Vino Veritas

Remember the leprachaun;or in the alternative review of "Click"

2006-06-26T17:52:00.000-07:00

So before I ever write a blog I usually go online and read some of my favorite columnist, get inspired, hit up the Microsoft Word and then write. Today I am going to try to do something different. I am going to write like Hunter S. Thompson (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas). This whole blog/review is going to be Gonzo style (Gonzo).

This will be unpolished and unfettered. It will be nothing but an emotive reaction to my visceral experience. But that is what a movie review should be. Who cares about anything but how the viewer felt and what emotions coursed through his/her body. If the movies are not about emotion then what are they about?

As I setteled into my seat to watch "Click" I thought of a few things: 1. Man, when will it stop raining; 2. Wish I would have gotten a bottled water; and 3. I thought this was supposed to be funny I wonder why my bros told me they got choked up? The previews started and I already could tell that I was in the "mood" to watch a movie. The previews were for "Talladega Nights" staring Will Ferrell, "Fearless" starring Jet Li, and a some dance movie that does not look half bad. I laughed and got pumped watching the previews. Like I said, I was in the mood.

The movie started and out of the gates it was funny. I was laughing and enjoying myself. IT was not rollicking funny, but it was funny enough. I thought, "Wow, Kate Bekinsale is hot. Christopher Walken is money. Adam Sandler has learned to tone it down. O'Doyle definitly does not rule. Is David Hasslehoff in on the joke? Nice to see the Fonz again. And danm they picked some cute kids."

About 45 minutes in to the movie we went to serious town and this is where the movie won me over. It was emotional without being contrived. It had a message without being forced. Remember the Leprachaun.

Let me explain at the crux of the movie is the following lesson: Remember the leprachaun? The one from the Lucky Charms commercials. He is always chasing his pot of gold, but in the end, that pot of gold is only cereal. Pretty deep message for an Adam Sandler movie.

I will spare you the plot details. You can read other reviews for that. What I won't spare you is the following (do you hear that? It is the sirens of the Gay Police): The movie made me cry. Now, I am not a big cryer, but the movie had some something to say and I heard it. Anyone who is aware of my missteps and personal growth will know exactly why this movie touched me.

We spend so much time trying to get the things that we think will make us happy that we never realize they those things are as important as cereal. I don't care what other reviews say. Or how much they pan this movie. If a movie can make me think about the moments in my life when I have lost sight of what is important and challenges me to refocus without being preachy then that is a good movie.

A few years ago "The Family Man" with Nicolas Cage came out and was emphatically dismissed as slop. This Thanksgiving, just like the last few, see what movie NBC plays as their first holiday movie--that's right "The Family Man"

"Click" is in the same vain. There is not a single performance that will get nominated for an Oscar. It is a drama disguised as a comedy (dramedy), and sometimes struggles to figure out which way it wants to go, but in the end the experience should reward every viewer. Or at the very least make them a little more introspective. I know it did that for me.

What the hell happened to the nerds?

2006-06-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

So as many of you know I am "working" from home. I say "working" because many of you believe that my only job is to fill out surveys on MySpace. That, my friends, is not true. I have a job. Actually, I have many jobs--one would think I was Jamacian.

One of those jobs entails watching countless hours of innane television ("Simon and Simon were not real brothers, only on tel-o-vision") and then sitting around and analyzing the nuances of such classics as: "The Cosby Show" "Boy Meets World" and of course the best show of our generation "Saved by the Bell."

I have always wondered why there has never been a "Saved by the Bell" musical. The show was filled with an incredible number of musical numbers: Zack Attack ("Friends forever, friends forever"), The Glee Club ("oh when the saints, oh when the saints--our rendition of a glee club warming up"), and of course Hot Sundaes ("I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so scared."). I honestly think a Saved by the Bell musical would work. Hey, if they could make a musical from ABBA music--Mamma Mia!--then why can't they make one from "Saved by the Bell?" My only request would be that they keep the Tori character in the closet--take that as you will.

The purpose of this blog (what? a purposeful blog? isn't that an oxymoron?) is not to discuss how great a "Saved by the Bell" musical will be--we can all agree on that point--but to ask the most important question of all time (or at least the most important queston today from 12-1pm as I watched TBS): What the hell happened to the nerds from "Saved by the Bell?"

We all know what happended to Violet Ann Bickerstaff, but what happened to the guy nerds? I am sure the black nerd now makes his money as Wesley Snipes' stand in, but what about the rest of the guys. Not since Robert Carradine ("That's because all jocks think about is sports and all nerds think about is sex") stopped mining the Tri-Lam mine have more nerds fallen off the face of the earth so quickly and quietly. Who are these nerds--the Dufrains (Dufrain, Dufrain party of 3... How can we eat at time like this? The Dufrains are missing!").

Since 1989 these nerds have been a constant precense in our lives. Well at least through middle school, high school, college, and any time you are at home sick, and yet no one ever wonders what became of their careers. Is this fair? I for one will not stand for it anymore and will ask the question: What the hell happened to the nerds?

Ten songs moving up my top 100

2006-04-23T20:50:00.000-07:00

Special thanks to Scott, for being the requisite musical snob friend that reads Spin and searches on the internets [sic] for obscure artists, songs, and cuts. Without his help I would still be listening to my copy of Backstreet's Back! Now onto the list:

1. "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)"--Arcade Fire

2. "Our Love" Rhett Miller

3. "Teenage Love Song" Rilo Kiley

4. "The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth"--Clap Your Hands and Say Yeah!

5."They Are Not Zombies! They Are Neighbors!They Have Come Back From the Dead!!! AHHHH"--Sufjan Stevens

6. "Closer to Mercury"--Wheat

7. "Miss Perfection"--Whole Wheat Bread

8. "Reunion"--Stars

9."You Are What You Love"--Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins

10. "Hex"--Neko Case

Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken

2006-04-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

Nor does posing for pictures make you a model. Not sermon, just a thought.

Chapter 1--I love rock and Roll

2006-04-19T14:55:00.000-07:00

I love music. Okay, I lied. I like lyrics. I dont know crap about melody, harmony, or any of that stuffprobably because I am tone deaf/death (if you have ever heard me sing). I actually feel kind of bad that we barely know each other and I am already lying to you. Hey, I am a guy--guess it happens.

Anyway, (I just read Chuck Klosterman so you will probably see this word a lot or maybe I will be inspired and come up with my own literary device) back to my point: I love lyrics. It probably stems from the fact that I use to write poetry. Now before you start thinking that I said that so it will offset my pimp pictures and make me seem sensitive let me explain. I use to write poetry not because I was sensitive but rather because I was 8 (I did write poems later in life and I will discuss them in later installments of this series) and wanted to give my mom, aunts, grandmothers, godmother, etc., presents and figured poems were the answer. They were not. My poems were awful (not so sure about the later efforts). Sure they rhymed, but they were in crayon. Crayon is not the medium of the masters. Not really sure that the medium mattered so much, but at the very least it comforts me at night.

Since I had so much trouble expressing my feelings through the written word I started to appreciate lyrics. Maybe I did not know what for "forty days and forty nights, the law was on her side . . .but the kid is not my son" meant, but I knew it meant something. Otherwise why would someone as masculine and as cool as Michael Jackson sing it (I was young, I did not know any better)? So as I got older I started realizing that "Mustang Sally" was not about a car and "Puff the magic dragon" truly did not involve dragons (Focker) and I started to appreciate the nuances of good song writing.

Soon after this discovery came another one; girls. With the discovery of girls came the discovery that I in fact do look like a monkey--damn you Patricia O. And at the very tender age of 8 my heart was broken (big year 8 poems, lyrics, girls, simian sensibilities (in retrospect not sure if it was the curious George look I had going or the fact that I was using crayons and not money smelling markers (mmm purple grape) at 8 that made me unappealing (wish I could go back and find out))). I felt no one understood, most certainly not my parents. They were happy, in love, and to them I was a beautiful Prince (their (actually mom's) words not mine). Not the Appleonia loving, guitar licking, tight pant wearing (although anyone who has seen my out in jeans lately may tend to disagree) kind, but more like the Prince William or Henry kind. Actually more like Charles; my head was 1/2 its size at the time but my ears were not. I digress.

Not being able to turn to my parents I was lost. Sure I had older friends but if I looked like a monkey they looked like troglodytes (ugly neighborhood--literally) and they were more concerned with who got to be Maverick then who got to kiss Kelly McGillis (I was going to use her name in the movie, "Charlie," but then I thought that might give the wrong impression; especially in light of my tight jean revelation). So with no friends in the know I looked towards TV.

But you know what? Optimis Prime had a pretty pathetic sex life and Duke (G.I. Joe) always got the chick. Figuring that knowing was half the battle I continued my search for someone who could understand what I was going through. Damn it, no one on TV had the answers: Alex was too concerned with being a republican, Skippy was more pathetic then I was, Theos voice had not changed (neither had mine or Alex's or Skippy's for that matter), Crocket and Tubbs voices had changed too long ago and well my crush most certainly did not look like the women they were hanging out with and furthermore I did not understand why they had to kiss every women laying down and naked, Mike Seaver was just coming into his own, and well you get the picture. No one spoke to me!!!

And then (and then, and then, and then, and then--now that that is out of your system) something magical happened--and Puff was not involved. I was in hotel room in Colonial Williamsburg (man, maybe it has nothing to do with the crayons or looking like a monkey maybe I was just too nerdy for her) and I caught Live Aid. I did not understand the importance of the event, but I did know that I too wanted to find "Someone to Love."

I sat spellbound by what was going on. I could not believe that all these people had felt the same emotions. I could not believe the understood (I was a precocious 8 year old; probably because I was a Prince). I knew what Spandu Ballet meant when they sang "True." Sade was telling everyone what I was feeling with "Your Love is King." It did not matter who sang--Elton John and Kiki Dee, Eric Clapton, The Cars, Kool and the Gang, Thompson Twins (damn what a line-up)--they all spoke to me. And when I finally turned off the TV and heard Joan Jett tell me that she loved rock and roll I knew she was speaking to me.

Not really sure how much lyrics speak to me now, but I always remember the excitement I felt at 8 knowing that there were people out there that felt like I did.

Next Chapter 2--what the hell is this song saying?

My Current Top 20; or, Man This Music is Depressing--it must be raining

2006-04-17T10:03:00.000-07:00

1. "I Summon You"--Spoon

2. "Something Pretty"--Patrick Park

3. "Stranger by the Day"--Shades Apart

4. "Hate Me"-Blue October

5. "One" Mary J.Blige/U2

6. "I Miss You (Acoustic)"--Incubis

7. "Dead, Drunk, Naked"-Drive By Truckers

8. "Another Lonely Day"--Ben Harper w/ Pearl Jam

9."Fourth of July"--Shooter Jennings

10. "Apology"--Ashley Parker Angel

11. "Here I Go Again (Acoustic)"--Whitesnake

12. "I Don't Feel Like Loving You Today"-Gretchen Wilson

13. "Hello, Again (Acoustic)"--Tommy Lee

14. "Fight Test" --Flaiming Lips

15. "A Thousand Miles From Nowhere"-Dwight Youkum

16. "Eve, the Apple of My Eye"--Bell x1

17. "Somebody's Crying"--Chris Isaak

18. "Feels Like Fire"-- Sanatan w/Dido

19. "Oh Sweet Carolina"--Ryan Adams

20. "Hallelujah"--Jeff Buckley

Epileptic Seizure or in the Alternative, Last Night

2006-04-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

I suck. Not literally, but at times I can suck. I can be self-absorbed and self involved. I tell inane stories with childish punch lines—“shoes.” This happens to be one of those moments. I am sure after I done writing this I will see one, if not all 57 of my Myspace friends (because I know all of you personally—hahaha), and ask if you have read my blog. Like all of you pine daily to see if I have posted anything new and jump at the chance to read about my quotidian activities and live vicariously through me—but I digress.
I played basketball yesterday. I played basketball the day before. I went out the day before and the day before that and the day before that and the well you get the point. Now I am not blaming the events on last night on the basketball or the incessant going out. I just hope that they played some part in the events otherwise I don’t know what to think.
I read yesterday. Actually what I read yesterday was my inspiration for the first paragraph of this blog. It was “Killing Yourself to Live” by Chuck Klosterman. In the book Klosterman makes an extremely valid point about people telling you about their dreams. To paraphrase, no one really wants to hear about any one else’s dreams. They are not real. They do not really involve anyone. And, well when someone tells you about their dreams it is their way of expressing something about themselves or their sub-conscious. How solipsistic is this? If someone wants to tell you something about themselves why don’t just say it? Why do they have to seem deeper then they actually are by blanketing their personality traits in the warm embrace of REM? I am sure it has something to do with the Jungian philosophy of masks and our reluctance to take them off less we be judged. But how can you be judged on your dreams? You have no control over them.
I slept yesterday. Not a planned sleep. One of those next thing you know I was asleep sleeps.
I woke up yesterday. I was upset I woke up. It was late and there was no reason for me to be awake. I could have slept through the night. I did not and had to watch TV and read. I watched on “What About Brian” on my Tivo. I thought it was a good show. I felt bad for Brian. I went back to sleep.
I went to a club yesterday. The club was cool. I was wearing a shirt with cuff links that I thought I had thrown away because my friend’s golden doodle had bit a hole in it. I don’t think the dog was happy with me that day. I had a tie on. I often wear ties. I don’t often wear ties to clubs. I don’t often go to clubs. I could not understand why I was wearing a tie. I was confused.
I ran into a friend from Kindergarten. I ran into his sister. I did not drink. I leaned into his sister. I fell off my chair. I landed a floor below. I ran into a friend from 20 years ago. He took me down some stairs. I did not drink. I saw 100 women dressed as white butterflies. They offered my Pabst. I did not drink. I tried to go the bathroom. Brian told me that only butterflies were allowed downstairs. I walked up the stairs. I stepped on a butterfly. She was nice.
I got upstairs. I could not see. Techno was playing. Or maybe it was just constant thumping. I am not sure. Strobe lights hit my eyes. I was drunk. Or I had vertigo. I kept running into everything. I was starting to convulse. The techno kept thumping. “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley kept playing in my head over the techno beat. I started to cry for help. Nothing was coming out of my mouth. I looked at my cufflinks. They were not mine. I looked at my shirt. It was un-tucked. It did not have holes. I cried out for help. A butterfly came over. I stepped on her foot. She did not mind. The strobe light was making me sick. I convulsed. I fell to the floor in thud. The strobe lights stopped. The music stopped. The butterflies were gone. I was on the floor. I was awake. And I thought to myself: What the fuck did I eat? Because I cannot be this messed up.

Last night or in the alternative The Divine Comedy

2006-04-11T11:20:00.000-07:00

I went out last night. Perhaps I should not have. Perhaps I should have. If there is a purpose to everything that happens I am trying to figure out what last night’s was. So let me give you some background on why I would go out in Washington, DC on a Monday night.
One of my close friends got fired yesterday for falling asleep on the job. Yes, yes, I know it seems very Dagwood Bumstead, however this happened for real and not in the comic strip “Blondie.” So like any red blooded American male, or any red blooded Hispanic male not marching, I decided to take him out to grab a couple of drinks. In retrospect, from past experiences with this person filling him with alcohol was not a very smart decision. However, because of the course of events, this decision would not come back to haunt me.

So what does one do with a recently unemployed, slightly robust, divorced friend? You take him to the one place where every man, at least for 5 minutes and a dollar, can feel desired—the strip club. Now this particular establishment is not one of those clubs that you read about in Maxim, FHM, or any other metrofratsexual rag that exploit man’s need to feel cool and self-important. No this place is located in a strip mall next to Peruvian Chicken restaurant and an auto parts store. Needless to say feature dancers there are few and far between. And so is good clientele. Which brings me to my next point. If you ever have a friend that is completely and utterly destroyed and depressed you can take him two places—this strip club or a soup kitchen; you will find the same people at both.

After the initial confusion and realizing that yes, in fact we were in strip club, and not some commercial for Derelict. We settled into a table, ordered two beers--that were priced like they contained a gallon of gas—and started to watch the “entertainment.” I use that word as loosely as possible, because I am not sure that you can qualify a girl walking angrily back and forth with a thong and pasties, picking up dollar bills. as she tries to remember whether she picked up milk for her kids’ breakfast as entertainment. Nonetheless, we are men so we decided to give it some time to see if it would get better—it did not. We paid our tab and left, blissfully ignoring that it was a Monday in Washington, DC.

Virgil commanded us to head to Georgetown. Within 20 minutes we were parked and headed to one of my favorite bars, Mr. Smith’s. As soon as we walked in something just seemed odd. I could not put my finger on what it was, but something was off. Was it that piano player? No, he actually sounded okay. Was it the beer? No the Kirin was cold and tasty? Was it the potato skins? No those were as delicious and as fattening as I remember. Was it the crowd? Hmmm, yes it was. While the bar was crowded it was all men. Now, I am given to hyperbole from time to time, but I swear this time I am not indulging. It literally was all men. Okay there were four women in the bar (well four women that did not work there) but the rest of the bar was all men. I looked at my buddy and said, “Can you believe that there is only men in here?” “Well, there are four women in here. And if you want, they are all big enough to count twice. So you can say you took me somewhere with eight women.” I declined his offer and we left.

Conventional wisdom would say that we should have cut our losses and gone home, but Virgil still had more to show me. Off we went to Old Glory. However, a funny thing happened on the way to Old Glory. We see a gaggle of Samanthas, Charlottes, Carries, and the occasional Miranda headed in opposite direction. So as Ron Burgundy says “When in Rome.” Quickly, our plan changes and we are headed somewhere else; not sure where, but it is not Old Glory. The Donner party ends their journey at Garrett’s; the sweet music from the Pied Piper compelled us to follow.

Granted we are in Georgetown but I felt like I walked into an
Marty Mcfly/Alex P. Keaton convention. Every guy was wearing a pink shirt—nothing wrong with that, look at my pics (well my shirt is more money then what they where wearing)—and a popped collar, or a pink shirt and blazer with patches. For the first time all night I thought I was having a lucid dream. But oh no, this was real. My friend and I sat down for a minute and then headed upstairs hoping for respite. That was not to happen. It seems like the popped collars had multiplied with every step. Now there weren’t just layered two deep, they were three, four deep, like some sort of Blake Carrington shirt hierarchy. We went back downstairs and asked one of the popped what this was all about. He said they were all Georgetown students and they were making fun of the way that others at Georgetown dressed and acted. Ah irony, I said to Luke Ward. I thanked him for the information, wished him good luck at his next polo match/lacrosse stripper party, told him to say hi to Muffy for me, and off I went.

Most normal people would call it a night, but I am good friend and I wanted to show my friend George Costanza a good time. I asked Virgil where was the next place to visit on our journey. To Midtown he said. Soon enough we were in Midtown and headed to Lucky Bar. Why Lucky Bar? Because from across the street we could see crowds of people headed in. And, well since the following a random crowd into Garrett’s worked so well, we figured we should do it again. We get to Lucky Bar and see a nice mix of men and women and no popped collars—jackpot. We walk in and hear some Regaton—not the best selection but beggars can’t be choosers—and then the DJ says something that I immediately recognize but my friend does not. I look around and notice that the only thing missing is McCain and Kennedy for this to be a full fledged rally. I am not as Brodie Bruce would claim a “textbook closet-case self loather.” I just was not in the mood to go all Ponch Poncherello on the dance floor, as my buddy fell into the rabbit hole of depression. Although, I tried to convince him that Hispanic women love their overweight “Papi Chulos.” We left the rally and decided that one more stop was in order.

I know at this point it feels like you are watching Mike Peters call Nikki after meeting her at the Dresden. You just want this train wreck to stop. But it keeps going. After a discussion on the merits of heading to the U street area vis-à-vis going to Hard Times in Springfield we decide that we should probably go somewhere closer to home. So Hard Times it is. We are there in 22 minutes and are immediately greeted by the familiar smell of beer, cigarettes and chili, and the sight of gangsta’s, underage kids, and people searching for things they will never find in bars (much like us—I know, ironic).

My buddy orders a beer and a tic-tac. I order a water and burger (yes I self medicate with food when I have had a LONG night) and immediately lose it. I have a Martin Lawrence meltdown and I just want to go home and forget that I have wasted 5 hours of my life that I will never get back. What prompted this? It could have been the midnight rape, the gay porn show in my room, no actually it was the presence of an Anna Nicole Smith impersonator walking in at 1:00 am on a Monday night at a bar where I was sitting knowing full well I had work the next morning. Was I truly that magnanimous that I would stay out all night with a buddy go through a tough time? Or, was this something deeper that caused me to not give up on the night? Was I like ANS and the rest of the people searching for something that I would never find in a bar? Nope, my burger came, it was delicious, and realized that like gay men my search that night had only been about meat and fodder for a blog full of pop culture references.

MySpace Ramblings

2006-03-27T11:49:00.000-08:00

1. I am sure your hero "Jesus" does not want to see your post half naked pictures on Myspace; unless it is Jesus the gardner but that just begs the question why is he your hero.

2. I think being a single parent is awesome. Kudos to you. However, you may want to consider how your child will react when they find your page and look at your pics and comments section. Just a thought, but I am sure Johhny does not want to know that Mommy was hooking up with five different guys in search of a "strong" role model for her little man. No need to have him read about your own personal version of the bachelorette.

3. If you look over your blogs,comments, or anything else you have written and notice a pattern of bitter anger you may want to stop seeing Dr. Myspace and perhaps visit a shrink.

4. Hey Dumb-Dumb, the an internet site linked to your email and with your picture may not be the best place to broadcast your illegal activities. Call me crazy, but last I checked the police have computers too.

5. Can all single guys just agree to put "Who I would like to meet: Hot chicks that want to hook up with me"? I am sure everyone is running out of creative things to write.

Ryan Atwood, why do you fight so much?

2006-03-24T05:59:00.000-08:00

I have one question: Ryan Atwood, why do you fight so much? I mean can we go more than three episodes without you fighting. This has been going on for three years. I understand that you have had a tough life:
1. Your dad is in jail;
2. Your mom is a drunk
3. Your brother committed Grand Theft Auto in front of you and ended up in jail;
4. The first words you heard at a party as your started your new life were “Welcome to the OC, bitch”;
5. You burned down a house owned by your guardians company;
6. Your ex-girlfriend overdosed in Mexico;
7. That same ex-girlfriend became a lesbian;
8. Still the same ex-girlfriend went to rehab and met some scary little mole looking stalker kid;
9. Your ex-con brother gets out of jail only to steak from you, get involved in drug trafficking and attempt to rape your infamous ex-girlfriend, consequently leading to her shooting him; and,
10. You are the oldest looking 18 year old since Steve Sanders.

Honestly though, you live in the OC. You drive a Range Rover. You have not seen a single fat person in 3 years. Your guardian has the most animated eye-brows in the history of television. Just relax dude and enjoy the ride. There is no reason for a 35 year old man to be fighting with teenagers.

Honey, an IPOD would have been cool enough

2006-02-28T13:01:00.000-08:00

As I was driving into work today I was listening to the Junkies on WJFK and heard a story that caught me ear. I really could not believe what I was hearing. My disbelief was so great that I rushed to the office and quickly Googled the story (as you all know, everything on the internet is true). Sure enough my Google search turned up the following story: http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05349/622923.stm.
You back? Yeah, I know. It seems that this might be the dumbest idea—ever. Now, I am not one to exaggerate—well perhaps a little about my sexual prowess, but come on I am guy—so when I say dumbest idea ever I mean it. I cannot think of a single guy that would be into this. Well, except for Telly (bonus points if you picked up the money “Kids” reference—Telly, the virgin surgeon). Honestly, it is not like plastic surgery is similar to the process in “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”.
First of all it is the woman getting the surgery, not the man. If you want your husband, boyfriend, etc., to think he is getting the horns from a virgin then you better erase the part of the brain where he stores all your sexual history. Really, having your Hyman reattached is not going to make him forget that you have been taxed more then a powerball winner. It just won’t. And like the redonkulouslinker said, “ruining the sheets won’t make him forget you going down on a bunch of guys like a circus seal (clerks style).”
So what should you do? I say you forget the whole dumb idea and just offer him sex in a most uncomfortable place—like the back of a Volkswagon (Mallrats style).

If you like, hate or are completely indifferent

2006-02-28T08:42:00.000-08:00

to my stuff. You need to check out this blog
http://www.redonkulouslinks.blogspot.com/

One of the best written and funniest I have read yet.

Life is about Scorpions and Frogs

2006-02-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

Go to the following site: http://allaboutfrogs.org/stories/scorpion.htm
and read the parable of The Scorpion and the Frog.

I have read this parable countless numbers of times and I have come up with two prevailing thoughts: 1. The Frog represents the basic human instinct of trust; and 2. The Scorpion represents our innate nature to be undisciplined.

I feel the fallacy in understanding this parable lies in our attraction to the frog. We want to identify with the frog. We need to believe that at the crux of our souls we understand all humanity to be good and trustworthy. I don't wholly disagree with this point; at our most base we can trust—otherwise we would not see the attachment between mother and child (the child knows no better and is willing to trust). However, our experiences taint and cloud our souls.

This process, also called life, slowly breeds and imbeds distrust in us. Over time, we become less like the frog and become more guarded (although it is true that the frog did not have blind trust in the scorpion—eventually the frog allowed himself to believe what he always wanted to believe, that the scorpion was good). Yet, when we read this story we identify with the frog and that is why we miss the greater point of the parable.

Although, there are plenty of times when we act like frogs; more often then not we act like scorpions. We are undisciplined in our decisions and lives. We see our patterns of behaviors as natural extensions of ourselves rather then things that can be controlled. We dismiss our own inadequacies in life, character, and personality as simply being our nature. “I could not help myself. It is in my nature.”

We don’t identify with the scorpion because it is too difficult to come to terms with the fact that we can change the things in our lives that we don’t like, but are too undisciplined and lazy to do so. The scorpion, with some discipline, could have made it safely across the river. However, he chose to follow his quotidian pattern and in the end it ultimately cost him his life.

Not every decision is life or death. However, all decisions are building blocks upon which our legacy is ultimately judged. It is only through cognizant understanding of our nature to be undisciplined can we truly achieve. Armed with this knowledge we can break our bad behaviors and ultimately get across the river—and then sting the frog.

Top Ten Quotes From "Think and Grow Rich" and a mini review

2006-02-24T13:30:00.000-08:00

. Success requires no explanation; failure permits no alibis.
2. Every adversity, every failure, and every heartache carries with it the seed of an equivalent or a greater benefit.
3. The ladder of success is never crowded at the top.
4. Happiness is found in doing; not merely possessing.
5. There are no limitations to the mind except those we acknowledge.
6. Whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe it can achieve.
7. Both poverty and riches are the offspring of thought.
8. All achievement, all earned riches, have their beginning in an idea.
9. Desire: The starting point of all achievement.
10. Persistence: The sustained effort necessary to induce faith.

"Think and Grow Rich" by Napoleon Hill was published in 1937. Mr. Hill was asked by Andrew Carnegie to seek out the most successful people in the world and discover their secret. Carnegie was the instrument through which Hill was able to get in touch with and interview people as diverse Woodrow Wilson, Charles Scwab, John Rockefeller, Clarence Darrow, George Eastmen, Theodore Roosevelt, and many others.

Carnegie knew that all these great men (and women) possesed a certain trait (secret) and he wanted Hill to discover it and share it with the world. Hill did just that and shared it through his book "Think and Grow Rich". At no point, however, does Hill ever tell us what the secret is--rather he asks us to discover it through reading the book. The book is peppered with great anecdotes from very successful people. If you have a moment pick it up. There are some ideas that are dated (like how to get your dream job), but there are plenty of things to learn from this book (management and leadership skills, and the SECRET).

And if you don't pick it up--at least enjoy the quotes!! At least this was more serious then "I love Dunch!!!!"

Date Movie? Only if you don't like her

2006-02-21T07:41:00.000-08:00

I am going to make this quick, if only because it pains me to relive the experience that was "Date Movie". I don't think I have ever been this excited and been this disappointed after any experience (well maybe prom. But that was my fault for buying the eighties teens movie hype). The first time I saw the preview for "Date Movie" I was immediately pumped up and excited. I love craptacular movies that can make me laugh and the preview most definitly did. Unfortunately, the movie pretty much is the preview. Those were the best gags in the whole film (save a Teenage Impotency joke that no one in the theater besides me and my friend got). The rest of the jokes were beyond toilet humor--they had to have been raw sewage plant humor (sorry about that, I am just so angry with the fact that I spent $10 buck on this movie that I cannot come up with anything worthwhile to say!). This schlock is garbage. It is the complete opposite of Dunch. Don't go see it. Don't spend another second thinking about it. Run from it and pretend it never happened. Well there is one good thing--it last about an hour and five minutes. So, it's got that going for it!

I love Dunch

2006-02-17T13:35:00.000-08:00

There is no meal that compares to Dunch, especially on a Friday. It is perfect. If you wait just long enough you can kill three birds with one stone: 1. You have Lunch; 2. You have dinner; and 3. You can line your stomach with something before a weekend of drinking to forget.

I think it's official I love Dunch!!

Yeah, go ahead and use it--I don't mind.

Killing me softly

2006-02-16T13:11:00.000-08:00

You knew it was bound to happen. Eventually, someone would meet someone and then someone would end up dead. And it has happened. Right here in my backyard. I think the thing that I find most fascinating is that the guy had a Myspace page that talked about how he was obsessed with death and killing. I would figure if I was going to go murder someone I might redo my MySpace page and take out the death references and perhaps make it all about balloons and puppy dogs. I guess my strict policy of only speaking to 18 year old Finnish girls will keep my safe for a little while.

Hey, I have had one beer before

2006-02-15T14:10:00.000-08:00

and done some pretty dumb stuff. Just ask my buddy Scott. I distinctly remember that when we were in law school we went out in DC one night and after one beer I decided to swerve all the way down the Memorial Bridge. Thank God, we weren't quail hunting I might have shot him--he is a smaller man and possibly could be confused for a bird. The lady Park Ranger pulled me over and asked me how much to drink. I said one beer. She placed a light in my eye and very scientifically determined that I in fact had had one beer. So, see it is not entirely implausible to mistake a human being for a bird after one beer. Heck, I thought the Memorial Bridge was a slalom course.

Comics and killing

2006-02-14T19:53:00.000-08:00

People killing people over cartoons? What? People killing people over cartoons? What has this world come too? I thought that when no one died from having the daily comics ruined by the never funny, always punnalicious (that is my own wordin case you cannot tell it comes from pun and delicious; an example of someone who is punnalicious is any character on "Sex and the City" "Ooooh you had sex with a farmer? Did he plow your field? Did you till his corn? Did he fuck you, you old cow?"), incredibly inane, and forever trite "Family Circus" we would never see the day.

For years we had to contain with the smug (I don't even know him but I just imagine him sitting there so self satisfied as he draws a cartoon with his left hand and says "Bill is gone this week, Jiffy took over.") Bill Keene; passing off maps of a kid walking around the whole neighborhood trespassing and destroying property as cute, touching and funny because grandmother was watching from heaven. Damn it, why couldn't Bill Keane have been Danish (mmmm, Danish sorry my inner Homer Simpson just stepped out) and drawn his comics with Allah instead of grandma watching? Then maybe, just may be I would have been able to enjoy the Sunday comics just once in my 28 years (yes I have been able to read since my inception. I am just like Chuck Norris (see Chuck Norris facts)). You know what, I would have even settled for enjoying Wednesday's comics.

You see every time that I read the "Family Circus" it just puts me in a bad mood. I am going along reading the comics, laughing at "Mutts," cracking up at "Closer to Home" and "Non-Sequiter" (which I assume would be funnier if I knew what a non-sequiter was), laughing my ass off at "Boondocks" and then feeling bad because I am not black and then the stupid "Family Circus" comes along and ruins my whole day and makes me want to go burn down KFC, vandalize a Citibank, break windows at a Holiday Inn and Pizza Hut, hold violent protests and burn an effigy (which by the way is one of the ways you know when you have really made it to top of the hill if people are burning dummies of you; or it means you have a psycho girlfriend one way or the other you have learned something) and KILL people over my anger at a comic.

Those are the only logical responses/reactions to being upset over a comic. There is no room for rational discussion, peaceful protests, or any other form of non-violence. No, we must go to extremes and cover our selves in the blanket of religion. Because it makes perfect moral sense to kill, maim, and destroy in the name of your loving supreme being. I understand that the "Family Circus" does not create the same religious fervor in me that the Danish comic instilled in the EXTREME Islamic community (please note, I said extreme because not all Islamic reaction was violent). And to be honest, the two are not even close.

However, when did it become acceptable in any modern society to solve all slights or moments of utter ignorance by acts of extreme violence? I may not understand, nor will I even pretend to understand the anguish and anger that fills the heart of these people, but perhaps I would be more willing to understand if they tried to express their anger in method that did not require burning down my favorite fried chicken place.

That escalated rather quickly

2005-08-28T14:01:00.000-07:00

I mean it really got out of control! I went to Dewey this past weekend for the last time this summer. For the uninitiated, Dewey is Dewey Beach, Delaware and it is a mecca for young professionals from the DC, Baltimore, and Philadelphia area.

Every weekend Dewey is flooded by thousands of horny guys and gals looking to get drunk and hook up. This weekend was no different, except that I was there along with J-Hova. I have been to Dewey two other times this summer and each time it has gotten progressively more out of control. This being the last time we were going up there this summer, J and I decided that we had to go out in style.

The day started off innocently enough as we got into J's '98 Jeep Cherokee (this fact will become important later for two reasons) and headed up to Dewey around 12. I had some friends up there and J did too. We figured we would catch up with them and after much revelry we would crash at one of their places. Great plan, poor execution. After a quick stop at Taco Bell we made it up to Dewey by 3:30.

It was overcast in Dewey so we decided to do what every red-blooded american does when they are at the beach and it is raining---we went to drink. We headed to the Starboard. As soon as we for inside the bar J turns and says "I'm getting smashed. I mean, really smashed." Oh, how right he was.

After a few drinks, we headed over to Bottle and Cork to listen to some bands and grab some more drinks. At this point, we started to pick up the pace. By five o'clock we were each about 8 drinks in, so we decided to start taking shots. Apparenely, we both decided to wear bad idea jeans that day. As we walked around the Bottle and Cork we met a random groups of girls who thought it would be funny to write obscene messages all over our stomachs. It's Dewey so why not?

The bands were good but not great so we decided to go to a house party at Bayside. There was grain alcohol (or as I like to call it--the evil) at this party and we drank a lot of it. We also did power hour. I then proceeded to puke on the balcony and on someone's head below. Not so good. I was quickly ushered from the party. By this time, I had managed to insult (How? I don't really know what I said or did, but was told that did not think I was very kind) the sister and friends of one our friends who was going to let us stay with her (not so much after my performance).

It was time to go back to the Starboard. J does not remember any of this since he decided that he would try and finish all the "Evil" at the party. Once back at the Starboard every one was telling J to drink water so he took six shots and began asking people "Hey, what's your problem?" Probably, not the best way to start a conversation or make friends. But it is a hell of way to get yourself into many "almost" fights.

One such event--the details are still murky--had J insulting the wife of the biggest human being in all of Dewey. J quickly realizing what he had done then proceeded to apologize profusely only making matters worse. It was too bad that J was taking SoCo lime shots and not shut the hell ups. I was no where to be found while this was going on. Honestly, I don't even know where I was. However, when I did make my way back into the Starboard (I know I left b/c I found myself in line about an hour later--pretty money to walk around for an hour blacked out only to come to in a line for a bar) J found me and said "A big, huge guy wants to kill me. I think we should leave." I agreed.

We decided to go back to the Bottle and Cork. Neither the Bottle or the Cork wanted anything to do with us. Well really me, because at this point I was covered in blood. I, however, was not bleeding. Jason, though, was bleeding profusely from the elbow up halfway up his arm. "Hova, your bleeding." "So I am." "How did that happen?" "Really, don't know." "Why did you use my white shirt like a towel rack?" "Really, don't know why either." "Awesome."

In order to get into the Bottle and Cork I needed to change. We went back to J's car so that I could do just that. When we got to J's car we realized that the night was far from over. Actually, the adventure was just beginning. J did not have his keys. He lost them. In Dewey. On the bay side, not the ocean side. We at least knew that much. So we had that going for us.

We searched around the car, under the car, in the sand, in the mud, everywhere. No keys. We started calling people from my phone that we had hung out with. No one wanted to take out calls. Oh wait, someone did take a call. I think they said "You and your friend are assholes. Never call me again." So we had that going for us too. J figured we were never going to find the keys so he should call his friend Carina so that she could bring us the extra key from DC (yes, at 1:00 am it does make sense to call someone 200 miles away to bring your spare key).

J pulled out his phone to call Carina but was unable to complete the call. J had his phone, but he did not have his battery. I have never heard of such a thing. People lose their phones all the time, but not many lose their battery--when it is in their phone! That takes talent. J has that talent. Like most of us J does not remember any phone numbers (damn cell phone, phone books). Let alone numbers when he is drunk. However, he did think he remembered Carina's numbers so he dialed what he thought was her number 240-123-456-789. That was not her number. We met some girls and started walking with them to Bottle and Cork. Hey no reason to let a little hiccup get in the way of more drinking. Not only that, but we also needed a place to stay and we figured we may have a chance to stay with them if we played our cards right. Again, though, both the Bottle and the Cork wanted nothing to do with me and my blood stained white shirt and now muddied jeans (remember we looked for the keys everywhere). So what sat on the curb and planned our next move.

We needed to do something and quick. I came up with what I thought was the best plan. Go up to random girls and ask them if J and I could stay with them. First group-no. Second group--no. Third group--no. Fourth group-YES. Score. Unfortunately, by this point J looked like a serial killer. Mud and blood all over his jeans. His hair in a stylish Don King style. Blood dripping down his arms. The girls freaked out a bit and sent us on our way. It was time for wings.

Wings had never tasted so good. It was a little bit of happinesss in otherwise quick desent into hell. After the wings, it was time for bed. Or rather it was time for J and I to go sleep under his Jeep Cherokee (thank God we had a jeep because there was enough room under the car to sleep). Had a great nights sleep. I really have never slept that well and the only reason I woke up was because J banged his head on the muffler when he tried to see what time it was.

WE got up went to the beach to see the sunrise and figure out what to do. We started walking aimlesly around Dewey and found a 24 hour diner (that was staffed by people from Siberia--I had never met a person from Siberia let alone 5. By the way, Siberia has some hot women). At the diner we got a phone a book and called a locksmith. We waited him for about an hour to arrive. We swore to him that it was our car and he called someone got a code and we had a key in five minutes and were on our way home. And not a moment too soon. God knows what other damage we would have done to our souls and livers had we stayed there any longer.

Best quoutes from the night:
Calling 411: "Yeah I need a number. Her name is Carina. I don't know her last name. Can you look up Carina?"

"There is a very large, angry man looking for me. We need to leave."

"Which one of these Giant Bonus cards is mine?" "It doesn't matter. We both will enjoy the savings."

"That crazy guy?" "Yeah, him. I promise we are harmless. Can we stay with you?"

Why I love Price Club/.Costco

2005-08-25T17:42:00.000-07:00

Price Club has to be the best place on earth! Not only can I go there and be fed for about three days, but if I ever want to buy one item and have it take me six hours there is no other place to go. Seriously, have you ever gone to Price Club and not eaten twice your body weight in egg rolls, taquitos, snack mix, etc.? Or have you ever gone there and not seen a million people with lines wrapped around the store because the manager has decided that although he has 30 lanes and 80 employees it is best to only open two, thus causing you to spend an inordinate amount of time (six hours) to purchase the 800 roll package of toilet paper?

Nevertheless, I love this place. The guy in "40 Days, 40 Nights" has the bus. I have Price Club. If you ever want to impress a girl by being utterly unimpressive take her to Price Club. Not only will you be able to feed her for nothing (if you really want to go all out they do have the Price Club Cafe), but you will also be able to impress her with the amazing selection of over indulgent products.

And yes the products are over-indulgent. I go into Price Club and realize that there are so many things that I need that I never knew I needed. A 10 gallon tub of Mayo? Throw it in the cart!!! !1,000 taquitos? I love them! Give me the box! 20 pounds of Pickles? Do you have Kosher? Sure do. Spot me (yes I am weak) while I grab the package. Oh, what is this? An oil drum of Windex? Sure, I only have two windows in my apartment but you can never have enough Windex!!! All this for 5 bucks!!! Wow, that's it? Yes, that's all it costs!! And that is why I love Price Club. Now, only three more hours till I get to the front of the line.

Random Thought of The Day

2005-08-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

Has there ever been an athlete that has won more games, been more clutch, won more championships, inspired more unathletic teammates, struck more fear into their opponents, and offered more comedy then Mike Mizanin. Yes, that is right, Mike from "The Real World: Back to New York." Also known as The Miz.

The man has given up on searching for a real job and now just competes in celebrity competitions. We have seen him on almost every single Real World/Road Rules Challenge, and now he is starring and wrecking havoc on Bravo's Battle of The Network Reality Stars. Please give the man his due.

Fuck Sarah Jessica Parker

2005-08-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, I am well aware that there have been incessent posts about "Sex and the City." So you know what? One more really isn't going to make the subject Jump the Shark.

Here is the deal with "Sex and the City," most people are misinformed about the premise (it is similar to Don Quixote in that way (one of the most grossly misinterpreted books of all time)). The majority of people think that "Sex and the City" is about women's sexual liberation and thus women's liberation in general. If a woman is sexually liberated, then she does not need a man to be fufilled--she can have it all career, friends, fun, etc.

But "Sex and the City" is not about that. It really is about one thing: telling women it is okay to be completely Fucking Nuts because everything will end up okay. And you know what? It is not okay and things will not end up okay either. There is a great scene in "As Good as it Gets" where a beautiful ingenue asks Jack Nicholson how he writes women so well and he replies "I think of a man and then I take away all reason and accountability."

At the time that "As Good as it Gets" came out, I was in college and the girls and women that I knew were normal (yes, I know I am opening myself up to a million comments about what normal is; and no, I do not mean they wanted to be barefoot and pregnant); so I did not agree with Jack. A year later "Sex and the City" premiered and the whole (well not the whole, but I would say every woman with HBO) went Fucking Nuts and Mr. Nicholson seemed a lot smarter. I have female friends that tell me that women have not changed from watching "Sex and the City." To which I respond, "Women have always wanted to ruin every good relationship with men by overanalyzing and making innane puns over mimosas at brunch with their best girlfriends."

That is the thing about "Sex and the City," every woman that has ever seen it thinks that she and her girlfriends are the women in "Sex and the City" (please read http://blaggblogg.blogspot.com/2005/05/oh-my-god-were-just-like-girls-on-sex.html for a more in-depth analysis of this phenomenon). But they are not. Yes, I know that most women have three friends that they can pinpoint as one of the archetypes from the show--the prude, the neurotic, the slut, the logical one (read CockBlock)--and the leftover one would be them. And yes, I am well aware that Darren Star did a bang up job in casting women that weren't so outrageously hot that women could not relate to them (imagine the show with Charlize Theron, Jessica Alba, Ashley Judd, and Jenna Jaimison). But just because you have some slutty, prude, neurotic and somewhat attractive but mostly average looking friends does not mean you are Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda.

Consequently, and I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, you are not going to be swept off your feet by a billionaire (who by the way, has the highest tolerance for neurotic bullshit ever found in a human being), you are not going to be over 40 and dating a 20 year old model (gotta tell you those days are quickly passing you by and some of you never even had those days), but you might just get pregnant from a boyfriend that you are not so sure about (hey it may have already happened so get out of the club), or you may end up with a bald, fat guy that likes to sit around your house naked (there could be worse things).

The biggest problem with "Sex and the City" was that once it realized the kind of power it had over women it decided to get incredibly unrealistic and leave women with the notion that they can be completely Fucking Nuts and in the end everything will work out okay. A more realistic ending would have been all four women sitting around in a house in Miami and calling the new season "Golden Girls." Oh yeah, one more thing, if "Sex and the City" is about women's liberation why did everyone have to end up with a man (even the lesbian)? So fuck Sara Jessica Parker.

The longest blog ever

2005-08-24T19:44:00.000-07:00

I took a long lunch today and headed off the see a matinee. I had heard a lot about "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and decided to check it out. It did not hurt that it was co-written by "frat-pack" alumnus Judd Apatow and ex-"Daily Show" correspondent Steve Carell .
Those that are unfamilar with Judd Apatow, he is the mind behind critically acclaimed and popularly ignored TV shows such as "Undeclared" and "Freaks and Geeks." He has also been involved with "The Ben Stiller Show," "Anchorman," "The Cable Guy," and "The Larry Sanders Show." So he comes to the table with good credentials. As does his writing partner Steve Carell. Steve Carell is not only from the "Daily Show" but has also stolen scenes in "Bruce Almighty" and "Anchorman."
The movie's premise is as simple as the title--it is a movie about a 40 year-old virgin. The main character, Andy, is played by Steve Carell. Andy is an obsessive toy collecting, electronics store employee who for one reason or another has never had sex in his 40 years.
The premise of the movie was born out of a character created by Steve Carell for the famous Second City Troupe. It seems like a pretty flimsy basis for a two hour movie. Think about how badly "It's Pat," "The Ladies Man," etc., faired when a skit character,without much substance, was made into a movie. The difference in this case is that Carell and Apatow take the one joke (in the Second City skit the joke is that the character describes sex and women in such ludicrous terms as "Her breast felt like sacks of marbles." And, "Her vagina was like baby powder.") and create enough back story that we can understand why he does the things he does.
In this case, Andy is still a virgin and thus infantile when it comes to sex, because he had so many bad experiences early on that he just figured it was not worth it. And because we understand, and to be honest can somewhat relate (be honest you have sworn off sex or the opposite sex at some point in your life and decided that you would concentrate on something else (usually something you could control)) to why Andy is still a virgin, Andy is completely relatable and human and not creepy. Thus the main character can carry the movie and the supporting characters can add the accouterments that make this comedy enoyable and the story believable.
Thus, once we and Andy's co-workers (Paul Rudd, Seth Rogan, Romany Malco) find out that he is a virgin all the ensuing mishaps seem like natural occurences instead of randon scenes placed in the movie simply for "shits and giggles." Two such examples, which have been played on the trailers ad naseum (yet in the movie they were still enjoyable and funny (by the way, don't you hate it when you see a trailer and all the good parts are shown!!!)), are the scene in the bookstore ("'We have a great do-it yourself section.' 'Do you like to do it yourself.'") and the chest waxing scene ("Ohhhh Kelly Clarkson!!!"). These two scenes standing alone seem like great Saturday Night Live skits (can you imagine a hairy male actually getting his chest waxed live on SNL? Carell actually got his chest wax for this scene-one hilarious take), but in the context of the movie they don't seem like skits but natural extensions of the story.
This coupled with the actually sincerity in all of the characters makes this movie more then a one-trick pony. We can actually believe that Andy is a nice guy; that Jay (Romany Malco)--the token womanizer--is just really insecure; that David (Paul Rudd) really is heart broken and just wants to find someone to love; that Cal (Seth Rogan) is just a young guy that loves to hook up; and that Trish (Catherine Keener), the love interest, has been through lots of love ups and downs but still has hope.
If there is one criticism of the movie it is that that language can be a litlle over the top. It is diffently coarse and can make you a little squeamish if you are not comfortable (e.g. first date, parents, grandparents) with the person or persons you are watching it with. If you are comfortable, then enjoy and laugh it up.

"It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" Has anyone seen this show? It is on FX and it is really funny. The show revolves around three self involved guys and one girl (read moral compass) that run a bar in Philadelphia. The guys who write it, also direct and act in it. The characters are hilarious--totally out of left field. The acting is good and the situations are outrageous yet relatable. If you get a chance to catch this show you have to watch it. So far there have been four episodes: 1. The Gang Gets Racist; 2. Charlie Wants an Abortion; 3. Underage Drinking; 4. Charlie has Cancer. All the episodes have been very funny and rewatchable (the mark of a good movie or TV Show). A synopsis of the episodes can be found here: http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/sunny/main.html Do yourself a favor and check it out next time it is on tv.

Janice, I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate
situation that people like to call dating. If you recogonize the line, then you know what this will be about: "Wedding Crashers." I have to say that the "frat pack" has done it again. Addmitidly, I am a big fan of the "frat pack" movies and have been ever since Double Down Trent taught us all just how money we all can be. However, I do think that their productions can be somewhat uneven. And that often times, it takes multiple viewings to truly appreciate them. It was not until recently that I started appreciating "The Cable Guy" one of their early works for it sheer humor. And even though I enjoyed "Dodgeball" I think it way below (in no particular order) "Swingers," "Zoolander," "Anchorman" and "Old School." "Wedding Crashers" does not suffer from that fate.
From the outset (within a few minutes of the beginning the movie presents with a line that can be, and I am sure will be uttered for years to come "you shut up when you are talking to me.") the movie provides the audience with plenty of laughs and characters that you would want to meet or hang out with.
For those of you that have been living under a rock or are still hanging onto your youth angst where you reble against anything popular the movie is about two 30 year old (somewhat of a stretch) divorce mediators that are best friends and crash weddings (hence the title) so that they can hook up with women. In all honesty, not a bad plan. The main characters are played by Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson's nose (it is difficult to focus on anything else when his nose is up on the big screen).
Vince Vaughn gets back to his roots--the ones he reestablished in Dodgeball and Old School--as Trent would say "That rated R guy that you are not so sure about." And he does awesome job. It was not until the end of the movie that one realizes that story he tells about Owen Wilson's birthday is actually true (if you have seen the movie you know what I am talking about, if not--whoops sorry). It just does not seem that his character can be that sincere, loyal, and sweet. His performance is incredible--it may not even be a performance. From what I have heard he really is like his character in the aforementioned movies (does anyone know the "computers, wave of the future" story? That story says it all). Nevertheless, he has some of the best lines in the movie and delivers them with aplomb.
Owen Wilson is also very good in this movie. Not only is he funny, but he does a very good job of playing the straight man. His character in this movie is what I like to call a main character/sidekick. The story really is about him, but every now and then he is asked to take a back seat and let the othere actors rif. He never oversells a scene and it always seems like he knows when he should let someone else steal it.
The supporting characters all do a very good job as well. Has anyone ever played a hot, pyscho better then Isla Fisher? Do not say Glenn Close--because I did say HOT. And "it" girl of the moment Rachel McAdams really makes you think that she is the type of normal girl that one could fall in love with in a matter of days. Bradley Cooper--soon of Kitchen Confidential on Fox--is such an ass in this movie and one just sits there and hopes that Owen Wilson can just steal his girlfriend away because he such a prick.
One other notable in the whole cast is Christopher Walken. I would write about his performance, but that is another blog all together. He is just the man. Kind of crazy that he was in "The Deer Hunter" and all we really know him from is SNL and campy characters.
Oh yeah, this movie also has the ubiquitous Will Ferrel cameo and it is HIGHLARIOUS [sic]. I won't really reveal much more about it here but my tagline by my picture is from his cameo.
I have to go. The proper girl, with the hat, just eye fucked the shit out of me.

I went to Naiyla for dinner a few nights ago. The food was great. The service--not so much. I felt like I was being obtrusive by even sitting there. However, the food made the experience worthwhile. The Baba Ganoush was excellent. It had a great consistency was perfect and the bread was tasty. The real coup de grace of the evening were the main courses. I had the Beef kababob. The seasoning was strong without being overpowering. I loved it and it made me crave it even after I was done!!! My friend had the tuna. The tuna was incredible as it was paired with a mango chutney. I have read many reviews about this place. Most of them have focused on how poor the service is. And they are right. But they also fail to mention how the food is impeccable. I recommend this to anyone who has enough patience to deal with an aloof wait staff.

I went to to the Virginia Wine Festival this past weekend. It was really good times. Or at least what I remember of it. I took the Party DC bus. I highly recommend the Party DC bus to anyone. Actually, all of the Party DC events I have been to have been lots of fun.
I got to Clarendon Grill at 10:30 and ran into an old High School friend. Which was cool. I also started drinking at that time when I ordered a Mimosa. Which is the perfect 10:30 am cocktail. We boarded the bus at 11:00 but did not leave till 11:20. I felt like I was in grade school and was on my way to a fun field trip. I could not wait to get there!!
Unfortunately, we took the longest route known to man. Eventually, we made it there and not a moment to soon. I needed a drink! At this point it was 12:30. We got off the bus and quickly noticed that the festival was being held on the equator! It was so damn HOT!!! Nevertheless, that was not going to deter us from partying. We tasted about three wines before we decided to start buying botttles. We bought a bottle and then everyone I was with also bought food. I did not and this is important.
It was now about 1:10 pm and I had polished off two bottle of wine with my cohorts--there were two other guys and two girls with me. My buddy Donny and I were drinking at a breakneck pace. Everyone else was definitly taking it very slowly. By about 2:00 pm we were now on our fourth bottle--and two people had stopped drinking.
I made it to the VIP tent and sat a table with three girls that I had met on the bus. For the next hour us four shared 3 more bottles of wine. I went to buy another bottle of wine when I ran into my original crew (at this point I thought I would have my moment of Whoa (you know when you stand up and say "Whoa I need to slow down.")unfortunately for me, I had a moment of Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! effectively ending my day) I followed them to the stage to hear the band--oh yeah, there were four bands there. I then proceeded to lay on the grass and go to sleep, i.e. pass out. It was 4:00pm. The fesitival ended at 6:00--I slept the last two hours on the grass with a bottle of wine next to me.
At 6:00 we got back on the bus. I tried to sleep but my stomach had other ideas. Obviously, I threw up--in a bag. Thank God I was surround by a bunch of sympathetic girls who took good care of me. Oh yeah, my buddy Tony held the bag for me while I filled it jup. So he might be real hero of the situation. I thought I was going to rally and was already to rock, but the staff at Clarendon Grill did not feel I was going to be a good customer and turned me away.
So in summation my whole day consisted of about three hours of partying. Two hours of sleeping and one very adventerous ride home.

Has anyone else noticed how much sports has seeped into the business lexicon? I am so tired of it. The "One team, one dream" bullshit is so tired. I doubt everyone's dream is for me to be filthy, stinking, rich and retired in five years. I would bet that most people wish that for themselves. And to tell you the truth, I don't really wish that for anyone but me. So much for "One team, one dream." Also, I don't really think "we are taking one on the chin" when we lose the big client. Unless you come up and punch me in the face, I am really not taking one on the chin. Honestly, I don't really care. Just give me my check and be on your way. Oh yeah, it is not the bottom of the ninth with two out, it is not the fourth quarter down by six, I am not on the free throw line with no time left in a tie game, honestly I am just behind on the project that you gave me three weeks ago because I have been surfing the net. So if you could be so kind and let me go one-on-one with my computer I gotta go see what's up on ESPN.com. Thanks.

http://redonkulouslinks.blogspot.com/ This has to be one of the best blogs on the net. It is informative, well thought, extremely well written, and funny. Not only that, but he adds some great links to all of his blogs. "Big like a pickle", and "Yo Vip Let's Kick It" are two great examples of this bloggers writings. These two blogs have some great links, but the real genius is in his deconstruction of other bloggers arguments. If you are looking for something funny to read on the internet this is the place to go. Not only that but all the links are pretty good too. That blogger truly is REDONKULOUS.
http://www.redonkulouslinks.blogspot.com/

Dewey and Disney are the same place. They really are! The only difference is that one is for adults and the other is for children. I bet you guess which is one for which. Here are a few similarities that will convince you that I am correct: 1. Both have extremely over priced places to stay; 2. Both are incredibly crowded; 3. Both make you crazy once you get there--honestly did you ever go to disneyland as a child and not go completely nuts? It is the same thing in Dewey have you ever gotten there and not gone completely nuts within 5 seconds. The drinks get you buzzed quicker, the clothes come off faster, the hookups are dirtier and more memorable. Yes, my friends Dewey is now my Disney.

Pimp and Ho Party! Is there a better idea for a party then this? If there is, I have yet to discover it. Togas are cool, Boxers and Oxfords are cool too, but nothing beats the genius that is a Pimp and Ho party. It actually should just be called a Ho party. Not too many Pimps ever show up, but there are always plenty of hos. It is such a great excuse for girls to wear virtually nothing. Honestly,is there a better party idea?