1/5/09: Frost/Nixon (2008)

GRAB BAG
Peter Morgan adapted the screenplay from his own stage play. It's a (very) slightly flctionalized dramatization of the real-life interviews disgraced President Richard Nixon did back in the summer of '77 with British TV personality David Frost. It was apparently Nixon's plan to snare an easy $600 grand by doing the equivalent of a "puff piece" interview with Frost—who surprised everybody by being much better informed and researched than Nixon could have guessed. It's a battle of wits as Frost attempts to trick the Trickster into admitting his guilt in the Watergate affair; the film shambles along at its own pace until the electrifying third act, where Frost finally confronts Nixon about Watergate. Certain dramatic licenses were obviously taken (the real interviews did not climax with Watergate, and Nixon's movie "confession" is wildly blown out of proportion), but it's still a fascinating—if fictionalized—account of the meeting of two very interesting public figures. With Michael Sheen as Frost and Frank Langella as the very sweaty ex-POTUS. Rating: 3/5.

1/4/09: Endless Night (1972)

GEORGE SANDERS WEEK
And we close out George Sanders Week with this Agatha Christie adaptation, which also stars one of my favorite actresses, Hayley Mills. Sanders had aged quite noticably in the 11 years since yesterday's selection, 1961's Five Golden Hours. This was one of his last films, released the same year he committed suicide by swallowing several bottles' worth of barbituates; he was 65.

Endless Night surprised me by reuniting Mills with Hywel Bennett, the young co-stars of The Family Way, one of my all-time favorite films. This is a Hitchcockian chiller with a Gothic-type setting, about two lovers moving in to a spectacular mansion they've built on land supposedly cursed by gypsies. There's something menacing and sinister in the air, and the film contained a fairly surprising twist I didn't see coming, which was a nice surprise. Mills struggles with an American accent, and her singing voice is obviously dubbed in a scene where she accompanies herself on piano (I own her 1961 single "Let's Get Together," so I know her real singing voice pretty well). The movie lacks Hitchcock's directorial style and finesse, but the creepy Moog-highlighted musical score helps to heighten the suspense. With Hayley Mills, Hywel Bennett, Britt Ekland and George Sanders. Rating: 3/5.

1/3/09: Five Golden Hours (1961)

GEORGE SANDERS WEEK
George Sanders Week continues with this con-man comedy cut from the same cloth as David Niven's Bedtime Story (later remade as Dirty Rotten Scoundrels). 1950s TV star Ernie Kovacs stars as a professional pall-bearer in Rome who tries to bilk various widows out of money, and hilarity ensues. As The New York Times pointed out in their review, it's the sort of movie Alec Guinness made many times; the all-British cast (except for Kovacs, an American) do a very good job in this sometimes dark comedy. Cyd Charisse—whom I've never before seen in a movie—is extremely charming and beautiful as the widow Kovacs ill-advisedly falls in love with. Sanders himself doesn't show up until more than halfway through, but he's worth waiting for. This was his first movie following my beloved Village of the Damned from 1960. With Ernie Kovacs, Cyd Charisse and George Sanders. Rating: 4/5.

1/2/09: Death of a Scoundrel (1956)

GEORGE SANDERS WEEK
Two years (and about 10 movies) after starring in Witness to Murder, my selection from yesterday, George Sanders headlined this quite different crime drama. Far better acted and directed than that earlier two-dimensional story, Death of a Scoundrel recounts the life of Clementi Suborin, a Czech refugee who becomes a super-suave womanizer, stock manipulator and professional con man by unscrupulously plotting and bilking his way to astonishing wealth. (How Suborin acquires his money isn't a mystery; where he got his perfect British accent is the real puzzler.) It does the Citizen Kane trick of starting with the main character's death, and the rest of the story unfolds in flashbacks.

A variety of actors familiar to me from their later TV appearances come along for the ride, including Lily Munster, Col. Klink and George Sanders' ex-wife, Zsa Zsa Gabor, looking and sounding much more lovely than that shrew who would go on to slap a Beverly Hills cop 33 years hence. The film is a fictionalized account of real-life Wall Street wizard Serge Rubenstein, whose bribes, schemes and other illegal activities led to his own unsolved murder a year before Death of a Scoundrel came out. With George Sanders, Yvonne De Carlo, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Nancy Gates, Victor Jory, Werner Klemperer and Tom Conway (Sanders' real-life brother). Rating: 4/5.

1/1/09: Witness to Murder (1954)

GEORGE SANDERS WEEK
There was no compelling reason for me to launch my crazy project with this film noir from 1954. I don't even particularly like noirs; I'm just a big fan of its star, George Sanders, who would go on to star in my favorite movie, Village of the Damned, six years after this one. I've got four Sanders movies in my vault, and since this is a partial week, it should work out fairly nicely.

Sanders strangles a woman in his apartment, but makes the classic 1950s movie mistake of doing it with the drapes wide open, leaving neighbor Barbara Stanwyck to watch the murder in horror from across the street. Naturally, this being the ’50s, the cops don't believe her and accuse her of dreaming the whole thing. Released the same year as Rear Window, this movie has absolutely none of Hitchcock's directorial flourish—it reminded me more of TV's Dragnet (which isn't helped by the film's blatant references to it).

I found Stanwyck to be homely and somewhat difficult to look at, and the script isn't much better. Much of the drama involves Stanwyck confronting Sanders about the killing, and him denying it ("I saw you do it!" "I did no such thing"). Eventually it turns into a game of cat and mouse, with Sanders successfully framing Stanwyck to look like a nutcase. When she's hauled off to the psych ward, the story recalled 2008's The Changeling, another movie about a woman unjustly thrown into the looney bin. There's a preposterous romantic subplot involving Stanwyck and Gary Merrill as a sympathetic cop who thinks she's merely hallucinating everything, but he digs her anyway, despite her ho-hum looks and debilitating psychosis. The intrusive music soundtrack works triple time to compensate when there's very little happening on the screen. With Barbara Stanwyck, George Sanders, Gary Merrill. Rating: 2/5.

A Movie Every Day?

Most people know him as Tom Servo, a sort of robotic gumball machine who lives aboard a spaceship in the cult TV show Mystery Science Theater 3000. In real life, however, he is Kevin Murphy, an extremely funny comedian who, as part of the MST3K cast, has provided me with enough grins and guffaws to last a lifetime.

Yet many fans of MST3K may be unaware that Murphy is the author of a book entitled A Year at the Movies: One Man's Filmgoing Odyssey, in he chronicles 12 months living up to an extraordinary goal. "Beginning tomorrow, January 1, 2001, I, Kevin Murphy, promise to go to a theater and watch a movie every single day, for an entire year," he wrote. And he did it. The tome is less a book of movie reviews than a travelogue—Murphy traveled to all sorts of places, from local drive-ins to Cannes, France, to see movies.

As 2009 quickly approaches (it's in less than 2 hours, by my clock), Murphy has provided the inspiration for me to attempt something similar, albeit slightly less ambitious. I'm going to try to watch a movie a day for a year, but I'm going to drag my ass to the theater every day. I have, in my private collection, nearly 400 movies on DVD that I've never seen. The problem is, I never watch them. I've been squirreling them away, not for the winter but for my old age. Well, I guess that time has finally come. Time to bust open the floodgates and sample some of the films I've been collecting. It's a pretty interesting batch of movies...classics (Born Yesterday), musicals (Funny Girl), heavy dramas (The Pawnbroker), science fiction (I, Robot), light comedies (I'll Take Sweden), westerns (Joe Kidd), innumerable 1970s TV movies (Family Flight), and schlock (Schlock).

In fact, after careful perusal of my list of unseen DVDs, it occurs to me that to keep things interesting, I can schedule "theme weeks" for myself. I was able to organize most of the movies into categories such as:

BRITISH WEEK

Three Men in a Boat

The Railway Children

Skallagrigg

The Rise and Rise of Michael Rimmer

The Witches

The Wrong Box

Accident

1970s WEEK

The Seven-Percent Solution

The Eiger Sanction

The Getaway

Pretty Baby

Hearts of the West

Play it as it Lays

The Last of Sheila

SUSPENSE FLICKS WITH ONE-WORD TITLES WEEK

Revenge

Payback

Breakdown

Impulse

Derailed

Shattered

Speed

ASIAN CHARACTERS WEEK

Snow Falling on Cedars

Long Life, Happiness & Prosperity

The Joy Luck Club

Double Happiness

Eat Drink Man Woman

The Last Emperor

Xiu Xiu

Other theme weeks I'm planning will include the following categories: science fiction, musicals, foreign language, remakes, cult/trash, historical dramas, movies based on plays, comedy, horror, thrillers, obscurities, westerns, and movies featuring some of my favorite performers: Woody Allen, Walter Matthau, Dustin Hoffman, Barbara Eden, George Sanders, and the Marx Brothers. In addition, I'll do a week of the seven movies I most want to see in my vast collection, as well as one week each highlighting the selected favorites of my dear friends Merf and Connie.

Before I even embark on my own odyssey, I know in my heart it is doomed to failure. There's just no way I can watch a movie every single day, especially since I already watch a bunch of TV shows (including Desperate Housewives, Lost, Scrubs, The Office, Special Victims Unit, Without a Trace, 30 Rock and Monk). So I'm going to give myself a little slack—I'm going to try to see an average of one movie a day. If I skip a day, I've got to watch two the following day. Or, if I see two in one day, I get the following day off.

Oh. And if I see a movie in an actual theater, sorry, but that's going to have to count as my having seen a movie.

By the end of 2009, I will have made a huge dent in my collection. And although I am constantly adding more titles, the ones I already have represent most of the films I most want to see. I can't help but wonder how many I will actually enjoy. Each film will be graded on a 1-5 scale. At the end of the year, I'll tally the results and work out the average of all 365 movies; I'll predict the average will be 3.2.

The friends I've discussed my plan with agree that I lack the drive, the determination, the sheer time such an undertaking will require. I can't say I disagree with them, but I'm keen to see how long I can go. A week? A month? We shall see...

Beginning tomorrow, January 1, 2009, I, Brett Bayne, promise to sit at home on my lazy ass and watch a movie every single day, for an entire year.

90-Second Song

Getting ready for Mike Myers

English has many peculiarities, but one that has always fascinated me is how the phrase "get ready" has been rendered so meaningless.

Example: a TV commercial for the new Mike Myers comedy The Love Guru just implored me to "Get ready for the comedy event of the summer!" Basically, what the studio is saying is, "A new Mike Myers film opening soon." The rest is just a rather lame attempt to get me psyched. For it is as matter of principle that one of the ways I "get ready" for something like this is to glean the consensus of film critics, who have lambasted this alleged comedy as Myers' weakest effort so far, with a dismal Tomatometer rating of 16 percent. And yet, I feel certain that this was not the way Paramount Studios is expecting any filmgoer to "get ready" for this particular cinematic debut.

This begs the question: how should one get ready for something like this? Obviously we should get showered and dressed, make sure we have $25 to buy popcorn and soda, fill the car with gasoline and so on. But these things go without saying, no? Is there some other way I should be preparing myself for The Love Guru, other than finding a gas mask to wear during the screening?

Congratulations!

Their/There

Erasing the Past

Earlier this month, I was laid off from my job of 12 years.

As I make the transition from full-time magazine editor to unemployed magazine editor, one of my self-imposed tasks has been removing the company decal from my car, where it has been proudly emblazoned for as long as I've owned the car.

But how do you remove a decal stuck to your car window? To find the answer, I went to the experts at AFCA (alt.fan.cecil-adams), the newsgroup I often turn to for "the Straight Dope" on practically any subject. Using the resources they suggested (special thanks to Groo, Veronique, Bill and John), I made it my project for the evening. Here's how it went.

The tools: canvas work gloves ($2.59), razor blades ($3.79), Goo Gone spray ($4.99), potato salad reward snack ($0.99, not pictured). Total cost: $13ish.



Here's the "before" photo of the decal in all its taunting mockery:



Turns out I probably didn't need the work gloves, but I wore them anyway. After spraying the Goo Gone on the decal, I scraped off the letters, one by one:



The job was completed in under two minutes. Here's what was removed:



And, finally, the "after" photo:



These are, of course, merely baby steps in the transition to something bigger and better. Thanks again to those at AFCA who helped me.

Fun With Non-Restrictive Clauses

Heather Johnston, a bank robber known as the "Barbie Bandit," recently entered a guilty plea. In a tearful news conference, the 19-year-old hooligan gave this shout-out to her family and friends:

"If I've embarrassed you or hurt you, which I know I have, then I'm sorry."

Post Mortem

Recently an acquaintance of mine died—really a friend of a friend—and in the grieving process that followed among those who knew her, there was a sudden urgency to fulfill any desires the dead woman had during her life. Did she want to be cremated? Would she have wanted certain friends to attend the funeral? Indeed, would she have wanted a funeral at all? Inevitably, echoes of this game of retroactive wish-fullfillment cascaded back to me. What would I want to happen after I died? It was a curious question. Why should I care now what happens after I die? It won’t make a lick of difference to me one way or the other, for the elementary reason that I will cease to exist. Obviously, when I expire, it is to be hoped that those I loved in life will not have to grieve or suffer too greatly, and that those I resent or hate will spiral into a hopeless cycle of longing, shame and regret. Other than that, who really gives a baboon's bullwinkle?
But let's return to this idea of fulfilling the wishes of a dead person. Two things strike me. The first is that you don't technically have to do anything, because the dead person will never know. Bury him in a Glad bag! Throw a big party and invite all his enemies! There will be no repercussions, unless you're one of those unfortunate people who believe that ghosts can move things, such as a lit candle closer to the curtains.
The second observation is that this process has no real connection to the dead person anyway, but for the grieving survivors, who will somehow feel better knowing that “he would have wanted it that way.” The rush to revise things in life for a corpse must be one life’s most peculiar follies. If you love someone, the time to grant wishes and fulfill dreams for a loved one is in the present, when he exists in more than just your memories. So don't bury my favorite books with me in my grave—go order me stuff from my Amazon Wish List right now.

Take a Stand!

Lately I find myself becoming concerned that people are simply too wishy-washy. I hate that. I wish they would take a firm stand on something. Or whatever, I don't really care.

Punishment & Crime

Practically everywhere you go in this country, it's the same thing: you pay first, then you get to enjoy what you bought. The only exceptions are restaurants and prisons.

If the maximum penalty for assault and battery is two years in the cooler, why do I have to beat the guy up first? Maybe I want to get the punishment out of the way before I have my fun. Can't I simply report to the state pen, do my two years, and then mercilessly beat the hell out of the chump of my choice after I get out? I've already taken care of my debt to society—I merely paid in advance.

It's All in the Gaimen

IN A WORLD....

Where a dashing, sword-wielding man in a dress...

And the pretty blonde from My So-Called Life...

Are framed by a large glowing orange ball while standing next to a fog machine...

And surrounded by other familiar-looking costumed actors with various facial expressions...

A flash of lightning and some kind of sailing vessel will appear on the horizon!

It's all happening this summer in...

There IS a Need to Fear

This summer...

YOU WILL BELIEVE....

...that a major studio can scrape the bottom of the barrel.




Thanks for nothing, Disney.

What's next, Wally Gator: The Movie?

Stop & Godot

There is one invention I keep waiting for, and those who know me well will not be surprised to learn it's related to traffic. As a guy who spends a comparatively small amount of time in traffic, I nonetheless blame it for about 90 percent of my fears, complaints and general discontent. Here's something that would alleviate at least a small portion of my stress.

We've all found ourselves sitting at a red light at 11:30 p.m., often with a dozen other cars, at the northbound corner of an intersection where there is absolutely no traffic going east or west. Not for miles. Zilch! Nada! But because the lights are all on an automated system, the red shines at regular intervals anyway.

To this I say, "Nay! Invent some sort of a mechanism that only triggers the red light when opposing traffic develops!" Well, I don't actually say it. I think it. But I think it loudly at times when I'm sitting there, staring at the red light, trying to make it explode by sheer will.

The Thing

I have ascertained, through simple interrogation of my friends, that virtually everybody has suffered from The Thing at one time or another.

And yet, there seems to be no formal name for this odd occurrence.

I'm talking about when you get that infernal itch that's located somewhere between your ear and the side of the very back of your tongue. And you can only relieve it by poking your finger in your ear and scraping of your tongue against the back of your throat at the same time.

What is that Thing?

Also: Whereas

You know that expression, "No ifs, ands or buts"? Here's a loophole in that rule: They leave no provision for howevers. So go ahead and use as many of those as you like.

Ideas From My Notebook

Instead of a bar where everybody knows your name, how about a bar where everybody knows your Social Security number?

Asked & Answered

In advertisements for its new suspense thriller The Invisible, Hollywood Pictures asks the question:

How do you solve a murder...when the victim is you?

That's easy. You solve it the same way Patrick Swayze did it in 1990, when this movie was called Ghost.

That's How They Getcha!

Here's something I've learned about dieting:

In the beverage world, "Sugar Free" always means zero (or negligible) calories.

But in the world of food, something advertised as "Sugar Free" never means zero calories.

In fact, it almost always means that the food—whether it be pudding, candy, ice cream or anything else—has almost as many calories as their sugary counterparts.

My point is obvious. Never diet!

This Call May Be Recorded

"Thank you for calling the Customer Service Department. A representative will be with you shortly. This call may be recorded for training and quality control purposes. Please advise us if you do not wish to be recorded."

As a matter of fact, I do not wish to be recorded.

"Why?" you may ask.

I'll tell you why.

Frankly, I am not crazy about the way my voice sounds on tape.

The voice I hear in my head sounds much different from the one I hear being played back on your tape recorder. I'm just positive that's not what I sound like. And if I don't like the way I sound on tape, why would anybody else?

Here's the second reason. As soon as your representative joins me on the line, I am going to make some scandalous observations about your company. I haven't yet decided upon the barrage of profanities I will unleash, but you may be sure that it will be particularly offensive and scathing. I will not limit myself to remarks about your company; I may, for example, riff on the marital status of your representative's own parents at the time of his or her birth. I might even drop the "F" bomb. I never have before, nor have I ever been tempted to. But I just might this time. And I simply do not believe these comments should be preserved on tape, where they might be played back at a criminal or civil trial of some kind—especially one where I am the defendant.

You want more reasons? Gosh, you're a difficult person to satisfy.

Let's be honest with each other, shall we? Everybody knows that tapes can be altered. This is the "untold secret" of recording—the ease and simplicity of the editing process. Let us imagine that I have uttered the following phrase into a tape recorder: "I love to sleep with my pajamas on and read novels about murderers and whores." Any fifth grader with a pair of pinking shears can chop out the middle section so that it sounds like I said, "I love to sleep with whores." And while the resulting comment might be true, it completely corrupts my original meaning. Innocent people have been condemned to the gallows on less evidence than that.

And so, I must remain steadfast on my original pronouncement, and refuse to allow you to record this conversation.

I hope this doesn't mean you won't tell me what the balance is on my utility bill.

More Clichés I Am Sick Of

1. Feature story cliché:

"Look up charm / talent / innovator / luxury in the dictionary, and you will most certainly find a picture of Hugh Grant / the Metropolitan Opera / Robert Altman / the Hard Rock Hotel."

2. Another feature story cliché:

"In the event that you have been stranded on a desert island / trapped in a mineshaft / up in the Space Station / hiding in a cave for the last three years, ______ is the wildly popular punk-reggae sensation / motion picture heartthrob / song-and-dance impressario / software multi-billionaire."

3. TV courtroom cliché:

"Is my client being charged with a crime?"

"No."

"Then this conversation is over."

Legal Ease

Strolling down Collins Ave. in Miami this week, I passed the Fontainebleau Hotel, part of which is under construction. As I strolled past a fenced-in area, I read a sign upon which was written this awkwardly phrased legal disclaimer (in accordance with the Florida State #810.09[2][d]):

“This property is a designated construction site and anyone trespassing on this property upon conviction shall be guilty of a felony."

I was tempted to trespass merely to test the language of the law. If arrested, my defense would be that I was not trespassing on the property upon conviction. I was, in fact, completely free of any and all convictions at the time.

On the other hand, I would have avoided the site had the sign read: "anyone trespassing on this property shall be guilty of a felony if they are convicted." But to my way of thinking, the sign is redundant and should simply say: "This is a construction site. Trespassing is a felony."

Even if you interpret the sign the correct way, it still begs the question: What about those people who aren't convicted?

It's their story that fascinates us. It's theirs that endures.

Fanning the Flames

Actual AOL Headline:

Rape Scene Sparks Outrage at Sundance:
Is 12-Year-Old Dakota Too Young To Play Role?

Is this the most retarded thing you've ever heard? How can Dakota Fanning, 12, be too young to play the role of a 12-year-old girl? OK, so the movie Hounddog is about a 12-year-old girl who gets raped. Who should play her, Elizabeth Taylor?

And Such Small Portions!

Last night, my friend Joan and I saw Randy Newman perform here in town. Randy, as you may know, is the guy who sang "Short People," "I Love L.A." and "You've Got a Friend in Me" (from Toy Story). Before the show, Joan and I had dinner at a very nice restaurant near the theater (Walt Disney Concert Hall in downtown L.A.). But some other friends of ours opted to eat at this really expensive place called Patina, located in the theater complex. They have the kind of menu that may require you to take out a second mortgage on your home. It made the upscale bistro we ate at look like McDonald's in comparison. Because I'm more of a lowbrow kinda guy, Joan and I did not join our other friends at Patina.

However, we were understandably eager to compare notes, and later asked our friends about their dining extravaganza. As we fully expected, the word "overpriced" came up a lot. Well, sometimes a picture says a thousand words, so here's a photo of our friend Jacques posing with his Patina meal. It certainly sums it all up very nicely...both the look of the meal, and the look on his face.



Sometimes you don't really get what you pay for....

15 Things I Learned in China

This summer I visited China for the first time in my life. It's a country that has always fascinated me. So now, after a week's vacation in Beijing, I'd like to share some little nuggets of information I have come away with.

1. The word "hamburger" refers to any sandwich consisting of meat between two buns—mainly fish, chicken, pork or ham. But almost never ground beef. Ground beef is not sold in stores. The only place that sells beef burgers is McDonald's (and it did not seem to be the most popular menu item there).

2. By and large, people in China are very friendly and complimentary. Although I was stared at almost constantly while walking down the street, when I actually engaged someone in conversation, I was flattered and told very nice things.

3. Everywhere you go, signs—including names of parks, stores, places, etc.—refer to Happiness, Joy, Good Health, Dreams, Luck, etc. I visited the Wonderful Supermarket, located in the Pretty Department Store. None of this nomenclature is intended to be even slightly ironic.



4. Lay's Potato Chips are extremely popular. Flavors include Lemon, Cool Cucumber, Green Tea, Texas Barbecued Ribs, Steak, Peking Duck, Chicken, Hokkaido Grilled Crab and, of course, Crisp Hokkaido Seaweed.

5. It is summer, and the cicadas are in the trees everywhere, buzzing loudly. My Chinese guide said she liked the sound. "They are singing for joy," she explained (again, without irony).

6. They're still using the old-fashioned pop-tops on soda cans over there—the old pull-off, removable kind. Using them gave me a little nostalgic kick; I haven't seen them in about 15 years.



7. There is no part of the chicken or the pig that Chinese people will not eat. In addition to cow's hearts, chicken feet and pig heads, some of the stuff I saw in the marketplace was appalling to my Westernized sensibility.



Most disturbing: a table full of silkworm pupa. This would have been a serious matter for the health department in the U.S., not a typical dinnertime alternative. Also, as a rule, Chinese cuisine bears little or no resemblance to the Westernized Chinese food they sell in the U.S.

8. It was a revelation to finally see how the Chinese language is typed using a standard "QWERTY" keyboard. Chinese characters are entire words in themselves, not "letters" used to form words. Therefore, using special computer software, a letter of the Roman alphabet is clicked to bring up a menu of Chinese words to be selected. I also learned that most, if not all, Chinese words are one syllable.

9. There are no clothes my size available in China. An XXL shirt in Beijing was roughly equivalent to our "large."

10. Chinese tastes are reflected even in the flavors of their toothpaste. I brought home a tube of Crest toothpaste—Green Tea flavor!



11. Welcome to a whole new world of fruits and vegetables. Taro, durian and haw (see above) seem to be as common as apples and strawberries are here. But watermelon seems to be the most popular fruit in China by far. I lost count of the different kinds of vegetables, but cucumber is staggeringly popular. Oh, and three words: CORN ICE CREAM!

12. No matter how crazy or irresponsible you think American pedestrians are, I assure you, they are not. People on foot in and around China's highways are all suicidal, every single one of them, including people on bicycles. As a passenger in many Chinese taxis, I was sure I would witness a killing about every 10-20 seconds. People step right in front of speeding cars in this country, totally devoid of any kind of fear. Bicyclists too. Watching cars and pedestrians constantly play games of
"chicken" was one of the most amazing and horrific things I have ever seen. Side note: The entire time I was in China, a Communist country, I never once saw any police or any police cars. By comparison, the USA is much more of a "police state." When I asked where all the police were, my Chinese guide said I could find them at the police station. "If you need them, you call them," she shrugged.

13. I came down with strep throat in China. Lucky for me, antibiotics were cheerfully sold over the counter, and my condition cleared up after a couple of days. (Side note: virtually everything in China is dirt cheap.)



14. It is not unusual to see cars with one wheel in the front of the vehicle instead of two, like a giant gasoline-powered tricycle. Same with three-wheeled motorcycles. There are many motorcycles in China that have a kind of auto-body structure built around them.

15. Toilet paper in public lavoratories is NOT a given. You would be very wise to bring your own.

My Gap TV Commercial Parody

God Unwilling

The recent film United 93 tells how the action might have unfolded aboard that one 9/11 flight that failed to reach its target. Any American will have the same reaction to this story—it is a mixture of horror, sadness and patriotism. In the movie, and in other accounts of Jihad, we see that the terrorists frequently utter the phrase “God willing” or something equivalent:

“I have not killed, but God willing, I soon will.”

“Allah willing, the streets of America will run red with blood.”

“Praise be to God, I have completed 25 operations up to now. God willing, more are to come.”

So here’s what I’m wondering: How do the terrorists rationalize the fact that United 93 did not reach its intended target? Do they believe that, indeed, God was not willing in this example? Evidently, God was willing to let the World Trade Center and Pentagon be hit...but for some reason, God was unwilling to let the White House be destroyed. Does this give them pause? Why would the Almighty give the thumbs-up on only the first three sites, but not the fourth? I know my answer to this question. But how do the terrorists answer?

Why I'm Great

Just as the cost of living continues to increase, the power of certain words inevitably diminishes. One such word is awesome. You used to be able to convey something uniquely grand with it; now it is reduced to being a slang word reserved for one's rating of a grilled cheese sandwich. Another such word is great. No longer does it mean what it once did, as exemplified by this oft-heard figure of speech:

"If you could ________, that would be great."

In these kinds of ordinary requests, it is insufficient to simply say, "May we have some more mustard?" or "Could you take another look at my radiator fluid?" No, when it comes to getting what we want, we now resort to unnecessarily obsequious bribery, as if adding a second roll of stamps to our order will be in the same league as discovering the cure for lupus. "Really?" I want to exclaim. "It would be great if I got you a new fork? Wow! I always thought my meager fetching and carrying were just routine tasks. And now I know I'm great! Maybe I can be president someday!"

Judging by how fast our language changes, it is only a matter of time before we begin to hear the following:

"If you could email me the recipe, that would be worthy of a Pulitzer."

"If you would grab us some napkins, I believe humans of whatever gender you are attracted to will strip themselves naked and beg you to have sex with them."

"Stop fantasizing about single-handedly locating the whereabouts of Osama Bin Laden. If you could make sure we have fresh towels, your act will impress me far beyond the act of bringing down the world's most notorious convict."

Goofy Sex

Everybody knows who Donald Duck is, and by extension, his nephews, Huey, Dewey and Louie. I am not sure whether Donald is technically married to Daisy Duck, at least within the confines of the fictional Disney universe, nor am I sure how these ducklings are technically related (are they his sister's kids? Brother's?). I suppose it does not matter much, but what does matter to me is who sired Max, the dog I have been assured is Goofy's son. I am unaware of any female counterpart for Goofy. And I just can't picture Goofy humping another dog. Or maybe I just don't want to. And yet, the identity of Max's mother continues to elude me, much like viable topics for this blog.

Hell Plaza Googleplex

You can applaud recent movie biographies like Walk the Line and Capote if you wish. I was totally bored by them, but it doesn't matter. It's easy to show us a biography of someone's life. Here's my point: Movies don't challenge us anymore. They don't grip our national consciousness and dare us to look at ourselves and say, "My God, look how screwed up we are." Movies don't mock us—they don't shake us up. I remember the last great film that made me feel like that 10 years ago: Citizen Ruth. I can't think of anything more recently that made a social comment or that really blew my mind. And now is the perfect time—when states are banning abortion and politics are steeped so highly in religious ideals. We're becoming the same kind of nation we purport to despise, where fanaticism rules the roost, and religious smugness turns dangerous. Have we all gone insane? But our movies don't reflect it anymore, and that's OK, because finally we have a big-screen version of Bewitched, with I Dream of Jeannie coming right down the pike. Where are the Cuckoo's Nests, the Rockys, the Godfathers? While Hollywood cranks out sequel after sequel, remake after remake, trotting out tired cliches and warmed-over scripts and idiotic star vehicles, the only place to find fresh, dramatic, funny and genuinely engaging stories is on TV. How motherfuckingly ironic it is that the movies have become TV, while TV has become the last bastion for original thinking?

I Am Doing "It" Right Now!

Oh my God.

This is incredible.

I am doing "it" right now!

Can such nirvana be possible? I never knew the human brain was capable of experiencing pleasure like this.

Seriously, this is the manifestation of every positive feeling I've ever had, combined into one vortex of climactic wonderfulness.

It's as if every synapse in my head has suddenly exploded into an orgasm of unearthly delights. And here I am, right now, doing "it" and writing to you about it simultaneously!

Holy Christ, how can I possibly describe how totally awesome this is? Unless you've done "it," you couldn't possibly understand. Furthermore, the combined act of doing "it" while writing about it only serves to enhance the overall experience. I could literally do "it" and write about it all day long!

Man, and "it" just keeps getting better and better. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, yeah.

So freakin' righteous.

Aw, shit.

I just stopped doing "it"!

Now I gotta start over again.

Later, dudes.

It's Official: I Love Myself!

Last night, following dinner, I made it very clear: I am completely and totally in love with myself.

After work, I went to dinner, alone, to a fancy restaurant. Following the meal, I surprised myself with a gorgeous bejeweled ring. It was at this point that I expressed my deepest and most genuine expressions of affection. I left no room for doubt—it's love!

It hardly goes without saying that I loved myself well into the night.

Wondering

I don't mind doing favors for people. This automatically puts them in the position of owing me a favor, and trust me, I'm a big believer in payback.

Lately I've been been asked to do quite a lot of favors for people, and I find it hilarious that the word "wondering" is, without exception, one of the main ingredients of asking me do a favor.

"I was wondering if you could proofread my letter."

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me with this project."

"I was wondering if you might contribute to this charity."

Why can't they just say:

"Would you proofread this?"

"Can you help me?"

"Could you give me some money?"

Why can't the subject of the sentence be more about the favor itself, and less about the act of wondering? One of the main differences between the first clutch of sentences (the "wondering" ones) and my revisions is that the original ones avoid asking a question. Examine each of those opening salvos, and you'll notice that the speakers are merely making a statement—they're giving you some information about themselves, not actually asking you anything. It's really an act of cowardice. Grow some cajones. If you want something, don't sit there wondering. Just ask!

Imagineering

For some reason, I always hear the stupidest things on TV right before I go to work. This morning's atrocity was a commercial for "Dr. Dolittle," the musical starring Tommy Tune, which is apparently coming to L.A.'s Pantages Theater. The voice-over announcer instructed me to "get ready for family entertainment beyond your wildest imagination!"

Now, I think it's important for this TV announcer to understand that while my imagination may not be as versatile as, say, Stephen Hawking's, it's reasonably spiffy. I can imagine a kind of family entertainment that would, for example, encompass the euphoria of being on heroin and crack cocaine while having unprotected sex with Heather Locklear handcuffed to the bedposts after breast-enlargement surgery. I can imagine a kind of family entertainment that would be like taking a five-hour ride on a roller coaster that starts at the top of the Empire State Building in New York and ends in Atlantic City, with 5,001 upside-down loops along the way. Somehow, I don't think Tommy Tune singing, "If I Could Talk to the Animals" to a guy in a Pushmi-Pullyu costume is going to transcend my wildest imagination. It might—and I'm being very charitable here—might be beyond my imaginative capabilities at 5 o'clock on a Sunday morning after I've taken a sleeping pill and was just awakened by the sound of a ringing telephone. But probably not.

Nouning

Actual phone conversation I just had:

Me: Hello, I was calling to check the status of my credit-card application.

CSR: May I have your Invitation Number?

Me: Sure. It's 425-6668-5332.

CSR: Thank you. Just a moment. (pause) I'm sorry sir, that application has not yet been decisioned.

Fiddle-Dee-Deity

Here's something that never fails to bring a quizzical expression to my face:

"God helps those who help themselves."

Do people genuinely find this bit of wisdom inspirational for some reason? Does this mean that God doesn't help those who don't or won't help themselves? What if the guy can't help himself? What if he has no arms, and the help he needs is to open a door? God can't help that guy?

I'm told the expression came from Aesop. "It's one of those circular logic things that Bible thumpers like to trot out," my pal Cindybear says. "Essentially God can help you, but he won't; when things work out, he'll take credit for it. Kinda like a conservative, I guess."

To me it's like saying, "The candy is free to those who pay for it." Actually, I've seen pretty much that exact thing while shopping. The other day I was in a mall, and there was a sign in a store window that said, "FREE EAR PIERCING with $3.00 service charge." Excuse me, do I have the word idiot tattooed on my forehead? (Before you respond to that, let me assure you that the answer is no.)

Non-Good English

Heard on the local news not more than three minutes ago:

"The three passengers of the car were taken to the hospital with non-life-threatening injuries."

I would have prefered to hear "with injuries that were not life-threatening."

But people seem to like saying the "non."

Nonfat.

Nondisclosure.

Nonentity.

And so forth.

I call it nonsense.

Tiny Time Wasters, Part 1

If you're using the Internet, and you click on a link or type a URL into your browser, I'm fairly sure you like to get to the meat right away. Is there anybody who actually enjoys the treacle? Earlier today I went to a website for work...and the introductory page provided the name of the company and a button that said, "Enter." What's the point exactly? Why aren't we automatically directed to the place we want to go? Why must we "Enter"? It's not a building. It's www.buy-this-right-now.com. Is there one person on the planet who wants to go through the hassle of a superfluous mouse click? If you're a webmaster with an "Enter" page, you must have this sign on your wall.

Attention Dead People

It's not that I don't believe John Edward can communicate with the dead.

I'm sure he can.

The problem is that he fails to ask the right questions.

All we need to know from the dead are the following:

1. Where is the gold buried?

2. Where is the treasure hidden?

You may now resume your haunting activities.

Another Goddamn Blog

Dueling blogs! Turns out I have so much to say that I can't possibly say it all here, so I've started an alternate blog on MySpace. The other one is little more abstract. Not that anybody is reading either one. Still, I suppose I could have fans out there in cyberspace. Or maybe I will die in some horrific manner, and the blogs will achieve notoriety simply by being there. Well, now things will be twice as creepy with this other blog, which you can access with this link:

Brett's MySpace Blog

Have a Lou Bega day!

How Great Thou Aren't

It was the kind of tragic event that distracts an entire nation, and in this case, much of the world waited in horror.

Thirteen miners a mile or so beneath the ground in West Virginia were trapped following a deadly explosion. For 42 grueling hours, a rescue workers tried to reach and save the men. And then, last night, came word of a miracle.

All but one of the men were found alive.

Before I went to sleep last night, I watched a news program that showed numerous people, including friends and families of the 12 men, gathered in front of a church and singing a gospel hymn: "How Great Thou Art."

But when I woke up, the news reports were solemn -- due to a miscommunication, all but one of the men were dead.

Tragic news, indeed. But all I can think about is the song. "How Great Thou Art." Do the people singing the song still believe in the message? And if so, isn't it a different message -- not how great God is for helping to save their loved ones, but how truly great his wrath is?

Why do we always make it about God? There was a terrible incident and several people died. Credit God, if you must, for creating the Heavens and the Earth, but why invoke his name when something like this happens? I guess we feel we must thank someone. Still...what song are these people singing now?

Memo to Nabisco

Please invent seedless Fig Newtons.

I like the cookies, but the seeds subtract from my enjoyment.

Therefore, Fig Newtons without the seeds would be a much more satisfying taste experience.

We can make this a perfect world, one step at a time.

Rednecks Sure Do Talk Funny

A contraction is a smaller or abbreviated way of saying something longer (I would = I'd).

But only a Southerner can take a short word and make it unnecessarily longer.

One particular word that has always amused me is "iffen" (or "if'n"), a word I've only heard from country folk.

Let us all join together and laugh at Bubba.

Sorry, Jake...

...but I can't pronounce "Gyllenhaal," and I don't think many other people can, either.

Smile a Little Smile for Me

For as long as I can remember, people have been talking and writing about Mona Lisa's smile.

The painting has been the subject of endless speculation and analysis for eons. There's even a movie called Mona Lisa Smile. Art lovers talk about it with a kind of reverence usually reserved for something holy. "The viewer cannot help but look at that cryptic smile and wonder what she is thinking...what secret is she hiding?"

From The New York Times: "First she is smiling. Then the smile fades. A moment later the smile returns only to disappear again. What is with this lady's face? How did the great painter capture such a mysterious expression and why haven't other artists copied it?"

And for as long as I have been reading this kind of thing, I have been staring at that painting, baffled by what everybody else can see that I can't -- like the occasional person who is confounded by the hidden pictures in those "3-D" illustrations that were popular several years ago, and is convinced the whole enigma surrounding the lady's smirk is some kind of elaborate prank.

That's how I view the Mona Lisa -- like some kind of Emperor's clothes scenario, a smile you can only view as mysterious if you're cool. "Oh, sure, I see it. Wow. How puzzling! How ambiguous! What's she thinking?"

Well, I'll tell you what she's thinking.

Hurry the fuck up and finish painting. My ass is killing me!

Isn't that what you'd be thinking?

Just an Observation

Did you ever notice how the addition of one word can make something that sounds nice into something that sounds not very nice?

BEFORE: "Thanks for the tip!"

AFTER: "Thanks for the tip, schmuck."

Eye Just Don't Get It

Why do we say "He robbed me blind"? Is the implication supposed to be that the robber stole the eyes out of my sockets?

I'm Just Asking

Does the word "duly" ever modify anything other than "noted"?

Buy This Book or My Dog Will Shoot

New from Authorhouse: my new book, The Dog Ate My Gun, available at Amazon and other online retailers for $19.95, and from the publisher for $15.70. It's a collection of email pranks, cartoons, funny stories, short plays and miscellaneous comedy material. Of course, the book (in the works for several years) inspired the title of this very blog. So go ahead, make my accountant the happiest guy in the world and buy a copy today!

Can I Ask You a Question?

Why do people bother saying this?

Because the answer can't possibly be "no."

That would technically be answering the original question.

A better preface would be: "I am about to ask you a question. You may decide not to answer."

But that, too, strikes me as rather silly and pointless.

Just ask the question, Miss Busybody.

Wait'll You Hear This!

"Wait till you hear about my new raise!"

"Just wait'll you hear what happened to Jamie!"

Why?

Why do I have to wait?

Why can't you just tell me, so we can both revel in the news together?

This unusual expression has baffled me for quite a while. In the examples above, it seems clear that the speaker is about to bespeak something exciting. Indeed, "I just got a great raise!" or "Something wild happened to Jamie!" would perfectly suffice. But instead, the focus is on the actual waiting period between the announcement and "the big reveal."

Why is that so important? Is it all about creating an illusion of thrilling anticipation, a sort of lofty tease?

Why say: "Ugh! Just wait till you have children of your own!"

Instead of: "Ugh! After have have kids of your own, then you'll be sorry!"

Or some variation thereof.

One phrase I understand a little better is "Just wait till your father gets home!" In this case, the speaker obviously wishes to fill the hearer's life with dread and horror, as if the waiting were worse than the inevitable punishment.

Even so, I find it interesting that we place so much importance on the waiting.

I, for one, am getting a little tired of having to wait.

Second From Last

As a writer and copy editor, I have a natural contempt for misused words, grammar and punctuation. My biggest pet peeves are ordinary misspelled words. I have a friend in college who—even after I've lectured her hundreds of times—continues to write would of and could of. Did I mention she's in college? She gets you're and your confused as well. Another friend called me up one day, amazed that she'd found a mistake in the dictionary. It seems they left out a very common word: alot. How I laughed and laughed.

Several years ago, one of the advertisers in the magazine I edit typically bought a monthly full-page ad on the back cover. This boat builder designed his own ads in house, and would always, always let a few typos get into his text. And of course, his was the only ad I ever looked at, because I would always hunt for his stupid mistakes.

One month, looking at his newest ad, I burst into peals of childish laughter. I called him up immediately to ask him about it.

"So, I see in your new full-page ad that you claim to be the penultimate builder in the boating industry!"

"That's right," he confirmed.

"How does it feel to be second from last?" I asked him.

What is your biggest writing-related pet peeve?

The Sinister Man in the Park

The year: 2004. The place: A small park in Beverly Hills. The cast: Me and Jenna, my three-year-old niece.

Occasionally, I take her to play there. They've got slides and swings and ropes to climb. It's a decent park. On this particular day, I had my new digitial camera with me, and I was shooting some photos of Jenna. It was getting pretty late in the afternoon, and the park was emptying out. At length, we found ourselves in an area built to look like an old pirate ship, with a large steering wheel and the facade of a hull.

As I shot some more photos of Jenna, I suddenly realized that we were not alone.

Standing a few yards away was an attractive woman, about 30 years old. At first I barely realized she was wearing a policeman's uniform. She gazed at us almost admiringly, it seemed. Eventually she broke the ice by asking about our relationship.

At this point, I had not yet put two and two together. I introduced my niece, and told the woman a little about me, where I worked, etc. But after answering a few more questions, it finally dawned on me that her interest in me was not social. Someone, she admitted, had dropped a dime about the strange man in the park taking all those photos of the little girl.

"Is there a law against taking photos of my own niece?" I asked the policewoman.

She looked sympathetic. "No," she admitted. "But we get a lot of crazy calls. We have to check everything out."

I felt myself feeling a little resentful. "Well, you've done your job," I told her.

Undaunted, the woman proceeded to ask Jenna a few questions: Who she was, what my relationship to her was, where her parents were, etc.

It was humiliating.

I looked around the park in vain. Which of the dozen or so people still left had made the call? I wondered.

Eventually the woman asked to see my driver's license, which I produced for her inspection. Then she apologized once more and left.

The photos came out well.

But you know, I can barely look at them without thinking about that phone call, about the person making the call and how she was suspicious about the perverted man taking those evil photos of the unsuspecting little girl.

Better luck next time, Mrs. Busybody.

Has anybody ever called the cops on you for doing something that wasn't illegal? No, no, I didn't think so.

Time Warp

The chapter title refers to the fact that I've been absent from my blog for about a month. But there's a more compelling reason for it. Today I asked a friend to look at this list of my 100 favorite movies:

Brett's Favorite Films

After perusing the list, she asked me how it was possible that The Rocky Horror Picture Show was conspicuously missing.

It's a little difficult to explain why I, a huge fan of musicals, never embraced The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but I'm going to give it the old college try. Why did I love Young Frankenstein, a hilarious sendup of those old monster movies, while TRHPS left me totally cold? I believe I saw it at least twice in the cinema when I was a lad—with the drunken audiences who threw toast and rice and water all over the place, and provided their own "witty" comeback comments to the dialogue.

Here are two things I hate:

A) Loud, unnecessary noises

B) People talking, shouting and/or whispering in a movie theater.

So that goes a long way to explaining why I didn't come away from that particular movie with a more positive experience. Also, I think I view the film as a little too odd and campy for my taste.

Here's another piece of the puzzle, though. I love Monty Python's Flying Circus and Kids in the Hall, so the idea of men dressing up as women clearly does not bother me. The difference is, in those TV series, men were portraying women. But I must admit that I'm a little uncomfortable by the whole concept of "drag queens." It's not something I think about a lot, but I know I have avoided seeing movies like Too Wong Foo and Hedwig and the Angry Inch because there's something about transsexuals and transvestites that just gives me the creeps. Oddly enough, homosexuality in and of itself does not bother me in the slightest. I've seen plenty of gay-themed movies (i.e., Jeffrey and Trick) that I have found perfectly enjoyable. So go figure.

One last thing: When I went to England in 1979, I saw a stage production of The Rocky Horror Show musical, which I enjoyed a lot more than the movie version. Oh, and I do like that "Time Warp" song.

Maybe I just need to see the film on DVD, with nobody shouting out comebacks like, "That's right, asshole!" and no chance of getting rice stuck in my hair.

What do you think of The Rocky Horror Picture Show?

Page Turners

Here are my all-time favorite books.

The Chrysalids by John Wyndham. A sci-fi story told in the distant future, long after civilization has started to rebuild itself after an apparent nuclear holocaust. Several children in a quiet village cope with the fact that they are telepathic...but fear the repercussions of how they will be treated if their secret is discovered.

Booze and The Graduate by Charles Webb. The famous Dustin Hoffman film is extremely faithful to Webb's first novel about a young man searching to find his place in the world (and having an affair with Mrs. Robinson along the way). His 1978 novel Booze is the study of an iconoclast who feels adrift and alone in the world; it's remarkably funny and touching. Well worth seeking out.

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. Published posthumously, this Pulitzer-winning novel is a comic masterpiece -- "a fantastic novel, a major achievement, a huge comc-satiric-tragic one-of-a-kind rendering of life in New Orleans," says author Walker Percy. "Crazily magnificent once-in-a-blue-moon first novel," raves Publishers Weekly. "A masterpiece of character and comedy...brilliant, relentless, delicious, perhaps even a classic," boasts Kirkus Reviews. And they're not even scratching the surface. Buy it now.

The Morning After by Jack B. Weiner. Absorbing, tragic story of a man's battle with alcoholism; how it destroys his family, his career and finally himself.

Danny, the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl. As a child, I adored Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But for my money, this is Dahl's best book for children -- an adventure story filled with wonder and just a touch of naughtiness. The children I read this to as an adult were spellbound by the characters, the good vs. evil theme and the superb ending.

Insomnia, Misery and Pet Sematary by Stephen King. My three favorite novels by the master of horror and suspense.

Horton Hatches the Egg by Dr. Seuss. I meant what I said, and I said what I meant: An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent.

Little Boxes of Bewilderment by Jack Ritchie. My favorite short-story writer's best collection. Mystery tales that are straightforward and damned funny.

Up the Down Staircase by Bel Kaufman. The inner workings of a metropolitan high school are laid bare in this hilarious and touching story of a committed, idealistic teacher whose dash with school bureaucracy. The story is conveyed through a series of memos, letters, directives from the principal, comments by students, notes between teachers, and papers from desk drawers and wastebaskets, evoking a vivid picture of teachers fighting the good fight against all that stands in the way of good teaching.

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey. The first in a series of hilarious non-sequitor collections. Makes me laugh out loud even after multiple readings.

What are your favorite books?

Pet Peeve #3

I'm in Miami this week, and just checked into the hotel. And I was reminded of one of my most-hated peeves: when the room's key-card loses its magnetic muster. Then you gotta go to the front desk and beg them for another one.

"Just be sure not to get the card near any other cards, or near a cell phone, or anything that might contain sulfer, or the color green. And don't let the card come in contact with any kind of atmosphere, such as oxygen, or it will stop working immediately. And whatever you do...don't feed it after midnight!"

Can you remember when real keys opened hotel room doors?

They Might Be Out of Ideas

One of my newest “virtual” friends is a young woman who describes herself as a Tori Amos fanatic.

I told her that while I really enjoyed Amos’s first two CDs, Little Earthquakes and Under the Pink (from 1992 and 1994, respectively), I was disappointed by her subsequent releases, and I’m clearly not alone. Her third disc, a trifle called Boys for Pele, was the beginning of a long creative slide, and I noted with some despair that Rolling Stone magazine gave an alarmingly mediocre notice to her new CD this week.

My fanatical friend informed me that her personal favorite Amos CDs were more recent efforts, and that I hadn’t given her enough of a chance.

Spoken like a true fanatic.

Maybe I should give Tori’s albums from the last 10 years another listen. Right now, though, I’ve got the new album by They Might Be Giants in the stereo. I used to be quite a TMBG fanatic, but in recent years, I have noticed that they, too, have experienced a backslide in musical creativity. They seem just as prolific as ever, following a popularity resurgence that sparked with “Boss of Me,” the theme to the popular TV show Malcolm in the Middle. Lately, though, they seem to be focused on writing music geared exclusively for children. Back when I discovered the Giants, even their “adult” work was quite accessible to children. Oddly, it was only when they started to release music specificially for kids that I began to lose interest in their work. The new CD, Here Come the ABCs, is certainly their weakest collection of songs (with the possible exception of their last CD for children). I can’t believe there’s a kid in the world who would be interested in listening to throwaways like “Pictures of Pandas Painting” or “Fake Believe.”

Enough kid stuff, John and John. They aren’t buying albums. I am.

Is it inevitable that our musical heroes are destined to fall back on weak material?

More Futilit-E!

"Rob Lowe hosts Saturday Night Live. Tonight at 8. Only on E!"

This was the message of a TV commercial I saw last week, the kind I see all time, and always will. The foolishness of the last sentence stands out as singularly absurd to these ears, and yet this claim of exclusivity is bandied about so often, everywhere, that it has become almost meaningless. "Yippee!" we are no doubt expected to cry, "I won't be able to view this particular rerun on any other channel tonight!"

And yet, can't you say pretty much the same thing about any TV show? Why make this totally mundane fact one of the main selling points? It sounds so dumb to me, not least of which is because SNL is no longer L by the time it arrives on E!. Let's face it: The only truly unique thing about Saturday Night Live is that it is the only variety show that is actually broadcast live in this country. But E! Entertainment Television wants you to believe that there's something cool, something noteworthy about the fact that they're showing a rerun—and one appropriated from another network at that! "This steaming pile of crap we're showing tonight, which you saw on another channel a long time ago in its full 90-minute length, is now being regurgitated only on our channel with a full half an hour of music and comedy missing!"

How come I don't see you jumping up and down with delight?

An Exercise in Futili-Tea

I bought and enjoyed a bottle of Lipton Iced Tea (Sweetened, No Lemon) today. Later, gazing at the wrapper, I noticed a little blurb about the drink. It begins:

"Everything that's good about tea starts with the leaf."

You're thinking: OK, fine. I'll buy that. Tea comes from a leaf. Sounds pretty reasonable. The blurb goes on to reveal that "at Lipton, we brew our tea straight from hand-selected tea leaves and bottle it for you."

Maybe it's because I'm an editor and a skeptic, but everything I just quoted sounds wrong to me.

Because for my money, the best thing about iced tea is the sugar.

The same goes for candy and soda. It's not the cocoa bean. It's not the limes they squeeze to make the 7-Up.

It's the damn sugar!

So everything that's good about these comestibles starts with the cane.

Let's take a look at the next line: "At Lipton, we brew our tea straight from hand-selected tea leaves and bottle it for you."

They brew it "straight from" the leaves. As opposed to what? Why is that better? Maybe it's worse to brew it from the leaves straight away. Perhaps there should be an aging process.

"We bottle it for you." Uh, I hate to tell you this, Lipton, but all beverage bottlers do this. That's why they're called bottlers. Everybody who peddles their bottled drinks bottles it for me! Have you ever tried to sell a liquid that's not in some kind of container? It's impossible. You can't do it. So please don't think I'm not onto you, Lipton. This is just doubletalk from copy writers who don't have anything else to say about their sugar water. "Hand-selected." What do they mean exactly? A guy pointed at a bush and said, "Don't use that one! There was a caterpillar on it! He's not there now, but I saw him a little while ago. Great big fucker! Orange, with those spiky black things on it. He's probably building a cocoon right now, that tea-eating bastard."

It's truly amazing what advertising people can make you believe. Just once, how about a label that says, "It's tea. Hurry up and drink it so we can make more money and ruin the environment, and try not to let it worry you that it tastes like elephant piss. This drink actually contains less than 30 percent of one or more of the following liquids: elephant piss, giraffe piss, hippo piss, sunflower seed oil. If you have any questions about this product, call our toll-free number so we can write down your email address and send you spam."

The blurb ends: "So feel good choosing a brand that maintains the simple integrity and natural goodness of tea."

Do you really need your iced tea to tell you to feel good about buying it?

More Than a Mouthful

One of my cyber-friends revealed to me that she is an "Information Technology Project Manager." I have no idea what that means, but I have a strong suspicion that a person's salary increases by $20K for every extra word in his or her job title.

In the old days, people had one-word job descriptions. Farmer. Milkman. Cop. Dentist. Stripper. Very occasionally, there would be a two-word title, like rocket scientist. And I have no idea what they did either, which is one of the reasons I'm not a rocket scientist.

Today, I always hear things like, "Bob, I'd like you to meet Ted. He's the Minister of Overseas Development for a Small-Scale Agricultural and Communications Family Law Firm. Ted, Bob here is the Assistant to the Supervisor of Mid-Level Field Service Engineers at the U.S. Aerospace Department of Florida Tech." (Translation: Bob sexually harasses his secretary and plays Minesweeper all day. Ted works at Jack in the Box, and had fake business cards made up.)

Thank God I'm just an editor.

What is: (A) your favorite four-word job title, and (B) your favorite four-letter job title?

Isn't it Shocking?

I am a lifelong bachelor, and sometimes it’s easy to see why.

On the other hand, occasionally I realize that I’m probably better off.

And yet, on still another hand, it’s a lonely life. Not being a drinker, a dancer or a socializer, it’s extremely difficult to meet people. And so it has come to pass that I have attempted to meet people online, via a variety of professional networks whose track record is impressive. Indeed, I have met several very interesting candidates. I have also met (and even dated) some women who have proven to be singularly inappropriate for me—and vice versa.

When you’re getting to know a romantic prospect who has been matched up to you by a computer, I find that it is very helpful to provide the maximum amount of data to the other person to make the screening process as easy as possible. Among the data that I have chosen to share with these women is an online photo album I recently assembled, showing me and some of my pals, my apartment, my work, etc. I believe this album is an honest depiction of me and my life as a loving uncle, devoted friend, professional editor—and an employee of Larry Flynt.

Here’s a link to the album:

ALL ABOUT BRETT

One way I feel I can best illustrate the dichotomy between my professional life and my private life is to include in my online photo album a series of photos that were taken within a week of each other. Last August, I attended my company’s 30th Anniversary party for Hustler Magazine, at which there were at least 100 naked women in attendance. Literally the morning after this debauchery, some close friends of mine and I flew to Florida to spend a week at Disney World in Orlando. (There’s nothing like a week with Walt to purge you of the filthiness of being around porn actresses.) Photographs taken at each of these events were juxtaposed appropriately, to underscore both the absurdity and the reality of my life.

Regrettably, one woman with whom I had been having a particularly interesting correspondence was horrified by the two brief glimpses of nudity revealed in this photo album after I sent her the link. Today I received this email from her:

"I found your sharing the photos from the Hustler Party with me to be too much—we were just getting to know each other, and I don't yet have a comfort level with you in which this kind of sharing is okay. If this was an oversight, perhaps this will help you with the next person you're in touch with. If you were doing it for the shock factor, it worked.
Best of luck in finding the right person."

My reaction to this email was to send an immediate and unconditional apology for having offended her. Although my mea culpa was sincere, I think it's reasonable to assume that any woman in her late 30s knows what a naked woman looks like at this stage of her life. After all, there was no actual sex depicted in the images...just a couple of nudes. It'd be one thing if my entire album of 50 photos were nothing but unclothed porn stars, but in actuality, there are only two "shocking" images.

Naturally, I do respect that any adult has the right to be shocked or horrified by any images they want to be shocked or horrified by. (I considered the idea that this woman was simply using the nudes as an excuse to break off our correspondence, once she got a better look at me. But when I sent her the link, I told her very frankly that if she didn’t like what she saw, she could simply not reply and there would be no hard feelings.) My point is: Are these images really all that shocking? Has she never seen an R-rated movie on a first date?

Are you offended by the images?

A Joke

Question: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to change a light bulb?

Answer: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; its condition is improving every day. Any reports of its lack of incandescence are illusional spin from the liberal media. Illuminating rooms is hard work. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effort. Why do you hate freedom?

Heard any good ones lately?

Pet Peeve #2

Take a good look at the image below. This is the future of broadcast and cable TV. Actually, it's pretty much the present. I made this illustration in Photoshop, but the more I tried to exaggerate the assemblage, the more true-to-life it became.



As if it weren't bad enough that the ratio of editorial/advertising has changed so dramatically over the years, TV commercials are now invading the shows themselves, overlapping and elbowing their way onto the screen when they're not supposed to be there. Network greedheads are actually allowing their viewers to suffer the ultimate distraction: logos, pop-up ads for other shows and bottom-screen crawls that tear our eyes away from the dramatic, unfolding action of their own series. Are there any viewers out there who actually don't mind this bullshit?

I can't finish this diatribe without complaining about the state of affairs at the movie theater. You plunk down $10 per ticket, plus another $8 for popcorn and a soda...and then you're forced to watch 15 minutes of TV commercials before they even get to the 15 minutes of movie trailers. Even worse are the anti-piracy ads that feature a stunt man who pleads with us not to download movies over the internet because it's killing the industry as well as his livelihood—after all, he puts his very LIFE on the line for movies. Hey, pal! Why the hell are you bitching to ME? I PAID TO GET IN HERE! The people in this movie house are not the problem. The real culprits are home, watching the bootlegs! These ads make me want to get up, go home, and download movies out of spite.

What recourse do we have? How long before they start interrupting feature films with commercials?

Oh, the Dichotomy!

I’m the editor of a boating magazine, but I’m not a boater and I would never own a boat.

For as long as I’ve been alive, I have lived within a few miles of the ocean, but I have no particular affinity for the beach and no compulsion to go swimming in anything but a pool.

Every day, I drive a car, use the telephone, cook in a microwave and listen to music on a CD player. Yet I have utterly no idea how any of these things actually work.

I love to read, but I’ve read maybe three books in the last five years.

I’m not attractive, but I want to be with an attractive woman.

I’m profoundly offended by the idea of smoking or experimenting with any illegal drugs, but recently I found the idea of a sexy female friend smoking pot to be an unfathomable turn-on.

I’m a wordsmith, but one of my most difficult chores is writing lyrics to my own songs.

I love to travel and stay in hotel rooms, but I’m petrified of flying.

And the older I get, the more I want to re-experience my childhood.

Dichotomy? Hypocrisy? Insanity? Or all three?

I'd say a little of each.

What are the major contradictions in your life?

The Symbol Life

We live in a country of endless possibilities, exciting opportunities and vast resources. Yet we are a curious union, forever struggling with ambiguity, hypocrisy and paradox. Consider our very birth: America is a nation founded by slave owners who wanted to be free. Irony! Today we have grown into a nation of 300 million people, and if we have learned nothing else, it's that trying to please all of the people all of the time isn't getting easier with each passing year. As the population continues to escalate, so do the chances of offending each other.

One of the many incongruities of the U.S. is that we claim to embrace freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and other basic civil liberties. But you can't really guarantee these things, because as soon as you do, you unleash a variety of loopholes and exceptions (after all, according to popular wisdom, one must never yell "Fire!" in a crowded movie theater, unless Adam Sandler is starring in it). Anybody naive enough to believe that we have free reign to express ourselves obviously has never encountered the Federal Communications Commission (FCC), a regulatory watchdog group that routinely moderates and censors words and images that have been deemed too "potent" for the public airwaves.

Symbols have long been one of the hot buttons that routinely strike fear and loathing into the hearts of the populace. In early January, the owner of a shop in downtown Howell, Michigan, caused an uproar in early January when he placed a number of items he intended to put up for auction in his store window. Among these items: a robe belonging to a former member of the Ku Klux Klan. For many people, this garb is a symbol of racial intolerance. Moreover, the auction's timing hit a nerve: the date of the auction was to be Martin Luther King's birthday. And yet, who could deny the store owner's right to sell and display the costume, rich as it is in historical significance? In the end, the store owner agreed to remove the offending clothing.

Another recent example of "freedom of expression" clashing with other idealism came last summer, when the Chief Justice of the Alabama Supreme Court fought to keep a two-and-a-half ton monument bearing the Ten Commandments in the rotunda of the Alabama State Judicial Building. The controversy began to heat up when the display angered those who felt the statue would be more appropriately displayed in a church than in a political venue. Fittingly, a vote removed the monument from the Capitol, and it was hauled over to the lawn of First Presbyterian Church in Lake Placid, Florida.

Then, barely a couple of weeks ago, yet another symbol—a Nazi swastika, arguably the most powerful and hated symbol of the 20th Century and beyond—became the source of another outcry, only this time, the flap was centered in Britain. In a move of stupidity unequalled in recent memory, Prince Harry (son of Prince Charles and the late Princess Diana) wore an armband with a Nazi insignia to a costume party. Photos from the party found their way onto British tabloid newspapers, causing an international furor. Harry apologized for being an insensitive dumbass.

From people who want to remove the word "God" in the pledge of allegiance to those who are infuriated by Nativity scenes during Christmas, symbols seemed doomed to create havoc for the forseeable future. Because flags are instantly recognizable as political symbols, there are numerous instances where they have been at the forefront of controversy. According to the book Farewell to Manzanar, author Jeanne Wakatsuki recalls Japanese residents of the United States—including her own father—burning the flags of their homeland following the attack on Pearl Harbor simply because it connected them to their home country.

The Confederate flag, meanwhile, has become all but synonymous with slavery for entire generations of people who never even lived through that dark period of America’s history. Years ago, at Harvard University, some people were outraged when a fellow student hung the flag in public view. Once again, a piece of decorated fabric became the source of hurt feelings and outrage. How should Harvard's overlords have reacted? Which is more important—upholding racial peace, or freedom of expression?

It's one of the hallmarks of human nature that, both as individuals and subgroups, we are designed to be offended. In a perfect world, the Harvard students who found the Confederate flag offensive should have been even more offended by any move to remove them. As Voltaire is famous for having said, “I may disagree with everything you say, but I would fight to the death to defend your right to say it.” An admirable statement, to be sure, but it doesn’t work in the real world. Or at least the United States.

Which symbols do you find disturbing? What offends you most in life?