFRIEND?–and, as usual, there was no liquid sugar to numb the pain. Then I took a bite of the (still warm) cookie and damn, Macchiato. Damn. You may have lost the coffee war with Joe but you just carpet-bombed those hippies cookie-wise. Eating a Joe’s vegan chocolate and peanut butter cookie (not as bad as you’d think, but almost) is like having your tonsils scraped when compared to the homemade dripping sweetness of these Macchiato chocolate chip-flavored ecstasy pills. Joe, I totally support our cookie troops but sometimes the only way to really show support is to demand they be removed from combat and sent home, providing “home” is a dumpster behind Grand Central Station. Sorry, guys. We can still meet for lattes, right?

Macchiato’s cookies are small, too, which is good because so many places overdo it with cookie size. I’m a grown-up; I should be able to dwarf my cookie, size-wise. Giant cookies make me feel like a very tall infant. It’s like walking around with one of those big swirly lollipops: “Gangway, everyone! It’s num-num time and I need plenty of room to enjoy my cookie reward!”

If these chocolate chip cookies have one downside–which they don’t, and I should slap you for ever suggesting such a thing–it’s that they’ve left me feeling very confused about Macchiato. How did this cold, heartless robot learn so much about love? And does that mean we can all learn to love, too? Macchiato is officially a conundrum to me. How can a coffee shop be such equal parts ice-veined, Teutonic monster and kindly old lady? Maybe it’s my fault for being confused. After all, Macchiato does represent itself very clearly in its advertising. Take a look:

Great jingle, too.

SECOND PLACE IS FIRST TO LOSE

August 22, 2008

If you’re so inclined, The Morning News has made available the final essay in my six-part series about my life in video games, “Consoles I Have Known.” This one is about the console war between the Sony PlayStation 3 and Microsoft’s Xbox 360, and how I became one of its many casualties. Oh, read it for yourself. It’s called “Second Place is First to Lose.”

In a way, the article is also about the way popular opinion is formed, and how that has changed a lot in the blog era. (yuck. sorry.) One video game blog in particular, Kotaku.com, figures pretty heavily into the story as its been kind of a daily obsession for me over the last couple of years. I really do enjoy this site though I do often lose patience for it just as I lose patience for most things published by Gawker. Their writers tend to stretch too often and too hard for the put-down, even where it can’t really justify one.

Kotaku also has a very lively comments section which is, above all else, frustrating. I’ve always felt like, in comments sections, intelligent discussion can often exist but never prevails. Kotaku is very guilty of that, so I usually try not to read the comments. Unfortunately, they’ve made that impossible for me today because they (very nicely) linked to my story on The Morning News, and now it (and the question of whether I’m funny, boring, gay, or simply a tool with no opinion) has become part of a typical flame war on the site. I can’t say I didn’t have this coming to me.

ASSISTANCE IN THE PROCUREMENT OF BACHELOR PARTY SERVICES

August 21, 2008

I helped plan my friend’s bachelor party this weekend, which was great fun except for that awkward and unspoken part where I think I was supposed to know how to find some naked ladies. I have seen strippers perform because if you’re a guy eventually someone will drag you to a strip club whether you like it or not, but I’ve never really gone at my own suggestion. Maybe there are guys who have strippers on speed dial, in case of an emergency–and these are guys I like to call “Paul Stanley of KISS”–but it’s honestly a mystery to me. As far as I know there does not exist any kind of service like yelp.com for bachelor party entertainment, which I find odd. I mean, it seems like there are tons of online resources you can cross-reference to find out where to get a good Vietnamese sandwich in Manhattan, but nothing like a Zagat’s guide to let you know ahead of time if you’re about to hire a “serviceable” entertainer whose “bloom is off the rose” and who is “also notable” for having a “belligerent pimp” who might “rob you at knifepoint.”

In an effort to do proper diligence in researching this kind of specialty service, I decided to draft a questionnaire to help me screen any potential candidates for bachelor party entertainment. I realize it sounds like a very square thing to do, but it seemed preferable to choosing the first name I found in the local business directory. (This is not meant as a criticism of “AAAA Strippers, Unlimited.” I’m sure they’re a very reputable vendor.) Anyway, I learned this technique while planning my own wedding and downloading forms from sites like theknot.com, which provide lists of questions to ask your vendors. And creating this questionnaire helped me weed out individuals who were less likely to deliver the level of quality and professionalism this bachelor party demanded.

It was helpful for me, and if you think it might be helpful if you’re planning a bachelor party, or just would like some strippers to come to your dormitory or next church function, you can download this questionnaire as a PDF:

Interview Questionnaire for the Recruitment of Erotic Entertainment Services

[UPDATE: link fixed. thanks, Khoi.]

THIS IS WHY I LOVE STAND-UP COMEDY

August 18, 2008

It’s that rush of adrenaline:

(If this photo had a caption, it would be “last known photograph of a now-extinct, long obsolete form of entertainment known as ‘stand-up comedy’.”)

SAVE IT FOR TWITTER, BRO

August 15, 2008

Is there something one better than a trifecta? A quadrillium? A quattriffico?* Because I need a word to describe what I saw yesterday. I was standing on the corner, drinking lemonade–you know how I do. Suddenly, I was surrounded by French Bulldogs, the Canis Lupus Familiaris’ greatest gift to comedy. A woman was out walking a pair of bug-eyed and musclebound pals, while also pushing a baby stroller. That’s sweet, I thought. She likes babies and dogs equally. She has my vote.

Then, as I got closer to the stroller, my eyes and heart engaged in a tongue-touching makeout session because lo and behold I espied the following:

  • a plump French Bulldog!
  • sitting in the stroller!!
  • AND WEARING A G-DAMN DIAPER!!!!!!!!!!

If he were also wearing a tiny graduation cap and tenured professor robe, I would have run into the street and let a truck kill me because I would gladly have that dog be the last thing I ever set my eyes upon. Even so, I had to ignore my initial impulse, to push the woman to the ground, commandeering her vehicle, and wheeling this diapered beauty to Valhalla. Instead, I got my head straight and congratulated her on its excellent performance.

Then we got to talking about how this amazing three-part harmony came to be. It turns out her dog was born with a twisted spine and, at two years old, became paralyzed in its lower body, but has been in physical therapy (including hydrotherapy) and has proven himself a strong and happy survivor. In my estimation, the dog’s Terry Fox-esque fortitude in the face of great vulnerability gave it extra-credit. In fact, if I had a root beer-scented scratch’n’sniff sticker I would have slapped it on his Pampers right then and there. Because, pard’ner, you did a root-a-tootin’ job of making my day!

*apparently, there is. And it’s called a “Superfecta.” Thanks for knowing how to use the Internet better than I do, Wes.

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