This song by Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears doesn’t make me want to dance — it makes me NEED to dance.

Perfect get up in the morning music.

Want to find out what kind of burritos “Humble Bob” Shoudt ate when he won the 2009 World Burrito Eating Championship by eating 331/2 of this mystery kind of burrito in ten minutes? Chicken? Beef? Carnitas?? Bean??? There’s an app for that.

Need to figure out what happened to your dignity after ten 40 oz’s of Mickey’s on ECW and $5 Little Caesars pizza night last week? There’s an app for that.

Ever wondered what happened to the guy who played Schneider on One Day At A Time? There’s an app for that.

Want to bake a quiche but have no eggs yet stubbornly refuse to give up on baking this quiche that now haunts your every moment to the point that you start wondering if there is some other ingredient in your house, perhaps Kraft American Cheese Slices or butter or soap or cork that you could use as a substitute for the eggs for the quiche you want to bake? There’s an app for that.

Ever thought about teaching yourself how to kangaroo-style box Andy Richter in some kind of underground boxing ring? There’s an app for that.

Tired of that bumpy backed freak, that– that furry flying dragon pervert Falcor not getting back to you about movie night this Thursday? There’s an app for that.

Want to know what that smell is? There’s… yeah… an app for that.

Troubled by the fact that your God has forsaken you and everything you believe in because, what? I mean, why? Because you made some bad decisions? Because you zigged when you should’ve zagged? Because you wore track pants and a button-up shirt at the same time that one time? There’s, siiiiigh, an app for that.

Are you a little writer-type who is writing some silly bloggy post and wondering if the idea is simply unoriginal or if it’s completely fucking unoriginal? There’s… an… app… zzzzzzz…

Ninjas watch football

they love the competition

and the tight, tight pants

Currently on Ohio leave and staying at the house of my good friends the Branums, I found myself home alone in the afternoon, as there is gainful employment and helping out at schools to keep other adults busy while I try to watch the shows I missed last night online despite an unpredictable internet connection.

After a crack at this, getting nowhere due to the apparently constant need for buffering, I decided to work on my novel. Yeah, that’s right: novel. All words. Okay, sure, it’s a basic story I’ve been working on for various mediums since… crap… 1997??? But, still, when at a loss for something to write, I figure basically adapting my own work, written by a younger and more productive me, is better than doing ill-advised Facebook searches or debating whether or not to download some self-help e-book that costs $39.99 and probably wouldn’t help me anyway.

I opened my novel’s Word doc for the first time in a couple months (yeah, not that productive) and sat down at the Branums’ dining room table to get started. Then I realized I was thirsty and stood to get some water. On my way back from that short ten step trek, I saw out the window that would be behind me once I sat down to write (kinda) at my laptop a bronzed, white haired, shirtless older gentleman. Did I mention the beard and the cigarette clenched in his teeth? No? Well, now I have.

He was either sweaty or oiled, and, dammit, though likely over twice my age, in better shape than me. But as I approached my chair, getting closer to the window, I noticed his attire from the waist down.

Denim cut offs. Jean shorts. And short ones at that. Yeah, there might’ve been some inner pocket peaking out at the bottom. I’m not sure, because as soon as I saw this almost orange old fella in Daisy Dukes, so close to the window doing I’m not sure what, I had to sit down and turn my back to him lest I stared.

Now, it was a nice day out, but I was comfortable in uncut jeans and a polo shirt. This fella, though, dammit, he was hot apparently. Walking around way too close to other people’s windows, smoking like only old men smoke, and, dammit, a shirt’d just add to that heat! You know what else is? The legs to these damn jeans. Why not cut ‘em off? Okay! And let’s see how much leg can be kept bare to appreciate the breeze generated by the determined walk. Also want to get that dark tan as high up the thigh as possible, right?

I couldn’t help but turn around to look at him again, hoping he didn’t notice me through the window, imagining perhaps that I was safe inside the house, unable to be seen by the outside world. He picked up a hose and started watering some sort of vegetable garden right outside the window. Smoking billowing from his quickly shrinking cigarette. Free hand perched on his slightly protruding hip. Nearly completely bare legs spread.

Standing with purpose. With some sort of fire in his belly.

In tiny, tiny cut off jean shorts.

Fuck it, he looked good. With the right attitude and sense of purpose, anyone could look good. And this old fella was what he was and didn’t give a damn if anyone had a problem with these shorts that’d be oddly short even on a hot young lady.

I turned around and started writing this instead of working on the novel. (I’ll get back to it after I post this. And nap… maybe.)

Boring.

…

…

… Mmmaaaaybe I should type a little more since I called this a “review.”

Okay, I’m a big fan of Office Space and an almost as big fan of Idiocracy. King of the Hill can be pretty funny, and Beavis & Butthead definitely gave me some laughs growing up. Basically: I’m a fan of Extract writer/director Mike Judge. So, yeah, I suggested to my mom and sister that we see this movie on our “mini-vacation” to Columbus, OH.

About 30 laugh-free minutes in (with only one other person in the theatre with us), I began to feel guilty. This is what I do. I didn’t make the movie, but I like the filmmaker, read good reviews, and didn’t want to see the new Sandra Bullock movie (All About Steve), so I suggested Extract. And though I didn’t make it boring or unfunny to us, I felt bad about picking it for us.

Not sure what happened with this flick and me. I know it was low key and not going for huge laughs the whole time, but I was just not into it at all. Jason Bateman is always great. Mila Kunis is really pretty. Ben Affleck is also really pretty (even with the beard), JK Simmons is often hilarious, Dave Koechner is usually a hoot, and Kristin Wiig can be darn funny. But nothing clicked for me in this flick.

How did vanila extract, testicular damage, a dumb gigolo, and paranoid weed humor barely make me (or my mom and sister) crack a smile? Weird.

Trapped in rural Ohio by my own devices. Everyone in the house is asleep by 8:30pm. Jay Leno, my archest of enemies other than myself, has a new show premiering at 10pm. I don’t like myself, so of course I’m going to try to watch it.

Thoughts?

Long monologue. Um… Seinfeld wore an ironic tux, uh… yeah, I couldn’t get through most of it, but the Kanye West awkwardness was FASCINATING! No, I did not watch the MTV Video Music Awards (and haven’t since, I dunno, Chris Rock hosted maybe?) but I heard about Kanye’s douchiness when the weirdly plastic Taylor Swift won best video or whatever instead of Beyonce, something that apparently upset Kanye to the point of getting on stage and messing up Swift’s acceptance speech.

So, in an almost Hugh Grant-esque shaming (for the old folk) Leno brings up Kanye’s dead mom. “What would your mom say about this?”

Holy shit, you lantern-jawed bastard who may or may not be my illegitimate father! That is amazing! Really? He says something dumb (as is Kanye’s way), and you bring up… his dead… mother??? And then, wow, the silence from Kanye as he tried to think of what to say. Was that about, what, eight minutes of dead air on “prime time” network television? Okay, maybe not that long, but still…

Thankfully, Kanye pledged to help Taylor Swift in some way whenever she needs it.

I haven’t checked, but they better be Facebook friends.

Ah… I woudln’t mind eating at “The House of Poon,” though. Good one, Jay. Real classy-like.

(The real victim here is Conan O’Brien. Finally gets The Tonight Show to be preceded by this? Bah!!!)

The nemesis. The villain. The bad guy. Superheroes and regular humans alike, I think everyone has an arch enemy. Superman has Lex Luthor. Batman has The Joker. Jon Bon Jovi has Ninjas. I have… myself. Yes, it has become all too apparent that no enemy in my life is as dangerous to me as me.

It took me a while, but lately I’ve noticed some clues that lead me to this conclusion…

Exhibit 1: Only brought one book on my trip to Ohio — Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris. Funny, interesting essays that I almost finished on the darn plane. And then finished quite quickly. If I were in Columbus, this wouldn’t be a problem, but here in Waverly… well… there aren’t really any books stores. I got excited when I saw a used one, but I’m not too much into Christian fiction or the history of Ohio. Maybe I need to expand my horizons. Regardless, I’m book-free. Upon telling this to my dad, he gave me two books by Pope John Paul II that he said might inspire me. I’m not Catholic, but I figured I should take inspiration where I can get it. Pope John Paul II In My Own Words isn’t working so far, to be honest. Maybe I’ll crack open Crossing the Threshold of Hope tonight. Uhhhhg… look, trying to keep an open mind. No more far fetched, I suppose, than The Secret, which I now have on DVD thanks to a concerned friend.

Exhibit B: Acting like a jerk for mysterious, as yet completely not-understandable or at all rational reasons. Might be a sign of insanity (i.e., craziness and/or being a psycho). The result of this might be having to change my identity and/or location. Still hoping for time travel solution, but everyone tells me that’s not going to happen.

Exhibit Tres: Brought my running shoes on this “Get The Fuck Out Of LA” trip, but I am not running. Now, I have a nurse friend who insists that running is worse for you than it is good for you. I knew it was rough on the knees, but apparently it can knock the shit out of your retinaes, too. Possiblity for blindess or something. Seems extreme, and, besides, I can’t run more than a mile anyway, but still. Too dangerous.

Exhibit Five Minus One: I am a writer, yet I am not writing. I mean, I’m writing this, but, seeing as how I’m not particularly funny lately, and I’m not famous or even semi-famous, I’ll make no money off these blogs. So, I should be writing a comic … oh, wait.

Exhibit Five Minus One Plus One: I didn’t even bother showering today.

It is clear that I am the archest of arch enemies, and I must defeat myself.

Changes must be made. Is there a pill for that? I don’t think so. So, gotta get some mental power here. It might involve lying to myself until, due to my crap memory, I forget that I’m lying, believing myself. Yes… yessss… that’d be a positive way to use my shit memory.

So… while visiting the family, after everyone goes to sleep way earlier than I can, I got The Spirit on discount pay-per-view to avoid “alone thinking.” Anyway, it was only $1.99, and not my money. (Sorry, Mom.) So, yeah, I decided to watch it. Here are my thoughts as I watched it. (WARNING 1: Spoilers. WARNING 2: Not a review. Seriously. Just… random thoughts. WARNING 3: Might not be readable.)

Wow. Wow wow. From the first shot, you know you’re in for a treat. A treat that requires beers. And sleep deprivation. And nothing better to do with your life.

But darn if some of the shots and angles at the opening and the very Danny Elfman-esque Batman music aren’t fairly entertaining.

Not sure what the “Lorelei Angel of Death” (Jamie King even though I wouldn’t know that just from watching the movie) stuff is all about. Something lost in the translation? And Samuel L. Jackson as The Octopus? Yikes. Eye makeup disaster.

This is one case where writer/director Frank Miller being a dirty old man helped, though. Good god did he cast pretty ladies. I think… wait… all the ladies in this are very pretty. Some ugly guys, but ALL pretty ladies. Oh, there’s Eva Mendes as Sand Saref. She was cast for her acting chops. Obviously.

All slow and oddly unengaging, though.

Triplet (multiple) villain clones are horrible. It’s Edgar from 24, but… yeah, just… just bad. Not funny.

Scarlett Johansson as Silken Floss… god, she sucks in this right from jump street. Her usually husky voice is less husky, even thought it’d work for this part.

Octopus beating the Spirit with someone’s head??? Fighting in shit? I dunno. Some of the shots are cool, but this fight scene, like the rest of the movie so far, is just so fucking boring. Do kind of enjoy the Spirit just punching Octopus over and over and over again, almost comically repetition.

Samuel L. embarrasses himself. And, contrary to his line, toilets are NOT always funny.

How can a fight scene be so fucking boring?

They just fight and fight, then go their separate ways? I do kind of like the dialog exchange at the end, with an exhausted Spirit. Kind of amusing. I think Gabriel Macht’s performance as The Spirit got a bum rap due to the overall suckiness of the movie.

The whole Lorelei “death” stuff again… I dunno.

Were there whores in Will Eisner’s The Spirit comics? There are whores in everything Frank Miller does. Whores. With asses. And breasts. Whores. Frank Miller… loves… whores.

The Spirit and Sand Seref childhood sweetheart flashbacks oddly effective. Surprisingly. But… why does The Spirit tell it all to a cat… ? And then look at the camera when he explains what he has to do?

What the fuck is the blood of Heracles stuff? And what is up with samuari Octopus?  And all the weird killing of his henchmen?

Weird Robin joke about his tight ass. Hmmm. And Miller is (or was) writing a comic called All Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder. Hmmmm.

Sand Saref photocopies her ass… ??? LOL… ?

His purse snatching stopping is hilarious, thief running right into The Spirit’s fist. And the dude, “Marry me?” LOL.

That chick cop sidekick is ridiculous. Horrible. Ug.

Foot with a head… ? The Octopus makes one of his clone thugs, but it becomes a foot with a head… and a squeaky voice? “Damn weird,” as Octopus says, is… and understatement. Maybe… “stupid.” That might be the correct word.

Kind of hilarious that Spirit finds Sand Seriff via her ass photocopy.

So… pseudo-girlfriend who dated The Spirit before he died when he was Denny Colt doesn’t know The Spirit is… Denny Colt? Still… decent scene between her and her dad, the dad from The Wonder Years.

Paz Vega as a French belly dancer?

And what is up with the Nazi shit? So weird.

“Dead as Star Trek?” What kind of line is that, Octopus? I guess before the new movie, sure, but c’mon.

What’s up with Octopus and eggs?

Melting a kitty cat? Eyeballs left over… ???

Then I fell asleep. Woke up to see Samuel L. Octopus blow up and The Spirit kiss Eva.

I dunno. What’d I miss? What’d I just kind of half watch?

On a scale from “sucky” to “good,” this leans more toward “sucky” — though there was some fun.

Just recently read comic books and drank cheap canned beer while President Obama’s speech on health care reform was on the TV in the background, and, well, I don’t know where there can possibly be any debate.

Of course we need universal health care! How could there be a question? Good lord! It’s. Our. Universe!

If Slagar The Slagarthorious gets a hankerin’ for universe destruction, how are we going to make sure we can get back to healthy, assuming anyone survives the alien Armageddon?

It’s kind of a downer, I know, but let’s really think about this, God’s Americans. Let’s think long. Then let’s think hard. Then let’s combine the porno style, because this is a crazy important issue.

Protect our universe! Universal health care! And, um, reform! Let’s do this thing!

Doctor Who. It’s an acquired taste for many of us Yanks, I think. Honestly, I used to hate the original series as a kid. It freaked me out. British teeth. Weird video for interior shots, totally different looking film stock for the exteriors — that really bothered me for some reason.

But when the series came back after a several years off the air in 2005, I heard good things. And I watched a few episodes on Sci Fi. Then I started renting the series on Netflix a few months later. And just devoured it.

The show’s mix of science fiction, adventure, comedy, and lots and lots of heart won me over. And though David Tennant as the 10th Doctor became my favorite (so far, anyway, fingers crossed for the upcoming 11th), it was Christopher Eccleston as the 9th Doctor that started this whole thing off. And re-watching series 1 of the new Who, by myself unfortunately, which wasn’t the original plan, I find myself perhaps even more entertained than the first time I watched it.

Yes, some episodes are corny at times, and the tone is off a bit here and there, especially in the first episode, but there’s so much good overall, and, to me, the series finale is a truly rousing and inspiring bit of classic television. The episode, entitled “The Parting of Ways,” is about true heroism. And love. And sacrifice. And hope. Goddammit, for an unfortunate pessimist like myself, the HOPE of Doctor Who still always gets to me. I’m watching it now with a lump in my throat. It’s ridiculous, I know. But the unspoken love between the Doctor and Rose (I ain’t got no problem with that, old school Whovians), the courage to do the right thing in the face of impossible odds regardless of the sacrifice it entails… man. I need this right now, and I’m glad I’m watching it.

“I think you need a doctor.”

Thanks for getting me this way overpriced DVD set for my birthday way back in the much-missed good old days of July, Erin. I didn’t ask for it, but you paid attention to all my babbling about this weird British science fiction show and surprised me. I truly enjoy it and will watch it over and over. It’s full of fun, wonder, cheesy fx, and hope. I love hope. I can’t help it — bitter as I too often am, I am in love with hope.

And that theme song just makes me smile!

Now I’m gonna have to save money for series two, doggone it…