truckstopdruid

Dearest Leprechaun in tha Hood,

How are you? It has been a long time since we last talked. Do you remember that one time where you had that scene where the 3 main characters are talking and planning their house party, and then it cuts to said house party and one of them is rapping like crazy while the crowd cheers? When the sound isn't on, it looks like he invited a bunch of people over to yell at them.

Love,
Truckstopdruid

So one of my minor complaints about the new Star Trek movie was the use of the Beastie Boys song "Sabotage." It just seemed really out of place. Then I come to discover there is a reason for it besides "the young people still like those beastly boys, right?"

Behold Shatnery greatness:



If only there was another youtube video that explained why red matter isn't dumb, I'd be set.

I am huge fan of stupid, obviously. But highly concentrated idiocy, particularly in groups, is scary as the dickens.

This whole "Tea Party" nonsense is a great example. The oft-douchey but this time correct Andrew Sullivan actually lays it out pretty well:

"If you favor no bailouts, then say so. If you want to see the banking system collapse, then say so. If you think the recession demands no fiscal stimulus, then say so. If you favor big cuts in Medicare, Medicaid, social security and defense, then say so. I keep waiting for Reynolds to tell us what these protests are for; and he can only spin what they they are against.

"All protests against spending that do not tell us how to reduce it are fatuous pieces of theater, not constructive acts of politics. And until the right is able to make a constructive and specific argument about how they intend to reduce spending and debt and borrowing, they deserve to be dismissed as performance artists in a desperate search for coherence in an age that has left them bewilderingly behind."


Another thing that used to scare me was this whole social networking thing. I've got me a Facebook and a Myspace but I barely use them, but it was the introduction of Twitter that really got me worried.

This is my fear: How long before we a species just disappear up our own asses?

Fortunately, I need fear no longer, as Twitter has now been used for its ultimate purpose and is no longer necessary. Last one out, please turn out the lights, and then send out a 140 character message telling everyone you did that.

(Also I am well aware of the irony inherent in writing a blog about solipsistic uses of the internet, so you don't need to point that out.)

It would seem that I have a birthday coming up. As a result, I am celebrating it this Saturday @ the now smoke-free The Standard starting around 8:30 until some point to be determined by my liver.

You guys should totally come. It should be a fairly laid back dealy. I will likely be distraught after not having received the one thing I truly want, which is really what any man wants*:






* I do not want this

Here is the movie from "Anger" month at IT nite that I made with Andrew, Tom and AJ.

Language in movie is NSFW unless you work at a dock or something.

Tonight is I.T. Nite at my beloved Standard. (14 NE 22nd)

You should totally come and if you have a movie show it. I have something new this month that I made with some dudes, Queso's got some never before seen stuff, mister_punchy has promised an epic cavalcade of commercials and Los Moustachios have some sort of powerpoint presentation involving a Guitar Hero controller. I have been told Trip and whatever iteration of Homeless Corner there is this week will also be showing some oldies. Plus, others maybe!

I am hosting this month also, so at least come for that tasty bit of awkwardness.

Hopefully we'll be getting started a wee bit after 9.

Blah blah been working too hard too much blah blah blah....fuck this and fuck reading. Experts in my apartment say watching things is the new reading, so stand on the edge of tomorrow, today!

Coming to America via Star Wars:




Some other goofy star wars thing:




Definitive proof that there is a god, or not:

First off, I would like to extend a hearty Fuck You to Wolfgang Puck. Your soups are shit. Whatever ingredients they have within them are coated in some horrible, salty, slimy bullshit that would make David Cronenberg cry. Seriously, Fuck You Wolfgang Puck.

Also, Fuck you Tim Russert. Man, I just hate that guy.

Fuck you cell phone for only sending picture messages instead of text messages. Fuck you AT&T for informing me that it was because I don't empty my inbox enough. My grand-pappy didn't fight Australians in WWII only to have me not be lazy and delete all of messages that read "what's up."

Fuck you my Xbox 360 for finally dying after 2 years of hard work and right before I really was able to go nuts on Portal. (however a pardon is granted as Microsoft is fixing it for free despite my not having a warranty)

Get a head start on your own Fuck You Friday in the comments or learn about not Fuck You related things ( here )

Earlier in the week I was informed by J-ro, Rob's roommate and everyone's favorite monstrosity, if I wanted to show one of my movies at the Fifth Avenue Cinema on 510 Southwest Hall Street. I asked if there was a particular one he wanted and he enthusiastically proclaimed "Superfucker!"

The next night I gave him the DVD I have that has all but the most recent movies on it so he could indeed show said movie. Today I get a phone call from him indicating that they would be showing all of the DVD. I questioned his certainty in wanting to inflict that much man-ass on an unwitting public.

He said, "Oh, we're trying to get in trouble."

Also showing is two movies from Guerrilla Machine (Manny) and a couple of queso joints. Then probably some arty-fair.

So if you don't feel like you're not convinced that I have crippling emotional problems or that I might not be gay, please come on down. The show is at 7.

I am unsure if I will be attending as I had already agreed to go to a pumpkin carving party but since this new shit has come to light I am torn as to which to attend. What do you, the people at home, think?

On an unrelated note, the church by my apartment is having some huge church-type deal going on nightly. There is a banner outside that depicts an explosion and the words 'HOPE FOR AMERICA" on it, along with pictures of various pastors smiling either because or in spite of the explosion. As I was driving home last night I drove by another advertisement for it in the form of a well dressed gentlemen holding a large sign that said "The Secret of Revelations" and as I drove by he was yawning.

So the summer is winding down. I know this because my schedule has finally eased up a bit. Each summer I do less and less activities involving direct exposure to sunlight. Back in 2004, I was at some sort of river or beach quite frequently. This year I went swimming by Lower Punch Bowl falls with the lady on a pretty overcast day. That's pretty much it. Most of the last couple of months was spent pretty much living at my office. I then took a week off and discovered that I am damn near broke. I am not quite sure how that worked.

Also at some point during that time I saw transformers the movie, which sucked. This is sums up of several of my issues. In addition, it was an hour and a half too long, the hacker story was completely pointless and went nowhere and don't even get me started on that asshole Bumblebee.



After bungling the 48 hour project this year, I was admittedly wary about attending the screenings. This turned out to be for a good reason, as many of the movie were fairly unwatchable. When you have something at stake in the competition, the bad movies provide a tonic to one's competitive spirit. You can watch and say "oh yeah, we're totally gonna make the finals. Our movie is better than this." But when you turn in your paperwork 30 seconds late and the films whose makers you came to support have already played, those bad films become ocular drills of torment.

In spite of my severely self-centered griping, I was happy to see that Homeless Corner walked away with some awards, and the group Licia helped out with,Doghole, got best Director. I was a little surprised by the overall winner, as their movie was good, but not great. That being said, I'm not real sure what I would have chosen in its stead.



I am not sure what life would be like without Youtube. It serves so many of my needs, from watching a fat man slip n'slide with dire consequences, seeing how Mobile, Alabama deals with a leprechaun, and now finally my need to watch Tex Avery cartoons whenever I feel like it. Finally, on my command I can watch the cartoon that started my unfortunate love of puns. Plus, it has my most favoritist of racist cartoons.

So I saw Grindhouse. Spoilers will follow.

I am glad that the rumors of them splitting up the movies have proven false, because neither one is really worth watching on their own.

This is not to say I was against it. I just think the whole was not equal to the sum of its parts. Parts of each movie were great, and I think Planet Terror had more of those parts than Death Proof. On the other hand, the great parts Death Proof had were pants-shittingly sweet, and by parts I mean the car chase and Kurt Russell.

Death Proof had more of a low budget feel to it, whereas Planet Terror felt like big budget trying to be low budget. The gimmicky film scratch business was overused to the point of distraction. This annoyance was offset by the powerhouses of Jeff Fahey and Michael Biehn being paired up and rocking my pants off through my socks. For all the gore in the movie, I only found one moment stomach-churning: Kurt Russell eating nachos.

Admittedly the movie nearly drove me to commit violent acts of my own. The first 10 minutes of Death Proof made me want to kill something. Hey, Tarantino! I get it! You know obscure music, you like talkin about old obscure movies and you like feet. But how about some damn plot already! Also, please stop appearing before the camera. Your bulbous, squash-like noggin is unpleasant.

The trailers overall were fun. Machete is a movie I would actually like to watch. Far and away my clear favorite was Don't. Werewolf Women was stupid and fun and solidified my hatred for Rob Zombie's wife. Thanksgiving offered some surprising philosophical statements regarding the epistemological argument about God. How can a good and just God exist when Eli Roth is allowed to put images to celluloid and is given a budget to do so? The depths of ill will I have for this hairy, hairy man know no boundaries found in Euclidean geometry. That guy can die in a fire while feasting on a buffet of dicks. If you enjoyed Cabin Fever then I am afraid you have the brain worms and are not long for this world.

Thanksgiving really wasn't that bad, until the last shot. Then it felt like I was at IT nite.

This post is kind of all over the map, but today is not my day thinking for.

Here it is, the most worthless review of Grindhouse ever:

I haven't seen it yet.

I keep reading about how poorly it's done over the weekend and the fact it was beaten by "Are We Done Yet?" but what people don't seem to mention is that A) "Are We Done Yet?" is a triumph of the human spirit and a metaphor for the human condition (I smell writer's guild awards!) and B) People need to take their disgusting, parasite-like offspring to a movie they can enjoy so they can get them outta the damn house for 5 damn minutes. That and the fact that the Will Ferrel juggernaut slouches ever onward to comedy valhalla (or at least comedy mediocrity-halla).
Adults themselves have more important and exciting things to do than see movies such as paying taxes.

I just did my taxes and once again Lady Government requires much from my shabby change purse. It looks like it's gonna be ramen noodles for me for awhile. I loathe telling Jeffries and the rest of the kitchen staff about this, as they hate to prepare them and when I spill the powder-created soup it takes the maids forever to get it out of all the crushed velvet. This is all a blessing in disguise, as the rivulets of frustrated tears that will flow from their eyes will provide me with a most pleasurable potable. The tears of the poor give you everlasting life you know.

Lack of fiduciary means is manageable as I haven't been able to get out much anyway. Work is keeping me quite busy. I have been voraciously editing the training video you get when you purchase a bowflex machine. Nothing like staring at a buff dude working out for 2 weeks to make you feel bad about yourself (and nothing like a pint of Strawberry ice cream and a fifth of bourbon to ease that pain). The quick and ever-looming project deadline has required much more work then usual. In addition our giant 3.2 TB storage disk had a power supply die so I had to pretend like I know anything about computers in an effort to fix it. The Sisters of Fate have woven an ill thread for me to be sure.

But this thread has Rumplestiltskinian gold woven into places as well. This summer had promised to be a Shriner's Circus of work, sad and unending. I have a plethora of projects anyway, but this summer the workload was to be doubled by the addition of another very large corporate live event. But soft, what is this? Turns out they are idiots and my boss rescinded his bid on the show. HUZZAH!

A large chunk of my formative years was spent watching cartoons, a truism known to anyone that was raised in large part by their television set. I loved the really old Popeye cartoons where the grizzled sailor would just mutter incoherently to himself about whatever was going on in his spinach-addled mind. I discovered that this love of mumbling does not carry over to the woman who gave me a haircut.

This occurred yesterday at Great Clips. I have no idea why I continue to patronize the establishment, as I generally have nothing positive to say about it when I leave. Part of this comes from the fact I have little to no hair to in fact be cut, and I am not cool enough for Bishop's (or maybe I'm too cool).

The haircutress went about her business all the while mumbling and answering questions aloud that no one asked. She would occasionally direct her mumbles at me, and I would try to communicate by mumbling back with little success. At one point she decided to become audible and asked me about the small patch of white hair I have on the back of my skull. I explained that it was the result of stitches I received as a child after launching myself from a couch headlong into a table. She went on to regale me with tales of how her sister's grandkids like to jump off a ladder onto a couch. Their grandpa thinks its cute, while the sister and Mumblina disagree. They think its dangerous and would like the children to stop. "But you know," she lamented "you can't send your kids to school with black eyes anymore...unfortunately." She then started humming a little ditty to herself as I slowly absorbed the horror of what I just heard.

Then when she was all done, she said "oh that's so cute, I want to keep it and give it a name" she then kissed her hand and patted my head a few times.

It is no secret that I am powerfully awkward when it comes to social situations. But if these are the people I end up dealing with on a regular basis, I fail to see how I could be anything but gawky.

You know how in the movies a guy will be at his lowest point after facing so much adversity. Our mopey hero then sees something happen or notices something. This totem causes his brain to whirl and thus reinvigorates him to achieve success (be it getting the girl, winning the championship or giving a computer a cold).

This is not one of those items.

After many long nights and countless weekends spent hunched in front of a computer, I am finally finished with the rough effects or the screening of cinema queso's BIG PROJECT, Kcor. One would think that casting off this 400 lb. gorilla of responsibility would leave me elated. You would look upon me and my face would project a constant loop of Handel's "Messiah."

This is not the case.

This joy I feel is not exactly coterminous with the constant stress I am still going through with other projects. At least my weekends are free-ish now....I think. I would assume that this work stress combined with the usual down one feels after the extreme high of Ben Murphy's birthday has metastasized into a funk that can only be described as parliamentary.


What's worse is the morning after I struck the final blow on the project, I awoke to find my car had been broken into. The fiend (or fiends) only made off with a mostly-broken ipod and a DVD of Casablanca. (I had the foresight enough to elegantly lose my new ipod before the ruffians could get their hands on it). After trudging through the mire of bureaucracy inherent in filing a claim and getting my window replaced, I still felt violated. I went ahead and did all the things victims are supposed to do (as prescribed by the Lifetime Channel), but even after sitting on the floor of my shower with my knees against my chest and crying, I felt no better. So perhaps the only way to overcome this victimization is through comic book logic. Yes, I must become a super hero. Though I suppose I am going to need better powers than "Super Slouching" and "Quick Smelling".

Everyone's favorite jerk, Faux, has a job whose day-to-day workload can be finished in about three hours. This leaves him about 5 hours each day to spend annoying me via e-mail. The latest iteration of this has come in the form of serialized fan-fiction about my travails being the greatest adventurer in the world. So in turn, i wrote my own fan-fiction about his character in his fan-fiction of me.

We are very sad and lonely people.

So here for no one's amusement is my story:

Admiral Faux was a gruff man. This gruffness was not
born unto him, nor was it acheived through the hard
slog of countless battles. No, this particular
gruffness was gained through Faux's disciplined
routine of "Grizzle Exercises" which he performed
thrice daily.

He had already finished his second set of exercises
which included gargling chunks of sandpaper in a hot
tar sauce in order to give his voice the appropriate
gruff level as indicated by his homemade gruff charts.
But this cocktail, much like the man himself,
contained a secret. Mixed in with the toxic
combination was a half cup of Bangledeshian dwarf
urine, which Faux thought added a sweetness as well as
adding more gruff. Science will tell you that urine
will do no such thing, but Faux is not a man of
science. He is a man of action!

The particular action he was performing at that moment
was scrubbing grass stains out his favorite pair of
tighty-whitey underpants (which he had nicknamed Old
Glory for reasons to chilling to describe).

A knock was heard at the door and a voice rang out
"Admiral?" The door began to open. The last thing the
Admiral needed was to be caught in this awkward
circumstance. But being as quick-witted as he was, he
swiftly devised a plan. Pursing his full lips outward,
he draped Old Glory across them as an impromptu
mustache.

"Admiral, I have the paperwork you asked for" the
voice said as it entered the room attached to the
larynx of Private Whipplethorn.

"oh, uscellent" said Faux, keeping his lips at their
most kissable to avoid the crumbling of his clever
charade. "Lee them over dere." he guestured to the
file cabinet by the door.

"Hey that's a nice mustache," Whipplethorn said in the
most brown nosey of ways. He paused a moment,
examining it further. "Wait..how did you get grass
stains on it?"

Faux was undone, or he would have been had his
heroically-addled mind not snapped to attention.
Without taking his steely gaze off of the interloper,
he reached for the .45 he kept in his drawer. Instead
of the gun, he grabbed the gun-shaped pencil sharpener
he had been making during his down time. As pulled
the trigger he shouted "HA!" and a fine mist of pencil
shavings burst forth from the gun. Whipplethorn
coughed a few times, looked at Faux, and then slowly
backed out of the room.

"Whew" thought Fuax. He let Old Glory fall from his
lips as he put his feet up on his desk. Once again he
had protected freedom.

Though it may be a cliche, I have to imagine that your life does indeed flash past your eyes as you die. You see your first kiss, your wedding day, your baby's first step and so on. I hope that when I finally slip into the ether that one particular milestone is absent from this cavalcade of memories: The day my boss off-handedly threatened me with anal rape.

Dearest Lost,

I remember when we first met on those DVDs of the
first season. We spent hours on end together, not
being able to get enough of one other. There was great
passion and excitement and mystery abounded. I could
not get enough of you.

Over the course of the following year, things began to
change between us. Ground we had already covered
before was being re-tread. You started bringing other
people into the relationship, at first I didn't
mind because it made everything more interesting,
but now I am at the point where I am growing
uncomfortable with this. You are good enough that you
don't need to keep doing that. You just make yourself
more convuluted and harder to be around.

But it's more than just that. You disappear for weeks
at a time for no discernable reason, only to come back
and only tease, never deliver and then you leave
again. The mystery that was once exciting is now just
a tangled mess that you just tangle further rather
than even attempt to unravel.

I wanted to stick by you, I really did. But, in your
absence I met someone. I didn't plan to, but these
things happen. Its name is The Sheild. It has the
depth and the passionate grasp that we once shared and
you let slip away. More importantly, it doesn't jerk
me around, make me pretend that what I am waiting for
might actually be worth it instead of having the
surprise be that a character likes to eat
strawberries.

I am sorry it had to come to this. I do love you, I
really do, but its not what it once was and I need to
move on.

We can still be friends, and see each other
occasionally but we will never have what we once did.

Love,
John

My former Animation Shmanimation cohort Andy has posted some of our previous dashes towards greatness on youtube.

All the ones he posted can be found here: http://youtube.com/profile_videos?user=andy68916&page=1

In honor of lx letting me suckle at the teat of awesome that is Lego Star Wars, and futurepet constantly killing Lando like a bitch-ass trick, here is a cartoon about darth vader going to work:



One of these days I'll have a post with nothing embedded in it.