Thursday, June 29, 2006

Deadly Nightingales

So there's a new Adam Sandler movie called "Click," which is about a man with a magic remote control. Is this the most retarded idea for a movie ever? I'm thinking it just might be.

There's something about the billboard with the bloated, misshapen remote control and Adam Sandler's smug, smirking face that yells to me, "Dude. You are gonna LOVE this." If you're like me, your imagination instantly starts running wild with all the scenarios in which it would be so awesome to have a remote control.

Then to further goad your fertile imagination (as if you needed it) there's the supplemental billboards that show:
  1. A screaming baby with a giant "MUTE" button.
  2. A man viewed from behind wearing a Speedo with a giant "FAST-FORWARD" button.
  3. A close up of a woman's cleavage with a giant "SLO-MO" button.
Get it? Because everybody hates screaming babies and men's asses, but everybody LOVES boobs! Right everybody? Because when you see boobs, you wanna slooow down and take a real goood look! But when you hear a little brat screaming its head off, you wanna shut that kid up, right?! Shut the kid up and get rid of that man's ass! Ugh!

Hey! This gives me an awesome idea! If I could just invent a product that would help people enjoy things they liked, while helping them avoid things they hate, I'd really be onto something! Because good=good and bad=bad! It's so simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it before.

I just realized it's never going to work. Too many people hate good things and vice versa.

That movie's going to flop, too. Big time.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Alliteration is Cool

Can I just share this, Dear Reader, that the crappy neighbors are moving? Yes, they're moving and I'm pretty happy about it, I can tell you.

You may recall that these neighbors, a man and woman of indeterminate age, moved in about a year ago and promptly summoned the police to our door because we had a really small gathering and were playing music on the stereo at a low volume on a Friday night. Who does that? Who moves into a new place and then calls the cops on the perfectly resonable and affable young hipster couple next door?

You may also recall, Dear Reader (but possibly not and you would quickly be forgiven), that these are the same unreasonable neighbors who complained to us numerous other times about numerous other things. One time, they came to my door at 6:00 on a weekday evening to complain about me playing music (my vinyl copy of The Slider, if anyone cares). I stood in the doorway, incredulous, as you can well imagine, and much the way you might stand if someone had the nerve to disturb you in such a way.

The guy invited me to come over to his place next door to hear what it sounded like in there, and I accepted, because I truly don't want to be an ass, and I would never want to infringe on anyone's tranquility the way he was making it seem like I was. I fully expected to step into his place and hear some kind of echoey, booming caucophany as if the exact placement of my speakers freakishly just happened to be above certain beams that carried and amplified the vibrations, making our units into some kind of giant string-cup-telephone thing. I really did, I thought it was going to be loud, and I was all prepared to say something like, "Golly, mister! I had no idea it sounded like that over here! I sure am sorry!"

Yes, but guess what? Of course, I couldn't hear anything. That's right. I stood there leaning forward, head cocked, straining to hear something as the guy gestured at his living room in self-satisfied, I-rest-my-case smugness.

He said, "See? We're sitting here, quietly trying to read, and there's this, 'Boom, boom, boom.'" I stood there in silence for a few more seconds, and then, finally my ears adjusted, there it was, the faintest little booming you've ever heard.

I told them that I could barely hear it, but that I would turn it down a bit, just as a show of good faith or whatever. I added that it was unreasonable for them to expect us to be imperceptible to them.

I mean, really. What would it take for you to feel compelled to march over to someone's home, pound on their door and tell them to shut up or whatever? Jesus. I'm saying that it would have to be a lot more than the faintest little booming you've ever heard.

Then there was that one time when we had our Three's Company theme party, and I tried to be nice so I wrote a note to them, giving them more than a week's notice, informing them that we would be having a party the following Saturday, with approximately however-many people, and that although they were sure to hear something, because after all it IS a party, we would try to keep the noise level down and if it got crazy to give us a call, here's my cell, and THEY responded with a note to US saying that they would allow us to have the party but that we should be aware that his wife had to wake up for work at 6 AM the next morning which was a SUNDAY and quoting the various rules that were were breaking by even having a party at all and suggesting that we'd better keep it down after 11:00 and what I REALLY wanted to do after that was march over there and inform them that, listen to me now, I was in no was ASKING you for permission to have the party, I was merely TELLING you that I was having one because I'm a polite and nice person who has fucking manners.

Anyway, Dear Reader, they're moving, and I don't even feel like telling you about all the other ways they're only ever been c0mplete, 100% creeps to us, but jesus christ we're going to have a really big party to celebrate on their last night here.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

I Heart Invisible Martyrs

My romantic interest and I took her toddler niece with us (22 months old, if that means anything to anybody) on our afternoon excursions today and I learned some things:
  1. I curse a lot.
  2. I'm never ever having kids never ever I don't care what you say.
  3. Never ever.
I racked my brain today trying to come up with some kind of amusing trick to teach the child. I want to top or match the thing that another friend of the parents taught her. Check this out: If you're drinking a beverage and the child is drinking from her, um, "sippy cup," and you say, "Cheers," to her, she'll cheerily blurt, "Cheers," and heartily clink drinking vessels with you!

Despite my stubborn persistence, and to my great astonishment, the child inexplicably failed to show any interest whatsoever in mimicking my Ricky Ricardo-esque, "AI-ai-AIs." The best I could do today was that I taught her to act pensive. Now, if you ask her a question, she puts her index finger up to her cheek, looks skyward and lets out a really long and deliberate, "Hmmmmmmm."

Friday, June 16, 2006

Stacked, Cracked & Mittens

This weekend, the Laguna Art Museum will present a joint show by artists Tim Biskup and Gary Baseman. It should be a major dorkfest.

I'm so there.

I've never been to the Laguna Art Museum, and I haven't spent much time in Laguna Beach, but it's really pleasant and "California-y."

Actually, I went to a party a few years ago in Laguna. Friends of friends of friends or something. They were these wired coke/porn people. I don't know what their deal was. I didn't really like them.

This should probably not affect this weekend's art show in any way.

UPDATE: I just noticed that I wrote "wired" instead of "weird," but the former is actually a better fit.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Dingy & Singed

You know that trite little workplace phrase that people sometimes use, "Work smarter, not harder?"

OK, check it out. If you subscribe to the school of thought that believes this is helpful and/or makes sense, then what would you say about labor-saving devices? You couldn't really say that a labor-saving device would make your job "easier," since you're not working "hard" in the first place, just "smart."

I guess if you embrace that, "Work smarter, not harder," thing, you'd have to say that labor-saving devices allow you to work "less smart."

Salesman: If you implement this thing, your job will be much, much easier.

Boss: What do you mean, "Easier?" I work smarter, not harder.

Salesman: Oh, well, I mean, if you implement this thing, you can work more stupid.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Missions Impossibles

Do I have to do everything around here?

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Castles Made of Sand Castles

We're having what we call a "heat wave" here in Southern California. It was hotter than a welldigger's family christmas album today, and that's pretty hot.

But, I went to one of the best art shows I've ever been to today, "The Société Anonyme: Modernism for America," at the UCLA Hammer museum. They had more Duchamps, Man Rays and Ernsts than you could ever hope to shake a stick at.

The thing that captivated me for the longest, however, was Max Ernst's Paris Dream. I'd seen it in books many times before, and it was pretty cool to stand face-to-face with it.

Plus, the Hammer's never too crowded. We've got some really world-class museums here in Los Angeles, but sometimes LACMA gets a bit cramped, and if you go to the Getty, you always have to fight the undiscerning throngs of soccer moms who have no interest in art but are only there to have lunch because of the view or whatever.

Nothing against soccer or motherhood, mind you, but screw those people.