Posts Tagged ‘editorial


Venting Colbert Report, 12-13-2019


That’s right. It’s called Venting Colbert Report, like the cable-TV show the suit once hosted “in character.” So, set your VCRs to “not stunned” at what I’m about to say; it’s nothing new but needs to be said.

I just want to take a little time to let off some steam about a certain late-night talk-show host who has been the silver-tongued court jester, grilling the current US president ever since the big businessman and his gorgeous (first) daughter (and the rest of the family) stepped into office.


Colbert may have the best personality and face to show at those hours. But, he’s wasting his breath and making me ill more often than he can make me laugh.

I’m so tired of so many things in this world; my memory isn’t entirely sure…but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time I’ve written about him/this. I don’t even watch the show regularly, anymore. And yet, there comes a point when you hear and see enough, with family input, to make you want to scream. Rather than scream or throw things, I choose to type out my fury and need to vomit in a more “rational coping” way.


Disclaimer. If you have a beef with the current US president and/or are a die-hard Democrat and/or Colbert fan, do not take anything I have to say as Republican or any negative attitude/force against all that is good. If you do, you might be on the path to becoming a bully or troll…like this guy (who I am about to point at with my steely index finger and try not to make an obnoxious sound). And, some band of hobbits or other mythical folks will come along to smite you.

MEANWHILE!!!…Mr. Stephen J. Tolkien Colberenstein Bearson spins lyrics after lyrics about the big cheese and anyone who crosses paths with the guy, calling everyone names–occasionally funny names–and dancing around the stage like…well…a court jester. He’s so busy doing it, he doesn’t have time to wipe all the seemingly intellectual crap he’s spewing from his Charmin behind. Yep. You may say he has a silver tongue. But, his tongue doth only look silverish because-eth he hast spent countless years polishing it, bent over a writing desk, trying to turn ravens into wood. He has been working with other writers on other shows that try to make other people look amusing and worked his way to the front of the stage. And, unlike his late-night cohorts, who are choking on his exhaust fumes, trying to keep up, he has excelled and fed on applause like a vampire sucks your blood (or raids the ice chest of a hospital). Turn the lights down a little, and you’ll find him curled up in a corner, reading about hobbits and dwarves and ready to cast fake spells at you if you disturb him. The other guys in bad suits sweat frozen burritos and cough up last night’s dinner while Mr. Frank Lloyd Copy-n-Write Webber Grill greases the competition, leaving a flaming oil slick on the race track.

[I’d compare him to the stocky Jimmy…well, the dark-haired one…the one with a Hispanic sidekick…the one who likes to leech onto basketball games for extra air time, because they both excel at calling people names and little else. But, I’d hate for the two to team up and start dishing out wedgies at schools.]

Who was once a refreshingly smooth-talking guy, trying to best the freckled Irishman (who worked his way up from one half of a sinister geek duo to solo string-dancing superstar, Conan O’Brien, who was slighted a better broadcast slot), dazzling the crowd and featuring some nifty special-effects segments about a variety of things, insisting he was not going to be the political menace he was on non-broadcast TV, when he was “in character,” has turned the hypocritical heel and become the Burger King of hashing out politico fries. All he needs is a paper hat and a stained apron.

Colbert has beaten the dead darkhorse, broken the record and made the guy holding the starting pistol point the barrel at his own head. If he’s going to flash that Captain America shield wherever he goes, I cannot be a Captain America fan. I am struggling to be an America fan, already. He’s not helping.

Turning another light on this subject, trying a different angle, there’s a point when funny becomes badgering, when a witty remark becomes, “Hey, basketball head, want me to dribble you all the way home and tell your mommy to call you Wilson?” If you get people to laugh about the foolishness someone has done, good for your fifteen minutes in the spotlight. But, Idina Menzel, man. Let it go! You can’t be those other late-night guys trying the same jokes twice, just in case people don’t watch every night. You can’t expect me to turn off my TV for a month, come back and enjoy more of what I heard last time as if you were a newborn smartmouth waiting to be baptized into geekdom.

[Switching to interview mode…]

But, Mr. Colbert Cheese on Bleh, I know; you probably don’t write all of this stuff, yourself. You…probably have a disorganized team of writers at your side, pitching ideas, feeding you lines. You just read the cards. You’re the figurehead of…well…your own government? Hmm. Who does that sound like?…like a certain orange-faced businessman who looks like he’s in charge but also part of a three-branch government who can handle itself just fine without you turning countless American minds into computer-phone scrolling gelatin-heads who’d rather vote for you than an actual candidate or take your word for a reason to vote or not to vote. Does it matter who we vote for? Are we voting in anticipation of Mr. Late Night putting the winner on the hot seat?

[Now, back to talking-to-someone-else mode…]

Yet, I’ll still say Colbert must have a brain; he doth read a lot of imaginative works. He must have some magic in that old top hat he found. And, when he puts it on his head, he is sure to dance around. [Have you heard that song?] Perhaps, this is all a strategic move. Perhaps, getting the competition to try and follow his dance steps is Colbert’s way of staying on top. He plays the pied-piper flute, gets the other guys to chuckle nervously and sweat buckets; and, soon, he’s the only one still standing.

[And then back to interview mode…]

Bravo, Mr. Showmancer. And, yet, your British spy-apprentice doth have another magic in his pocket, where he keeps one hand to grope himself and cope with the thoughts running through his head when a “hunky” “delicious” male guest is on his show, before he mentions his wife and kids. He would seem to be a true wizard at getting people bigger contracts and other business. He turns the new turd on the street into streaming gold, when he’s not processing pot with his Showtime-Pizza-Place band (including one beautiful bass-guitar player) and partying like Dionysus. [Sadly, his smaller ragged band sounds better than yours, too. Ouch. But…you just keep staying…eh, human.] He has even seduced a lovely blonde songstress I admire into playing cat-and-cat with him.

MEANWHILE!!!…you continue wrenching those eyebrows and trying to figure out what to do with your hands every night. How is a raven like a Conan O’Brien or a running Letterman, sir? I’d ask the raven. But, he’s too busy dancing and picking on the same bloated corpse to answer.

So…I’m going to go, now, and try to wash that tripe right out of my hair, again, try to forget what got me all worked up in the first place…because…you’re not worth it. You’ve spent, what, three years now? hounding this guy and all who cross his path; I’d have a hard time looking at you when–this–is all over and not replaying your previous grilling in my mind. You go so far to tease–no, harass and harangue–the man about what’s in his pants, night after night.

Are you going to be as outspoken with the next president? Are you going to keep the political grill-train going for as long as you stand on stage? Don’t you have more to contribute? Or, are you too much of a geek to talk about it? There’s no king to send you to any number of death-dealing service providers, but that doesn’t mean you should dance and pitch the same crap every day.

Even Tolkien would be turning in his grave, mumbling, “Dude. If I had a plus-five Sword of Mercy, I’d use it to end this madness. Screw your vital roll, sir. You’ve said too much and wasted your turn. I take my ring of power and disappear from this world you’ve sullied.” [Or, that’s just what I imagine he would say if he was a DnD geek.]

Don’t be just another twit doing impersonations of a tweeter.


You’re a wit, sir. Now, use it, properly.


Are You a True Friend/Ally or ‘Expectator’?



This…is…Spart–  Oh, wait.  Wrong movie.  But, it did deliver the same impact-ful question/vibe.

Are you a spectator or the leading role receiving your fill of expectations?…or both?  Or, maybe you just don’t care, either way; your life is a combination of labor and minimal social entertainment, routine and not worth thinking on this level…you’re basically a pack animal.

I had this thought, this morning.  I have received plenty of expectations from people over my lifetime.  I’ve been told how smart and talented I am and what I should do with my life more often I can count.  But, I can probably count on my two hands how many “angels” I’ve met, people who really stepped up to be a friend…however tragically short that time with me was.

And, that, ladies and gents, and boys and girls of all ages, is what my life really boils down to…my productivity has been lacking due to a lack of support, acceptance and assistance.  If you get by without much of that, then maybe I’m just not like you.  Or, maybe you don’t realize what you have.  I know what I have…I just don’t feel it’s enough to make me live nearly up to the expectations I receive.  I live my life, feeling like a disappointment, no matter how I pitch myself…until I tell myself to turn a blind ear (and eye) to those who pitch expectations and just do my own thing…but doing my own thing hasn’t exactly been fruitful because it’s very lonely.

And, all introvert-ish thinking aside, all my ability to work alone and keep myself busy aside, I need people.  I need friends.  I need to know I am good in and out and acceptable, not just tell myself I am okay as I am.  It’s not superficial or looking in the wrong direction for emotional support.  I think it’s just (my) human nature showing its true colors.  But, lacking any adequate social skills, other than knowing how to speak bluntly (which isn’t always an asset…), and occasionally being a good listener (used to be more often, when I had more heart left to share)…I don’t see the means to bringing more people into my life.  And, what I keep finding isn’t filling the “job slots.”  I feel like I’m sitting in some tiny office, expected to hire a company full of subordinates, and I get no callbacks or resumes worth getting a response.  [If that makes sense; if it doesn’t I really don’t care much, anymore.  The old perfectionist, misunderstood me would be up in arms, right about now, tossing papers and fuming…and then collecting those papers because I was once a “neat freak.”]

It’s even more apparent when I try some online games…or, rather, games you can partake online (or offline) and have some kind of interaction…when there’s hardly any interaction.  Do I have to “add 100 friends” just to get a ding or a whoop?  Am I falling short by trying to pick a half-dozen people who I consider up to the task of being a cooperative player?…versus being one of the countless drones who just click LIKE and REPOST buttons in this blog-verse?  [I think, ever since I started bitching about the LIKE button, I’ve received far fewer LIKES; so add one more detail to the “this sucks” pile…not that I cared about LIKES…just, in a sad case when you get no other response…anyway.  Meh.]  Is it all just processing the day, or do people actually care about each other?  Are there ANY genuine friends in this world?  Or, do I just hear stories, like fiction on the wind?  Am I being teased with fantasy and lil wizards who have dead parents?…plenty of the convenient dead parent stories.

When I was a kid, I was “the quiet one.”  I didn’t have automatic friends show up looking for a pal.  I didn’t know how to interact with kids while staying as safe as all the adults wanted me to be.  I was afraid of getting hurt/hit; so sports and physical games were essentially out of play.  When I finally found a friend…and I am not sure how that even happened, other than two guys (and one rare girl) making some joke on the playground which broke the crucial ice…we had to talk the relationship over with our parents; I had to get an Okay to visit or have them visit me.  I had strict rules about phone calls that fluctuated daily, so I never knew where I stood; nor did the friend know how to deal with my parents.  It was a torture-some game of hit and miss time together.  So, to be fair, I couldn’t expect much.

But, there WAS that one girl…the diamond in the rough…who put up with it all and stuck by me.  And, though I didn’t actively support all of her interests…which made me a bit of a spectator but not an “expectator”…I felt I did a fair amount of being there for her…until peer pressure, I suspect, got the best of us.  Having to say, “We’re just…friends,” when your heart is saying “I love this girl, I think,” is rough.  And, the more I denied my feelings or slighted her, the worse I felt.  And, I think, deep down, she knew and felt something, too; or she was just the most loyal friend I’ve ever known.  And, we were not even in the same interest circles, other than maybe video games.  She didn’t draw.  And, I didn’t do gymnastics or think much of forestry…though I’ve grown to enjoy state parks and exploring nature.   But, we got along so well…and I adored her, madly.  She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class, but she had more class than most; she earned my respect, and then some.  [I’m pretty sure I’ve written about her before; so I don’t want to repeat myself or go on too long about this.]

As I became a teen and adult, after a shocking sex-education class, I had far less luck with friendships and finding allies.  I had plenty of hecklers, jesters, shapeshifters and all-around-lackluster faces around me who had more fun being pests than anything friendly, especially if I didn’t approve of something they chose to do/say.   I get it…and it wasn’t exactly new to me…people changing and turning on me…but I was hoping ONE in the bunch might be as nice as that girl was.  Nope.

In the “working world,” I’ve grazed paths with pretty faces who just couldn’t find a way to fit and guys who’d rather talk sex, sports and music, of which I know less, I guess, and am not particularly into discussing.  I get a rare “We should do something together” offer which goes nowhere for whatever reason; either I can’t get ‘there’ (to where we are to meet) or the other person never follows through with an “Okay, let’s do this; when is best for both of us?”  I have gone on very few dates which all ended badly.  I’ve been a spectator to a number of sour relationships which usually involved quick sex I did not need to hear about the next day.  It’s not exactly a social-friendly atmosphere or sustaining life experience.  It kinda makes this rabbit want to eat in a different pasture; ya know?

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  That was a rather personal explosion and old would I just visited.

So, looking at yourself, on a regular basis, are you a spectator or avid ally/friend?


I’m Sick of These M-F’n Tools Saving Every Species on the Planet!


That was my weak attempt at sounding like Samuel L. Jackson in that infamous movie about snakes on a plane.

But, let’s talk about a bigger tool.

Common, you’re such a tool. Those AI ads he keeps doing…just rub me the wrong way for some inexplicable reason. And, the latest one really struck a sour note.

One more pitch to save some “endangered” species.

I’ve got nothing against respect for nature and being concerned about all life on the planet. But, if nature decides to eliminate any species, we need not be responsible.

Do you understand what I am saying?

Nature decides what species will live, what new species will join the rest and which will become extinct.

As much as humans like to play god, and as much as Americans like to boast being the best at everything these days, we humans are responsible for the crimes we commit against nature as well as how much we are willing to treat it right. We are capable of maintaining the planet better than any other species. But, we cannot be the overprotective parents, especially when our energy and resources are needed to save ourselves from our own mistakes and from nature’s harsh backlash, probably for the crimes we’ve committed and thus are rightfully doomed to face.

If someone is pitching an AI solution to keep every species known on the planet alive and thriving, isn’t that a bit silly?

For one reason, what happens if, among all of the preserved species, new ones appear in small numbers? Well, we have to protect those, too. And, the next group? Yep. Them, too. Before long, we have a planet swallowed up in lifeforms without adequate resources to sustain them all, sort of like the junk lady in that 1980s Labyrinth movie piling stuff up on Sarah’s back.

[If I may be so blunt, are we just preserving these species because they make pretty photographs for some wildlife magazine you want to print on excess glossy paper which is just going to end up in a landfill when the multitude of shrinking attention spans cast them aside like yesterday’s hot topic?]

Ya know why the big ol’ dinosaurs went extinct? It wasn’t just some massive rock from deep space that created a sinkhole in the planet and devastated the climate. It was a population boom that couldn’t be supported by available resources. And, nature took them out, replacing them with a wide assortment of lifeforms, including us, sort of like an American football team replacing its most expensive player with a few cheaper ones to fill some holes in the defensive line. Now, we are the dinosaurs. And, if we don’t get a grip on our actions……..

Secondly, the planet will be overrun with technological gizmos, not just those keeping watch on every animal like some high-tech spies for some company surely getting something out of this access to what is probably some privacy nature did not intend us humans to take.

Those gizmos will require maintenance and resources we must provide, further depleting our time and resources which could be applied to means capable of preserving all life, not just one rare species at a time, invading the privacy of nesting and other rituals. And, just as your personal computer-phone puts out enough “heat” to fry an egg or your ear, and just as cellphone towers and electrical towers in general put out invisible radiation which impacts all life around them in negative ways, those flying and roving gizmos sent with the supposed intent of protecting all of these other species are sure to put out something that could very well be harmful to something if not everything in its path, because when have humans been known to create anything perfectly clean and safe? Mmm…never? At least, it seems everything we’ve made has had some negative output in the news.

[Can you imagine some drone appearing outside your bathroom, claiming it’s just making sure you’re still alive while you stand there naked about to take a shower? How long before that becomes so annoying that you change your washing habits and/or your whole daily routine, ultimately impacting your life expectancy? And, what if that supervising drone puts out some kind of radiation to scan your home and detect your body heat or some other signature? More invisible rays passing through your body and everything you hold dear, possibly invading your sleep cycle, causing you to wake with the feeling something weird was buzzing in your ear like a mosquito, a species we certainly do not need to preserve unless we are using them as weapons…and that is dangerous talk.]

[What if it doesn’t stop at drones? What if we get tags like all those species humans tag to track their numbers? That, too, is a human habit I find repulsive. Yet, we spend enough energy doing just that while water supplies and other resources continue to become hazards to us all. Would you want to walk around with some colorful plastic tab clipped to your ear or neck or ankle for the rest of your life? Maybe if your the sort who likes tattoos and/or piercings. But, not me.]

We are as responsible for upsetting the environments of all these other species as we are preserving them. But, two wrongs don’t make a right. And, yes, in a way, boxing every life form into some kind of human protection system isn’t right.

I know it’s a bigger and more vague goal to correct the other wrongs we have done to the planet, but that’s the homework we need to get done. Not being the policing, over-protective parents of the planet’s population.

If the world loses its snow leopards, it will go on. But, if the world loses its clean water supply or safe atmosphere, more than the snow leopards will suffer; all species will suffer. If one more human tribe puts its faith in nuclear power as a resource, more than a few snow leopards will suffer for a longer time than any human petition mob can survive to protect those snow leopards.

If you spend your time and resources sending machines to watch over some small cluster of one or two species instead of cleaning up the environment or protecting all life in a particular area you can manage, your effort is futile. If you are in a desert and give all of your water to a lone lizard you think is the only one of its kind, you will die in that desert before you learn that the lizard will be just fine on its own.

And, if no one bothers to read this, if it doesn’t make an impact on improving the way we humans treat the planet, then it was a waste of my time, energy and technology. All of which could have been saved had I not bothered to turn on the TV and see the man, calling himself Common, in one more lame commercial.




What’s Left to Write About? The Fate of Creativity


It’s all been done…said the Bare Naked Ladies long before the Big Bang.  They weren’t kidding.

I feel that periodic urge to pose like that Thinker statue, right now.   Deep Thoughts…by Jack Writingbolt.

I am not a man of few words, yet, even now, I am finding it hard to put into words the panic, dread and frustration I feel at the thought of lacking originality and creativity in this world.  As a creative spirit myself, I feel like a dryad about to lose his tree/forest and evaporate into nothingness…but the world won’t let me.  I’m still here, whether it’s to watch the world decay around me and slowly turn me toward the dark side…or to make some impacting, positive change yet to rock the world (at a time when the average person who rocks the world seems to be a guy under 30 with a huge chip on his shoulder that is never quite explained before he is “dealt with”).

Just the other day, a thought came to me…and this isn’t about one particular gorgeous songstress I admire.  What would song writers write about if they didn’t write about past or current relationships of some kind?  If they didn’t write about how a boss or partner/spouse wronged them or “did them right,” what would fill a CD?  It’s as if the air is so thick with lust and disgust that we can’t think any other way.  I, myself, have heard more than enough talk of sex and material ambitions that mean little to me; I can’t tune out enough…I can’t tune into anything better and am quickly losing my ability to be a good listener/therapist.  [Though, my back massages remain legendary.]

When I think of all the CDs I’ve sampled, I realize, too, what few songs make it to radio and how many more seemed doomed to only be heard by diehard fans.  Is it intentional to disregard the majority of an artist’s work to either sell CDs (and disappoint later) or discourage creativity?

Imagine being an artist hired to fill a gallery with your work.  But, when you present your year’s work, the owner of the gallery says “no” to two thirds or three fourths of it, forcing you to take back some pieces you thought were better than the ones given the “okay.”  How would you feel, after thinking you were free to fill the space with whatever you could do?  Now, imagine how that might affect your output over time.  Would you still make as much?  Change the type of output?  Scrap your whole portfolio and never go to art college?

Now, imagine being a songwriter and putting all of your energy into releasing a new album in time for some not-so-important-but-crucial release date only to milk crap from your teats…and one “hit” song.   [By the way, non-related note, I “love” how Spell Check just checked “teets” and offered “tweets” but nothing closer to teats.]  Tell me I am wrong.  [I’m not wrong.]  You fill the CD with songs about passing fancies with B- and C- list famous names; maybe you get a thrill from flirting with emotional danger.  Maybe it fuels your creativity (because nothing else in this smog-clouded world will).

Then you go about performing these songs at concerts to promote that recent album…and let fans know you still remember every song you ever wrote, just in case one or more wants to hear that song which is personal to you but meant something else to them at a time in their life.  “Oh, sing that song you sang about person A because that was playing when I had sex with boyfriend C last winter.”

Or, tell me concert goers, do these performers NOT sing these songs about past relations years later?   Are they eventually forgotten?  I say this because I know certain groups, like the Rolling Stones and Linkin Park, would perform a wide selection of their work, from start to…well, ultimate finish, in some cases.  I would like to think a performer could just forget some of the work they put out, even if it was made for therapy or just to fill an album.  But, can they?  I mean…it’s out there, in abundance.  It really makes you think about what some say about the internet.  When you put it out there…here…it’s never going away.

So, then I think…

Do these songwriters enjoy reliving every good and bad moment they had in life through their songs?  Or, are they chugging back bottles of acid relief to keep themselves from puking misery every time an unpleasant time replays with the song in their minds?

And then I think…

Imagine getting into a relationship with a musician and having to relive all those past relationships in song and public functions because your “date” is a walking billboard, YouTube channel or “Alexa” for a long list of steamy and heart-break-turned-bitter-revenge creations, like ugly, mean-spirited kids they are forced to tote around in the process of a painful divorce.  It’s like the thought of pairing up with a single parent or “separated” individual.  I’m sorry if I sound cold when I say the oxygen suddenly leaves my body, and I want to pound a table for more air just to breathe, again.  I’m just not that guy who wants to dish about past relations (unless it’s the topic on the table for an inevitable date discussion) or step in as the dad to someone’s kids.  I like to think I am stronger…

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  [‘Sorry if I don’t “hyper-link” that to a previous post of mine so you can read over a string of past thoughts that somehow connect through my blog.  You’ll just have to read backward and be amazed when something connects…or try key word searches.]

Food for thought.  And, on that note (which is quickly becoming my regular phrase and should go on a T-shirt), I have a post about food and how it plays with our minds, coming soon, if I don’t second guess it.


Big Brother (USA) 2019, Thoughts


I’m inclined to repeat myself. But, first…

It’s Big Brother season in the USA! Actually, the season is already nearing its end. I’m a bit late with the announcement. But, I am on time with my predictions of the final results…which have become rather predictable.

How is the show predictable you ask? Let me break it down, one more time.

1) Alliances of ridiculous numbers form rather quickly out of fear of being eliminated too soon…only to crumble by the time the show reaches the “jury” stage, leading to excessive internal stress and drama. It was something done before by someone; so people feel compelled to do the same, as if they’ve joined a fraternity or sorority and want to share coffee over squeals before buying matching sweatshirts bedazzled with trios of Greek letters. It’s like trying to form a human pyramid and hold that position for three months. Even the most miserable stamina challenge on the show doesn’t require that much stationary effort. And, just as bad or worse, the alliances divide the house in such a cliche way. Which brings me to…

2) The division of the “cool kids” and the “outcasts” like an average high-school crowd. Every season, the show recruits “TV-pretty” people and a handful of what I’d classify as society’s rejects, some of which come with oddly respectable job titles and thus make me wonder how this “performance” impacts their careers. How do you know if you’re “cool” or an “outcast?” Well, if your alliance has more than two people but fewer than six, you’re likely an outcast. And, if your alliance doesn’t include the sexiest people the show has to offer, you’re likely an outcast. And, what happens to the outcasts?

3) Outcasts rarely win and “floaters” never win. More often, a certain dominating, “trending” presence starts a train ride to victory early in the game. If an outcast takes the big prize, he or she had to put up with the most crap, witness just about every social conflict and avoid appearing more threatening than the other person on the “chopping block” without being a “floater.” And, when that person wins, it’s as if they were the lesser of two evils, when the other is a “cool kid” who worked as hard or harder to get that far. This outcast is not a “competition beast” nor deserving of any great status. And, they win by the jury deciding to turn on the person who got the most screen time and could be blamed for upsetting the most people. What’s strange is that the winning outcast deserves as much blame for being annoying and deceiving; I have yet to see an outcast retain my support and make it to the final three. On the other hand, I continually find the winner upsetting my stomach for one reason or another. Jealousy? Hardly.

I recall one year when a person I classified as an outcast won. I was rooting for him, at first. But, by the end of the season, I detested him for faking his emotions and for having no emotional connection with anyone in the house; he won like a robot and by the house turning on the one I thought was favored. I doubt he left with any friendships. [But, then again, I could be completely wrong…as I tend to misjudge people and situations that look predictable.] All I know is I went from liking the guy to hating the guy. Unlike the year that cop won; he had skillfully aligned himself with the right people and stayed true to those he called friend (including one I still find annoying).

I understand how deception can be an exciting and challenging tool to wield in this game, but it’s like bad perfume. It messes with people’s heads, breaks trust, ruins relationships… You spend roughly three months in a box with the same (annoying) people, and you’re going to leave with those people in a confused and unpleasant state? If so, you’re likely going to leave with psychological hangups and brain damage. Considering how the results can turn you on your head, why not focus on surrounding yourself with the people you actually learn to like and enjoying the game? Anything else is like me trying to video tape an entire vacation to relive it, later.

And, floaters?

[In case you don’t already know, a floater is defined as a person who essentially tries to look pretty and does as little as possible to ensure they survive the game; they survive as long as they do because the other people in the house ignore them until they come looking for a vote in their favor.]

Often enough, floaters are women (sometimes beautiful women who may or may not require elaborate makeup and hair pieces to look that way) who get brushed aside by competing men (male egos) until the men need a pillow to hold. Floaters last longer than the whiners and foolish challengers of authority but typically get reduced to one by the time there are only four people left in the house; and then that floater’s time to go has come. The one year I see a strong, self-assured woman who could hold her own and dazzle my senses…she breaks her leg and becomes a unique “floater”…sort of a sad charity case and a “whoops” on the show’s part. ‘Didn’t expect the unexpected of breaking someone’s limb in a competition, did ya? Nooo…yer too maliciously excited to test people like rats in a maze. I swear…

4) Some competitions go too far to test these people. I’m not sure when it started, but there are competitions that go beyond what first shocked me on Survivor (another reality TV survival game show that exploits sad people seeking small fame and fortune). Endurance tests are one thing…but throwing everything in the garbage at people, wasting food, making insane messes of the places your crew designs so creatively…and then the risk of actual injury?

I will spend an entire day holding onto a dry tree trunk rather than subject myself to skating across a slippery track just to transport cups of whatever from one vat to another. I will roll my lone ball down that infuriating-ly daunting track in slim hope of reaching the goal rather than risk my neck in some physcial challenge that no one should have to face for nothing. I don’t care what shady deal you work out off-camera with these people. What I see is people getting abused for nothing. They may walk away with forced smiles and say nice things to avoid lawsuits…but, come on! There are too many reducing themselves to cruel deceptive tactics and falling in line with the enemy just to leave and hope they can still piece together their lives (and not sign another contract to do some other CBS reality TV game show to remain a puppet for as long as someone is willing to hold the strings and as long as that puppet holds together).

And, every season ends with the big winner aka the least favored person who steals the prize and drops jaws, the runner-up aka the person who worked the hardest for far less and the Miss Congeniality aka the person (man or woman) who earned the fewest groans and the most smiles.

So, without further ado, here are my picks:

The big winner:  Nick  [The dark horse surprise-er of the season who was on the chopping block only to recover and take the trophy…why? It’s just how this goes; the one you want to win doesn’t, and the one you don’t want to win usually does because the Jury screws the expectations and hard-working cowards like Paul who gave his season 120%. My runner-up pick currently looks primed to win; but that’s not usually how the game goes. However, this season seems set to mirror the previous two seasons by forcing a certain couple to advance their relationship as if you can’t end the summer without casting roles for some marriage reality TV show that puts the Bachelor(s) to shame.]

The runner-up:  Michie aka Jackson  [He is that annoying alpha-male type with an inexplicably sickening weasel-ish-ness about him and apparently favored as the “hunk” of the season; which sadly means the lovely Holly will likely be the third member of the final three who gets bumped at the last possible moment by the two heated competitors.][Note:  The person I usually grow to dislike usually wins, even if I vote for someone else.  In this case, I am not particularly expecting anyone I like to win and don’t care who wins.  So, my aim is likely off, regardless.  But, I am taking a wild guess, anyway.]

Miss Congeniality:  Kathryn  [She is just the biggest bundle of fun and someone I’d be inclined to call a crazy friend, reminding me both of Meg mixed with John, both from season 17.  I would expect her to hook up in some kind of “showmance”…but I happened to notice her wearing a ring and suspect she has an un-mentioned fiancé waiting back home, which is really curbing her “social game” and causing her to joke and laugh nervously.]
Every year I find at least one woman I not only root for but generally fawn over. This year, it’s Holly who rates a solid 8.5/10…sometimes, in special moments, bumping herself up to a 9.5.   [From an online profile, personality wise, she might be more like a 6/10.]  She’s like a somber, tattoo-free Angelina Jolie with geeky glasses, fab hair and an uncanny aim.

Kathryn (or Kat), who has already fallen to Jury with the stunning face of Analyse (“Sis”), is a close second who could be my favorite if she wasn’t so unpredictably crazy; she reminds me just a bit of the cracked dentist who participated a few seasons ago. Why, if I favor them so, don’t I expect or root for them to win? Because, so far, no beauty, no matter how brainy, reaches the finish line.

Not long ago, there was a wee blonde gal named Nicole who went from being cute to annoying, did not win her first season and somehow came back to win another season and marry the saint of that season, a guy I like to think may have been an incarnation of Jesus, the way he presented himself.  I have a hard time accepting anyone named Nicole, now.  But, this year’s Nicole (Anthony) is fairly cute and seems like a great friend type (for me).  [From what I’ve read, she and I think alike and have similar interests and talents…and hang-ups.  Personality wise, she rates about a 9/10.]

So, if you managed to read everything I just wrote, you may ask why do I even bother watching the show? I don’t even watch 75% of what is shown because it’s just rats in a cage, chattering mindlessly, not knowing how to act or feel about anything and ignoring the bigger questions that put them in this space. Sadly, I follow the show for four reasons:

1) I enjoy seeing the interior design of the house and the more creative (not messy, risky or destructive) competitions.

Comic book covers, costume “punishments,” lawn darts with caricatures of past contestants, fake movie quizzes and matching cardboard cutouts with clue-injected scenery? Yes, please. Hanging from some hazardous prop/machine while being slathered with more crap than Nickelodeon can sling at a kid, diving through who-knows-what to find some Double-Dare token and listen to some quasi-evil robot spout off, as if we are encouraging bullies for the farming of tears? No thanks. I’d rather not return to my lackluster life with new problems, including broken bones and some foreign substance in my lungs which will then result in medical bills the show will not likely pay for and which will make the rest of my days on this questionable planet less tolerable.

2) I have a relentless crush on Julie Chen, the host of the American version of the show (also the celebrity and, apparently, the Canadian versions?).

3) I look for favorable female competitors (women I’d want as life partners) and anticipate them winning, which, so far, I haven’t seen one do.

The people I favor–mind you, favor without turning into someone I detest–never seem to win, not even the men. In a rare situation, there was the cop–whose name slips my mind–who was probably the most respectable player to win that I can remember. And, that mohawk- (or faux-hawk?) sporting Paul from a few seasons back went from cowardly jerk to hard-working genius only to get denied the big prize in the end, a prize given to someone who I felt had no business winning.

But, then again, maybe winning the big prize is just the opposite of what it seems; maybe the big winner is really the saddest person who just doesn’t know what’s to come, sort of like Carrie in those scary movies, when she gets dumped on and flips out on everyone. Maybe the big winner is just being tagged the biggest threat to society and paid off with some signatures collected to ensure they don’t explode outside of a controlled prison. Maybe winning is just a ticket into some witness-protection plan for science experiments.

4) I imagine myself in the house with the other contestants and go through a mix of internal torment (imagining me at odds with certain obnoxious people) and wishful thinking (imagining a variety of things I’d like to say and do which I’d likely never pull off without a hitch and likely would go home unsatisfied).


I leave you with these tips, if there’s ever a chance you who read this (or I) gets a chance to play on the game show…I guess you could call this my own strategy, if I was able to participate:

1) Do not form an alliance.

Form a dynamic duo. A solid team of two is sure to see you through to victory. But, if you call someone your “ride-or-die,” don’t bail on them; or you will likely fry…or, at least, lose the right to call that person a true friend.

2) Enjoy the game as safely as possible.

Do not focus solely on winning; you cannot–no matter how you foolishly try–ensure you will win. That’s been proven. [And, I would not be the least bit surprised if the makers of the show didn’t script who will win from the minute they close the decision on a cast of “castaways.”] So, play like you’re in an arcade; and, when the quarters run out, hold your head up and walk away calmly. Even if the show wants to make a fool out of you, do your best to avoid lowering yourself to something you’ll later regret. If saving your face means losing, so be it. The game only lasts a few months. Your life goes on much longer. Plans don’t always go as intended; so why not enjoy the ride? And, if you win in the end, all the better. If you come away with less money, hopefully you’re not out of options.

Playing safe does not mean doing as little as possible or not trying your best. It means knowing when to protect yourself and have values you won’t sacrifice, even if it means losing. Because, very likely, you’ll lose to someone who either is just more enduring than you or someone who will tempt you to be a far worse person than you want to be. What do you expect on a game show with cameras everywhere and an assortment of expectations and restrictions? But, regardless of all that, hold onto your dignity and try not to injure yourself like the lovely Christmas, sadly, did. [Though I don’t think she was trying to hurt or exceed her abilities; she just had an unfortunate accident. And, it’s strange, considering she is/was in such “jaw-mazing” physical shape.] If you need to drop out of a competition to save your joints or avoid sickness, do so.

Personally, playing safe also means not getting involved with petty squabbles which seem to dominate air time. I’m not saying I won’t find or get myself involved in some…but I’d do my best to avoid them and practice the mantra of “No mas; ‘kay?” (an alternative to the trendy “namaste”). If I get involved only to walk away with a volatile pool of acid in my fuming gut, I’ll eventually realize my loss of self-control was pointless. So, it’s best to catch yourself sooner than later, take a deep breath and negate the conflict. Just walk away from the confrontation…unless you are defending your friend. It’s better to defend a friend than yourself because you may not realize you are lowering your own sensibility in the emotionally-charged moment. If you feel yourself reaching for that box of cereal or milk jug and wanting to throw it at the agitator, pause and extract yourself; cast out the anger and/or frustration and step away from the threat. No more. Okay? Save a nerve; ride an HoH or veto competition.

As I’ve stated elsewhere, I can skip over 75% of the show because I am not one who enjoys listening to countless hours of people whispering accusations and fears…or shouting only to be silenced when the FCC detects a unpleasant word. You’d cut out the honest answers from contestants and goodbye video messages and stuff broadcast airtime with the negative/futile-ly heated interactions? That’s just cold and sickening. Why can’t the catty stuff be left to the late-night (Pop) viewers or live-feed chasers? I suspect it’s all worked out in some elaborate, illogical financial scheme.

3) Surround yourself with friends, not enemies.

That doesn’t mean you pick out the other pretty people, even if you are one, or settle into a miserable cave with all of the other outcasts. Don’t keep the biggest jerks in the house for hope of having voters pointing a finger at them and giving you the big prize. By the time you have a chance at that big prize, you’ll have endured more misery than was probably necessary. If you’re going to commit to staying in such a place, be sure you’re among people you can tolerate if not enjoy. DO NOT CAST OUT THE NICE GUY OR GAL WHO GETS ALONG WITH EVERYONE! Do not send the saint to jury or, even worse, the void of no return. [But, then again, maybe it’s better for the saint to be of service and not take the big prize…if there’s some moral benefit in the bargain, if the big prize is, again, not all it appears to be. Maybe the saint is a prize for the viewers to find on their own.]

[On a side note, I suspect the show, off-camera, has some details it ensures are represented, including what I’d classify as token gay people and representatives-of-races-other-than-Caucasian-mutts. And, these select few are somehow guaranteed a slice of TV time, even though the trend continually appears to be the abrupt ousting of black folks and an enduring tolerance of gay players. I don’t want to get racist or sexist, regardless of my personal agitations. But, there sure has been a pattern on the show, especially in recent years. I think it was season one…when an African-American guy made a stink about something (translation: did not get along with so many other “white folks”) and was quickly kicked out, followed by the lone black (or brown) woman on the show. And, I have yet to see a dark-skinned man or woman make it to the final three…which is not a reason for the show to skew anything to achieve such a goal. But, what does that say about the country?…about the people? Is it just the locations from which these people are plucked that generally favor gay folks over other ethnicities? Is it impossible to recruit a more diverse group, versus a majority of foul-mouthed southerners boasting favorable job titles when they act anything but civilized? Are players afraid to pick on a gay player for fear of angering the viewers and/or staff, for stirring thoughts of sexism? Is it just “the way it is” to see diversity fall to the white majority? And, would any other result be forced versus natural?]

Going back to tip #1, regarding alliances…

4) Pick a partner to see you through to the end and be content if that person wins, instead of you.

I think the best way to go into the game is to make one good friend (or, at least, one contact you can rest assured knowing will do something nice with you outside of the game) and be just as happy to see them win as you would be. Instead of gauging who’s the best at physical and mental competitions, catering to televised expectations or reducing yourself to catty, superficial speculations, find the person or people who you would like to see prosper from this experience and be accepting of them surpassing your efforts.

And, when the trendsetter(s) point(s) the finger of rejection at someone, DO NOT automatically side with them or give me that “I sadly vote to evict ___” crap. If you’re lucky, the person you vote against will see you say “sadly” and say, “That’s okay; I know they were pushed into that situation.” If you’re lucky! More likely, you’ll ruin the possible friendship, even if you don’t see why. And, why is the friendship ruined? Because you show how cowardly you are by siding with the majority instead of supporting your friend, win or lose. Voting to cast out your friend is a somewhat silent break of trust that may never be mended, even if it’s just inside a game. If you vote to evict your “best friend in the house,” you deserve to be the next person cast to the curb. If you’re lucky and manage to secure contact information, you might salvage the friendship after the game. [But, I don’t hear many if any cases of that happening; instead I just see pushes for “showmances” to boost ratings and compete with all the false romance game shows being pumped out to compete with the excess of talent shows.]

It pains me to see “power couples” get such tongue-lashings from those who do or cannot form similar couplings. I get it. But, resorting to attacking and/or working on ousting a couple simply because they choose to be a couple is sort of heartless. Even if I had to lose to such a couple, I would be inclined to think seeing the two side-by-side in the final two seats would be sort of blissful…idealistic. I mean, who better to lose to than the one person you favor most other than yourself? Isn’t that truly romantic?…versus heading a catty “alliance” and spending countless hours squirming and shouting over who said/did what and who’s not going to let who go home? It’s no wonder reality TV can’t produce a slice of genuinely lovely reality, because it’s like a lab experiment (poked, prodded, sliced and diced) instead of something formed naturally. The odds of natural happiness forming on TV are so slim. And, I can’t help wondering if any couple from Big Brother, who goes on to marry, isn’t/wasn’t forced into some doomed-to-fail situation purely for insatiable ratings and some undisclosed financial perk.

5) If you offer to be a “pawn,” you deserve to be the next person cast to the curb.

Anyone who offers to be a pawn and survives eviction night is playing with fire and one lucky S.O.B. Unless you know the show is steering the votes in your favor–and how would you (unless we need to go back to a previous point/topic I discussed and review the slideshow)?–why willingly risk your neck in the hot seat, even if you do so with the consent of your most trusted ally? Even if you have his/her vote, you do not guarantee the decisions of the others who could turn in a blink.

Would I even subject myself to be a pawn for the aspirations of love?…I’d be a fool if I did. If I was half of a “power couple” or “showmance” and offering to be my partner’s pawn…I’d be taking a bigger risk than needed, risking the trust of my partnership on a game decision which might be swayed by human forces I cannot control. That’s almost like the deal the couple makes with the rich man who wants to have one night of sex and romancing with the wife. Are you seriously telling me you can accept that at any price? If you can, then why not form a threesome/harem with the guy while you’re at it? You’re just going to say one night is okay for a million dollars? Not me, jerks.


In short/summation, a good friend is worth more than any prize money you may yet lose. To risk everything for a shot at any sum of money is rather heartless. And, I cannot think of any sum worth risking my life for without losing my soul in the process.


Award Shows Are Bogus ver. 081419


I’ve been fairly certain for a while. But, now, I am convinced; award shows are complete crap, utter rubbish, excessively expensive lies designed to look glamorous at the expense of souls.

All participants…all of those members of the “foreign press”…are either naïve or devious scum. Now, some of that naïve scum could redeem itself; there’s still hope. But, those who run the machines are surely black as sin or the thickest roots in an underground railroad to decide, like some Hunger Games contest, which celebrities and “little people” (the faceless crew members who outnumber the big names and slave over the projects of those who call themselves producers) get food and care for the year and who gets to fight over the scraps and eat shit. The lucky ones get their names attached to the next box-office big ticket while the bottom of the food chain gets to show of their bodies and talk stupid in the films that come out at the end of summer, when “kids” go back to school and no one gives a flying fook what they watch.

Now, breathe. And, let me shed a little light on the shape of this crap…or, rather, what supports my stomach-turning, fury-stoking feelings.

Every year, there’s that “best picture” film that takes one big award and another…and another…and gets so much buzz from all those cracked camera-toting tabloid freak shows who put every famous and not-so-famous face on the spot with stupid questions, testing them to see if they crack and say anything different from their last interview, anything negative about the people they recently knew as part of the crew. Everybody is “amazing.” Every experience is something good for the resume, even if the person secretly loathed or struggled through it. Every director is uniquely talented. Every interview is to make sure the next job goes smoothly and to collect a check; so don’t expect anyone to answer openly and honestly, even if you’re straight-shooting, expected-to-cuss Samuel L. Jackson.

So, why do we even do interviews?! It’s not for the fans. It’s for promotion…more and more promotion. An interview is a talking movie poster which can’t say anything about what happens in the movie, due to contractual threats that pretty much shackle all who partake in making the expensive torture package that actors refuse to watch because they struggled through it; they didn’t enjoy it. An interview is just a painful showcase of faces who habitually look down when they feel the urge to lie, to hold in the vomit and glaze over what they’d like to say. Hey! Look who’s in the movie! And, they’re talking without reading a script! How amazing…like watching animals behind glass in a zoo.

If you really enjoyed making something, wouldn’t you want to look at it, again? Or, do you go crazy because you find a mistake and realize you can’t correct it? Your hard work is now someone else’s baby, and you have no control. So, all your effort amounts to what someone makes of it. That’s rather cruel punishment in its own way and not respectful to the creative soul.

And, I have sampled a number of these “amazing” films. Not one has earned 5 out of 5 stars with me; they’re all lucky if they get a 3. I saw The English Patient, Schindler’s List, The Hurt Locker and, just recently, The Shape of Water. Oh, there was SO much buzz about The Shape of Water, not too long ago. And, I remember the high praise the rare FEMALE director got for The Hurt Locker. Of all the films I just mentioned, I guess The Hurt Locker was the best…but that’s not saying much. When you put Average Joe in a pageant with four corpses beaten to a bloody pulp, of course Average Joe is going to look good and smell all the sweeter. It’s like that one girl in school who gathers a cluster of less pretty girls around her so she stands out as the pretty one; it’s like some status tactic used by schools of fish.

Now, let me come right out and say I did not see these films in the theater for a good reason; I had my doubts from the start. And, again, it took just one lousy lie of a rental to sully my belief in all the award talk. But, I keep hope alive, and I…I guess maybe I’m a little naïve, too, yet, to give these other “hits” a chance. I want to see what makes them so great.

So, let’s talk about my latest mistake, The Shape of Water. Oh, how the director got lauded with praise and looked so sweet and innocent on stage, giving his grand speech and kudos to all who let him make such a…gruesome, rude and lewd film. If I may be so frank, it’s as if he was extremely horny and hungry while watching the old Creature from the Black Lagoon, late at night, and then had the nerve to think making a remake with more nudity and foul language was a great idea. What a damn creative fool.

Sally Hawkins is the poster woman for the demure, docile, closet freak. Thank goodness she didn’t go on some murderous rampage; that would have really ruined the part. All crap aside, she gave the film an ounce of redemption…well, aside from what she had to do in the first half-hour. Seriously, del Toro, excessive nudity…excessive because it had NOTHING to do with the story. Nada. You didn’t get a close up of her scars until the one guy examined her. No; you just had her get naked, over and over, again, for your personal amusement.

And, what was with the other sex scene? Why didn’t you go one step or two steps further? Why not have the gay artist–with his foul mouth and obsessive dialogue–take advantage of the pie guy? Come on, throw in some finger this and f-that while they indulge in some gay sex. Or, why couldn’t Octavia Spencer get naked with her husband? Why can’t black and gay folks get fair sex play? Booo! No, I’m just kidding. But, really, why include any sex other than what was the focus of the film? There only had to be one sex scene, and you spoiled it before they got in the tub.

I would not be surprised if you ended up in court with all the other poor and stupid men who are getting grilled for indecent actions. I would not be surprised if something popped out of your closet. Why can’t you keep certain lewd thoughts to yourself? And, why did you have to make the film so graphic when it could have been a much nicer and just as exotic love story?

You went down some Stephen King, Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino side street and drove through Frank Miller’s neighborhood. You took Splash and turned it into Sin City. Oh, sure the ending is bittersweet and finally happy; but I ate a ton of shit before I could even try to smile; so the whole experience left me queasy. You poured acid on my whipped cream sundae. You’re not the worst film maker out there…but The Shape of Water had better not be your opus. I’d like the water to wash it out of my memory so I can fantasize, again. Your “big hit” is a giant seagull dropping, not something I could comfortably watch more than once. It has little to no replay value; I’d snip off just the final ten minutes and call it a lovely short film that encompasses the best of the story…which pretty much makes the movie another Citizen Kane; just spare us the horrific two-plus hours and tell us it was your childhood sled.

You want my humble rating? Would that do anything for you? I’d give The Shape of Water 1 out of 5 stars, overall. I’d give Sally Hawkins 4 stars for being a beautiful, caring freak who thankfully didn’t do anything too gross or wrong to make me hate her; and I feel sorry for her, for having to expose herself the way she did. I’d give cinematography 3 stars, maybe 4, because the movie did have a decent colored noir quality to it; it suited a Dick Tracy sort of story. But, Octavia Spencer pretty much reprised her roll in The Help; so what can I rave about that? One black woman in an otherwise white world? And, the story? I already said; it’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon in modern 3-DUH, Dolby foul mouth, bloody Sunday whack-a-vision. You get no points for creativity other than visual artistry, period. You are just another big name with all of the latest tools in your kit, and when given the chance to build a sand castle, you played with mud pies. When you had the chance to focus on a Cinderella story, you chose to screw the docile doe in the dark room; you put the horny jerk in the same cage with the last unicorn (and thank goodness *that* didn’t happen). [And, FYI, oddities eating cats went out with Alf…and it wasn’t any funnier then, either…but it was suggested, not on camera.]

But, ya all come back now and watch my masterpiece, again, ya hear? This is a family show…not. It definitely earns its R rating, unlike some films that only get an R because of one lousy little cross of the line. I’d say The Shape of Water even edges an X rating…because there was more flashing of boob and overt sex than most R-rated films I’ve seen.

Here’s a brief lesson in the school of suggestion: Sex, nudity and gore can be veiled and still convey the message.
1) When Sally’s character takes a bath or shower, we could see her silhouette behind a shower curtain, and we’d still know she’s naked. Or, you could have her enter the bathroom and cut to her already covered in soap suds; no need to expose the actress or any body double you may have used…which would only make the whole effort even more stupid and pointless.

When I was in school, my English/writing teachers would draw red circles around portions of stories that didn’t contribute to the plot or characters and took away from the overall enjoyment. What you included (which turned me off and made me ill) was definitely not key to anything; I am sure most viewers would be aware of a person needing to get naked for a bath or having sex with a wife…or were you afraid people might think the creep’s marriage was void of sex?…hey, that might have made that other scene with the cleaning lady better; ya know?

2) A rather pointless sex scene could be conveyed with sounds and/or two flirty people slipping into a room together; ya don’t have to show the woman exposing herself and the cruel, creepy, FBI-ish, White-Collar-Bizarro guy throttling her on the bed!

[How to curb/replace the excessive foul and lewd language is another matter…I’d just omit it. It didn’t make the love story any prettier. It just lumped your enchanting crapper-piece with the likes of Superbad and…I can’t think of any other crappers at the moment…thank goodness they are washed from memory. I’ve seen movies with rape scenes that were just as creepy/unsettling but more suggestive than overt.]

3) When your feature creature wants to eat another animal… Couldn’t you have shown the creature holding the cat and then cut away to an audio clip of someone crunching celery. Then, when the owner returns, have him look down and recoil in horror…and we’d get it! We’d know why he’s horrified. Ya don’t have to show all the bits and blood. Bleh!

Can you imagine some steamy love story where the man makes the woman bleed in the you-know-what area and one or both lovers develop a scarring STD after they have their sweaty fun? [Ya know what; that just gave me a crazy idea for a sexual alien comedy that would still be far cleaner than your mess.] Would you enjoy that movie as much as a more suggestive one without the unfortunate side effects of some realities? There’s a line between realistic and horrifying reality…and you sure cross it, mister, but not for the benefit of the viewers…unless you want to scare people away from love fantasies and support eating disorders…because I could have developed one had I kept my eyes glued on the screen and not used the fast-forward button.

At this rate, I could lose my appetite for film, altogether, before I am old enough to be a cripple stuck in a wheelchair in front of some TV with a bunch of other elder folks losing their minds to medication abuse. Just think…what’s the use in going into movie-making, aspiring to create some soul-satisfying masterpiece when the whole industry is one more mine field of twisted metal, of warping your dreams into nightmares and slave labor? People are dying and committing suicide for some reason. And, it doesn’t surprise me when I try to grasp what all goes into this industry and the infuriating cover-ups that get splashed all over TV screens, even when some creative soul dies tragically.

Losing my appetite for film would be a serious crime against nature, against my creative soul. The water is so polluted, even I am having a hard time writing/creating anything spectacular; but, then again, I work alone, most of the time. I don’t have a clue what it’s like to be surrounded by teammates who can actually work together to make something run like clockwork and make people wonder what the budget must have been to create such a spectacle.

So, I must remind myself not to pay a lick of attention to award shows. Or, at least, I must go to bed before that final fifteen minutes into overtime when we viewers are supposed to be holding our breaths for the big reveal, the final envelope of crap. I must write them off and stick to the trailers that work for me.

Sell me a good trailer, and I’ll give you a chance. And, if you lie to me…..well, let’s just say my response will be…amazing, amazing crying crazy amazing. You’ll certainly find me writing you off my interest list. And, I have ways of swaying the masses. Not that it matters much when the majority seems to be losing all sense of creativity, as if they’ve become so numb from countless abusive images that they no longer have the brain cells to produce anything remotely as good as the stories they refuse to let go, stories from so long ago, they’ve been dragged behind cars for decades, tossing through one remake after another like tin cans on strings.

You know who the real losers are here (aside from creative souls)? The movie theaters and good people who appreciate them. All of the modern technology this world pushes for and all of the crappy, expensive films that get made…bump out all of the wonderful places that one could say feel like a second home. The day when someone decides to shut down the last movie theater in favor of some microscopic internet service station (ding! ding! goes the air tube keeping you couch potatoes alive), I’m sure to cry or have a considerably furious stomach upset because it will be like a nuclear bomb going off and destroying some serene tourist attraction. [Don’t get me started on the horrors of nuclear power pursuits.]

There wouldn’t be any concern for piracy if people didn’t introduce devices that could do such a thing. And, if movie theaters could afford better security without making visitors feel violated like other venues that practically X-ray you when you walk through, if people still cared, maybe thieves wouldn’t get away with what they still do, even after the days of VHS and the most primitive of camcorders. I don’t know why anyone cares about bootlegging, lately…because I am not sure what films are really worth stealing. Or, is that why so many films suck and twist the original story material?…is that why Michael Bay mangled Transformers?…because too many pirates were trying to make a buck off other people’s work? So, since the dawn of film piracy, everyone in the industry just started pumping out their worst, not their best? We settled into dependency upon whatever the latest technology is and putting up poster children as feature stars? Are we selling good stories or the latest model of movie camera you can only get at exclusive electronics stores?…on sale this week until tomorrow…flash sale!

And, breathe. I…don’t know how to wrap this up. The stench is just pouring out of me. So, I leave it as it is, like a broken garbage bag. I had to air it out, though, so I didn’t die from the stink in silence. Now, you know, and knowing is half the battle.


Tay and Capital One? Scary or Redeeming?


So, I WASN’T imagining things when I caught a glimpse of the lovely Taylor Alison Swift in a Capital One commercial.  It exists.  [I just looked it up.  And, Tay, you are looking uber extra swiftly cute in those simple costumes.  Lovin’ the “easter eggs,” cuz, if you’ve noticed, I’ve been using some dedicated to you, too.]

But, in light of recent events with the whole hacking of Capital One account records/software…WHY?  Why is she suddenly aligning herself with the company?  Jennifer Garner has been doing ads for a while.  Did Tay do one previously that I missed or forgot?  If not, why now would she start?

On top of that, it wasn’t too long ago I heard about her having problems with securing her master records.  Is that the reason?

Is she in some sort of financial trouble and being forced to make some shady deals?  Say it isn’t so, Tay!

Please, Tay, be smart and stay safe.

If you are the angel trying to save Capital One, why?  It’s a credit card company.  It’s plastic.  It’s a temptation to mankind to spend what they don’t have and accrue debt they refuses to pay.  But, maybe, if you’re that good, you can set things right.

But, if you are not the woman I think you are, if you are involved in some sinister scheme…I don’t know what to say.