FYI, my sister was in an auto accident this morning. At about 6:35am, after dropping her BGF's off at the bus stop (I suppose if they were her BEST girl friend's, she would've taken them all the way to work, so we'll just have to settle for "Great" GF's).
She was heading home on Ella, crossing Airtex and the lights were out there, so the truck that was about to cross her at Ella didn't see his stop sign. He saw her too late, tried to stop and slammed into the tail end of the truck, causing her to spin a complete 360 degrees and then she rolled over twice. Jenn had her seatbelt on and the rolling caused her to slam her left temple into the driver's side window twice, hard.
Mom, who was at dialysis, called me twice at 7am, rousing me the second time. She informed me in broad strokes of what had occurred and said it so matter of factly that it didn't sound like she expected me to do anything about it. But I knew my sister was in an accident and her Karma had really sucked ass lately, so I knew I should be there. I called my assistant Teri while dressing (quick thinking had me grabbing my Justice League shirt in hopes that the image of Wonder Woman would inspire my sister toward continued life if things were indeed that bad) and she said she'd take care of the job this morning. I then fed my cat, got in my truck, called Dad FHI and took off towards the 1960 medical center.
If you've ever had someone you love involved in an accident, you know that the mind is a powerful thing. Without the grounding of facts, your mind can wander and like an artist, paint the most frightening, most horrifying pictures imaginable. The time it took me to get to the hospital, to park, to find the front desk, to realize where the emergency room was and to have a very sweet security lady escort me there as I was quickly losing control of my emotional output took what seemed like forever but was in actuality 20 minutes.
I was walked to the emergency room and instructed to wait as Jenn's name was still not in the computer, which meant (I was told) that I beat her here. This frightened me even more. Why the massive amount of preparation and what untold damage had been done that would prolong her trip here, I worried. Insanely, I attempted to call her. Honestly, it was a stupid thing to do, but I felt helpless not know where she was and what condition she was in. Did I really expect her to be able to answer given that she was either in the back of an ambulance or, pray tell, at the hospital, where cel phones were considered barely tolerable?! On top of that, who in their right mind would answer a phone while strapped to a gurney?
My mock answer: "Oh, yeah, hey, howareya? Me? Oh, I was just in an auto accident and my truck is totalled and I can't feel my head and I'm strapped to a gurney. But I haven't had breakfast yet, so I don't know, I guess I'm having an okay morning, how about you?" Honestly.
She answered, "Oh, hey, Mike, howyadoin? Oh, yeah, I had a little accident and I'm being brought in to the ER now and, oooh! The walls are beige!"
Good sign. She was not only talking, but joking too. (I found out later that she wasn't joking. The walls really were beige.)
So a few minutes later I (again) beat her to room 6A (damn that subconscious sibling rivalry)where I'm told she'll be brought in just a minute. So I sit down. I shuffle. I'm nervous and anxious and my stupid imagination starts to kick in again. So what if she was talking and joking. She could be in shock. She could be missing a limb, she could be...
They brought her in strapped to this stretcher type thing and if it wasn't for her aching head that she kept a hand to for fear of it falling off, she would be totally appreciating the bondage situation she was in. Worse yet, the "they" what brought her in was comprised of two of the most chipper personalities I've ever met. The two red shirted EMT's were talking, laughing, joking a mile a minute. It was like they were paid to be chipper, as if being in this surreal state of happy forced anyone around them to forget the automatic feelings of tragedy and helplessness they were stuck in and laugh with them. I later found out that they were so chipper because they've been up and at it for 14 hours collectively. I'm trying to keep my sarcastic comments to a minimum.
When it was just my sister and I, we talked about the accident. We simultaneously shed tears about how much worse it could have been. How she had considered bringing Nibby (one of her beloved dashund children) with her this morning but then changed her mind. And how horrible going through an accident it is. The unreal, dreamlike quality, the terrible rending of metal, the violence of being thrown and shoved about like a rag doll in an earthquake. And the pain. The pain she was in was intense and growing. A nurse returned, played pop quiz (hotshot) and rolled her off to perform a catscan on her already throbbing temple. (Hey, I could write porn!)
What came next deserves words spoken by the guy who does the intro for the Twilight Zone episodes. When she returned, a police officer also showed. He asked about her condition, asked what had happened and then asked if she had insurance. When the answer in the resoundingly negative came, he shrugged his shoulders and said that he had given the other guy a ticket for not obeying a stop sign and that he was going to have to give her a ticket for failure to maintain financial responsibility. I was outraged! Of course, I felt righteous indignation and offended as MY sister was just in an accident. Jenn, felt fine about it. Like, to her, it was simply the next natural course of action. The cop even apologized for it and she said, "Oh, it's okay, don't even worry about it!"
Then, while he explained the process, things got weirder. The guy that hit my sister, was suddenly there. He had come in to make sure she was alright. Jenn recongized him, saying, "Oh, hey, are you okay?" He answered "yeah" and reflected the concern back at her. I sat there, watching him, thinking... "Alright...., GAY!" because the moment felt eerily awkward. Then a nurse appeared, asking if he was family. He told her he had been involved in the accident that wound up with her here (pointing to my sister) and the nurse immediately, but politely asked him to wait in the waiting room. Something about conflict of interest. Then, after the officer was done with his explanation, he proceeded to instruct me to please follow him outside so he could process the ticket for her since she obviously wasn't going anywhere. My heart dropped and my fudge factory hole puckered at the prospect of this guy possibly checking out MY credentials. I wasn't even sure if I was in violation of anything, but being a "Murphy" I certainly didn't want to give Karma an easy shot at my boys, if you can dig the message I'm sending.
So I followed the officer to the coffee pot first (his suggestion) and then outside to his patrol car where I got to sit up front (kewl!). He proceeded to ask me a couple of questions and then did a great show of back and forth, cutting, pasting and data entry on his "tough" book (a laptop incased in stern enough material to protect it from wear and tear). He then printed out a ticket in Jenn's name with instruction that she show up at the Police substation in the Cypress neighborhood in the next 30 days to pay for the ticket. He said that they're really nice there and they would even make out a payment plan if she couldn't initially afford the ticket.
As I slowly and cautiously, the whole time smiling, left the police cruiser and made my way back inside the ER, I wondered if I was going to run into the guy that hit my sister. I walked through the waiting room glancing left and right for the bastard that everyone, that's the nurses, the EMT's, the police officer, the front desk lady and even the VICTIM (my sister) all thought was nice. He was no where to be found which was good because, acoustically speaking if anyone asks, I would've made a not so nice scene right then and there, but really in my head, I would've just ignored him.
So then, my sister was released. We left the ER with some paperwork, we stopped at a gas station at my sister's behest (for smokes, I'm an ashamed enabler despite my soapbox) and at Mickey D's for some breakfast. I then took her home and we talked and laughed at how we were gonna take pictures of her Frankenberry sized head and post them on the internet.
Thank you God. Enjoy.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Strangers in Paradise...
I find myself feeling like that "guy" who was following Tom Hank's character in the movie Forest Gump. Y'know, when Forest was running across America and he was at the point where finally decided to stop and go home, he turned around and started running back home and as the crowd parted to make way for him, the main guy said, "Now what are we supposed to do?"
Terry Moore, the gifted and talented writer/artist/creator of Strangers in Paradise, will have my lasting friendship and loyalty with whatever endeavors he chooses next. He took us on a wild, unbelievable ride through the fictional lives of Katchoo, Francine, David, Casey, Freddie, Tambi, Bambi, Veronica, the truly dispicable Darcy Parker and many others.
Katchoo was the star of the show to me. She embodied someone who wasn't physically very big, but when she chose to impose her will, nothing short of the man upstairs could stop her and even that was debatable. She was the mysterious person who knew dangerous and deadly ways to dispatch the life and wellness of another human being, and, like the Incredible Hulk, she didn't show you how dangerous she was unless she got very angry. She also embodied the tragic victim in all our hearts, the one whom we catch a glimpse of walking the streets or sitting in a waiting room at the hospital, the one our heart goes out to without knowing a thing about her. But Katchoo gave us hope for all the tragedy and misery that had occurred in her life, her indomitable spirit showed a chick who was not about to give up.
Francine is gorgeous and she represents the secret desire most men have for someone who's imperfections make her perfect. And while Katchoo was the star, Francine represented the everyman.. er, woman. She was the character I most identified with (even though I'm a 35 year old male) because she wasn't as witty as Katchoo. She got confused easily, she thought of the best lines 30 minutes after an incident had passed. She was the most HUMAN. And she showed that knowing your sexuality, your preference is not black and white, easy as pie. She took the long road to find out what she truly wanted and I congratulate her, because some people out there still don't know and, tragically, some may never find out.
David. Ah, David. I will admit, like Ben Affleck's character in Chasing Amy, that "all a lesbian really needs is a good, deep _______." And David, in my mind, was that aspect, at first. Of course, he became so much more. Here was a guy whom I thought I had pegged from day one and, like Katchoo, it turned out he too had a mysterious past. He too, could become dangerous and deadly at a moments notice. He too had a past that stained his soul, albeit the stains were almost gone thanks to his strong faith. He represented the perfect guy, the idealogical opposite of the jerks that plagued Francine's life early on.
And when he died,... it was so painful to read. It was done properly, how Terry rendered David, falling down and laying at an awkward angle on the floor. So graceless. So HUMAN. It seemed right that there were no words spoken for the rest of the issue. It was appropriate, since when a tragedy occurs, the initial shock renders us so numb that we hear nothing, feel nothing. We are upset, but we so strongly disbelieve what has happened that our body does not, can not react. The situation being so shocking that everything else melts into a background of numb white noise.
The death of David is/was most likely an SiP fan's least favorite thing to digest but it, along with another hundred dozen similar emotionally explosive revelations was what we most appreciated from Terry as he continually found ways to rock our world. This is what I will sorely miss most.
There isn't, to my knowledge another series like SiP out there. Box Office Poison drew a similarity and Terry brough notoriaty (to me) for Jane's World. I've heard that Terry will be taking over the reins of the Marvel book entitled "The Runaways" and I look forward to what he can do with pre-established characters that don't belong to him.
I am a bit spoiled in thinking that/hoping/wishing that SiP shouldn't have ended but at the same time, I've heard and agreed with the explanations and rationalizations of music and movie stars regarding their exit from their respective art form as they go something along the lines of "Always leave them wanting more" or "It's best to leave before the party ends so one doesn't get stuck with the bill and clean up."
The Abstract trio were probably due their final curtain. I just feel like I'm sure going to miss them kids, dammit.
Thank you, Terry Moore.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Pause for Joy
For the past two weeks, something has been festering and bubbling inside me. The only solutions to my dilemma were to either ingest Tums or to write it out. My choice was clear.
It hit me tonight, rather harshly. Y'see, I'm happy. Yes, it's that simple and yet very complicated. I have discovered, through several mediums (be them Radio, Television, DVD Documentary, Music, comics, etc.) what a wonderful gift life really is. I don't mean to get all mushy and wuss-like, but please, read me out.
We all take for granted what a gift life is. Indeed, most of us live life with such monotonous routine that we become numb to all the little joys and pleasures that exist around us. Perspective is a powerful thing and if we ever hope to maintain a positive one, we must learn to routinely battle ourselves every day. It sounds stupid, doesn't it? It sounds complicated, difficult and not worth the effort, but I promise you it SO is!
I'm not preaching here. I haven't been proselytized to some church or cult with instructions to convert as many as I can for the coming apocalypse, even though I think there's enough circumstantial evidence to start wide spread panic about the probability of the coming end. Nothing so preachie.
What I'm talking about are the simple things in life. I think most of us find something to laugh about or to take joy in as we go about our lives. Statistically speaking, I read that the average human laughs like 400 times a day. For some of us, it's probably something hysterical we hear on the radio. Or something hilarious that our little daughter said in the ladies room as she read something off the bathroom stall wall. For others, it's probably our son who seemingly cracks his skull as he falls down for the umpteenth time and gets up THIS time and smiles instead of wailing. Some of us enjoy a nice little "alone" time with our spouse while the best friend is over "distracting" the kids (don't ask).
For me, I recently met and talked with (for about 45 minutes) an aspiring writer/artist who was in the middle of patenting some comic character creations (at about $50 a pop, ouch) while he tries breaking in to the comic book business. In conversation he mentioned he had a collection of comic books and when I let on that I was an avid collector and fan of writer's and artists of the industry, he promptly asked me what my opinion was regarding the death of Captain America.
I was honest, I told him I thought it sucked. Here was a Super Soldier (a SOLDIER, for crying out loud) who braved battles with Baron Von Zemo, Dr. Doom, the Red Skull, Skrulls and countless other enemies, only to fall victim to the simplest form of assassination that only our president's (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy) suffered. Hell, he fought Batman in the Marvel/DC confrontation to a draw. But his beloved ball and chain proves lethal to him. (There's a lesson there, somewhere).
So he got me thinking about trying my hand at drawing once again. I tried it when I was very young, when I only had probably two years of friendship with O.J., the guy who got me started on comics, but at the time my work ethic was about as good as my desire to cut the grass, which is to say non-existant. The point is, simply running into another fanboy who shares some of the same interests as I, like my strange obsession with funny books and the desire to tell my own stories, thrilled me. It's been a long standing opinion of mine that we (every human being on the planet) all have one true wish and that is to be understood. What better way to achieve understanding by sharing and celebrating commonalities with another human being.
Well, having sex of course, but I'm not really a degreed professional in that field, so...
I recently watched Wrestlemania 21 and the third disk was the WWE Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony for several popular wrestlers. Watching that third disk made me delirious with joy as I got to see/hear wrestlers who have been in the entertainment business for a LONG time.
Y'see, back in the 70's (I say 70's because that's when I was born and that's when I discovered it) for the longest time, the entertaining art form known as wrestling was seemingly forever destined to be a closet joy to those of us who fell in love with it. It was not something talked about openly without garnering some measure of shame and embarrassment from surrounding "adults", girls and Grandma. They didn't understand the draw, the artistry behind telling a story, similar to albeit more painful than stage acting.
We all know the business of Wrestling Entertainment has evolved now to the point where the candid sharing of stories and a peek behind the curtain is more appreciated than just assuming your audience is dumb. So when Jake "The Snake" Roberts tells us of the demons that he's wrestled with, when Bobby "The Brain" Heenan calls us "humanoids" and gushes his appreciation for his former broadcast mate (God rest his soul) Gorilla Monsoon, when Jim Cornette talks candidly about the amazing lightning in a bottle chemistry that was haphazardly created in World Class Championship Wrestling and how it was lost, I smile. Because these are stories and experiences that we would never hear and be a part of if it weren't for the final evolution of the Wrasslin Business. Not to mention the grace and love THESE people have for the business of professional wrestling. And I am ever so grateful.
It's things like this that make me so happy to be alive here in this place, at this time. Sure there are many things that happen out in the world that continually get us down. But as radio personality Dennis Prager, who day in and day out tries to champion the cause of happiness on his radio show, (he) says "Happiness is an obligation-to yourself and to others." What he means is that (and forgive me, I'm paraphrasing what is written on the back of his latest book entitled "Happiness is a serious problem"), We have not just a right to be happy, but an obligation because by being happy, we effectively share the wealth to those all around us. Everyone we encounter during our day is affected by our attitude and the world would be a much better place if we tried maintaining positive and happier attitudes with everyone we meet.
Dennis Prager is host to his own show on KTRN News Talk Radio and one of my guilty pleasures because, IMHO he is unlike any other talk radio host I've ever listened to. Here is a man who is clear, concise, articulate and (his most important characteristic) moral! I have never come across a more moral, a more fair person than Mr. Prager. Oh, yes, you can take your shock jocks, your jokers and your funny radio personalities, the ones who are arguably more entertaining and keep listening. I just so happen to be at a point in my life where I'm searching for meanings. The meaning to my life and the meaning of life in general. I'm tired of simply looking for the next distraction, the next entertaining thing to take my mind off life! And I am SO HAPPY to have come across Dennis and his show because here's a guy who will tackle life's issues and give you (what I consider to be) the closest, morally sound perspective on anything, ANYTHING!
It's people like Dennis that I thank God for. Dennis and Alanis Morrisette.
What?
Yeah, you read right, Alanis Morrisette. I recently acquired a documentary on Alanis. It opened my eyes to the dedication and hard work she has put in her music and it has helped me to reshape the angry image I've long since identified with her for so many years. My respect and appreciation for her as an artist and as a person has risen by learning of her love and respect for her fans, her selfless contributions to many charitable foundations and by hearing her definition and seeing her perspective of what a musical artist is and can be. I have long since believed that Sarah MacLachlan is an acoustical sounding board for my soul and that has not changed. But I'm happy to label Alanis and her achievements as the lyrical passion cry of my heart.
Finally, I've ever been a fan of certain British drama series' that have been released on DVD here in America, namely "Cracker" (Robbie Coltrane), a series that has apparently ended (I am very sorry to report) and "Wire in the Blood" with Robson Greene. I recently picked up the latest season I've been missing of "Wire in the Blood" and have been rocked by the series. The aforementioned shows, which I assume are unedited when broadcast on British Television, are provocative and riveting and I'm not trying to use sound bites here. Were they to air here in America in there entirety (they may have aired edited versions on PBS, I dunno, I don't have cable or antenna) they could ONLY be broadcast on cable for they are rated "R" by American movie terms.
Anyways, they exist on this post as two more reasons I am ecstatic to own them as the respective actors on each series (not just Coltrane and Greene) but the entire cast are brilliant. I believe Kevin Smith said it best when he was warning his morally bankrupt partner in crime, Jason Mewes about the need for his serious preparation for dialogue during the filming of Dogma in regards to fellow British actor Alan Rickman, "Dude, Alan Rickman is a British actor, and British actors fucking invented acting. They will chew the scenery around you. He won't put up for "Snootchie Bootchie's and shit like that."
Which leads me to another reason to love life as it stands right now. Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith represents the every man (more so than John McClain ever will) that us overweight, comic geeks can always aspire to. (Ironically, I say "us overweight, comic geeks" when it is most likely that anyone reading this post is either married, affianced or "gettin some", unlike the author) It's like the concept of Batman and it is a very important point so read up. Comic fans who love Batman know and understand that there is not even the remote possibility that we will get bitten by a radioactive spider.
We are forever from Earth and it is too late for Dad to send us in a rocket ship to another planet where the sun in that solar system might grant us powers beyond compare, before Dad and the rest of his neighbor's screw this planet up beyond repair.
We're already human and therefore can never be a mighty mouse, let alone an average mouse. Spinach will never affect us any differently than giving us diarrhea when we eat too much of it. Abin Sur will never choose us. Radioactive chemicals will more likely melt our face off then they would blind us, yet heightening our other senses. And a radioactive Gamma bomb is more likely to start another Bush war for oil than it would unleash a rampaging savage beast inside of us.
But we CAN be Batman. It IS possible! It is a goal that is attainable, reachable, and achievable. Well, maybe not for me given my laughable "too terribly out of shape" physical status. If someone shoots my mom and dad, I'll be pissed, for sure, but if I had a mansion and all that money, I'd be building me a Chik-fil-a in that mother, yeah!!
Kevin Smith will always be the lucky bastard who, like us, will love all things comic related, all things movie related and all things sex related, but unlike us, he's talented enough to walk among the stars, to rub shoulder's with Alanis, Rosario Dawson, Bruce Willis, Jennifer Garner and... yes, of course, Matt Damon. ...Oh! and Ben Affleck too. Heh.
There are so many reasons to delight in this world. And I didn't even cover family and friends. That would be too long a post.
37?
It hit me tonight, rather harshly. Y'see, I'm happy. Yes, it's that simple and yet very complicated. I have discovered, through several mediums (be them Radio, Television, DVD Documentary, Music, comics, etc.) what a wonderful gift life really is. I don't mean to get all mushy and wuss-like, but please, read me out.
We all take for granted what a gift life is. Indeed, most of us live life with such monotonous routine that we become numb to all the little joys and pleasures that exist around us. Perspective is a powerful thing and if we ever hope to maintain a positive one, we must learn to routinely battle ourselves every day. It sounds stupid, doesn't it? It sounds complicated, difficult and not worth the effort, but I promise you it SO is!
I'm not preaching here. I haven't been proselytized to some church or cult with instructions to convert as many as I can for the coming apocalypse, even though I think there's enough circumstantial evidence to start wide spread panic about the probability of the coming end. Nothing so preachie.
What I'm talking about are the simple things in life. I think most of us find something to laugh about or to take joy in as we go about our lives. Statistically speaking, I read that the average human laughs like 400 times a day. For some of us, it's probably something hysterical we hear on the radio. Or something hilarious that our little daughter said in the ladies room as she read something off the bathroom stall wall. For others, it's probably our son who seemingly cracks his skull as he falls down for the umpteenth time and gets up THIS time and smiles instead of wailing. Some of us enjoy a nice little "alone" time with our spouse while the best friend is over "distracting" the kids (don't ask).
For me, I recently met and talked with (for about 45 minutes) an aspiring writer/artist who was in the middle of patenting some comic character creations (at about $50 a pop, ouch) while he tries breaking in to the comic book business. In conversation he mentioned he had a collection of comic books and when I let on that I was an avid collector and fan of writer's and artists of the industry, he promptly asked me what my opinion was regarding the death of Captain America.
I was honest, I told him I thought it sucked. Here was a Super Soldier (a SOLDIER, for crying out loud) who braved battles with Baron Von Zemo, Dr. Doom, the Red Skull, Skrulls and countless other enemies, only to fall victim to the simplest form of assassination that only our president's (Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy) suffered. Hell, he fought Batman in the Marvel/DC confrontation to a draw. But his beloved ball and chain proves lethal to him. (There's a lesson there, somewhere).
So he got me thinking about trying my hand at drawing once again. I tried it when I was very young, when I only had probably two years of friendship with O.J., the guy who got me started on comics, but at the time my work ethic was about as good as my desire to cut the grass, which is to say non-existant. The point is, simply running into another fanboy who shares some of the same interests as I, like my strange obsession with funny books and the desire to tell my own stories, thrilled me. It's been a long standing opinion of mine that we (every human being on the planet) all have one true wish and that is to be understood. What better way to achieve understanding by sharing and celebrating commonalities with another human being.
Well, having sex of course, but I'm not really a degreed professional in that field, so...
I recently watched Wrestlemania 21 and the third disk was the WWE Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony for several popular wrestlers. Watching that third disk made me delirious with joy as I got to see/hear wrestlers who have been in the entertainment business for a LONG time.
Y'see, back in the 70's (I say 70's because that's when I was born and that's when I discovered it) for the longest time, the entertaining art form known as wrestling was seemingly forever destined to be a closet joy to those of us who fell in love with it. It was not something talked about openly without garnering some measure of shame and embarrassment from surrounding "adults", girls and Grandma. They didn't understand the draw, the artistry behind telling a story, similar to albeit more painful than stage acting.
We all know the business of Wrestling Entertainment has evolved now to the point where the candid sharing of stories and a peek behind the curtain is more appreciated than just assuming your audience is dumb. So when Jake "The Snake" Roberts tells us of the demons that he's wrestled with, when Bobby "The Brain" Heenan calls us "humanoids" and gushes his appreciation for his former broadcast mate (God rest his soul) Gorilla Monsoon, when Jim Cornette talks candidly about the amazing lightning in a bottle chemistry that was haphazardly created in World Class Championship Wrestling and how it was lost, I smile. Because these are stories and experiences that we would never hear and be a part of if it weren't for the final evolution of the Wrasslin Business. Not to mention the grace and love THESE people have for the business of professional wrestling. And I am ever so grateful.
It's things like this that make me so happy to be alive here in this place, at this time. Sure there are many things that happen out in the world that continually get us down. But as radio personality Dennis Prager, who day in and day out tries to champion the cause of happiness on his radio show, (he) says "Happiness is an obligation-to yourself and to others." What he means is that (and forgive me, I'm paraphrasing what is written on the back of his latest book entitled "Happiness is a serious problem"), We have not just a right to be happy, but an obligation because by being happy, we effectively share the wealth to those all around us. Everyone we encounter during our day is affected by our attitude and the world would be a much better place if we tried maintaining positive and happier attitudes with everyone we meet.
Dennis Prager is host to his own show on KTRN News Talk Radio and one of my guilty pleasures because, IMHO he is unlike any other talk radio host I've ever listened to. Here is a man who is clear, concise, articulate and (his most important characteristic) moral! I have never come across a more moral, a more fair person than Mr. Prager. Oh, yes, you can take your shock jocks, your jokers and your funny radio personalities, the ones who are arguably more entertaining and keep listening. I just so happen to be at a point in my life where I'm searching for meanings. The meaning to my life and the meaning of life in general. I'm tired of simply looking for the next distraction, the next entertaining thing to take my mind off life! And I am SO HAPPY to have come across Dennis and his show because here's a guy who will tackle life's issues and give you (what I consider to be) the closest, morally sound perspective on anything, ANYTHING!
It's people like Dennis that I thank God for. Dennis and Alanis Morrisette.
What?
Yeah, you read right, Alanis Morrisette. I recently acquired a documentary on Alanis. It opened my eyes to the dedication and hard work she has put in her music and it has helped me to reshape the angry image I've long since identified with her for so many years. My respect and appreciation for her as an artist and as a person has risen by learning of her love and respect for her fans, her selfless contributions to many charitable foundations and by hearing her definition and seeing her perspective of what a musical artist is and can be. I have long since believed that Sarah MacLachlan is an acoustical sounding board for my soul and that has not changed. But I'm happy to label Alanis and her achievements as the lyrical passion cry of my heart.
Finally, I've ever been a fan of certain British drama series' that have been released on DVD here in America, namely "Cracker" (Robbie Coltrane), a series that has apparently ended (I am very sorry to report) and "Wire in the Blood" with Robson Greene. I recently picked up the latest season I've been missing of "Wire in the Blood" and have been rocked by the series. The aforementioned shows, which I assume are unedited when broadcast on British Television, are provocative and riveting and I'm not trying to use sound bites here. Were they to air here in America in there entirety (they may have aired edited versions on PBS, I dunno, I don't have cable or antenna) they could ONLY be broadcast on cable for they are rated "R" by American movie terms.
Anyways, they exist on this post as two more reasons I am ecstatic to own them as the respective actors on each series (not just Coltrane and Greene) but the entire cast are brilliant. I believe Kevin Smith said it best when he was warning his morally bankrupt partner in crime, Jason Mewes about the need for his serious preparation for dialogue during the filming of Dogma in regards to fellow British actor Alan Rickman, "Dude, Alan Rickman is a British actor, and British actors fucking invented acting. They will chew the scenery around you. He won't put up for "Snootchie Bootchie's and shit like that."
Which leads me to another reason to love life as it stands right now. Kevin Smith. Kevin Smith represents the every man (more so than John McClain ever will) that us overweight, comic geeks can always aspire to. (Ironically, I say "us overweight, comic geeks" when it is most likely that anyone reading this post is either married, affianced or "gettin some", unlike the author) It's like the concept of Batman and it is a very important point so read up. Comic fans who love Batman know and understand that there is not even the remote possibility that we will get bitten by a radioactive spider.
We are forever from Earth and it is too late for Dad to send us in a rocket ship to another planet where the sun in that solar system might grant us powers beyond compare, before Dad and the rest of his neighbor's screw this planet up beyond repair.
We're already human and therefore can never be a mighty mouse, let alone an average mouse. Spinach will never affect us any differently than giving us diarrhea when we eat too much of it. Abin Sur will never choose us. Radioactive chemicals will more likely melt our face off then they would blind us, yet heightening our other senses. And a radioactive Gamma bomb is more likely to start another Bush war for oil than it would unleash a rampaging savage beast inside of us.
But we CAN be Batman. It IS possible! It is a goal that is attainable, reachable, and achievable. Well, maybe not for me given my laughable "too terribly out of shape" physical status. If someone shoots my mom and dad, I'll be pissed, for sure, but if I had a mansion and all that money, I'd be building me a Chik-fil-a in that mother, yeah!!
Kevin Smith will always be the lucky bastard who, like us, will love all things comic related, all things movie related and all things sex related, but unlike us, he's talented enough to walk among the stars, to rub shoulder's with Alanis, Rosario Dawson, Bruce Willis, Jennifer Garner and... yes, of course, Matt Damon. ...Oh! and Ben Affleck too. Heh.
There are so many reasons to delight in this world. And I didn't even cover family and friends. That would be too long a post.
37?
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Fatso's Challenge/Introduction
I must admit that I'm mildly impressed. Fatso Rodriguez,... has his own Blog site!
Wow! Simply stimulating.
To those who know me, I'm going to maintain a different "online" air than you're used to. Instead of being the "meek, good-hearted, always bending backwards to be kind to others" kinda fellah you know and love, I'm going to endeavor to be brash, bold, boisterous,...
I'm going to go get my thesaurus... hold on a sec...
I'm going to be arrogant! I'm going to let loose! I'm going to unleash on this world the heavy woe's that weigh on my heart, that for lack of an outlet, oftentime make it difficult to breathe. (Yes, let's call them woe's instead of cholesterol). I'm gonna start by blasting a "so called" friend of mine! I'm gonna call out a fellah named "the Machine" to the floor for some much needed ear lashing!!
But before I call him out, I guess I ought to explain myself to anybody NEW to the FAT one.
My name is Mike Murphy and as the laws normally affiliated to my last name dictate, I used to lead a very crappy life. Oh, trust me, I know it's not crappy by a long shot in comparison to some others out there. Take me with a grain of salt. I am one sarcastic critter and three quarters of what I say isn't really steeped in seriousness. As I said, I USED TA lead a crappy life. I now find myself in great spirits!
To know me is to understand me. As much as Kevin Smith admits to being a press whore, I admit that I am his B!tch. I like all things Silent Bob, directed, produced &/or starred in. I collect comics (a Kevin Smith connection, obviously). I'm a big Garth Ennis fan. I'm incredibly sad to see Strangers in Paradise end (by fellow Houstonian Terry Moore). I lift weights (my own, 200+ pounds every morning, baybee!) I'm owned by a cat named Bouncer. I have over 500 plus dvd's and music cd's. I love wrestling. The entertainment, the story that is told, the comedy, the righteous anger and the long deserved, finally delivered justice. I loved wrestling when Paul Bosch ran Houston Wrestling and the UWF reigned supreme. When Ted Dibiase had a black bag and one of his enemies constantly pronounced his last name "Dah-Buse-Cee!"
And that brings me to the curious sideshow freak named Fatso Rodriguez. Y'see, Fatso was born 23 years ago during a wrestling match on a mattress off Old Creek Road. He was the result of watching wrestling performers like Ted Dibiase, Terry Taylor, The One Man Gang, The Missing Link, The Fabulous Freebirds, Dusty Rhodes and many others. Fatso's characteristics were direct rip offs of wrestling personalities like"Macho Man" Randy Savage, Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat and the aforementioned Ted Dibiase.
This alter ego was refined later on when ECW elevated the city of Philadelphia to the nation's eyes. When Terry Funk, middle aged and crazy showed me that I too could have hope in doing something that I loved even at the tender age of 60. Well, forgive me, I was 12 when I considered 60 a "tender" age. I was further refined when I saw Cactus Jack become a fiercesome, hardcore competitor AND a mesmerizing, mystifying force to be heard on a microphone.
Fatso Rodriguez began his professional career by taking the Houston, Texas chapter of B.Y.W.A. (BackYard Wrestling Association) by storm. He later joined the PMWA (Poor Man's Wrestling Association) (which later changed it's name to just PMW) and after an exhausting number of interupted interviews, he bested three competitors for the PMW Heavyweight Championship Belt (ironically, the belt was very light at the time). He has had numerous bouts with his sometime companion/friend/tag team partner and oftentime arch-nemesis Ground Zero who once was known as the Machine, who later went back to being the Machine. Speculation suggests that Fatso Rodriguez so thoroughly embarrassed Ground Zero in competition that he went back to being the Machine to avoid public ridicule. Fatso has also had matches with Goz (the heavy version) and the rabid Wolv... er Weapon. Lately, for lack of a wrestling ring to oppose the cold, hard earth, Fatso has been cooling his heels.
Bottom line, life is treating me good. But if anyone will take a moment to agree with me on this, life without purpose is no life at all. That is to say, we all have goals. Something to chase, something to dream about. Something that drives us, wakes us up in the morning and spurs us on even when depression and all of her symptoms like sleep, sloth and gluttony seem desirable.
And I have to say that there is one thing missing in my life. Something I wish I could share my domicile with. Something I wish to be wrapped around me, proudly proclaiming me the better man that I am. Better than YOU, Machine!
That something that I'm missing is Championship Gol,... er... Sheet Metal!
And since you don't have it, I don't know WHY I'm wasting my time with you! But I make this challenge! If you can find the belt I speak of, I will make you worthy of having it. Or I'll take it away from you and leave you (to rip a phrase) in the middle of the ring, bleeding and crying for yer mamma to massage yer feet!!
What say you?
Wow! Simply stimulating.
To those who know me, I'm going to maintain a different "online" air than you're used to. Instead of being the "meek, good-hearted, always bending backwards to be kind to others" kinda fellah you know and love, I'm going to endeavor to be brash, bold, boisterous,...
I'm going to go get my thesaurus... hold on a sec...
I'm going to be arrogant! I'm going to let loose! I'm going to unleash on this world the heavy woe's that weigh on my heart, that for lack of an outlet, oftentime make it difficult to breathe. (Yes, let's call them woe's instead of cholesterol). I'm gonna start by blasting a "so called" friend of mine! I'm gonna call out a fellah named "the Machine" to the floor for some much needed ear lashing!!
But before I call him out, I guess I ought to explain myself to anybody NEW to the FAT one.
My name is Mike Murphy and as the laws normally affiliated to my last name dictate, I used to lead a very crappy life. Oh, trust me, I know it's not crappy by a long shot in comparison to some others out there. Take me with a grain of salt. I am one sarcastic critter and three quarters of what I say isn't really steeped in seriousness. As I said, I USED TA lead a crappy life. I now find myself in great spirits!
To know me is to understand me. As much as Kevin Smith admits to being a press whore, I admit that I am his B!tch. I like all things Silent Bob, directed, produced &/or starred in. I collect comics (a Kevin Smith connection, obviously). I'm a big Garth Ennis fan. I'm incredibly sad to see Strangers in Paradise end (by fellow Houstonian Terry Moore). I lift weights (my own, 200+ pounds every morning, baybee!) I'm owned by a cat named Bouncer. I have over 500 plus dvd's and music cd's. I love wrestling. The entertainment, the story that is told, the comedy, the righteous anger and the long deserved, finally delivered justice. I loved wrestling when Paul Bosch ran Houston Wrestling and the UWF reigned supreme. When Ted Dibiase had a black bag and one of his enemies constantly pronounced his last name "Dah-Buse-Cee!"
And that brings me to the curious sideshow freak named Fatso Rodriguez. Y'see, Fatso was born 23 years ago during a wrestling match on a mattress off Old Creek Road. He was the result of watching wrestling performers like Ted Dibiase, Terry Taylor, The One Man Gang, The Missing Link, The Fabulous Freebirds, Dusty Rhodes and many others. Fatso's characteristics were direct rip offs of wrestling personalities like"Macho Man" Randy Savage, Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat and the aforementioned Ted Dibiase.
This alter ego was refined later on when ECW elevated the city of Philadelphia to the nation's eyes. When Terry Funk, middle aged and crazy showed me that I too could have hope in doing something that I loved even at the tender age of 60. Well, forgive me, I was 12 when I considered 60 a "tender" age. I was further refined when I saw Cactus Jack become a fiercesome, hardcore competitor AND a mesmerizing, mystifying force to be heard on a microphone.
Fatso Rodriguez began his professional career by taking the Houston, Texas chapter of B.Y.W.A. (BackYard Wrestling Association) by storm. He later joined the PMWA (Poor Man's Wrestling Association) (which later changed it's name to just PMW) and after an exhausting number of interupted interviews, he bested three competitors for the PMW Heavyweight Championship Belt (ironically, the belt was very light at the time). He has had numerous bouts with his sometime companion/friend/tag team partner and oftentime arch-nemesis Ground Zero who once was known as the Machine, who later went back to being the Machine. Speculation suggests that Fatso Rodriguez so thoroughly embarrassed Ground Zero in competition that he went back to being the Machine to avoid public ridicule. Fatso has also had matches with Goz (the heavy version) and the rabid Wolv... er Weapon. Lately, for lack of a wrestling ring to oppose the cold, hard earth, Fatso has been cooling his heels.
Bottom line, life is treating me good. But if anyone will take a moment to agree with me on this, life without purpose is no life at all. That is to say, we all have goals. Something to chase, something to dream about. Something that drives us, wakes us up in the morning and spurs us on even when depression and all of her symptoms like sleep, sloth and gluttony seem desirable.
And I have to say that there is one thing missing in my life. Something I wish I could share my domicile with. Something I wish to be wrapped around me, proudly proclaiming me the better man that I am. Better than YOU, Machine!
That something that I'm missing is Championship Gol,... er... Sheet Metal!
And since you don't have it, I don't know WHY I'm wasting my time with you! But I make this challenge! If you can find the belt I speak of, I will make you worthy of having it. Or I'll take it away from you and leave you (to rip a phrase) in the middle of the ring, bleeding and crying for yer mamma to massage yer feet!!
What say you?
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