Scaring your parents

At a certain point in my life I went through a metal phase. My music got louder and faster. I had always sort of been into Metallica, but noting really beyond that. In the summer before my eighth grade year, circa 1993, I really got into it.

Along with my new found taste for all things metal, I started growing my hair out and smoking stolen Doral Lights from my Dad with some other metal friends. I bought a big stereo from Best Buy with my Christmas money and instead of listening to my demonic soundtrack on my headphones, I pumped it throughout the house.

T-shirts started to fill my drawers and sometimes I was asked to turn them inside out at school or wear my gym shirt instead. For example, the Metallica picture to the right here was a popular one.

The biggest transgression, at least in the eyes of my Mom, were the posters on my basement bedroom walls. Here are some samplings from what occasionally got me in trouble, apart from having an album with a song titled "Fucking Hostile" on it.





































I mean, if the year before you were buying your kid a Bobby Brown tape and the next year he had these posters in his room, you might be concerned. Or maybe not. Have you read the lyrics from "Humpin' Around" ??



I got away with the posters above, however I wasn't so lucky with the one below. As I was hanging it up with care, it was immediately shut down by my parents.

My Mom put up with a lot of crap from me, however this one stepped over the line and I guess I can see why now. A muscular looking, uh, woman with her boobs hanging out sacrificing a viking on an altar while straddling him with a demon skull in the background and the word 'demon' on it was probably went a tad overboard.

We only had one real record store in Sioux Falls at the time (and now probably the only one still I guess). Ernie November was a treasure trove of cool stuff for a 13 year old kid that was naughty and bad. You could even buy parental advisory albums and not get hassled like you did at the mall. I can't tell you how many times my parents unwittingly took me there so I could buy things they wouldn't approve of. Ah, memories. There is no one to outfox anymore.

I should really go to bed...

People who get into journalism to change the world are wasting their time.

It's an opportunists stance, and that's great, but I'm going to go ahead and take a dump on your parade. The wide-eyed ideals of young kids, the few that remain, who grasp onto a notion that simply graduating with a degree in communications for journalism will equal a great job where their voice will be heard is fleeting. Am I speaking from experience? No. But how often do I do that? This is blog, and I didn't do any independent research for your satisfaction. Sorry.

From what I've seen so far, a vast majority of aspiring kids looking to write in public for pay generally end up covering a local crime beat or high school sports. That's fine, and I'd be cool with that some day, but the idea you shouldn't write just because you won't be David Halberstam, Hunter S. Thompson or some other Pulitzer Prize winning journalist is lame. The world needs plenty of people who will be mediocre journalists and write menial pieces for suburban newspapers. Hell, I'll write the livestock report for Lone Jack, Missouri if my wife would let me get away with it. Pay wise anyway.

But being good enough doesn't seem to be good enough for most people my age or younger. Everyone wants to be the Peyton Manning of their chosen profession. Guess what? Unless you're extremely gifted and/or lucky, it ain't gonna happen. You can stir shit up, but more than likely you'll just end up hated, mocked or fired. Or if you're fortunate, all three.

The point is, kids who realize they aren't the next Diane Sawyer just give up and work in HR for Hardee's or something. That's great, and I'm sure it pays the bills, but it's not what you really want to do or have a passion for. Who the fuck grows up and says "Someday I will process benefits better than anyone in my division." ??

Once upon a time I thought coming out of high school it would be a good idea to get a computer science degree instead of becoming a journalist for the money. I was, in a word, retarded. Now I'm 29 and taking classes with kids who don't remember MTV when it was cool or what tight rolled pants are. I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to talk to everyone about? You started playing video games on a Playstation? I once spent 20 hours trying to cheat the blinking blue screen on my Nintendo to play Kung Fu!

So really examining what your expectations are in life is paramount, especially for all the Dick and Janes who want to be writers. Maybe you should take a weekend and recalibrate what you really feel like you deserve out of life, and what it owes you. The world is full of them, writers that is, and chances are you and me will just be like all the other cats busted up on the highway to the New York Times. But don't despair, pay your bills, don't raise asshole kids and maybe, just maybe, you can be in the right place at the right time and do some work that is at the very least intellectually stimulating/satisfying to you and means something once or twice. Something to look back on and really be proud of.

Eric Hinske ain't Alex Rodriguez, never has been and never will be. Hinske is slow, possesses questionable fielding skills and can't hit a 12-6 curve ball to save his goddamn life. But he does have something A-Rod doesn't have. A massive ego and an inferiority complex that makes him think he needs steroids to enhance his already ridiculous God-given ability. Oh, and a World Series ring thanks to the important players on the Red Sox.

See, I can't even get through a post on my other blog without pimping my team and slamming the Yankees. So be it.

A change is coming...

Well, maybe. I'm entering my fifth year of writing here on this blog and I feel like I need to switch some things up. If everything goes according to plan you could be seeing some additional voices. With businesses going under, hostile corporate takeovers and consolidating interests I figured why not do the same thing here?

If my little plan does not go according to, uh, plan then nothing will change and this blog will forge ahead like you've known in the past. Last year was a bit of an aberration as far as my frequency of posting. Adjusting to school, a new house and new jobs took it's toll. I am pledging to return to form this year and ramble on about senseless crap. You know, fun stuff.

A swing and a miss...

At some point, the train carrying my friends left me at the Kevin Smith station. In high school we would sit around and watch Clerks, Mallrats and eventually Chasing Amy our senior year. I remember watching the latter at a friends house and losing my mind laughing. The material was so edgy and out there for 1997, and to a small-city Midwestern boy who had little to no contact with the gay community at the time, it was eye opening. Of course, Smith's exploits into the inner workings of gay versus straight life are comic book exaggerated (a stretch, I know), and need to be somewhat tempered.

I've held on. Dogma had a great concept, good dialogue but poor acting for the most part. Some scenes were brilliant, some were flat out ridiculous. I held on through Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, which does not stand up. It still has a small place in my heart, but it's dwindling. I liked where Smith and crew went with Jersey Girl, but Bennifer (remember that??) and the Gigli effect killed it. It was too precious for Smith anyway.

Clerks 2 made me believe again. I was quite pleased and that movie tugged on the heartstrings. It was 95% nostalgia, but it was a great ride. This takes me to his latest effort, Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I'll admit I had high expectations like most people I knew.

It has probably one of the hottest comic stars right now in Seth Rogan, along with some wise casting to fill the roles around him. He was brilliant in The 40 Year Old Virgin, believable in Knocked Up and just mediocre in Superbad. I am yet to see Pineapple Express. Sadly, he didn't wow me much in this movie. Smith's leading man formula and Rogan's improvisational magic he has been known to weave on stage did not mesh.

Yes, that's right, I don't really like this movie at all. I laughed in parts the first time through, but mostly at my wife's reactions to all the raunch because she's not a huge fan of it. She's coming around the more I infect her, so to speak.

I took in my second viewing tonight, and I didn't laugh once. Even the infamous "frosting" scene didn't do anything for me. It just feels like too much of a rip off. Smith and his merry band of movie makers seemed to pride themselves on using "their cast." Now, the cast just seems like it's out on loan between Judd Apatow hits. It feels fake. And wrong. Smith was on the cusp with Affleck, Jason Lee and Joey Lauren Adams. They became stars after playing roles in a few a Smith's films. Now it seems like he's playing catch up with people that don't seem too interested in making his writing pop like it used to.

Watching Smith try and shove a square peg through a round hole is painful. It's painful to write this. Most of his movies are treasures among my DVD and Bluray collection. Jesus, I listen to SModcast while falling asleep nearly every night. I'm a fan. Still. But I just can't fake it with this movie. He's trying way to hard to get over his "30 million dollar hump" with this one.

The only character that salvages this movie in any respect for me is Elisabeth Banks. She is the one person who made the lines, the character and her story come alive. While everyone else was dying onscreen, Banks showed me that she should be one of the better actresses in Hollywood right now. She made me believe, watching Darryl and Mooj argue near the beginning of the movie while Cal jumped in and out of the conversation almost made me cringe. I was watching The 40 Year Old Virgin and The Office. It was horrible.

Smith and some of the reviews tried to prop up the movie because of it's heart and love story. It just felt so goddamned empty to me. It didn't get it's dull hooks in me at all. The love scene between Zack and Miri seemed off putting, the climax at the end fell way short and like I've said, the acting was lost in translation from Smith's script.

The movie swung for the fences on the shock value in going for a very hard 'R' rating and whiffed. Big time. It seemed like he was doing it just for the sake of doing it. None of it felt believable. Not even close. Tonight made me sad, upset and a little disappointed. As much as you can put emotions like that into a movie anyway. But I did feel compelled enough to write about it.

I'm sure I'll give it a few more shots. Who knows, it could grow on me. It just doesn't seem that likely at this point. It's hard to imagine the Weinsteins continuing to budget Smith and uber-producer Scott Mosier after this one. It should have been huge as far as the money it should have made. I think they've passed on his next project, a horror film tentatively titled "Red State." Even the name is too late in regards to it's other meaning. Smith, once a progressive writer, seems to be a reactionary now. I'm approaching 29 in the next ten days. It looks like "my movies" from my teens and twenties are going to stay in that era and not board the next train with me.

Drew Barrymore Must Die

Well, at least her pattern of making saccharine fluff. It's not all bad though, just some of it. She has been at the helm as executive producer for her production company, Flower Films, for two gems. Donnie Darko and Fever Pitch are movies that I enjoy repeatedly. The Jekyll to her Ms. Hyde however, has given us Charlies Angels 1 and 2 (partially saved by the sultry Demi Moore and late Bernie Mac) and the movie I endured in the name of love last night.

He's Just Not That Into You is the epitome of what I dislike in Hollywood. The problems are marketed as real life (they aren't), yet the characters and the settings are as stereotypical (they are) as Mexicans mowing my lawn. Did you know that Africans all live in huts with livestock running everywhere? Asian women dress in the quirky way 12 year old girls find charming and gay people only work in design departments? That's what this movie taught me in the breakup and consoling montage portion. The sets are straight off the showroom floor from Crate & Barrel and everyone is dressed like an Abercrombie model.

This is the quandary with Barrymore and the movies she pushes out into the public. Some are very good, the others are candidates for the yawn olympics. Her movies and their consistency are as big a tease as Ivy. Indeed, I felt as uncomfortable as Tom Cooper last night.

The cast of characters reads like a Rolodex of beautiful people. Ben Affleck, the ever bland Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Connelly, Scarlett Johansson, Ginnifer Goodwin, Bradley Cooper (Zach from The Wedding Crashers), and the guy from the Mac vs. PC commercials. I understand no one wants to pay ten bucks to see a guy like me on a 40 foot screen, but give me a fucking break. My friends and I a pretty homely looking. No one has a modeling contract, and nobody's dad looks like Kris Kristofferson.

The biggest problem I had with this movie? Other than the insipid story and it's ability to tie a bow on each situation like a Brady Bunch episode? The soundtrack. Yes, that's right. Each time I am bamboozled into seeing a movie like this, it is littered with music I absolutely love. "Can't Hardly Wait" by the Replacements and "This Must Be the Place" by the Talking Heads are two songs that just about made me jump up and leave the theatre. You simply cannot do this. Injecting good music into a bullshit movie is against the rules.

The night wasn't without an interesting social commentary. I couldn't have picked a better place for us to view this film. I figured since our dinner choice was near the Country Club Plaza we would go to said outdoor shopping center out of convenience. My common sense forgot to remind me that it would be a madhouse, full of people that I spend my days making fun of. Too worried about their looks, their clothes, their cars and who they surround themselves with to give them time to reflect on what is real in the world, man. A tad over dramatic, I know, I was kidding. Mostly. But we did walk out of the theater and into reality where not much had changed from screen to street.

When I go to the Plaza I'm generally ok with it. However when I'm leaving I always feel relieved that I'm exiting that place. For those unaware, it is the apex of an interesting dichotomy here in Kansas City. It lies just south of Midtown where heroin and crack addicts are seen lining outside of blood banks for extra scratch and north of a gentrification project that would make Malcolm X froth at the mouth. Most interesting to me, is that east and west are as polar opposite as ebony and ivory. Literally.

To the west is Ward Parkway, land of estates and castles. Johnson County which was and still is the landing pad for white flight in our city is also fixed where the sun sets. To the east is the most dangerous neighborhood in all of Missouri and Kansas. At least according to an expose recently published in The Kansas City Star. More murderers from this particular zip code are behind bars than any other postal stop in the Show Me State.

Here is where you can see $50,000 motorcycles line the block as their middle aged riders sip cappuccino while a street performer dances 18 hours a day for your spare change. Kids that play soccer and wear khakis on the weekend meet kids who know someone who has been murdered or is in prison. It is a visual orgasm for even the most casual people watcher.

The movie is not unlike the region of town we were in last night. It's fake and unrealistic. People will list it in their top five things to do in Kansas City, but it's a lie. There is no real culture there, no real landmark. The Christmas lights, which kills me how this city fawns over them, are a joke. It caters to people who reside in the top of the financial food chain, which is fine, I have no problems with this. It does however trap people with less I.Q. points than what is in their bank accounts. Not much difference though. Constantly watching people trying to fit in and please the people that could care less about them is like watching a sheep in wolves clothing.

This post will come off as snarky, conceited and display my inferiority complex. That's fine. Saying that, people in general will prove me right every time. I heard no less than five conversations leaving the theater where people would say "Oh my God, that is so true. The movie was so realistic, it's just like my life." And that is the problem. It's not. Your life is not like that. My life is not like that. The theater was not the only thing doing plenty of projecting last night.

This is why Drew Barrymore must be stopped.

Back to What I Do

It's been awhile since I've had one of those short and sweet posts. This one is to ask a question.

Do you ever have one of those nights where you know you should be going to bed but you just don't want to? You ever wonder why? I wonder through my thinning hair if you could install an on/off switch to my brain.

Happy Friday the 13th ya'll.

Happy Through the Sadness

My wife and I like to hang out and watch award shows. She likes to see who is wearing what and I like to criticize and make fun of everyone on the show. Tonight was no exception, but the night wasn't without them.

Robert Plant (who is doing his best Cowardly Lion style) and Allison Krauss picked up a couple Grammys, including album of the year. If you haven't downloaded or purchased 'Raising Sand' in the last year, you're missing out. This collaboration, which includes the front man from arguably my favorite band of all time, has been on my radar since it was announced. I waited with eager anticipation to actually pay full price for it on iTunes. A rarity this day in age. I didn't want some crappy leaked demos.

The fact that this project won some hardware tonight isn't a huge surprise as the album has been a critical darling since it hit the airwaves. I was surprised it won album of the year however. Last year another surprise took place when Herbie Hancock walked away with album of the year beating out the likes of (thank God) Amy Winehouse. Coldplay or Lil' Wayne seemed poised to win tonight, as the Grammys are notorious for picking something obvious one year, and picking a dark horse the next, but never two years in a row. Thanks for keeping me coming back.

Other than the few wins by Plant and Krauss, it was a downer of a year. Coldplay beating Metallica for rock performance of the year, John Mayer still being alive and well, and the attack of the Disney kids. Luckily for all the pre-pubescent fans, CBS front loaded the show with the Brothers Jonas and Hanna Montana, but not before they threw in a little faux-lesbianism with Katie Perry singing "I Kissed a Girl" which is the best ode to bi-curious activity since Jill Sobule's 90's classic (the video featured Fabio, remember? plus it's a better song) of same name. I'm sure old Jill is pissed her song will probably be erased from most of the record books thanks to Perry.

Not more than 30 minutes after saying to my wife that Coldplay looked like a homeless version of The Beatles from their Sgt. Pepper era, one of the band members not named Chris Martin apologized to Paul McCartney for ripping off his style he created 42 years earlier. I'm sure Sir Paul was flattered.

The night's biggest abomination, other than Kid Rock, was Keith Urban and John Mayer sharing the stage with blues legends B.B. King and Buddy Guy. Why King continues to keep Mayer around is astounding. Maybe he is trying to subtly tell him he has the potential to be a solid blues musician, rather than a James Taylor-esque whinny douche bag who writes songs for middle aged women, destined for elevators around the globe.

Equally horrifying, at least to me, was Kanye West. What the fuck man? You used to be a solid socially conscious MC and hella producer. Now you look like an extra from "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo." Sad, sad, sad.

While waiting for the show to start, and milling around the house, I overheard from my wife's E! pregame show that Chris Brown and Rhianna were unable to make it to the show as they were doing their best Ike and Tina Turner impression. Good on ya kids, pop music needs a little controversy. So I say take the black eye and scratch marks, because I'm getting sick of hearing about Nick Jonas and his purity ring. Like he's not pulling in ass like an NBA player. Give me a break.

Whitney Houston gave out the first award for best R&B Performance, won by the incredible Jennifer Hudson, and is still showing signs of the Bobby Brown affect. I guess crack and prescription painkillers take awhile to run their course.

All in all, it was a great show to sit back and text my sister complaints and shared grievances. It's good to know that someone out there shares the same twisted thought process as yours truly. Next up, Oscar Gold!!

Now What?

Today officially marks the end of the NFL season. Players who decided to go to Hawai'i and not stay home and nurse a broken ego will duke it out for conference supremacy in the Pro Bowl. I might add, this is the last year it will take place in Hawai'i. Next season it will move to the continental U.S. in Miami, much to the dismay of Ray Lewis and Peyton Manning.

No one cares about the Pro Bowl. I know I don't. I never watch it and I probably won't watch it today either. So what we have now is what I like to call as the sports "dead period." I'm huge on college football and baseball, neither one of which is seeing much action now. My fantasy baseball league won't have our draft until March, which gives me approximately four weeks of watching college basketball and the NBA.

I attempted to watch the NASCAR Bud Shootout last night. When that didn't work out I ended up watching Zack and Miri Make a Porno with my wife. Chew on that one for a bit for things to do on a Saturday night.

In any event I do have F1 racing starting soon, and hopefully they start broadcasting all the races in HD now that I have the Speed channel. I never thought I'd become one of those HD snobs that I hated so much, but once you regularly watch shows and movies in HD it's hard to go back.

Adding to the anxiety of waiting for another season of college football, which is a mere seven months away, was purchasing my Spring Game tickets for my beloved Huskers. Who knew that buying tickets to travel a couple hundred miles to watch practice would get me as excited as it does.

Yesterday was nearly 70 degrees in Kansas City. Does anyone else find the yo-yo weather this winter to be a little disturbing? I'm not one of those greenie freak out people, but walking my dog in shorts and a t-shirt was a little odd. Especially considering it was the first weekend in February and not the middle of April.

Tidbits from the Big Tree

If you still check in on this blog from time to time, which I would be surprised if you did, then you'll notice I've posted two columns from the campus newspaper I write for, The Park University Stylus. Not only do I lend my talents to the editorial side of things, I cover various sports on campus. Like men's basketball and women's volleyball.

Each time I do a column I'm going to post it here before it goes to print. So Park students, you're in for a real treat because you'll always be privy to what is coming out in the next issue. All the others will continue to read and have no knowledge of what makes it into the paper or not. My posts that don't will probably be filled with naughty language like you've come to expect from me in previous years.

The sentiments contained in this post are between not serious and somewhat believable.

I am also one third of the way to my post total from last year. You should be proud.