Cat sitting is an easy gig.  Essentially you just go to someone’s house and sit in it for an hour.  You feed the cat, scoop the litterbox, and if the cat wants to cuddle, you cuddle.  I cat-sit for this girl who lives 3 blocks from me named Meredith.  Her cat is friendly, her apartment is nice, and she has an extensive DVD collection.  All in all, this is an ideal job.

I bring this up because the first time I took care of Marshmallow (kitty’s name) Meredith recommended I check out season 1 of Dexter, which was part of the aforementioned extensive collection.  Normally when someone recommends something to me I instantly tune them out.  Not out of disrespect (well, not totally out of disrespect), but mainly because someone you know liking something isn’t necessarily a good indicator as to whether you’ll like it.  And most of the time when someone recommends something they don’t really have you in mind.  They’re recommending something because they like it.  I’m guilty of this as well.  It’s only natural when you really think something is awesome to assume that others will also.  It’s like, “Man, Battlestar Galactica is incredible!  Hey _____, you gotta check this out.  You’ll love it!”  Well, no, _____ might not love it, because _____ isn’t me.  Whatever is in me that makes me like BSG might not be in him/her.  You have to think about that before you recommend something to someone.  Do you really have their interests at heart, or are you just trying to project your own interests onto someone else?  Hard to say.

I have a few friends, a scant few mind you, who are really good at this, particularly with music.  They know my inclinations, likes, and dislikes, and are able to provide recommendations accordingly.  I’m always really impressed by that, because I struggle even to remember what kind of car my friends drive or what they do for a living.  That could mean I’m self-absorbed, or it could just mean I’m unobservant.  Or it could mean I’m unobservant because I’m self-absorbed.  Regardless, its a shortcoming I’ve identified and am working on.  With time, I will improve.  Attempt to assess yourself honestly.  Identify problems.  Correct them.  This is how we become better people.

OK, I started to sound like a bit of a know-it-all there, when in fact I know precious little, so lets reign it in (Reign of Fire?).  This was supposed to be about Dexter.  My point was, I don’t usually put much stock in recommendations, and at first I wasn’t inclined to give Dexter a chance.  ‘What do I need with another TV show?”  I thought, “I live in the city that never sleeps!”*  But then I remembered how much I loved Michael C. Hall in Six Feet Under as David, the gay brother.  He was awesome in that role, easily the best character on the show.  And now he was playing a serial killer with a heart of gold?  Yeah, I could get behind that.  Dexter would be given a chance.

*I never actually though this.  Ever.  About anything.

This is where I’m supposed to either rave about how great the show is or declare it a total abomination, right?  I’m not going to do that.  Do I enjoy Dexter?  Absolutely.  It took me an average of three days to get through each of the first three seasons.  Michael C. Hall alone is worth the price of admission.  The problem is, he has to be.  Everyone else on the show is terrible.  Jennifer Carpenter, who plays his sister (and who he is married to in real life), has replaced Bridgitte Moynihan as the worst actress I’ve ever seen.  To watch her is to hate her.  Her character is supposed to be a sexy, foul-mouthed guys’ girl.  You know, the kind you can drink beer and watch football with?  The kind of girl every guy supposedly wants, but that no guy actually wants?  Yeah, she plays that….with abandon!

The problem is, she also cries at least once per episode, and frequently says things like, “My dad and I never talked much.  Not that I didn’t want to…” to virtual strangers.  I think what they’re going for is a complex emotional dichotomy, but what they actually achieve is a woman who espouses all of the worst qualities women can have.  And not only that, she stops being attractive around episode two.  When you actually take a good look, you realize this “hot” chick is actually just an eating disorder with a big, aggressive face.  Its gotten to the point where I can’t even stand to look at her.  By the end of season two I was literally fast-forwarding through her scenes.  I’m not exagerrating.  Carpenter is that bad.

Another of the show’s myriad problems is its unbelievably simplistic police station backdrop.  Most of the characters, including Dexter, work for the Miami police department.  They, and apparently nobody else.  You never so much as see any other police officers.  In fact, even though these five or six characters all have very different jobs, they all work in the same room.  Their desks are next to each other.  To someone who has seen The Wire, this show plays like that South Park episode where the kids become detectives.  A bunch of recycled cliches.

Still, Michael C. Hall overcomes.  He takes a truly terrible cast and just puts them on his back.  And he’s aided by a formula that works magic for the 1-hour drama: leave the viewer with fresh questions at the end of each episode.  This formula has recently been used successfully on Lost and Heroes, and HBO pioneered it on Oz and the Sopranos.  Dexter does it to perfection.  At the end of every episode I’d pack a fresh batty and immediately be ready for the next one.  The acting, dialogue, and setting may be total amateur hour, but the plot gets its hooks in you.  Combine that with Hall’s undeniable brilliance, and you’ve got a show worthy of watching, despite its obvious flaws.

SPOILER ALERT!!!!

Jimmy Smits is in season 3.  He and Dexter become pals.  It’s incredible.  When I first saw Smits I was like, “Oh fuck yeah!  Here we go!”*  He doesn’t disappoint.

*Those thoughts actually did cross my mind.  In fact, I think I said those exact words out loud.

For those of you who’ve been living under a rock for the past 4 years, Wednesday, September the second, was Dougal Day, the national (international?) holiday in celebration of McDonald‘s.  It’s a day to take stock of where we are, where we’ve been, and how much Dougals we’ve eaten along the way.  If you were to ask me my favorite holiday, I’d probably say Christmas, unless I was really hungry, in which case Thanksgiving’s SuperNosh would sound a little better.  It’s a judgment call.  But if you were to ask me my favorite fake holiday, I wouldn’t even hesitate.  Its Dougal Day.

I celebrated this Dougal Day alone (again) at the terrible Donnie’s in my neighborhood.  This location has really changed things for me, because it gives me a bad meal literally every time I go there.  I have to order $10 worth of food just to ensure I’ll get enough edible sustenance from the meal.  It’s bad, baby.  The result is that my immense respect of McDonald’s remains, but it is no longer coupled with an actual physical desire to eat the food.  Normally I end up getting the Big Mac meal just because it’s the hardest to fuck up.  But this being a holiday and all, I decided to roll the dice and give some dap to a fallen legend.  You know of what I speak.

My filet-o-fish was terrible, as usual.  Deja Dou*.  When done right, the filet-o-fish its an exquisite delight, maybe the best fast food fish sandwich out there.  Unfortunately, it just isn’t often done right these days.  A Douglas has to be top notch to pull this sandwich off, and the Greenpoint location is anything but.  I been to the Rainbow location, and this place, is no Rainbow location.  So my meal was awful, but that hardly matters.  This is about respect and appreciation, and the only way to show that is with a cash donation.  If that donation should happen to result in a good meal, so much the better.  This time it didn’t. But hey, we’ll just chalk this up to a rebuilding year.  There’s always next year.  I ain’t goin’ nowhere.

*Short for Deja-Dougals.  Funny, right?  So funny I had to explain it in a footnote.

In yet another act of secular terrorism against the one true god, the US government has seized control of Dinosaur Adventure Land, a creationist theme park in Pensacola, Florida.  And for what?  What crime could possibly justify such an audacious affront to the Lord our god? (not to mention his son…..Jesus!)

[Kent Hovind] was found guilty in November 2006 on 58 counts, including failure to pay employee taxes and making threats against investigators.  The conviction culminated 17 years of Hovind sparring with the IRS. Saying he was employed by God and his ministers were not subject to payroll taxes, he claimed no income or property.

Oh.  58 counts, huh?  That seems high to me.  I mean the guy is doing God’s work, for crying out loud!  So what, you’re telling me if I obey a voice from the sky telling me not to pay my taxes I can get arrested for that?  Sorry, US government, but I got no truck with that kind of attitude.  My immortal soul is at stake here.  I bet your ancestors were the guys telling Abraham not to murder his only son.  How’d that work out for them?  I don’t remember hearing about any of those haters making a covenant with Yahweh.

On the plus side, there are still several more creationist dinosaur theme parks out there…..all in the south!  Turns out if you want the real story of dino-history, you gotta head below the Mason-Dixon line to get it.  Talkin’ bout places like Alabama, Mississippi, Kentucky.  Only their residents are enlightened enough to clue you in.  And while you’re there you might want to ask them about a little something known as the End of Days.  It’s coming, and only those with the strength of character to vote against gay marriage are gonna make it through intact.  For ye may eat the flesh of kings, and the flesh of captains, and the flesh of mighty men, and the flesh of horses, and of them that sit on them, and the flesh of all men, both free and bond, both small and great. (Revelations 19:18.  Seriously)

Ah, the south.  The source of so many laughs.  Terrifying, infuriating laughs.  Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if they’d won the Civil War and been allowed to secede.  How much more ridiculous would that region be than it is now?  Would they have prospered, or would their reliance on a slave-based agrarian economy have been doomed to eventual failure?  How long would they have clung to slavery before external pressure forced them to join the rest of the civilized world?  It’s possible the south would never have become a “developed” country if left to its own devices.  It’s also possible they would’ve remained our enemy up to the present day.  I say “they”, although Missouri was technically allied with the south in the Civil War, so I suppose I should say “we”.  Although I really don’t want to.  I think the south is probably the region of the country I’d fit in the least.  But hey, maybe not.  This woman who brings her dog to my work has been commenting for months now on my “Georgia accent.”  I told her I was from Kansas City and she was like, “Well there you go.  I knew it.”  Because up here, Kansas City is the same as Georgia.  But I guess thats a whole different kind of ignorance, isn’t it?  We’ll save that for another day.

OK, so I’m still trying to figure out exactly what I want to accomplish with this new blog.  I want the freedom to write about anything, but am fearful of where that freedom could lead.  They say absolute power corrupts absolutely, and nowhere will a man ever have more power than on his own blog.  In a situation like this, its hard to avoid gratuitous self-indulgence.  What I definitely don’t want is for this to be a “Look at my life, aren’t I interesting?”  kind of blog.  You see those everywhere, and they’re boring.  They’re also pretty presumptuous when you think about it.  Why should you be interested in my life?  I’m probably not interested in yours.

Bear with me here in the early goings while I figure this out.  Ideally, I’d like this to be a place you can come for laughs and insight.  At my best I like to think I’m capable of both.  At my worst…..well, lets not go there.  I don’t want you to have nightmares.  The point is, I’m planning on putting a lot of effort into this.  I ordered a computer from Best Buy over a month ago, and when it finally arrives I want to be blogging on an almost daily basis.  Who knows if that will actually happen, but a man can dream……can’t he?

Anyhoo, if you’ve read my blogs in the past you know I like to do movie reviews.  I’m no cinema expert, but I see a good amount of movies and I usually go solo, so my perspective is untainted (except by my own biases).  I’ve seen two movies in the past 2 weeks, and I think both of them merit some discussion.  We’ll do one today and one tomorrow.

Public Enemies

I was really psyched to see this movie.  As soon as I found out Bale and Depp were going to be co-starring in a movie about John Dillinger I was absolutely certain it was going to be a home-run.  I was wrong.  I’d say this movie was god-awful, but that makes it sound too noteworthy.  Public Enemies wasn’t god-awful.  And it certainly wasn’t good.  It wasn’t anything.  It was just….there.  Two hours of nothing that I paid $12 to see.

As my boi Katz astutely points out, the character development is atrocious.  At no point did I care about any of them.  Most of the time I barely knew who they were.  This movie throws a boatload of characters at you without any introduction or back story and then assumes you’re emotionally invested in all of them.  At one point they spend 5 minutes on a tear-jerker death scene between Johnny Depp and some guy I honestly didn’t recognize.  Obviously he had to have been in the movie before then, but I couldn’t tell you when.  This sort of negligence is typical.  Characters, most of whom are played by people you’ve seen but whose names you don’t know, come and go unchecked throughout the film.  They’re all clealry supposed to be important figures, and the result is that none of them actually are.

As bad as that problem was, and it was pretty bad, there were worse to deal with.  Namely the story of Dillinger and his wife.  This is basically the focal point of the movie, yet is completely devoid of any attempt at originality.  Instead hackneyed cliches abound, including the most hackneyed cliche of all: love-at-first-site.  Depp knows from the second he sees her that this woman will be his wife, and he tells her so.  Rather than being creeped out, she naturally finds it endearing.  Then she has some misgivings and takes off (gasp!) leaving Depp to languish in the rain for a while before tracking her down and telling her to “never walk out on him again.”  At this point I think they’ve known each other for an hour.  But, as the movie makes abundantly clear, these two share a love the rest of us mere mortals couldn’t possibly understand.  Seriously, they love each other.  You don’t even know.  You might think you do, but you don’t.  You can’t.  Their love knows no bounds.  It could move mountains, fill valleys, cross oceans, slay orcs, blah, blah, blah.  The same bullshit you’ve seen in EVERY SINGLE MOVIE EVER MADE.  It’s just so tired.  So god-damn tired.  So tired it took a 4-hour nap at work and then ate a whole box of taffy while listening to Enya’s greatest hits.  Oh wait, thats me.  What were we talking about again?

I might be piling it on here, but this movie was just so disappointing.  Bale’s character wasn’t allowed so much as a facial expression, and Depp’s Dillinger was…..wait for it….actually a good guy!  Turns out he was kinda like that Robin Hood fella!  Cool, huh?  Seriously though, I knew I was in trouble when during the first bank robbing scene Depp tells this scared woman, “It’s OK ma’am.  We’re not here for your money, we’re here for the bank’s money.”  I mean COME ON (Jimmy voice).  That line, that exact same fucking line, has been used at least 5 times in the new millenium alone.  The fact that the screenwriter couldn’t even be bothered to write new lines is indicative of the entire creative process behind this movie.

It is beyond lame to simply make Dillinger the good guy.  For one thing, he wasn’t a good guy.  He was a bank robber.  But aside from that, simply making him the good guy is played.  Soooo played.  The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford provided a perfect blueprint for how to appropriately mythologize a criminal.  Don’t make him a good guy.  Start with the admission that he was a bad guy, but show him as a bad guy who’s torn, who wishes he could be good but can’t.  Internal conflict is a hallmark of all the most interesting characters.  It makes you want to know their story.  One thing I can promise you is that you won’t leave Public Enemies wanting to know more about Dillinger’s story.  You’ll be thinking about something else long before the movie ends.

The final insult comes right before the credits when a few paragraphs come on screen to wrap things up.  I didn’t even want to read them, but I thought I might as well see it through.  As it turns out Melvin Purvis, Bale’s character, committed suicide a year after he finally bagged John Dillinger.  So the most successful FBI agent of all time was apparently such a tortured soul that he was driven to take his own life shortly after his greatest triumph.  Boring, right?  Wouldn’t want to play that angle up or anything.  Better just to hire one of the best actors in the world and give him comparable screen-time to Stephen Dorff.  Now thats what I like to call gettin’ Dorffed.  It’s OK Bale, you weren’t the first, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.  My boi swingin’ Stevie has broken a lot of hearts in his day*.

*In all seriousness, if you’re making a movie and you find yourself saying, “You know who would be great for this part?  Steven Dorff,” then you need to stop everything; your movie is going to be terrible.

By any estimation, I have played a lot of Monopoly in my life.  Not just the occassional family or sleepover game that most people have indulged in.  There was a time in my life where my friends and I played Monopoly almost every night.  And this wasn’t in fifth grade, it was in college.  For roughly 2 years, every summer and winter break in KC was spent playing Monopoly with the same 5 or 6 guys (cool, huh?)*.  We had all kinds of stupid Monopoly inside jokes, and we’d spend hours upon hours sitting around the board, taking binger rips, chugging Busch heavys and just laughing the night away. Looking back, I can say with all sincerity that those were some of the greatest times of my life.

*I think it was actually one summer break and two winter breaks.  But we really were playing almost every night.

Eventually, me and my friends all became excellent Monopoly players.  So good, in fact, that playing began to feel less like a game and more like a memorized task.  Everyone knew exactly what to do at all times, and because of this the game lost its fun for us.  At this point I know a lot of you are probably thinking one of two things:

either

1) “I’m awesome at Monopoly too.  I guarantee I’m just as good as those guys.”

or

2) “What the fuck is this idiot talking about?  Monopoly is a board game where you roll dice.  How good could anyone really be?”

Now I realize Monopoly is one of those games, like MarioKart, Trivial Pursuit or NHL ‘94, that everyone thinks they’re great at.  Don’t believe me?  Bring it up at a party and watch as some guy in a button-up shirt responds, “Oh shit, I’m dominant at Monopoly!  Seriously motherfucker, I never lose!”  Then a compatriot, similarly dressed, will exclaim, “No way fucker!  I’m the Monopoly King!  For real bro, I’ll destroy you at Monopoly, you don’t even know.”  I know that sounds ridiculous, but next time you’re out with a big group give it a try.  I guarantee you get responses similar to that, curse words and all.  What I also guarantee is that if either of those guys sat down at a game with me and my old Monopoly gang, they’d be the first ones out.

Some of you, the ones who fell into category #2 earlier, are skeptical of this claim.  Rightfully so.  Monopoly is, after all, a board game with dice.  Luck plays a huge factor.  But when I talk about being good at Monopoly, what I’m really talking about is being good at trading.  Trading is an essential part of the game, every bit as important as how you roll, and in my opinion much more so.  Unlike rolling, how you trade is totally within your control, and there is a certain tactic that, if used properly, makes victory a near certainty.

At the beginning of the game, your simple goal is to acquire as much property as possible.  Indeed, the first 5-10 rounds are nothing more than a giant property grab.  You buy everything you land on, and the person who owns the most is the one who is perceived to be winning the game.  Only after most of the properties have been bought do people begin seriously considering trades.  If you’re playing with reasonable, intelligent people, the trades will basically play out so that all the properties are united with their like-colored fellows, each player securing as many monopolies as possible.  Since the ultimate value is, in most player’s minds, still placed on property, they’ll want to get 2 monopolies if possible, or even 3.  After all, they’ve spent the whole game up to that point trying to accumulate as much property as possible and being jealous of players who have more.  Oftentimes they’ll offer you twice a property’s value in cash, money having not been nearly as desirable up to that point.  See, until all the monopolies are meted out, no one is in any real danger of losing all their money.  They might land on someone else’s space, but the most that’ll cost them is $50, and it usually costs much less.  Collecting rent is fun, but not of great importance to the game.  Money is seen as a means of acquiring property, nothing else.

Of course, you won’t want to accept that cash for your property.  It’s been sitting in front of you for some time, its been in your plans; its become precious to you.  And if you sell that property without getting another in return, you’re putting yourself at a disadvantage, right?  Wrong!

Once you get to trade mode, you gotta change that mindset.  Money is now of the utmost importance.  Because property doesn’t matter anymore, all that matters now is buildings.  Once the trades have all gone down, you need to be sitting there with more money than anyone else.  Let the others stockpile monopolies.  You only need one.  And if you get houses up on that one monopoly before your colleagues have a chance to, that game is yours, regardless of how many more properties everyone else has.  You should only really be looking to build on one monopoly initially anyway.  You don’t want to nickel and dime, you’re going for the knockout punch.  If one of those greedy, monopoly collecting bastards lands on your only one, you want it to break their back.  That’s not to say you need Boardwalk and Park Place.  Far from it.  Almost any monopoly will do*.  It’s not about the space, its about what you can put on it.

*Except, of course, Baltic and Mediterannean.  The light blues are arguably too small as well, but they’ll do in a pinch if you can get hotels up on them in a hurry.

You might eventually need another monopoly to seal the deal.  But why waste resources trading for it when you can take it from one of those poor suckers who lands on your lone juggernaut?  Somoene about to be knocked out of the game will happily trade you one of their monops for below market value if it keeps them afloat.  And then you start building on that, and the game is over before anyone can even figure out what happened.

Sound easy, right?  It actually kind of is.  You can’t shout your strategy from the rooftops or anything, but if you have a property someone needs take a lesser property in return and have them throw in a couple hundred bucks.  Then trade that lesser property to someone else for a few hundred more.  As long as you’re reasonably sure you can secure the one monopoly you need, all the rest of your properties should be seen as nothing more than a means to an end*.  And while the idiots you’re playing with are greedily hoarding properties, you can enjoy a quiet chuckle as you watch their cash stockpiles dwindle, effectively rendering those properties useless.

*Except the railroads.  If you can get those, do it.  They’ll provide you with a ready cash source to fund further construction.  The same is not true for Electric Company and Waterworks, however.  As soon as you get one of those turn to the person with the least amount of property and offer it to them for $300.  They’ll take it, and it’ll be well worth it.  Even if they have both, whats the most thats gonna cost you if you land on one?  $120?  Peanuts.

All right, enjoy.  When you’re gloating over your fallen victims, tell ‘em Hatt sent ya

Is anyone looking for a sweet little kitty to call their own?  I’ve got a line on what looks to be a pretty awesome cat.  His name is Glenn Danzig.  I’m actually trying to get my roommate to agree to adopt him and then we can change his name to Glenn Dorsey (my least favorite Chiefs player*).  Granted there is something a little messed up about naming your cat after a player you hate, but this opportunity is just too hilarious to pass up.  In any case, I doubt I’ll be able to sell this to the roomie, so if any of you loyal Hatters**, preferably New York Hatters, want a cat, let ya boi know and I’ll broker the deal.  All I ask is $300……or best offer.

*I actually don’t hate Dorsey so much as I hate what he represents.  Inept front office wasting a #5 pick on yet another fat loser defensive tackle, then juking stats and lying to make him look good so they won’t be exposed as frauds.  And worst of all, the fans bought every word of it.  If you read my Chiefs blog you already know all this and if you dont you probably don’t know or care who Dorsey is, so I should probably quit wasting time on this footnote.  In summary: Glenn Dorsey reminds me of Herm Edwards, Carl Peterson, and idiot Chiefs fans.  Because of this, I will forever dislike him.

**I’ve been trying to think of a lame way to refer to the readers of my blog.  I think “Mad Hatters” might be my Huckleberry, at least for the present.  I’ve also considered “Hattsmen”, “Hatties”, and “Hatt’s Tricks”, but I think I’m gonna stick with Hatters for now.  Although “Hatt’s Tricks” will probably make a return as a post title at some point.

Saturday’s show was a good time.  I’ll confess that most of the crowd wasn’t paying much attention to me when I was on stage, but that was somewhat expected at an event like this.  It was hundreds of people who payed $17 to see 3 hours of music.  Big Hatt yuckin’ it up on stage wasn’t top priority for most of them.  I didn’t really even do that much, honestly.  My intros for the various bands were only about 30 seconds a piece.  This was a pretty big night for the performers, so I basically just tried to hang out and stay out of their way.  My big laugh was supposed to be right before the headliner.  I was playing this character I made up named Jimmy Chubbs, a “Lower East Side Music Legend” and former bandmate of Mike Grubbs, the frontman for the headlining act.  Their band was called “Grubbs n’ Chubbs”.  Anyway, I’m pretty confident the character was hilarious, but I would guess most of the people there probably don’t even remember it.  It was in an intermission between bands, so people were talking, getting beers, going to the bathroom, etc.  I didn’t have the room’s attention, thats for sure.  People who knew me liked it, but I would describe the overall crowd reaction as indifferent.  Still, it was fun, and a ridiculous character like that is more for the people who know me anyway.  After all, ol’ Hatt has always been somewhat of an acquired taste.

Audience disinterest aside, I really like being included in these shows for a variety of reasons.  For one thing, how can I pass up that sweet backstage hang?  Granted backstage hangs are never quite as cool as they’re made out to be, but its still nice to be sippin’ free beers and gettin’ stonay on couches between sets.  Also the owner of Family Records is a pretty savvy guy, and I’m fairly certain there is success in the label’s future, so the fact that he wants to include me in these shows gives me confidence that maybe I’m doing something right up here, however small.  But really what it all comes down to is that getting up on stage in front of a bunch of people is an exhilarating feeling that you just don’t get anywhere else.  That first laugh is the greatest sound in the world, and every time I hear it I feel like I’ve been waiting for it my whole life.  I need to quit this fucking overnight job so I can start doing more standup.  Anybody want to pay my bills?  Uncle Sam?

Speaking of respect, I ran into David Cross on Avenue A yesterday.  Normally I hate when people drop names of celebrities they see (I rarely see any), but this was a huge thrill for me.  David Cross is easily my favorite comedian.  When people do the “if you could have dinner with any 3 people” thing, Cross is always the first name out of my mouth.  OK sometimes I might jokingly say Tim Curry first*, but you get the idea.  My mind was racing for things to say to him, but I choked a little bit.  I ended up just telling him I was a big fan and had been watching my Arrested Development DVDs earlier that day.  He was polite, but I got the feeling he wanted to be on his way.  Actually when I told him I was a big fan he was like, “Oh, thank you…” and he sounded exactly like Dr. Tobias Funke.  I guess thats just how his voice sounds all the time, but it was a trip nonetheless.  After I was like a block away the gravity of what had just happened hit me and I became positively giddy.  I’m still pretty happy about it.  Although I really should’ve asked him to smoke a batty with me.  I was literally packing one as we walked by each other.  Gettin’ supe to the dupe with David Cross would’ve been probably the coolest moment of my entire life.  Durn.

*I had a show recently where in my email I claimed Tim Curry was opening up for me.  A surprising amount of people believed me, which was weird.  I mean Tim Curry isn’t even a comedian.

While I’m on the subject of celeb spottings, I saw Malin Ackerman today getting off the L-train in Brooklyn*.  She was very small and very good looking.  Her face is downright striking.  It also occurred to me after I saw her that I’d seen her naked: she had a sex scene in Watchmen.  That’s got to be weird for her, or any actress who’s done nudity.  Realizing that any time you go anywhere someone there has seen you naked.  Anyway, she was getting off at my boy Keggers’ stop**, which I thought was pretty cool.  It speaks well of her that she’s willing to hang in Bushwick.  Good for you, Malin Ackerman.

*The fact that I saw two celebs in two days is beyond crazy.  I’ve seen like five since I moved up here.  One time this guy who was in from out of town visiting a freind of mine asked us where we went to “see all the celebrities and hang out with them.”  We were like, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

**I was over there on Keggers’ roof eating burgers and playin’ washers, which is basically my favorite way to spend a summer night.  I went 5-0 thanks to some amazing throwing by a new friend of mine.  Goes by the name of Jim.

Got a gig tonight I’m pretty excited about.  My boy Wes‘ record label, Family Records, is showcasing its finest talent at The Gramercy Theater and he was nice enough to ask me to MC.  It should be a pretty great time.  I’m friends with some of the musicians on the bill, they’re all pretty good, and there should be several hundred people in the crowd, which is awesome.  From what I understand The Gramercy is a pretty sweet venue.  The only tricky part is figuring out how to be funny without fucking up the vibe.  Wes basically gives me total autonomy, which is cool, but he can’t help but be a little nervous I’ll go too far with something.  I’m a bit of a wild card in that regard.  This is a pretty legit show, so standard Big Hatt masturbation and anti-religious jokes aren’t gonna fly.  Neither, obviously, is my really weird stuff.  I’ve done this kind of thing for Wes before, and the best approach, I think, is a minimalist one.  Go for quick, simple laughs, move the show along, and keep the focus on the performers.  I allow myself one ridiculous character at the end, which I have to say I’m fairly certain is gonna be hilarious.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats.

This may sound callous, but I am in no way emotionally affected by his death.  Neither are you.  Sure its sad.  Michael Jackson’s whole life story is sad.  But there are a lot of people claiming they’re really upset about this, and to me that smells false.  It actually smells worse than false, it smells…..like farts.

OK, I probably discredited this whole post a little bit there, but I’m serious.   People are acting like this has affected them on some deep emotional level, and I just don’t buy it.  I get a little suspicious any time someone claims a celebrity death has upset them.  I guess I was a little broken up when Kurt Vonnegut died, but not enough for it to visibly slow my roll.  I certainly wasn’t talking to anyone about it.  And thats the real problem here: the talking.

One of the many unfortunate observations I’ve made about humanity over the course of my life is that many of us will stoop to truly despicable levels to garner attention.  I suppose I’m guilty of this as well (I certainly like attention), but I’m not talking about wanting people to laugh at you (which is basically all I ever want).  I’m talking about taking a sad, tragic situation, like someone’s death, and deliberately using it to invoke pity and special treatment.  In other words, making their death about you.  I realize this is a pretty heavy accusation to make, but people do this all the time.

For example, a few years ago when I was a senior in college someone was murdered outside my apartment.  For a variety of reasons it was somewhat of a big story.  I didn’t know the guy personally, but he was fairly well known around the neighborhood.  Because I found his body I became linked to the story somewhat, and people would often ask me questions or want to talk about it.  This got a little old, but it wasn’t that bad.  Like I said, the victim wasn’t a friend of mine, so it really wasn’t a very traumatic experience for me.  I mean it was fucked up obviously, but it didn’t really affect me on a personal level.  The point is, over the next month or so I had no less than 4 girls (I actually think it was 5 but I can only remember 4 right now) tell me Jesse (the victim’s name) was their best friend in the world and that this was the hardest thing they’d ever had to go through in their lives.  It was utter bullshit.  Jesse’s real friends were very upset, understandably so, but they weren’t talking about it to everyone who would listen.  They were dealing with their grief.  Their real grief.  Meanwhile there were imposters all over campus claiming Jesse was literally their best friend.  Best.  As in top.  #1.  Of the multiple girls who told me that, I know for a fact two of them were friends of friends at best*.  It was gross.

*One of these girls was possibly the worst person I’ve ever known.  People warned me about her from the second I started hanging out with her, but I thought she was really hot so I chose to ignore their warnings (and her obviously terrible personality).  I was able to convince myself she was actually really cool and just hadn’t gotten a a fair shake.  After all, she professed to like everything I liked, so she had to be awesome, right?  We eventually parted ways when I accused her of lying about something and she physically attacked me in front of a bar full of people.  It was pretty hilarious, actually.  She was screaming and flailing around, throwing those ridiculous girl punches.  The last time I saw her was about 2 years ago.  She still looked hotter than shit**.  No regrets.

**I should probably mention here that many of my friends didn’t even think she was good looking.  “Too trashy”, they’d say.  Seriously guys, grow up.

What drives people to behavior like this?  And once they behave in this way, how can they live with themselves?  I think the answer is that these people are able to convince themselves, at least on some level, that the tragedy in question actually has been especially hard on them, more so than on other people.  Some guy they know dies, they see a chance to garner attention, and within a few days they have themselves convinced they actually were extremely close with the victim, closer than anyone else can possibly understand.  This justifies their pathetic attention-seeking and leaves them free to lie to their hearts content.  Because in their own eyes, they aren’t lying.  Reality has been completely shifted to meet their needs.

I used to be friends with this guy who, given a day or two, could make himself believe literally anything.  You’d be with him when something happened, and then an hour or so later you’d hear him tell the story and it would be changed slightly.  Then the next time he told the story he’d seize on that small change and enlarge it.  Then he’d cling to it.  A week later the story wouldn’t even resemble what actually happened, but you could tell the story-teller believed every word.  It was really something.  I’d say this guy was a terrific liar, but thats actually not true.  He was a terrible liar.  He was only terrific at lying to himself.  Obviously his brain couldn’t shift the truth in other people’s minds the same way it could his own, so after a while everyone just figured out he was totally full of shit.  I learned a lot from watching this guy in action.  I can’t say I’m a better person for it (unless by “better” you mean “more cynical”), but I definitely know how to recognize that particular type of lie now.  In my eyes its probably the most dangerous, scariest form of lying there is.  Because once someone’s brain figures out how to shift reality to meet its needs, its over for that brain’s owner.  Any chance they had at personal growth, or even realistic self-evaluation, is gone with the wind.  Their brain will have them completely convinced of their own righteousness no matter how deplorable their actions.  It’s like a disgusting fantasyland where a person can do whatever they want and then within days be totally free of guilt, or even real memory of what they’ve done.  The problem is, their actions remain, as do the societal repercussions.  The result is an increasing disconnect from the world in which they live, and an eventual descent into a life of misery and denial.  I literally can’t imagine a worse fate.

Wow, I got a little off topic there.  The point is, I’m not here to criticize the way people express their grief.  Obviously, thats none of my business.  And in any case, I’ve had a pretty easy life when it comes to that.  Both my parents are alive and well, as are all of my closest friends.  I’ve had grandparents die, but only after living long, fulfilling lives.  But when I have been around people who have tragically lost loved ones, they’re generally quiet and sad, as opposed to those who want to shout from the rooftops (usually at a bar) how close they were to the deceased.

So if you really want to mourn Michael Jackson, listen to some tunes on your Ipod on the way to work.  Don’t tell me how much you loved him and how sad you are.  I don’t want hear it.

Anyway, I mentioned in passing the other day that I have this recurring nightmare and my buddy laughed at me and told me he hasn’t had a nightmare in 10 years.  And that got me wondering: am I the only one still having nightmares?  I don’t have them often, maybe once every couple weeks.  Always about being chased, usually by zombies of one kind or another.  Occassionally I’ll have some sort of undersea nightmare where gross creatures are chasing me.  They’re usually fairly scary, actually.  Are nightmares something you’re supposed to grow out of?  Is there something wrong upstairs that I’m still having them?  Or maybe its just a product of my constant nerdy ponderings.  Although if that were the case it would probably be orcs chasing me, not zombies.  God knows I’d love the chance to slay a few orcs, if only in dream mode.

*Same results as when I did this EXACT SAME THING 6 months ago.

So I turn 28 this saturday.  Cool, right?  I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.  Finally, I’m old enough to buy a house and start having kids!  Does anyone have any mulching tips?  Seriously though, birthdays are totally worthless at this point.  So is keeping track of age, frankly.  It can only depress you.  A birthday used to at least be a nice excuse to get totally shitfaced, but I no longer need an excuse for that.  Due to my excessive weight loss, getting drunk is now all too easy.  Most saturday nights I end up getting drunker than I want to anyway.  Shooters, a former necessity, are now something I can barely handle.  On my birthday last year, for instance, I took waaay too many jaeger shots and was completely blacked out by midnight.  Is that fun?  I don’t remember anything, but I’m told I was being a total dick to some friends of a buddy of mine, going so far as to knock a drink out of one of their hands.  I’m hoping to avoid a repeat performance.  Behavior like that is simply not befitting a 28-year-old man, even if he does have the income and maturity level of a 21-year-old man.

Adding to complications is the fact that I have a show saturday.  It’s the last in my monthly series at parkside lounge and I’m expecting a good crowd, so I want to push the envelope a little.  This means I’ll have to get my drink on before the show.  Given that the show is at 8:30 instead of my customary 11:00 o’clock time slot, I’ll probably start tippin’ a few back at about 6.  Early start combined with birthday shooters?  Methinks I’m in for a long night.  Anyone have any tips for staying coherent in such circumstances?

Bullet points baby!

• I won $35 playing poker the other night.  Then I spent it all on dog food.  Now I’m right back where I started.
• Ran into my girl Jewles while taking Stella for a walk the other day.  Apparently she lives in Greenpoint, which is a pretty crazy coincidence.  She looked great, its obvious her new owner (whose name was Laura I think) is taking good care of her.  This makes me very happy.
• I’ve officially become a dog-walker.  Started with my first client this week, a family in Boerum Hill with a huge shepard mix and a black lab mutt.  I really like these dogs, and I love the neighborhood.  I hope to get a few more clients down there.  Walking dogs for rich people in the nicest neighborhoods in brooklyn seems like a pretty sweet gig.
• Getting a new computer for my birthday.  Since I don’t have cable in my new apartment (and might not for quite some time), expect blogging output to increase heavily.
• I’m also getting fresh direct deliveries from my mom and aunt.  I’m really looking forward to those.  I can already smell the fish.  Birthdays, while no longer exciting, are still good for getting presents from my family.  I can usually count on my parents, grandma, and aunt and uncle to really come through for me.  A nice summer bonus.
• Re-read the entire Tolkien library* in the past 2 weeks.  Just as good the 15th time.

*Official middle-earth canon only: Hobbit, LOTR, Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, Children of Hurin.