Resume of Ridiculousness: Crazy Zoo

When I was about 14 a high school friend of mine hooked me up with a volunteer job at a small Zoo. I know, I know - volunteering is for suckers. However, here was my chance to work at a zoo! Monkeys, man, monkeys!!!

Anyway, I started out busting my ass at the "Domestic Center" where we kept and cared for various barnyard creatures including: llamas and guanacos, an 800 pound Shetland highland cow, several sheep, chickens, goats, and ponies. I worked there every weekend for just about a year, shoveling various substances and man-handling the escape-artist goats.

The Domestic Center was pretty cool, though. The llamas were my favorite, very intelligent and sensitive creatures. The goats loved escaping their enclosure and frequently wandered the zoo grounds as they pleased, and visitors were very keen to say things like "Hey, is that goat supposed to be out?" Sir, there is no goat standing there by the cotton candy vendor. You are halucinating, and are probably experiencing some sort of psychotic breakdown. I have contacted the proper authorities, please try to relax as they restrain and sedate you.
 

It's all in your mind man. Here comes the thorazine...


Every Saturday morning before the zoo opened, the other volunteers, employees, and I would stage these crazy wrestling matches in the hay loft. I rarely participated for lack of any wrestling ability whatsoever, but I was always up there watching and heckling.

Eventually I worked my way through just about every section of the zoo: the reptile house, the rainforest wing, the commissary, the savannah exhibit, even the small veterinary hospital on the zoo grounds.

I seemed to have a way with animals, which ever part of the zoo I worked in. I managed to "make friends" with some animals, like Suzie the golden eagle who let me hand feed her a rat every day. Please, go crouch with your face inches away from a golden eagle and try not to poop yourself as you watch it rip a large rat to pieces in seconds. She seemed to trust me enough to let me pet her aftewards...craziness. Nice bird though.

I was, on the other hand, attacked by dozens of creatures as well:

• the baboons loathed me, and the dominant male once even went so far as to hurl a tree stump at me with full force.
• I was charged by a cuban crocodile, saving myself at the last minute by using a chair as a shield against the beast.
• I learned the hard way that the leopard does not want his nose scratched, and I still have a small scar on my hand from where he was able to claw me through his enclosure.
• something called a boat-billed heron bit me really hard on the hand, and then pooped liquid bird poop all over my shoes.
• owls attacked me on a regular basis for some reason; big owls, little owls, captive owls, wild owls - it didn't matter. They all hated me.
• all of the chickens hated me as well and attacked me on sight, clinging to my pants with their little chicken talons as I ran screaming from the chicken coop
• an army of tiny little monkeys insisted on throwing their food at me.
• a seperate army of little monkeys liked to slap me in the face. No, really.  

This went on like this just about every weekend for over 3 years.

Until one day when I was called into the zoo director's office.

He accused me of being the ring leader of the illegal wrestling matches being held in the Domestic Center barn. Apparently, people were betting on the matches, and moderate sums of cash were being exchanged.

I had very little actual involvement in the wrestling matches aside from just being there. In the end I was asked to turn in my zoo keeper badge and any equipment I had at home. I didn't even try to defend myself I was so heartbroken. I loved that zoo. I still go whenever I'm home, to curse out the evil baboons and stroll the grounds I came to know as my second home.

Ten Ridiculously Awesome Creatures

Here's a list of ten animals I think are ridiculously awesome, in no particular order, for no reason other than to amuse myself and my average of 1.3 readers...monthly. For more info on these ridiculous creatures feel free to click on the links o' information I have lovingly included.

1.  The Yak - huge, furry, horned mountain creatures with a name synonomous with puking. This is the animal I would choose to ride into battle, like some sort of ridiculous Mongolian doom-merchant. I like saying Yak. YAK.

Hi-ho Yakkie, away!!!

  Yak - Wikipedia

2. The Coral Snake - Gummy worms! Awesome! Wait a minute...

If I was a child that encountered this snake I would immediately grab for it and try to eat it like a multi-colored Twizzler. Then, I would be bitten, and die very quickly and horribly from the extremely potent neurotoxic venom ravaging my body (this is the most venomous snake in North America).

Lemon, cherry, licorice...the flavors of death.

Gummy worms, er, Coral Snake - Wikipedia


3. The Golden Eagle - The physical embodiment of "Awesome". No lap dog is safe with this monster roaming the skies. Hell, I think your German Sheppherd might not stand a chance either. Better stock up on SAMs. Ka-KAWWW, bitches!!

Chicken of Doom - Wikipedia

4. The Man-o-War Nudibranch - WTF?! How is this a real animal? What? it eats jellyfish for breakfast too?!? That's it, I'm moving into the storm cellar.

Fake animal that Wikipedia swears is real - Wikipedia

5. The Horned Lizard - has possibly the most "metal" defense mechanism in nature: when frightened, this little lizard will squirt BLOOD out of its eyes. I also think it's one of the most adorable wittle wizards in the world. I will never say that again, ever, I promise.

This one's name is Ouchy.

Horned Lizard - Wikipedia

6. The Badger - Hands down one of the most ferocious creatures pound-for-pound on the planet. Badgers have been known to chase grizzly bears away from kills, they regularly pick fights with venomous snakes just for fun, and they are also born as certified F-22 pilots! Fuckin' A, he's on my team.

%$#@!!

American Psycho Badger - Wikipedia

7. Phylobates Terribilis (The Golden Poison Frog) - Another creature that looks like candy, and then kills you horribly and quickly after you try to lick it. In fact, it is the most toxic creature in the world.

It is said that people have died from coming in contact with leaves that this frog has brushed up against. The funny thing is that wild caught frogs raised in captivity eventually lose their toxicity. Something they eat in the wild helps them produce this extraordinarily potent toxin - and no one knows for sure what the hell it is. I've actually worked on a breeding and research project for these things, they make great pets believe it or not. Except when they kill you.



Death, in its most adorable form.

Golden Poison Frog - Wikipedia

8. The Blue Whale - um, over 100 feet long...weighing in at over 200 tons (that's 200,000 pounds people, poop yourselves as needed). In short, the largest living creature EVER. By a lot. That's pretty fucking ridiculously awesome.



A blue whale skull. You thought this was a giant shmeckle, didn't you? Pervert.

Blue Whale - Wikipedia

9. The Giant Pacific Octopus - Great googly moogly, look at this gelatinous tentacled behemoth!

Apparently they still need scuba gear to survive under water. Oh wait, it's that bag of mucus he's wrestling with...

Big Ass Octopus - Wikipedia

10. The Emu - The most hilarious living organism in the world. Look at this thing! It's like a cross between a 6-foot-tall chicken and Groucho Marx.

HILARIOUS TANGENT: When I was in college I saw an ad in the paper for an emu for sale, for $60!!! Who wouldn't want an emu, and for only $60?! That's a must-buy-immediately in my book. I drove down in my Honda Accord with $60 in my hand thinking I could stuff the emu into the back seat and let its head dangle out the window or something. The owner of the emu was very angry that I would suggest transporting an adult emu in the backseat of a Honda Accord, and the mention of housing the fucking thing in my dorm room promptly got me escorted off the premises. At the time I thought this was a perfectly reasonable idea. In fact, I still do.

"I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception." - Groucho Marx

Groucho Marx/Chicken (Emu) - Wikipedia

Single Dude's/Chick's Day

In defiance of this most-hated day of the year, February 14th (aka Valentine's Day) I propose a new holiday to celebrate the wondrous gift to the world that is the Single Man or the Single Woman.

You see, the world all ready has holidays for lovers (Valentines Day, February 14th), Mothers (Mother's Day, 2nd Sunday in May), Fathers (Father's Day, 3rd Sunday in June), grandparents (National Grandparent's Day, first sunday after Labor Day), freaking pirates (Talk Like a Pirate Day, September 19th), and so forth. Strangely, us single folks have been omitted from the cavalcade of annual celebrations. I propose to change this by instituting Single Dude's Day and Single Chick's Day.

Single Dude's Day - A national celebration of masculine solitude and of all things associated with the male bachelor. The traditional observance of Single Dude's Day will include the following:

1. Single Dudes have no use for flowers or chocolate. Gifts of sports memorabilia, weaponry, beef jerky (or venison jerky, an acceptable alternative), and whiskey are more appropriate.
2. Greeting cards are not necessary, but if used must include at least one image of a half-naked woman.
3. Phone calls from loved ones and family are mandatory and must be positive in nature. Harassing a single dude because he "hasn't settled down yet" is strictly prohibited and taboo. Acceptable alternatives include telling a single dude "You really look good when you don't shave or comb your hair," or "Yes, I really enjoy your old Thundercats figurines as well."



Because this is awesome.



Single Chick's Day - A national day of mourning for feminine solitude, observance includes:

1. Constant bombardment with flowers and chocolate, possibly via air drop, in a desparate attempt to let the Single Chick know that "someone cares out there."
2. Greeting cards are mandatory and must be oversized, dripping with glitter, and scented of fresh Tunisian jasmine and apricots. Cards should feature images of kittens, naked firefighters, or of happy couples being eaten by velociraptors.
3. Phone calls from loved ones are mandatory as well and should be overly cheerful in nature. Loved ones and family should compliment the Single Chick's every endeavor however foolhardy or naive/manipulative. Also, calls should contain several overly positive references to the Single Chick's hairstyle, current physical appearance, and/or shoe collection.

What, no black pumps?!

Now, all we need is to set a date for these holidays. August doesn't have too much going on, lets do it then.

P.S. - I all ready have a set of shuriken, so if you buy me weaponry please send something besides ninja throwing stars.

Nuisance Log Part 4 - Photographic Uselessness

I am often irritated by people. Sometimes I find myself in public when I get irritated, and as I've previously stated I am prone to fits of spectacular, explosive anger - so I really need to control myself when I'm pissed off AND in public. One thing that really infuriates me beyond-and-to-a-whole-new-extreme is when people have no sense of how to take a decent photograph.

Taking a good photo is not an abstract art form, nor is it something that requires any unreasonable expenditure of brain energy. I'm not talking about professional-quality photography with profound composition, striking contrast, and tantalizing subject matter. I'm talking about every-day, tourist snapshots. Taking a photo should be as easy as looking through the little window or viewing screen and pushing the little button. It seems the world is lousy with mongoloids and drooling mouth-breathers that are not capable of doing this effectively.

No. Bad. No touch camera.

Nowadays most people (if not all people) own a decent digital camera. It's actually pretty hard to find a shitty digital camera. If you spent more than $50.00 you probably have a half-way decent digital camera. If you bought your digital camera from the dollar store in the "bad" part of town you probably have a shitty digital camera.

The great thing about digital cameras is that they can do all the work for you! Like magic! Strange lighting conditions or low light? No worries, the camera will automatically adjust the aperature, shutter speed, and even release the flash if need be. Moving target? No problemo, the camera once again recognizes the subject and adjusts as needed. It's almost impossible to take a bad photograph. My dog has accidentally sat on my camera and produced high-quality images of seat cushions, the kitchen floor, and the ceiling.

Why then, when I recently asked someone to take a picture of me in front of a landmark, did they take a picture of my left ear in the far right of the frame, placing full emphasis on the taxi cab parked in front of the landmark, most of the building cut off with only the main entrance visible, and everything blurred because of sudden hand movement? SUDDEN HAND MOVEMENT????!?!? Do you know how violent a hand movement you have to make to create blurs in broad daylight on a digital camera set to automatic?! You can be in the midsts of an epileptic fit and still fire off a few steady frames. You can literally throw your camera across a street and capture several crisp images of oncoming traffic. This person was obviously a functional retard.

It's like he just randomly pressed the shutter release at an arbitrary point in the arc that his arm made on it's way up to his face to take a normal picture, like a normal human being. He didn't even care enough to make sure I was completely in the frame, I guess just my left ear, half a nostril, and an eyebrow was enough to identify me. The maddening thing was that this creten inspected the image before handing back the camera and decided that it was an adequate interpretation of what I asked him to do: take a picture of me in front of this building.

Yes. That is in fact my ear, my half-nostril, my eyebrow, and a few whiffs of my hair in front of what vaguely appears to be some sort of significant building. Good job, sir, you have served me well. Now crawl back under the detritous from which you came, you snail, you pond scum, you evolutionary leap backwards.

Unfortunately, I cannot post this miracle of modern photography in this blog for reasons that defy any sort of rational logic. Here, then, is my own artistic recreation of the photo:



Photography: capturing memories to last a life time.



Resume of Ridiculousness: The Beer Store

One day when I was 13 my stepdad "surprised" me with a job offer to go work at a local beverage center where he often stopped to get coffee in the mornings. I jumped at the opportunity to earn cash off the books, after school mostly and on weekend mornings.

I'd never actually stepped foot inside this place and learned on my first day that, holy crap, they sold a crazy assortment of beers!! Beers from all over the world!!!! And, Kegs! Kegs of beer!!!! Here I was, 13, staring at a wall of beers, most of which I'd never heard of before: Grolsch, Red Stripe, Lowenbrau, St. Pauli Girl (honk honk), etc, etc.

Honk honk!

I also ran a redemption center - various bag ladies and vagrants would turn in empties for cash, at 5 cents a pop. The smell was magnificent. Like hot, sweet vomit.

After a few weeks I worked up the courage to start stealing beer to bring out with me and friends. I basically would come in after school with an empty backpack, and then leave with a six pack or two, or several 40s. Delicious and nutritious!

The owners were an older couple, total weirdos. The man had ridiculously long hair that he kept pinned up in various styles - like a woman. He also had boobs, and wore a mustache. The woman was some new-age freakshow, smelled like patchouli and kept crystals all over the place. They creeped me out at first, but they were good people more or less.

One day I didn't feel like working there any more for some reason. I stopped showing up, never called Mustache Man-Boobs or the Hippie Lady. I never heard from them about it either. My parents never asked me about it.

Randomly quitting a job with out any sort of justification or without letting anyone know became a tradition of mine. Haha.

Resume of Ridiculousness

When I tell people I've had over 50 different jobs they often look at me like I have a goiter. They're kind of disgusted, but intrigued, and would probably poke me with a stick if they had a stick. So, here's a stick, poke away you fiends.

Like I said, I've had a lot of different jobs, all of which were hilarious/humiliating in some way. It might take me a while to list them all here. Look for updates randomly...

The Paperboy

When I was about 12 years old I moved from Brooklyn to Staten Island for some reason. I was totally heartbroken - I lost all my friends, and access to good pizza. Soon enough though, I got accustomed to this new life in Staten Island, this life in "suburbia". I made new friends. One of these new friends offered me a job helping him with a paper route. My first job ever. Huzzah.

Initially I only helped him on Sundays. The Sunday edition would be thrown from the back of a moving truck either directly at us while we stood there waiting, or at some immovable object somewhere in the neighborhood. Every Sunday we would go looking for this secret stash of newspapers if we missed the delivery.

The giant stacks of papers were never in the same spot. One day they would be gently stacked against a particular tree. Another day they would be hurled halfway to the shoreline or positioned strategically in the middle of mud puddles for some reason. Where ever they were, it was our job at 5am every Sunday morning to find them, haul them back to the garage, put them together, and deliver them to the loyal Staten Island Advance subscribers on our route.

Somehow my buddy commandeered a shopping cart to aid us in this endeavour. I still, to this day, have no idea where or how he got this thing,  he refuses to tell me even after almost twenty years later. I have no idea why he is so secretive about the origin of this shopping cart. Did he pry it from the cold, dead fingers of some vagrant he found decomposing in the marsh? Did he trade his virginity to the local supermarket manager in exchange for a shiny new shopping cart?! Frankly, after so long, I'm growing bored of this mystery.

Anyway, hauling these gigantic stacks of newspapers back to our garage was a chore in and of itself even with the shopping cart. Those bitches were heavy as hell, and usually covered in plastic, which was inturn covered in one or more of the following: mud, water, dog/animal urine, unidentified liquids.

We had about 200 houses on our route, all within the confines of the Captain's Quarter's townhome community. We'd finish around 10am, after which he would hand me a twenty dollar bill, and we would immediately ride our bikes to the shopping center, and spend all our money on comics and chicken parm heros.

Eventually my buddy, who was two years older than me, got a real job and I took over the route alone. Now I had to deliver papers 7 days a week. On days I couldn't deliver the papers, one of the other kids in the neighborhood would do it for ten bucks a day.

I never really made any money after my friend gave me the route. I'm not sure how he made money doing this. Most people would "tip" at the end of the week when I would come around to collect their subscription payments. The tip would often be words of encouragement or warnings to keep the newspaper out of the rain. Rarely would it actually be money. Cheap bastards. I think I made two dollars one week.

Finally I had enough, and one day I just stopped delivering the papers. I didn't call the regional manager to let him know. I left huge piles of newspapers to rot on the street corners for weeks. I remember watching the piles grow as I commuted to school. 

No, really.

I never heard anything about it, never got a call. I have no idea what happened to all of those papers or who took over the route and after literally a few days, I forgot I ever had this job in the first place.

Nuisance Log Part 3 - Warm Brown Water

I love coffee. I mean, I freaking love coffee, can't go a day without it. I drink it usually first thing in the morning after getting dressed. If I don't get it first thing in the morning or reasonably thereafter my day is ruined beyond repair, and all hell will most certainly spill forth upon this earth.

Usually I make my own coffee at home, carefully, lovingly, using the finest beans I can afford, measuring precisely, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar. Sometimes hazelnut flavored cream is incorporated for a subtle note of praline nuttiness. The end result is a thick, dark, fragrant, hot mug of deliciousness. Guaranteed to jump start your day, like a pleasant, rich, sweet slap-in-the-face.

Sometimes I travel, which removes me from my home coffee laboratory. I am left to crawl begging and desperate from my hotel room to the nearest coffee shop, praying that what they have to offer will be a quality substitute. I prefer a local coffee shop over a Starbucks any day simply because of the consistent quality of the java from these establishments. Starbucks tends to burn their coffee, and it all tastes vaguely of kerosene for some reason.

Sometimes there are no coffee shops nearby. I will steadfastly scour the area looking for one, sometimes driving miles out of my way, enduring traffic jams, hostile neighborhoods, packs of wild animals. Dunkin Donuts is often my sanctuary in the cataclysmic zoo that is the American cityscape. There seems to be a Dunkin Donuts in every city I visit, and more often than not there are several of them strategically scattered around. Their coffee is always fresh, even at 3am on a Tuesday. Not very strong, but there is nothing like a "large hazelnut with cream and sugar."

Sometimes I spend an hour driving around looking for a coffee shop or a Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts only to have my spirits crushed and my plans cancelled. At this point I will resort to emergency tactics, which often bring me to the first gas station I see. This is the beginning of the end.

I frantically burst into the gas station market, and there, floating like a steaming oasis in the middle of the floor are various pots of coffee. My initial reaction is always the same: salvation at last! I rush over, knocking people out of the way, hockey-checking the rotating sunglasses kiosk, diving for that little styrofoam cup of morning sunshine. Panic stricken, I pour that black gold into my cup, find the piss-warm cream bottle laying on its side and dispense a generous dollop, and shovel in several scoops of sugar.

I pay the man.

I get back in my car.

I let the scalding coffee cool off for a few minutes.

Finally, after what seems like eons, I take a sip.

Warm brown french vanilla flavored water.

I toss the abomination out my car window aiming for the bus shelter full of commuters, vengeance in my eyes, an audible growl on my lips. I head back to the hotel at mach 4, breaking all known traffic laws, hurling obscenities at anything within earshot: people, animals, children, religious leaders, veterans of foreign wars, orange traffic cones, more commuters in bus shelters, etc.

I collapse in a heap of myself on the floor of my hotel room, broken, crestfallen, reaching to the ceiling with a claw-like hand. I manage to drag myself to the window, and there, shining like a beacon of victory, next to "Pams Flapjack Palace" a sign: "House of Java," behind the hotel on the street I didn't notice before.

So Much Fun

We recently found a letter from a child named Porry Din, or Perry Dun, or something illegible, addressed to someone named "Joe". After several minutes spent reading this letter outloud and laughing uncontrollably I decided to tackle the logic behind the letter. First, since I can't for some reason upload an image of the actual letter from this computer, here is a word-for-word reproduction.

Dear JOE,

Hi I am 9 years oldI like living in aparmes it is so fun. I like playing outside so much because it is so fun. I like playing outside with friends. It is so fun playing with friends friends are so fun to have arownd because it is so fun. I like playing outside with friends.

                           by perny duo (?!?!)

So, apparently:

1. Porry likes living in Aparmes. (Apartments? Parmesans?)

2. Aparmes are so fun to him.

3. Porry also likes playing outside, which is, again, so fun.

4. He continues by saying that playing with friends is so fun.

5. Elaborating on this idea, he assures us that friends are so fun to have around because, cryptically, it is so fun.

Thus:

• if Aparmes are so fun,
• playing outside is so fun, and
• playing with FRIENDS outside is so fun, then logically
• playing with friends in general is so fun.      

We can also imply that playing WITH Aparmes is so fun, however, what exactly is an Aparmes?! Here are some suggestions:

• Apartments, since he lives in one.
• A chicken or eggplant parmesan sandwich, which I would happily live inside of.
• A permy: maybe someone addicted to getting their hair permed?
• A derogatory term for people from Parma, Italy. 
• A mythological Greco-Roman god, possibly of chicken parmesan sandwiches.                  

In the end we are left questioning the effectiveness of the American education system, and laughing spastically at an adorably hilarious and ridiculous 9 year old. I wonder if he spends his days sorting things into two neat little lists: what is so much fun and what is not so much fun. I would like to see his "what is not so much fun" list. Inferring his tastes and mirroring his style, I believe it would look something like this:

Dear DAVE,

Hi I am 9 years oldI hate living in Newurk it is not so much fun. I hate playing inside so much because it is not so fun. I hate playing inside with kitchen utensils. It is not so fun playing with kitchen utensils kitchen utensils are not so fun to have arownd because it is not so fun. I hate playing inside with kitchen utensils.

                             by Parry Dur

Flying Banana, Salamander Slide Show, Office Tent, Ghostbusters!!

I'm really bored at work right now. I'm looking around the room, and everyone I work with seems pretty bored too. It's 11pm, we're all really tired, and it's generally really slow. We've run out of conversation for the night.

I keep thinking of ways to interact with these people. Most of my ideas are terrible, and I would probably become a social outcast if I actually attempted any of this. Here are my ideas:

1) There is a large bunch of over-ripe bananas on my desk for some reason. I have no idea where these came from, or if anyone is going to eat them. Kristen is sitting directly across the room from me, staring off into space. Something inside my brain is telling me to heave one of these smushy bananas at her, immediately, and with terrific force.

2) Someone I don't know is sitting at our conference table watching ESPN. I am tempted to sit across from him at the table and begin an impromptu "meeting". He's been sitting there for hours now, in silence. I think I have time to prepare a Powerpoint slide show on something ridiculous, like the ecology of salamanders living in the Pacific Northwest. I will have handouts, and afterwards, I will ask for his input. I will limit my presentation to 20 minutes. I will keep a straight face throughout, and repeatedly make clear to him the importance of this information.

3) We have a large tent stashed in the back room for some reason. This sucker is HUGE, military grade, holds like 15 people or something like that. I want to set this bitch up right here in the office, then climb in, take a nap.

4) I want to start singing the Ghostbusters theme song, loudly, in its entirety, even the creepy weirdo lyrics that no one remembers.

I won't actually do any of these things because it is time for dinner.

Someone took the bananas off my desk while I was in the bathroom, which is pretty strange because it was an unnecessarily large bunch of over-ripe bananas and now they are missing.

Nuisance Log Part 2 - I Hate Wires and String

I haven't added to the Nuisance Log since December of last year for some reason. Honestly, there was so much that bothered me that I felt a better way to deal with it all was to go totally ape-shit, throw things violently at walls, curse a lot, and, as usual, shake my fist at the heavens. The last thing I wanted to do was find some creative outlet for my emotions, like a blog or something - there was a dire need for some unbridled outward pouring of anger, mostly directed towards inanimate objects (because I don't hurt animals, and fighting people would send me to jail).

And here I am, returning finally to this Nuisance Log with the long-awaited Part 2. My subject this time around is my supreme hatred of wires, string, yarn, and all things that get knotted and tangled. It totally drives me berzerk.

The other day I was in a passenger terminal at an airport waiting for my flight. The flight was delayed for several hours, so I was all ready pissed off that I had to spend the afternoon sitting in a smelly passenger terminal. I pulled my iPod out to listen to some tunes only to find that the whole iPod/headphone assembly had congealed into a tangled mess of wires, velcro, and strings.

I had stowed everything neatly and methodically the night before to avoid this situation. I positioned all of my wires and electronics and stringed things in such a way as to avoid other wires and stringed things. I carried my bag lovingly, delicately, like a birthday cake fresh from the bakery, to avoid any jostling of its contents.

Apparently, none of these precautions were of any use whatsoever. I might as well have just tossed everything in there haphazardly and started doing spastic jumping jacks.

The inside of my backpack must have gone through a cyclone or something - everything had come undone and knotted around everything else in my bag. My headphones were wrapped and knotted around themselves and my toiletry bag; the iPod armband had unvelcroed itself and reattached somehow to a pair of socks; my laptop charger was also knotted around itself several times, and the whole mess of wires was intertwined in an intricate, shitty dance of wires, velcro, string, yarn, and shoelaces somehow. Shoelaces?!

In a fit of pure, scarlet rage I yanked everything out of there. It was all balled up, so everthing emptied out onto the terminal floor with one good pull. I spent about twenty seconds trying to untangle the mess before I got frustrated to the point of no return to sanity. My next step was to reach for my trusty Gerber multitool with the wire-clipping attachment. Yup, time to say goodby to my fancy Bose headphones, the shoelaces that magically appeared in my bag (I swear I didn't pack any spare shoelaces), and that lone-wolf sock that just didn't jive with the others in my checked bag and had to be sequestered in my carry-on.

I started snipping away, giggling, on the floor of the passenger terminal. I reduced my Bose headphones to a neat pile of tiny wire fragments, the shoelaces became nothing more than a pleasant mound of fuzz, the sock was mutilated beyond recognition. I sat on the floor admiring my destruction. I had effectively lightened my load, relieved all stress, and inched ever closer to becoming a full-time mental patient.

Movie Review: Cloverfield

I had no idea what to expect with this movie. I knew it was mostly shot with a hand-held camera, and I was kind of wary of this. However, the movie plays out so naturally that I was visibly shaking from all the action and afterward I noticed I had chewed all my fingernails. Apart from practically giving me an anxiety attack, this movie satisfied my urgent craving for a good action movie and scared the crap out of me for some reason. I still can't figure out what was so terrifying about this movie - maybe it's the utter realism, the fact that once again my hometown is destroyed, or my innate fear of giant, slobbering reptile-like space mutants.

J.J. Abrams really has a penchant for subtlety and mysterious material - this movie leaves a lot of questions for the viewer. Rather than tell the story from some vague perspective up in the sky or something, we are right there on the ground with the "common folk", piecing things together for ourselves. We don't know why things are happening, we barely even see what is causing all the mayhem until the very end of the movie.

Good movie, if you like movies where stuff blows up, people die, and lots is left for the imagination, this is for you.

Cloverfield - IMDb

Movie Review: The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

You would think a movie about Jesse James would be full of action, drama, suspense, violence. Think again. This movie offers very little to Western fans. There are moments where some stuff explodes, but somehow this movie removes the fun from these scenes - instead of "Kablooeey!!", you get "boom, fizzle, whimper". Most of the movie revolves around watching Casey Afleck's character Robert Ford stare blankly out of a dirty window. Unless you have endless patience and an extreme thirst for subdued, whispering dialogue skip this movie. Maybe I need to watch it again? Meh, too long and boring. I gotta say, the cinematography is great, the film is artfully captured.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford - IMDb

Movie Review: Blazing Saddles

If you don't laugh out loud during the entirety of this film, there is something wrong with you and you need to have your mental health evaluated immediately. I only write this because I care about you.

This is by far, in my opinion, Mel Brooks' best work, incorporating all of his usual deft with slapstick and nonsense, mixing in a little social commentary, and of course, some amazing song and dance routines.

The plot runs something like this: a shady politico and his cohorts plan to destroy the town of Rockridge in order to make room for a new railroad line. The town is in need of a new sheriff, and in an attempt to quicken the destruction of the town, the corrupt politician appoints a...wait for it...black sheriff!! The sheriff turns out to be more than awesome at his job, eventually foiling the evil plot, saving the town, and riding off into the sunset in a limo.

I've heard some people say that this movie is "slow" - this is ridiculous. There are scenes that seem to drag a bit, but this is done on purpose: listen to the dialogue during these scenes, it's freaking hilarious. If you find any part of this movie boring, it's because you, in fact, are boring. Simple and boring. I've literally changed my opinion of people based on their reaction to this movie. Seems shallow, I know, but this is serious business here. Shnitzengruben!! Hahaha.

This is also one of those films that you can return to and find new things that you missed during previous viewings. There is a lot of subtle humor in this film; there is also a lot of not-so-subtle humor in this film.

To me, some of the funniest scenes are towards the end with an outrageous song-and-dance number and a  great food fight. Also, look out for tons of classic lines, like "Badges? We don't need no stinkin badges!", "Hey, where the white women at?", and so forth.

And remember, "Mongo only pawn in game of life."

Blazing Saddles - IMDb

Movie Review: Memoirs of a Geisha

When the book a film is based on has better imagery than the film, you know you have problems. This movie was like a crappy soap opera, with poor dialogue, stuffy actors, cheesy close-ups... I didn't enjoy the pace of the film either - it tries to follow the events of the book very closely, while maintaining the 2 1/2 hour length. This makes the movie seem to jump from one event to the next with poor transition and a lot left for the viewer to piece together from shaky dialogue. Some of the sets were really well done, as were the costumes, but there just wasn't enough of either. Read the book, skip the movie, unless you catch it on tv or something.

Memoirs of a Geisha - IMDb

Movie Review: The Station Agent

Just about everyone calls this a "quiet" film. I guess there isn't a lot of dialogue, few car chases (there is one, kind of) or explosions, hence, it is a "quiet" film. There is a nice contrast between the introverted main character and Joe, the loud-mouthed snack truck guy. The female lead, Olivia, doesn't seem to fit in once the movie gets going - in fact, her entire presence in the film is a downer and I didn't particularly care for the actress all that much. Several other characters wade seamlessly in and out of scenes, the setting is very interesting, the story is intriguing...over all, a nice movie to watch on a crappy day when there is nothing else to do.

The Station Agent - IMDb

Movie Review: Helvetica

This was interesting at first, especially learning just how prolific Helvetica is in everyday life. After about half an hour, though, it's just more of the same. I guess if you're into graphic design or have a fascination with advertising you will thoroughly enjoy this documentary. I really had a hard time focusing on this one because I don't have any interest in either. The people interviewed are interesting and have a strange passion for fonts, which again, is over my head. Definitely worth a viewing, though it drags on after about half an hour.

Helvetica - IMDb

Movie Review: Let The Right One In

This is one of the best vampire flicks I've ever seen. Subtle, simple, heart warming (believe it or not) - It plays out more like a fable than a horror movie. A quiet film that you will have to rewind at certain key parts to fully grasp the scene. Oscar and Eli are a unique pair, and their relationship is bizarre and beautiful to say the least, a bit awkward at times, like all childhood relationships I guess. 

I watched this in the dubbed-over english rather than having to endure subtitles - not bad, some of the voice-over work is weird: some characters don't exactly fit the english voices matched to them. I wish there was more expansion on the setting, we don't get to see much of where the action is taking place aside from tight shots of buildings, streets, the school, and wooded areas.

The movie builds up to a shocking climax which, although we see coming from the beginning of the film, will undoubtedly leave you pressing the rewind button again and again.

Let The Right One In - IMDb

Movie Review: Brüno

Definitely does not live up to the hype generated by the previous film based on a Sacha Baron Cohen movie, Borat. Still, Brüno is worth seeing, especially with a group of people that share a similar warped sense of humor. Some scenes are absolutely ridiculous. I definitely laughed out-loud several times which is rare for me... I think the gay stuff was waaaay over the top, but looking back that's kind of what makes it so funny. It's that cringe factor that makes this movie so appealing. It's too short though...i really wanted at least another half hour of this ridiculous film.

Brüno - IMDb

Movie Review: Where the Wild Things Are

I have never read the famous children's book, but was familiar enough with it to have an interest in seeing this film. I also heard that Karen O. from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs did the soundtrack, and she rocks - the soundtrack was awesome, unique. The film, however, was a mishmash of psychological metaphors and deliberations on the meaning of childhood. I didn't understand the conflicts, I didn't understand most of the characters.

I will say the film is unique from a design perspective. The monsters are a one-of-a-kind creation and they look amazingly realistic...to the point where you forget that they are fake, essentially just giant muppets. Some of the cinematography is incredibly well shot. All in all, though, the movie keeps the viewer out of the story. We learn very little about the events that transpire, and as the credits rolled I hurried to turn the film off and buy the soundtrack off of iTunes.

Where the Wild Things Are - IMDb