new story of the exploits on how to make a television show...

Kids' show to be more specific. Oh, it's a good one, with thrills, chills, and many other adjectives that rhyme with those to words. The cast of characters is expanded, including a mayor of a prominent midwest city. Oh, how it will read, once I get the ridiculous thing thought out in my work riddled mind. In the meantime I intend to wait impatiently for different types of visual, and audio stimulation to surround me, much like my goddaughters might. ciao.

where are the cool people, and how do I get in on that?

You know how in life there are people whose lives have seem to just flowed together in one epic movie of a life complete with love,laughs,adventure, and financial stability. I know, I know you say it sounds impossible, and the stuff of fantastic dreams, like Loch Ness or Bigfoot. These are the type of individuals that others talk about, or say "Man, that (name insert). Did you hear what he's up to as of recent. Walked in a multi-million dollar tech deal, and is now taking a break in between money stacks to vacation in Aspen, cause he's bored of the beaches of Bermuda." I think that being almost thirty my time to achieve this image has passed, not only because of my location in the country and employment opportunities, not to mention the few contacts of worth I have. But, the real reason is that too many people already know me in my present incarnation, and to undo that and be seen as something different would be too difficult, and many would just call me a phoney, a fraud, a sell-out. I'd in turn have to just kill all those that once knew and build anew. But, this in itself would deal with thousands thanks to high school, college, and various jobs. And that would be seen as improper in today's world, maybe different a couple hundered years ago. So I guess the solution is to just find those many times less cooler than me that will be amazed with my lifestyle. Yeah, that's the ticket, a sure ego boost.

300 and what it means for your weekend...

Saw a late showing of the new 'Gladiator/Rome/Sin City...to...the...MAX' film '300' Tuesday night. Films like this are funny on several levels, course I can only speak of a few of those basically because I'm lazy, and don't have the time to think to seriously on them. Films of this nature are mainly geared to men, and all men at that. From the comic book-fantasy clad high schools rejects to the muscle bound, ex high school football players future U.S. marine officers. While some simply love the violence, and blood lust, seeing themselves as hard as the fictional Spartans portrayed on the screen, others want loyal adaptations to graphic novels they've read and brought to life in their minds. But, the side I think is instilled with many is the unity and noblity characterized by the doomed 300 warriors. In an America split by war, a lower and upper class divide, and a lust for Hollywood stardom and money, many long for a simple driven life style. A life style that is about family, the protection of one's freedom and way of life, and the ability to do anything, ANYTHING to carry on a certain people's heritage. In a country that is in lack of leadership, we want a King Leodias(sp.) to follow in to the gates of Hades itself if needed, and want to fight to death no matter how painful it is on the way to its finality. We want the scars, and punctures that come along the way, and the sterness followed by hearty laughs as we look at fellow comrades at the fallen dead of the wicked around us. This is a film of yearning, and dreaming of a life that will never be in our soft pink lives, and fluffy pathed futures. This will and desire will carry on, at least until Friday when a new wave of feature films, with different paths of thought opens at a theater near you.

into the land of fantasy and sun...

Vacation has come, and let the money letting begin. Most of Florida will more than likely bleed me out financially for a while, but the escape from everyday life is most needed. I'm hoping for a smooth ride with my girlfriend, twelve hour car rides with your signfigant other can be taxing on any relationship. So a dirty martini toast to good times, and the forgeting of hard work. The hard work that will always be there for the return, and with avengence. To you, and yours, may I not die in the process.

pointless post noted.

kind of tired of that drawn out story....

I'm getting ready for vacation, and hoping that along with a good time, stories abound will come of it. Just the fact that I'm driving through the south of Arkansas, Albama, and Mississippi should be enough to fulfill that goal. So up and away, or is it down and below?

into the bowels of the buffet/eatery....

So, the Maverick Steakhouse is like a Ponderosa/Bonanza resturant, and taken back just a few steps. Lots of wood panels, rough and coarse, the type you didn't want to rub up next to with the fear of getting a splinter. Through the cattlelike line bordered by wooden railings we reached the faded yellow menu sign with the "oh so good" looking "yum-yums". That's me being insincere, if you didn't guess. So after approaching the register with a steak displayed in front that looked like it had been there all day, we ordered. Halice was kind enough to offer anything I wished on the before menu. I decided I'd order the best steak I could find, thinking it would be equal to the worst steak you might find at any normal steakhouse. After ordering the filet mignon, she handed us to additional oval plates. Halice asked want they were for, and she said the buffet. So, in addition to an entree, there was a buffet added on, huh. Halice went on to ask about the status of the steak sitting in front of the register, in which she said it had probably been there for a couple days, yummy. So it was on to pick a table. I was hoping for something in the back out of the way and out of any site, thinking that if there happened to be a single soul in this one and a half horse they wouldn't notice me. Halice of course sat us to the closest table to plump surrounded buffet set up.

toyfair ny '07.....

I really want to talk about this, and some of the offerings coming out this year. I'm a huge lover of toys, and really holding onto my childhood (to the dismay of my girlfriend, if you listen closely you can hear her sigh in the background). Star Wars, DC Superheroes, Batman, Justice League Unlimited, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles all have stuff meant to make me spend my money on. More later...

i'll drive if food is on the menu...

it was only an hour and a half back to the St. Louis area, and it was going to be a long ninety minutes. Or maybe my blood sugar was just getting low. It was evident from the looks of my travelling partner, Halice, that he was riding high on a mixture of pilot creation goodness, and the remains of two doses of insulin coursing through his thick veins. Halice is a big man, large, plump, fat, and it was no surprise when he was first to mention stopping for some chow and grub. Little did I know that grub/chow was going to be the most accurate description of were we would be dining this fine Friday night. About half way through we stopped at the most promising exit for food and resturant choices. Halice being the captain of the whole adventure was of course the one to choose where he was going to us both to dinner. He chose "The Maverick Steakhouse" as he asked "You like steak right?". Course steak was not really what I thought upon pulling into the crowded parking lot. This was not the place for a quality choice of beef, and it was evident that the one horse town we were in didn't particularly care. It was date night for the people of middle Illinois.

whadda ya think, whadda ya think...

It didn't take long for Stretch to get on board. Much like Deano it was clear that he was up for any sort of work, so much that I don't think he really listened to the idea and what was in mind for the project. He just seemed to nod, and listen to individual parts that might make any response he made worth a damn. But, more importantly it was a trip to his basement, trophy room, braggards' den. There among photos of himself and achievements it became clear what type of man he was. Unlike Deano, Stretch had more photos of memories, rather than star power and trinkets to show what an impressive place he was and had been through life. There among various Paramount Picture retirement and achievement awards and gifts were photos of Stretch with the people he had worked with, and not movie stars or big named/ recognizable faces, but rather the behind the scenes guys. You could catch his smiling face in the crowds of set builders all posed for a group shot. I started to interject with ideas of what the vision of the t.v. pilot's set should look like, and Stretch saw the vision pretty quickly. This was nothing new for him, and I wasn't going to present him with a challenge. I thought the look of the Jungle Cruise at Disneyworld's Magic Kingdom covered all the bases. Just as quickly as we had entered the basement, we were on our way out. Stretch's wife was looming and it was evident we had stalled our time, and they were going to be late for more pressing engagements. As we walked out the front door she commented on how next time she would cook for us. Being a single 29 year old (girlfriend aside, sorry hun) I'm always up for the free meal no matter where it's coming from, probably be the death of me. But I would at least hope the poisoned feast would let me kick off with a belly full smile on my face. Not horrified like I'd just eaten bad beets or some other root vegetable. As we walked down the driveway back to Halice's SUV, business card trading done, and hobnobbing in the past Minus, our fearful writer trailed behind the way to his early ninties Camero. All the way pandering to Halice that he would email and keep in contact. I unfortunately, or fortunately, had already sabotaged his hopes of work on the project. The keys were handed off to me as Halice turned back to Deano to give the obligatory "I'll give you a call within the week". We left mid evening, and just in time I was getting hungry for dinner, but as I would learn, this yerning too could be a curse....

there's got to be a shorter route...

I don't know what it was. Whether Deano wanted to show us the absolute blandness of his hometown of Springfield, IL or if he was showing some bravado as to how unaffected by gas prices were, and be damned to them. Needless to say the route across town to the set designers house was a lengthy one, and this town was flat and the absolute definition of suburbia. Upon reaching our destination, me driving with my slowing sinking friend next to me (beer and insulin, I could have told was not a good idea), proceeded into this equally upper middle class home. It was uncanny. You would think that as members of the same faternal film making society that these guys had made a pact to all live in similar homes. Course I didn't see were the writer was living, more than likely a shanty on the wrong side of the tracks that's only contents were a rusty 1980s typewriter and an inflatable mattress with unwashed sheets wrapped around it. The similarity of Deano and this new guy's house brought to my mind the thought that maybe the only was to successfully work together, these fellows had to be on the same page not only creatively, but also lifestyle-wise. If one was better off looking than the other there could be decention in the creative ranks. Or so this is what popped into my head. The house belonged to a tall well quaffed black fellow who wore a sweater much like Cliff Huxtable might and his wife equally as glamorous wore a sparkle ridded dress much like the episode of the Cosby Show where Claire wanted to lose weight to fit into her dream dress to go to some fancy well-to-do party. They were both on their way out when we arrived, they too were off to some elegant get together. Pretty ironic really. He was about 6' 2", and you could tell that in his early days he was a lanky guy, probably had a nickname, "Stretch", or at least was called a "tall drink of water" once or twice. Stretch was more subdued and a more intrigueing and truthworth personality than Deano, and it was clear that even though they both lived in similar homes, Stretch had done much better financially. He walked us down to his basement, another show place to be sure, complete with full bar, and instead of signed photos and posters he had awards and plaques that comemorated his past ventures and deeds in the movie industry. He was a sentimental guy much more than a braggert as Deano had come off. The writer as I had learned followed behind, and Stretch looked not to be very impressed with him either as it looked like they had had past dealings, and more than likely Stretch had been begged to by the wormy little typer. So started the second presentation...

enough of this meeting stuff...

Deano was one definitely not one to walk about and flirt in a meeting scenario. After money was mentioned it was time to "blow" the joint. It was up and out of the basement, but not before a quick trip to the restroom where Deano's son's 6 year old daughter barged in on me while I was doing what had to be done in the confines of a bathroom enviroment. That was a great addition to an already weird day. Most would have at this point had a panic attack. Needless to say I was eager to leave Deano's house, and get back to the St. Louis area. As I stumbled up the basement stairs to the condo style living room and equally stale kitchen halice made his way to the fridge to find a soda, more importantly a soda with sugar in it. But, no such luck so he was forced to chug down a light beer. It gets better. I watching one diabetic future kid's show host chug down a beer while at my side is a mental patient of a writer still rambling on about a script that was getting worse and worse and more boring, and boring. Deano led us into his upstairs office for a minute while he called the set director we were to meet next (another attempt that would impress Halice enough to start making the checks out payable to cash). I noticed as I stood over D's desk is there were several documents that included large, large sums of money. One was a money transfer of some sort that had a number of 14,000 dollars plus and the other was a cancelled check upwards of 4,000 dollars. This was all impressive and such, but it was quite evident that these items were set here on purpose so that nosey folks like myself would snoop and find something that would put confidence into throwing money at he and his business. As we walked to a the car a very lit Halice handed me his keys stating that the mixture of alcohol and insulin was making him a bit wonky. I figured it was useless to tell him that I thought we should find a different writer to work with.

actually the bowels of "D"....

In general the meeting went as Deano said it would, quick and to the point. But, what fun would that be leaving it at that? Deano's son, let's call him Cletus (god I love that name) galloped into the main room of the basement offices and plopped down in his appointed folding chair. Not just any folding chair but one of those canvas types, and not the studio type canvas chairs, but rather the camp fire type. To my left was this whelp of a writer, scary really. I think 'Minus' is as good a name as any for his description. So Deano slammed down the imaginary gavel of his assertiveness and the brainstorm began to shower down. Halice went into his spin, trying as best he could to remember all the layout we'd gone over in the car, and still present it with the same passion all the while saying the lines exactly as he had put them down to memory in the car two hours earlier. All the while Deano nodded with a real intensity, more of a "b.s." intensity that begin to drift the further along we got. The itch of money was starting to scrap at the back of his tongue and it was clear he would soon belch fourth his expertise laced with dollar signs and billing issues. Minus sat like a lost lump of sweatshirt, and yellow Mead notebook next to me. I can't help but think he saw me shake my head while glancing in his direction. It was to be a half hour show that was laid down on the block, and Halice did well getting his point across. I ended up interjecting here and there with details, some relivant, some just to use as an excuse exhale rather than letting out enormous sighs here and there. Cletus's stance was pretty evident as he was really the monkey to Deano's organ grinder, he more than likely would show up for the gig, but creativity and passion weren't part of his vision of a greatness in the Hollywood machine. Deano slashed his hands up with a symbol of both "I see the entire vision you put in front of my eyes", and the other half "let's break for a pee and beer". Without so much as a wink Deano was on to stating that the only way to make this thing happen would be to go all the way and make a pilot. He was a big thinker and didn't even soften up to his grand idea, it was Hollywood budget pilot or the damn thing wouldn't be worth doing. Apparently this had worked for him in the past, but I couldn't find a poster or signed photo on the walls around me to clarify that for me. For this pilot he, Cletus (our director-glorious leader of film), a set designer (wait for it), and Minus, poor minus could give Halice his dreams and visions for the sum of 80,000 dollars. No addition necessary, no figures given, a simple and quick sum. To think any other day and the total may have been 95,000, or maybe a better gamble at 65,000. First thing that shot through my head upon hearing his proposition was that hoped receipts would be presented in the end.

into the bowels of "B"...

Among movie posters, signed photos of various stars and lesser stars, and very random props was Deano's working studio. to the right was his photography studio, cheap streamers, and backdrops for suckers and the cheap to smile in front of. To the right of that were at least six computers all humming and beeping at the commands of a typical looking Midwestern hayseed. Deano was quick to get to the point, but not before a bit of business bravado, and the expected name dropping. John Candy was a great guy, That's the actual hat John Belushi used in the Blues Brothers, that's the gun my son carried as an extra in the 80s mini series "Amerika", the story of the U.S. being invaded and taken control of by the Soviets. Pretty obscure to say the least, I dare any of you to track that little television gem down. "Let's sit down, and get down what the project is all about", chattered out Deano, and away we were. Deano motioned for the white trashy looking fellow to detach himself from his glowing computer screens (dropped the fact that he was "editing together some film work we've put together for the Discovery Channel). He introduced us to this man as his son, and then surprised us with idea that he would be the director and direct line to Deano, as 'D's envolvement would be very minimal. Other pressing engagements I'm sure, the Jolies and Pitts of the world were desperately standing by. To my left on the basement condo style sectional was a tattered late-middle age man, life had beaten the hell out of him as it was evident by the look of his grey hair, slouched posture, and overall meakness. The was to be the writer that would be working with Halice. He was the quietess writer I'd ever met, unless you wanted to talk about the script he had been working on "Psycho Billy". It was to be a Dr. Calimarie/ American Psycho farce that included one scene titled "The Boner Dance". fantastic. And this was the guy assigned to help write a future children's television show for possible Animal Planet submission. The meeting was starting to feel like a grown up fantasy role-playing session, and I was at best the dwarven cleric, since all the other characters had been picked and squandered.

what the hell? forehead vampire?....

The man at the door's name was Dean, but he was more like a "Deano". Sliding the cellphone away from his flappy little mouth, he made a motion to his balding head and the mysterious pair of nicks and stated almost as soon as he said hello, "Sorry about the appearance. I was on the phone earlier with a call from the UK, and just found out I'd been nominated for the Academy Award equivalent in London England. Well, I just fell over and hit hard on a cabinet and gave myself a pretty good gash here." Right away I had no other thought than that the successes in this man's life had been small to say the least. He proceeded to rush us through his rather standard middle class one story house. As I pasted through a living room that looked like a cheap Florida condo (mind you one that wasn't beach front). A faux leather sectional couch surrounded the entire living room shaded by a multi-bulbed brass reading lamp. In the background against the wall was what had to be a 50+ inch t.v. with some obligatory film playing, maybe one he worked on somewhere in some non-credited copacity that I assure he had increased and exploited in his mind to something pretty impressive for his friends and family. To the right was the real profession, and money work he did, though he was sure not to point it out, still portrait photography for weddings, birthdays, barmitza's (sp.), and the list went on I'm sure. As we started to descend the stairs to the "studio" Dean was eager to get us in I was stricken with a quick fear that maybe we were to be lead to our doom. A horrible Midwestern cult would await to sacrifice us to some Hollywood God, or maybe be sold into some sort of menial slavery in the fields of Springfield and surrounding counties. Maybe this is where all the missing people of the world ended up. Instead, my fears were quickly demenished as the name dropping, and bravodo began. It was evident that my partner was immediately impressed, I was a bit overwhelmed and spinning....

too late now....

We arrived in Springfield over an hour late of the original agreed meeting time. For those who have been to Springfield, the home of both Abe and Obahma, it isn't much to look at. The town is pretty much as flat and laid out on top of the land as cake icing. I'm a skeptic by nature, and couldn't help but think that the plain-jane atmosphere of Illinois would be any good as a "Midwest Hollywood", let alone any locale in the Bible Belt. So, Halice drives us down a to a typical middle-class neighborhood, nothing to write home about or even call about. These are nice homes, stucko, and brick mainly. Of course, with the rate and exactness of the venture so far, it was no surprise that the address of this "producer's" house was not included in the directions. In what can only be called a whim of dumb-luck we guess at the house. The house with the most cars would be the only thing to actract us to an answer. You know a producer would definitely have the most cars, both for himself and all the attention and business that would done on a day to day basis. If we were more attentive upon walking up to the front door was Deano's self-stamped director's/set folding chair placed carefully at a forty-five degree angle on the front stoop. With Halice's blind excitement, the door was opened without barely a doorbell chime. What stood in front of us was a plump, soft man complete with a charicature comb-over, squared off eyeglasses, a cellphone tightly attached to his right ear, and a pair of small cuts on his forehead....

still wanna go pt.2....

My buddy, Halice, is a skiddish and sometimes riddilin prone personality. So it wasn't a surprise he was over an hour late for the trip out. When he did arrive it was evident we weren't going to make the meeting that was in forty-five minutes that was to be at the end of an hour and half drive to Springfield, IL. So after a unplanned stop for gas and convenience store deli sandwiches (lunch of eboli champs all over the world), and a fantastic surprise break for diabetic insulin, we were off. Let me tell you Halice get's some cell phone calls. Business mainly. Money being thrown everywhere, various buildings, realstate, hell probably food franchises as far as I know. The ride was like Dr. Gonzo, and the great Samoan lawyer riding across the Californian desert into the promise land of glitz and fortune. I would like to think I was the Thompson of the two. Half way up a notepad is thrown my way, and talk of what the plans of the television show in works, and the reason for the trip were to be put down on paper and with about a half hour to spare. I can't help but think this isn't possibly how all t.v. shows are planned out, especially kids' shows. So the brainfarts were a whafting through the air, and down upon yellow pages of Mead. We were getting close, and soon the real meat of the story woould show.....

wanna go to the home of Lincoln?

So, through my various ventures and business dealings you hope to have some successes, because the losses are usually a majority. In return you hope for some good stories at least to bide the time and cloak your failures to friends and family. So a business partner of mine (more of an employer, but who wants to be the lacky and admit it) is seriously and determined to turn his career and person into a marketable idea with all the entertainment value, and merchandising that goes along with it. He is a rollie pollie type of guy with good intentions, and a mind that is always in forward motion. Most would really resent such a drive, and just being around his energy can be exhausting, but amusing just the same. I had know about this trip for a week or so, and was not so much looking forward to the outing, but rather a little nervous, and anxiety ridden, hoping to get it over and done with. Even now there's a fizzing and buzzing in my stomach about the whole ordeal. Thoughts of would we really be going at all, or will this accomplish anything, will the meetings with our expectant group be a real pathway to the future, or just lip service. As you'll soon see it became a little of both. For entertainment value I'll call my friend/boss, Halice, this describes him pretty much in form and nature. Halice is an older name, and has a non-threatening gleam about it. Halice is well to do, but with many of that nature is a bit unappreciative of his standing, and a bit reckless with his lifestyle. Maybe comfort can lead to thrill-seeking, not of the "stunt" variety, but rather the little knicks and knacks of life. So I arrived to his office to begin the day-long trek.....

lotto madness, and despair...

So the 254 million dollar powerball winning ticket was picked at a supermarket about twenty-five minutes from my house. There was a feverpitch around town this morning as it was confirmed that the ticket was somewhere in Missouri, and then later in EASTERN Missouri, and finally the supermarket of mention. It's amazing what the lottery does with a winning sum of that much. Everyone begins their ridiculous fantasies, and more over everyone thinks that they are the special chosen one to win. I fall in the same category, but nothing sobers you like not being chosen for something so unbelievable. I think the lottery is alot like life in many ways. Everyone believes they are special, and capible of going beyond their daily lives, but in reality 99% of us are just plain jane, and will never experience true wonder and stardom on any level. Oh, we'll have them in small spurts and spits here and there, but nothing that is so life changing. The lottery and Hollywood really go hand and hand. The haves and have nots. The American Idols, and NBA basketball players, and sports players of all. Many will never know anything more than that of what they have now, and others will fly high, and look down upon us with greed and smugness. So maybe the real trick is to think that if a tremendous change of what we may think would be great great great would change us into something we and our friends and families would not prefer. We'd be soured. Just like I would like to think that many would read my prattle sprayed out on this blog, I know that I'll be lucky to catch the attention of one. So carry on America, and count your pennies and blessings, take stock, and be grateful with what surrounds you, changes of GREATNESS are as rare as one of those flying monkeys from the Wiz of Oz flying into your bedroom to serve you tea and crumpets.

most depressing day of the year....

So, supposedly today, January 22 2007, is the most depressing day of the year. This was posted by MSN.com today. I don't know if I agree, but I won't argue it, which makes my posting fairly pointless today. I will say that there are plenty of other days in the year that prove to be the most depressing to me, some increasingly more than others. My fear is that the depressing days of 2007 have yet to rear their ugly heads yet. I mean the real downers. For me, I hope that this is untrue. I've done enough pondering and depressed over enough anxiety for ten lifetimes. It's a talent. So off we go folks on to the 23rd which I'm will be much better, at least in MSN standards.

nastier, and nastier....

Well, my favorite trio of American Idol bandidos kept it up again last night, and at the expensive of every damn person who wandered in to impress (or as it is umimpress) the judges. Calling some poor boy a "bush baby", which really sounded rather racist. I can only imagine the backlash we'd have today if it were an African American he (Simon) said that to. It's becoming more and more evident that Paula Abdul is a drunk or afflicted with some other type of controlled substance as it were. This I hope gets in the forefront more as the season continues. There is nothing better to me in the world than watching a celebrity, or other rich, public figure destroy themselves in front of the American public. I love the idea that someone who is so financially and so famously well-off can just wipe it all away with dumb moves and brainless decisions. It's even better when one of these fools does themselves in, and we the adoring populace is supposed to morn and really review what a benefit these said persons were to our lives. So in the meantime, continue P, S, & R (my little American Idol royals) badgering and smashing the average guy, and when the curb-kicking of your lifestyle, and bad attitudes finally catches up with you, I'll be there to sing a song as I toast a martini to you. Make it a Stag beer instead, just to keep up with the average American in me.

American Idol 2007, fine just take the wallet...

Really, how much more of this can we as a society take. If it isn't the bad singing (and I'm not just talking about the rejected contestants), it's the slowly self-destructing judging panels. Last night's premiere in Minnesota was just about as unbearable as it gets in t.v. viewing. I'm not saying this in relation to the various singers who tried and were beaten down for either not being good enough, or being (let's face it) dellusional at their own talents or there lack of. I'm talking about the treatment of humans by the television show itself. From the locked door that made failed auditions look even more pathetic to the constant sheer evilness of the judges themselves. Jewel could not have come off any worse. She seems to be a very insecure popstar who is desperately trying to look away at her fading stardom that is rapidly getting ready to go supernova, and with all luck anhilate those next to her (Simon, Paula, and the black guy, I'm talking to you). I think Simon needs a reality check in the form of a hit to his midsection with a fire hydrant or maybe a tubesock full of batteries. I really think this show is headed for a real media storm the day some poor sap who has been a fan of the show since of the beginning gets the courage to bring his/her talentless ass up in front of the cocky trio to sing what he/she thinks is talent worthy. Upon getting shot down, dragged out (maybe told that his/her talent is the perfect sum-up of how bad their hometown's talent actually is), and overall beaten by what are three hyped up bags of blood, guts, and bones, they crawl their way to the hallway to awaiting cameras where they cry, sob, and grovel to a laughing American audience. A few days later this same person is found swinging from their neck in their parents' garage, and the lawsuits begin. The best part would be the pithy comeback Simon the ungrateful Englishman would have to say, expressing that we do no wrong and are essentially above the law. He'd probably continue with the fact the parents should be thanking him for the few seconds of fame the corpse had gained thanks to A.I., maybe go as so far to request more money for print of his name and the title of the show in any legal documents. I really can't wait for this day. More than likely most of America would side with Paula, Randy, and the Englishman in how right they were in their criticisms, and that those whom fall to the same criticisms deserve to go the way of of dodo. Call it is entertainment Darwinism.

Look some facts about the Nintendo Wii....

Based upon what I'm witnessing from my roommate and his buddies, I think some things needs to be clarified about the VIRTUAL gameplay on the Nintendo Wii. If you are playing Wii Sports, and seem to be doing well at your choice sport, you are still NOT an athlete. More than likely you are not really even in that great of shape either. If you seem to be able to hold your own at Wii Sports bowling, you are not a bowler. Good at the baseball mode? Not a baseball player. You won't be taking over for any major league slugger any time soon, just because you do really well on the homerun derby option. The same with the tennis, golf, and boxing. Just because I seem to do fairly well with the sword fighting on Ubisoft's Red Steel doesn't mean that I'm going to be ready anyday now to run out into the streets and take on the first samurai I see. I'd be dead, just like many a gamer would be if they actually had to play a full doubles match of tennis in the real world. I can only hope that once Super Mario Galaxy is released I don't have a run on friends who think they're super-hero/ Italian plumbers. Whooo-hoooo, mama mia.

ice, ice, everywhere ice...

It's starting to remind me of some of the scenes from 'Children of Men' around my town, and only after a day and a half since the ice storm hit Friday night. It amazes me how quickly the breakdown of the human eliment arrives when the electricity goes down. Not to mention everything has that 'grayish' appearance much like the way 'Men's' scenes were filmed. It gets really difficult trying to be the cheerleader of your friends and family telling them how much worse things could be, but without heat I guess it's expected. So while the McDonald's, Taco Bells, and other various fastfood resturants are lined out the door for what I can only imagine is considered a "hot meal', or at least maybe a well needed happy meal just for the sake of its irony, everyone waits for their biggest enemy and hero, the Amerin UE electrician repairman. I can only imagine what these white Midwesterns would be like in a Katrina scenerio. ta.

new venom design for Spidey 3, toy actually...

At the link http://www.action-figure.com/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=20936 at one of my favorite action figure websites, action-figure.com, is the first actual pic of Spidey's arguably most dangerous villian, Venom. It's okay. I think it works for the comic look and is loyal to that degree. Maybe I'm exerting my uber-geekness, but I hope the film on-screen version is a bit more realistic, frightening. I mean really frightening. We, the audience should be as afraid of Venom as Mary Jane is. He should basically turn out to be the Darth Maul of Spiderman movies mixed with a hint of one of the creatures from the Descent. I'm really amazed with these studios allowing toy pics to be released before the actual film images. It just happened recently with the new Transformers movie. The toys always turn out a little more puny in look (as well as size, duh). I think the Transformers really deserves some attention in the world of blogging, but I don't have the strength to start. So until I get my bile really up and out of control I quite for now.

tax time, tax time, coming soon....

President Bush speaks last night about the uncoming influx of 21+ thousand soldiers that are to go to Iraq, and along with men and women goes the money to fund the future years of the war. With no end in site to this mess, the bill to this debockle goes to us the taxpayers. Oh I know what's being said at this point, WOW there's nothing new, a real brainstorm there Man-Child. But, what I have in mind is an alternative to writing out the check. Instead of paying out our money to go god knows where, we each buy a one way ticket to Baghdad. Wait for it. Upon arriving each and every American (taxpaying American) is given a gun and pointed in front of an Iraqi. It doesn't matter what Iraqi, man, woman, child, whatever, it doesn't really matter to our cause considering apparently everyone over there is a potential enemy. This plan essentially making this race of Iraqi people extinct so that we "ego superior" Americans can feel safe and secure to drive our six cylinder SUV's down twelve lanes of highway, and eat saturated fats till our hearts content, all the while knowing that our fat asses and future sons and daughters' fat asses will be able to continue leading our selfish, soulless existences well into the later days of the 21st century. I think most red-blooded Americans (especially the Midwest) would agree. So after shooting your chosen Iraqi, you are sent back (maybe a small layover, but a onflight flick and meal for sure)to the U.S. and given another year until the next tax time, but each of us knowing we did our patriotic duty getting one more possible terrorist out of the way of our "boys". Now this only works if each and every one of us pays for the flight, food(no lodging you fly round-trip, straight through), and pay for used ammo. Pointless as this sounds and as idiotic and horrible as it may come off, I don't think it's any worse than what's coming out of the White House in the past couple years, and with a huge staff to boot. At least I'm thinking outside the box.

best thing of the new year...

So, I'm gonna say it. The greatest thing 10 days into '07 is the a thing that started in last week of '06, the feud between Trump and Rosie. I don't know what it is about this idiotic news bit that gets me so giddy. It may just be the fact that two of the biggest "blowhards" of our times have decided to let their egos duke it out, and as the time goes by, the self-awareness, and mannerisms of both parties has COMPLETELY gone out the window. As of today, apparently the big Wah-Wah herself (Barbara Walters to normal folk) has sided with O'Donnell rather than with Trump, as Trump was sure of what was going to go his way, and not afraid to tell every damn news service from the Atlantic to the Pacific. And I can't wait, I hope it drags on into Feburary with lawsuits, and if we're lucky, fistacuffs to boot.

ta