Rex Reed: A Funny Person

Upon visiting Rotten Tomatoes the other day for advance word on the new Judd Apatow-directed film 'Funny People', I came across a particularly vile, even forcefully hateful review of the film by New York Observer senior critic Rex Reed.

Now, I have not seen 'Funny People' yet. I cannot form the pretense of an opinion over the film yet. But I submit, this is not a review. This is a hateful, repellent, and poorly written assault, both personal and professional, of the entire cast of the film (the remarks about Adam Sandler in a swimsuit is particularly alarming in it's random terror). I ask the New York Observer to defer payment to Rex Reed for his 'work'; he does not deserve a paycheck for bile, nonetheless under-written and tangential bile, under the guise of a film review.

Age-Old Feuds

Welcome, Blog Spot faithful. This is my first exclusive Blog Spot post (I think), and I want to start my time off here with a blast, with something everybody can appreciate - feuds! And I don't just mean any old feud. I mean the epic, decade-spanning, and life-defining feuds of human history. Are you ready for some death?

Nirvana Vs. Pearl Jam

Eddie Vedder and Kurt Cobain are kind of like the Batman and The Joker, if, of course, you're willing to suspend enough belief to imagine Kurt Cobain killing people and Eddie Vedder doing the Batman voice (I fucking dare you not to laugh at that). One is the embattled good guy, trying to do his best in a crooked world which makes him cry silently at night while reads old National Geographic issues, while the other is a nihilistic loner who views life from a pessimistic, detached point of view (I'd say he also follows nobody else's rules, but he WAS married - major ego blow). This is kind of like MJ vs. Prince where the lucky bastard who dies first gets the gold and the other guy shows up on Rolling Stone (or Spin - !!!!) talking about their new album and old tales about running around nude in foreign countries.

Result:

Of course, Kurt ends up winning (and consequently, Nirvana), while Eddie Vedder gets to stick around doing amazing live shows and making film soundtracks that tempt murder.

Germany Vs. France

Any history buffs in here (ok, Jon) will love this rivalry, which might not be as well known as England and France, but it is far more petty and hilarious. Germany formed in 1871 by beating France in the Franco-Prussian War, who were so embittered by their defeat that they decided to respond by repeatedly burning down German villages on the borderline of both countries (in fact, my last name, Spires, derives from the Geramn town Spyre, which the French lovingly burned down a grand total of five times. FIVE times) and complaining to England, who, predictably, sided withFrance, their greatest allies (!), and eventually started WW1, where France and England ruined the world by pushing the Treay Of Versailles down everybody's throats and ignoring US diplomacy to stick it to the Germans. Germany promptly responded by defeating France, splitting them into two halves of the same country, and killing every man, woman, and child of French descent all over the world. Oh, sorry, that was just a dream I had.

Result:

Fuck France.

Nice Guys Vs. Douchebags

You know the guys I mean. The sweet guy tries to make everyone happy and thinks the best way into a girl's heart is helping her with homework during re-runs of 'Friends' who spends his free time developing his mind through academic and artstic pursuits. Then there's the guy who spends all his free time working out and thinking about what his best sex pose is while he tapes videos of himself masturbating for dating websites. Yikes. Of course, this type of man is much more popular with the more attractive women who usually they end ruining life by having sharung her opinions about anything with him, while the sweet guy will inevitably find an emotionally fulfilling relationship with a partner who makes the concept of religious abstinence an attractive option.

The result: I really hate being a guy.

Dogs Vs. Cats

Ok, not a human feud, but still acceptable, being dogs and cats are perfect enemies; in fact, there may be no group or species capable of creating such a disparate amount of results (excepting, perhaps, people vs. traffic). Dogs are by turns innocent, clingy, and plain stupid, while cats are like noir villians, constantly pessimistic and threateningly nonchalant. One has the charm of being lovable and loyal, while the other tempts you towards the dark side and holds you in thrall until you skate the very recesses of the abyss. Damn!

Result:

I'm buying a cat right now.

George W. Bush Vs. Literacy, The Economy, and History Books

I'm just kidding, guys. Not a real feud. It's kind of like 'Obama Vs. The Inevitable Popularity Dive', except that it doesn't make me want to kill myslef every time I read it.

This Vs. That

Who?

Result:

Dead brain cells.

I would go on, but frankly, if you've made it this far, you have issues. Go read a good book and stop reading my wretched blogs (until the next one!).

A Good Old Thumb's Down To Life

This is a comic rant, but a rant nonetheless. If like your laughter with a little pain, you've come to the right place. If you like to read a blog that's safe for the entire family to huddle around the old laptop (traditional as this may be), then you've just fucked up.

People are totally, irredeemably stupid. I would explain this, but humanity has done little to deserve such dignity. Instead, I am going to list things that people (maybe even you) do that infuriate the living shit out of me:

• (OOOh, bullets) To all of the cynical loners; blow me. Life handed you the short stick, I kept telling you not to put your faith in people, don't be naive, etc. But do you listen? Nah, you went out with what's-their-name and made them your God and they ripped your heart out. This is not actually devoted to one person (which I suspect at LEAST a dozen of you are thinking right now); I know tons of people who have done this. You have to rely on how reliant upon yourself that you are able to be, not on how valuable another person makes you feel. Everyone wants to be loved; the truth is, though, nobody needs it. You'll get over it, and maybe next time you won't leave the door so wide open.

• Hello Mr. and Mrs. dysfunctional relationship. Don't call me. You never listen to what I have to say to you about anything, you just do the exact same things you were going to do regardless, so why are you asking? Why are you wasting my time? Get married and end the charade; if you were going to leave, with no due repsect whatsoever, you would have done it. You would have had the balls to do it if you had any kind of self esteen - but instead you let it rot like garbage in the sun.

• Don't tell me you're 'busy' when you're talking to three or four other people. What am I going to do, murder you for talking to other people? If you need to lie in order to feel the justification to do something, you've taken a wrong turn somewhere.

• Are you pissed at me? Get over it, you little girl. Do you know how much shit I have to be angry at you about and I let slide? You're not the first person to feel pain or be inconvenienced. While you're holding out with your little grudge, I'll be paying attention to someone else. Act right or don't bother.

• Don't bother saying things about me if you're not going to say them, to me, face to face. Period. Just because I'm in anoahter state doesn't mean I don't exist; you're just deluding yourselves.

Wow, this isn't funny, is it? Ooops. I guess I just got high on the truth. It's a seductive drug. It's highly likely my note covers at least 1/4 of the people I know; unfortunately, it's a close fourth, people who I have spent many hours with before, told so much to, and been a good friend to in the past, where I would show genuine care and interest in them and their lives, no matter what they did or where they lived. It seems, when I need emotional support, some of you don't want to come along for the ride, you feel burdened, or you even loook down on me for sharing my feelings with you. So, sadly, I will have to either close a few chapters or you will need to show the will to improve the situation instead of bottling everything up inside, makig snide comments about me in public (yes you, thanks Mr. Dependable) or plotting amongst yourselves and keeping me out of the loop. I've seen people do that to the people I love, and I will not tolerate it. If I think you're doing this, fuck you, your leash is short and I have no interest in being associated with you.

~Fin

He, She - Is There Any Hope For A Difference?

(Note in a note: For more information on what I'm ranting about, visit this link. ~http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090722/ap_on_bi_ge/us_obit_taco_bell_dog)

Today, on an otherwise typical Wednesday afternoon, all seemed well. The sun was still shining. The trees swayed forth innocently, lilting in the breeze. In one fateful moment, however, the life of one of the 90's most treasured icons - Gidget, the Taco Bell chihuahua - was cut short. Gidget had died after recently suffering a stroke on Tueday, and was euthanized earlier today. She was 15 years old - wait, what did I just read...



What did I just READ?




SHE?!



The star of the Taco Bell commercials, with a manlier Mexican accent than you nor I have, was a, a... bitch*? Apparently, every occasion Gigdet, the whore, appeared on camera next to a pair of fuzzy dice, there was false advertisement going on. There was no fuzzy dice. I'm so disgusted right now I feel like eating eight tacos, crying hysterically about it for three hours, and gaining one pound the next day. Man's best friend, my ass.






* - Hey, that's politically correct!

Why We Really Miss Michael Jackson (Archived Blog - 1 Month Old)

Over the last week, there has been a gentle riff that the general public has been playing that strikes me as odd; Michael Jackson, the ultra-talented, deformed multi-millionaire who literally built an amusement park for himself, has gone from media leper to golden icon. The man who was once a condemned pervert and accused burn-out is now considered a golden memory, a legend born of time and tears. Even the moniker that everyone adopted after his death, 'Prince won', seems inaccurate: Prince LOST, as Michael is now more famous than ever and Prince has no chance of lighting up headlines this boldly with anything he is going to do, dying included. The reason for this is simple; people love dead people.


Let's do some grim reaper math here:

JFK + Bay of pigs = humiliation

JFK + Getting his head shot off of his shoulders = instant hero status


Now, I know I'm not the first person to point this out, I'm aware that everybody has an erection for the dead. It's just human nature. We regret, we feel pain for not having valued life the way we feel we should or should have, and eventually these feelings bleed (or maybe mutate) into projected feelings of warmth and appraisal for the deceased. Michael Jackson is simply the latest, albeit one of the biggest, that has rolled down the pike.


I think Michael Jackson did great things with his career, especially considering his childhood. It's a wonder he didn't become a drug addict or a paralyzed invalid at 26 (which is actually two years AFTER he released 'Thriller'), and in fact, looking back on everything that happened to him, he managed his pressures very well. Nobody could make a similar claim to having been the icon Michael undoubtedly was; Prince was amazingly popular, but never transcendently so, and during the early 90's, he began to lose his appeal and his edge and was subsequently ignored; Michael was in the news, no matter what, and whether it was celebrating Free Willy's escape in 93' or undergoing numerous (perhaps false) child abuse charges in on-and-off court battles.


MJ was a consistent presence in the 00's, long after the world had come to see him as a potential chart-topper, and LONG after he could make the kind of money from a record that would fund his ridiculously expensive personal life (and record-setting music videos). Everybody still knew him, although the nicknames given to him had changed to things that were considerably more insulting than, like 'Jack-o', or, my old stand-by, 'Skeletor'. His single 'You Rocked My World' sunk without a trace and initiated a creative undertow which sapped Michael of his resources (both monetary and health-wise) as he began re-grouping for a comeback that would never happen. Finally, on June 25th, Michael Jackson went into cardiac arrest, and died, at the age of 50. The very minute TMZ made reports that Michael was indeed dead (CNN, among others, were still hesitant), Facebook was flooded with Newsfeed updates such as 'R.I.P. MIchael' or, flatly, 'Michael's Dead'. The first time I saw these, I was admittedly in disbelief. Only recently have I realized the kernel of that reaction; I had, as the rest of the world had, as endless people had, as people no longer seem able to - thought of Michael Jackson as a given, a media fixture who would signal the passing decades of my life. The more he changed, the lower he sank, the greater Michael from the 80's became, the more perfect and surreal he was, the more timeless and wholesome. In a way, his great early success is his 'Rosebud' - a time of great joy that was quickly buried by disappointment, and in terms of his disfigurement, undiluted horror.


I originally wrote this note, yesterday, to ask people why they missed a man they had never met, or why they decided to jump on Michael's bandwagon literally hours after he could no longer thank them for it. I'm no closer to an answer than anyone could reasonably be, but I understand to some degree. I think it's shameful, weak, and opportunistic - more often than not - but it is the fate that all of us accepted early on in our lives when we heard his music as children and burned his image into our minds. It is the fate that he ultimately was destined for, a fate that, one way or the other, is the dream of all people; to be loved, unconditionally, for whatever length of time, by everyone. And if it took him 26 years of hell to achieve this, then what is our excuse to miss work, to sleep in, to moan about our daily hardships? My answer is a definite "I don't know".


What I do know:


I refuse to martyr him.
I will not be able to forget him.
We will hold his memory as a public into our dying days, and when prompted, we will have known where we were when we got the news. We were the spectators, and he was the sun, effortlessly compelling our interest, until we lost sight of our dreams and became a part of his.





Michael won.

Random Question Mis-Fire

Based on an actual question that Blogspot asked m. In fact, this is that question, word for word. I just wanted to be a pretentious jack-ass and say 'based on...' in a sentence. I loved it.

Question - For your birthday, your aunt gave you a maple syrup dispenser shaped like a rooster. Please write her a thank-you note: Aunt, the present you most recently gave me for my Birthday was unconventional, to say the least, and in some ways, useless, because I don't eat pancakes or waffles. However, I enjoy the thought that was so evidently put into the present; actually, the mere fact that you thought about buying me this present at all is, well, slightly disturbing. There's no point to it. No meaning, purpose whatsoever. It's totally useless... Pointless. Why would you... get me something useless and pointless on my Birthday, the day I was born? *In exclamation* The day I was born! Of course! It all makes sense now. Life is meaningless, birthdays don't exist because dates and time are inventions of the human mind, and roosters have no name because we have no objective authority to name them! Of course. You gave me nihilism for my birthday present. Well, aunt, this sure beats my Christmas present - and this time I don't have to use a safety word!

New To Town

Now, I've said on occasion that I love to write. No lie, I can't stop it. It's like a really cool cancer where you get to post stuff and people can read it and go 'You've got cancer!', and I'm all 'Thanks, this one's for you! Cancer for everybody!'.

So believe me when I say I'm enjoying this new site. It feels fresh, it allows a TON of room to unspool and unwind, and hopefully I can start building towards my 'OTHER' dream of being a writer by working on the quality of my writing and my ability to make compelling work for others to read.

But whatever.

For today, I'll post a short little post, a little something something that's on my mind, for you viewing pleasure and interest.

Work =/= Self Worth: In the last week, I've filled out over 30 applications to different places. I have my former employment info taped to my wallet so I don't forget important details. I even applied at a few places undeserving of mention (but better than Shop Rite), all to help fund my Fall Semester of college at OU, for a degree which may or may not ensure my economic stability. However, one thing still has not changed for me; getting a job does nothing for my self-esteem. It does things for my wallet, which is great, but it's all illusory. It's just a societal stop-gap designed to support capitalist swine who want their products shipped more efficiently (and maybe with a smile or two). If you attach your sense of worth with a job, you have just forfeited your own dignity for a title which wasn't even created with you in mind; theoretically, anybody could have your job if they wanted it badly enough and had the right opportunities/corporate friends. There is nothing unique or empowering about being employed. There are benefits, some personal (such as making friends/acquaintances at work), but rarely do you leave with something that tangibly makes you a better person. A firefighter may have a justified sense of nobility after performing their work at an optimal level; a cashier does not. It's all work that you wouldn't do anyways had it not come with a price tag. So why have a sense of pride over it? It doesn't make you more active, alert, or astute; if you want proof, check out the local grocery store and survey the day and night crews - most are old, out of shape, and quite possibly insane. They are not the lifelong destinations of the cream of America; they are the visible wastebasket of our society. Those who are homeless simply suffer a slightly descended level of humiliation. I don't judge people by the amount of jobs they have had, how long they have had them, or where they have worked. I don't judge people by material success, either, but that's for another note at another time... like now. All of the checkpoints which society sets up to measure success are both limiting and extremely shallow and depressing. Regardless of your viewpoint, they are illusory; the only people who seem to submit to the idea that success in the material sense is in any way related to the actual quality of a person's attitude about life or their virtues are deluded sadsacks who likely have considered mutilating their own genitalia as a way of relieving boredom. If you want to see a great film about the sad chocie of valuing work as a way of measuring your self-worth and place in society, see the (morbidly depressing) 2001 French feature, 'Time Out'. This film has all the insight you'll need to make a much better decision regarding your life and re-evaluating what you should and should not value so highly in your life, before it's much too late.

But whatever, I'm off to apply to some more places so I can be a cool, hard-working, relatable member of society. Peace.