Karma's a Bitch, and God's an Asshole

"BWA HA HA!! What else can we do to JP? Let's blow up his tires!!"

Before I left Morgantown about two weeks ago, my car's battery died. It's like the electrical system farted and hiccuped at the same time, couldn't handle it, and gave up. Not eager to electrocute myself or blow up my car, I called AAA to handle the problem. A tow truck arrived that night with a man and his wife (I assume) inside. The man told me, "Yep, your battery's shot," and then informed me that their battery truck would arrive the next morning. Several beers, a night's sleep, and a hangover later, the battery truck guy runs some tests and surmises that "yep, it's your battery." More importantly, the man says that my alternator and starter are fine.

See my post from two months ago to learn more about how much I know about cars.

About a week later, my car's battery light turns on. I bring this to the attention of my dad, but a few days later the light turns on again, so I dismiss the problem.

Last night I was on my way to Pittsburgh for a night of drunken revelry when I saw that the light had come on again. At about this time I tell my friend that I'm convinced that there must be something wrong with the light. "After all," I crowed, pleased with myself that I remembered a few car terms, "the AAA guy said that my alternator and starter were fine!"

Karma has big ears and a helluva sense of humor.

After watching the Patriots game, the Pens game, the Penn State game, and the Pitt basketball game all at the same time and then spending about an hour trying to figure out why my friend's new HDTV wouldn't show anything in HD, we headed out to the bar. I was, by default as the only sober one, the DD.

My car made the trip to the bar just fine. But then after picking up my friend's girlfriend, my car started acting funny. Then "acting funny" became "a slow descent towards mechanical failure." First the headlights dimmed. Then my CD player lost power. Then the windshield wipers slowed to a crawl. My speedometer suddenly dropped to zero even as we traveled back to my friend's place.

It was actually kind of exciting. We were playing Beat the Clock with my car's battery. Every minute or two, some feature of my car would lose power. I was getting an object lesson in exactly what a car's battery controls. At one point, my friend Joe was getting excited and yelled out, "ONLY ONE MORE TURN ON YOUR LEFT!! PUT ON YOUR TURN SIGNAL DAMMIT!!" And I yelled back, "THERE IS NO TURN SIGNAL!!"

The car finally gave out about 30 yards from my friend's house. We were all disappointed, but we pushed the thing the rest of the way. My friends and family all agree that the problem is definitely my alternator... you know, that device that Slappy from AAA told me was working just fine. Maybe the guy was actually looking for AA and stumbled into the wrong job.

So my car still sits in front of Joe's house awaiting a new alternator. There was maybe three hours between the time I praised my sturdy alternator on my way there and when my car died.

I swear, I only believe in God when I think he's mocking me.

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JP's Car: Serving as a subject for countless blog posts since 2006.

Reel Ruminations: Santa Claus Conquers the Martians

It's almost pointless to make fun of this movie, but I'm going to do so anyway. If you can spend only 99 cents this holiday season, instead of going downtown to get food stamps, head up to Walmart to buy Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.

The title pretty much says it all. There's nothing that I can do to this movie that Mystery Science Theater 3000 hasn't already done.

Premise: Martian children no longer have fun. To boost their spirits in the wintry month of "Septober," the Martian King goes to Earth to abduct Santa Claus so that he can make toys for the Martian children, who spend all of their time watching "silly Earth programs." The Earth program in question is some sort of low-budget news broadcast that blew its entire budget to bring its viewing audience a genuine interview with a pipe-smoking Santa Claus.

Remember kids, Santa loves cookies, milk, and high-quality pipe tobacco. Ho Ho Ho!

The Martian King does have a point. There's something about the Martian kids that screams "childhood trauma." Maybe it's the fact that their parents use a "sleep stick" to force them to sleep every night and a "tickle stick" to torture their slave-servant when he's asleep on the job.

"I'll bet she gives great helmet."

The slave-servant, Droppo, is some sort of "special" Martian that the Martian King abuses for his own purposes. Droppo is clearly the comic-relief character, and his WACKY AND ZANY antics provide relief from the dramatic tension of Martians plotting against St. Nick.

Now now Droppo! That was just a candy-cane in my pocket.

Providing a villain for the movie is Voldar, the asshole Martian who likes children to be miserable. The only way he could be more like Dick Dastardly is if he twirled his moustache at regular intervals. He does everything possible to interfere with the Martian King's plan. What I love is that the Martian King wants to ABDUCT FUCKING SANTA CLAUS and the man who wants to stop him is the bad guy!!

HAHAHA!! Only the fly Martians have the 'stache to go with our helmet bling. Fo-shizzle my space nizzle!

Once they arrive on Earth, the Martians see thousands of Santa Clauses on the street. Despite the fact that they saw an interview with Santa Claus at the North Pole on one of the "Earth Programs," the Martians kidnap two dimwitted children to lead them to Santa's workshop. With the help of Droppo and an often-used Radar Box (which looks suspiciously like a toy box), the children escape and attempt to warn Santa.

Oh kids, don't worry about me. After making toys for 200 years, I pretty much want to die.

The events at the North Pole are, without a doubt, the best parts of the movie. For whatever reason, the creators felt that the North Pole action was a little slow, so they decided to have the children encounter a vicious polar bear... or is that the Penn State Nittany Lion mascot painted white?

Umm... snarl, growl, roar! I'm a vicious bear! Pay no attention to my plastic eyes and fur-seams.

The bear makes a half-hearted attempt to maul the children and then gives up. That would have made for a helluva Christmas movie... small children mauled by a man in a polar bear suit. But my disappointment was short lived, because the Martian King sends TORG, the killer robot, out to re-capture the children.

BEST... ROBOT... EVER!!!

Once the Martians recapture the children and then kidnap Santa Claus, the Earth papers have a field day with this news.

Obviously, The Daily Tribune is using the Martian spelling of the word "Kidnapped."

The whole group heads back to Mars (a trip that consists of Voldar attempting to assassinate Santa Claus and the children by blowing them into space - ah, family entertainment!). Once on Mars, an oddly compliant Santa agrees to make toys for the Martian children. Instead of using an army of slave-elves, the Martians provide Santa with a machine that makes the same out-dated shit toys that the elves made: baseball bats, dolls, rackets, teddy bears, etc.

Santa, in a moment of introspection, laments that automation has taken all of the joy out of making toys. Santa, at heart, really enjoys working those elves to the bone.

Meanwhile, Droppo has become quite smitten with Santa Claus and wants to be just like him. He puts on the extra suit that the Martian Queen made for Santa (along with an extra beard??) and starts prancing around the Martian palace.

Also meanwhile, Voldar (whose attempt on Santa's life got him exiled to the Martian caves) sabotages Santa's machine and kidnaps Droppo (who he mistakes for Santa Claus).

The resemblance is uncanny... if Santa were jaundiced and riding the short bus to school.

Needless to say, Droppo escapes, the machine is fixed, and Voldar is captured. Droppo becomes the new Martian Santa Claus, and Santa and the kids return to Earth.

Ho Ho Ho!! I haven't laughed this hard since I gave that blind girl a Rubik's Cube.

How this movie even got past the title stage is beyond me. Apparently, the movie was forgotten shortly after its 1964 release, but it gained a newfound cult following after it was featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000. The entire MST3K episode is on YouTube, divided into ten parts. The links are below:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, and Part 10.

You have to put up with the fairly un-funny skits between the actual movie portions, but otherwise this is the best way to watch the movie. If you're bored, looking for a good laugh, or just incredibly baked, you'll have a blast.

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"All this trouble for a fat little man in a red suit." -- Voldar

Reel Ruminations: Star Trek V

In the blue universe, the evil prophet look is totally making a comeback

I've seen quite a few terrible movies (including one that I'm planning to blog about for Christmas), but nothing really sticks out in my mind quite like Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. It's not the worst movie I've ever seen, but given my love of all things Trek, it's definitely the one I know best.

In this movie, Kirk's camping trip is interrupted when Spock's crazy half-brother cult leader named Sybok takes over the Enterprise and takes the ship to the center of the galaxy in order to find God. Meanwhile, a renegade Klingon captain chases the Enterprise because, as he claims, "If I kill Kirk, I will be the greatest warrior in the galaxy!" Seriously, that is this guy's sole motivation.

When I couldn't become a backup singer for Poison, I decided that 'intergalactic road warrior' was a good career move.

What I must mention at this point is that the movie was written and directed by William Shatner. The implication of the Klingon's flawless logic is that Kirk must be the current master galactic warrior if killing Kirk will give him the title. In fact, the whole movie revolves around how awesome Kirk is. You see, Sybok decides to lure the Enterprise into an EVIL TRAP by taking over Nimbus III, the Planet of Galactic Peace (which is apparently the full name of the planet).

A lesson in the word "irony" from William Shatner, the greatest warrior in the galaxy!

Taking hostages in the Star Trek universe always requires some major bullshit because of the transporter. Any janitor on a passing garbage scow could beam the hostages off the planet with no problem. But Starfleet asks, nay DEMANDS, that Kirk take the Enterprise to rescue the hostages. The admiral even says, "I need Jim Kirk." I'll bet Shatner jerks off to the image of ten alien space babes saying that every night.

The problem is that the newly-commissioned Enterprise is a bucket of shit, so the transporters don't work. Most Star Trek episodes will say something like, "Oh the bullshittium radiation from the buttermilk quasar is blocking our transporter beam." This movie doesn't even try. "Oh right, the transporters are broken." Shatner, you genius!

I've got my blue horse, my scurvy-ridden lieutenant, and a horde of sand people. Nothing can stop me now!

Oh, by the way, Sybok and his ragtag horde are holding the Federation, Klingon, and Romulan ambassadors hostage. Kirk doesn't get out of bed for anything less than an ambassador. Your average space-janitor is lunch for the sarlac as far as Kirk's concerned. But Kirk goes down to rescue the hostages. Kirk's military strategy truly demonstrates his galactic warrior status. Uhura, who is about 60 years old in this movie, distracts some guards with a nude fan dance while Kirk and Spock steal some blue horses. Nothing says good cinema like seeing someone's grandma give a space-henchman a boner.

Needless to say, the rescue attempt fails despite Kirk fighting a three-breasted cat-woman stripper (not even making that up), and Sybok takes over the ship. He uses some weird Vulcan shit to brainwash the crew into following him into THE GREAT BARRIER, which is this huge energy field that surrounds the center of the galaxy - where God lives. During the whole movie, everyone is shitting themselves about THE GREAT BARRIER!! "It will stab you in the eye and then rape your mother!" "It's so big and powerful that it split the space-whore in two!" Then they get to THE GREAT BARRIER and pass right through. They didn't even bother to shake the camera around or anything. I think the ship bounced once, but that might have been Scotty taking a dump.

The rest of the movie is summed up thusly: Kirk finds God. Kirk fights God. Kirk kills God.

Turns out God is actually blue, and he may or may not perm his beard.

Okay, so it wasn't really God. It was actually an energy being that was imprisoned. And I suppose God was actually killed when the Klingons blasted him. But the basic premise remains valid. Actually, there were supposed to be some rock creatures in the movie that spring up to fight Kirk after he kills God, but apparently the costumes were too cheesy to be taken seriously. For Star Trek, that's saying something.

And the Klingons? Yeah, they just kind of give up when one of the ambassadors pulls rank on the Klingon captain. Turns out his shit was merely a brown dwarf in the toilet of the universe. Kirk didn't even have to fight him to prove his superiority. Kirk pwns God + Klingon. I would expect no less from the GREATEST WARRIOR IN THE GALAXY!

No, Sybok is my half-brother. Those are pictures of my half-sister Charlene. We don't talk about her much."
"Are those green nipples?"

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William Shatner: Kicking God's ass since Stardate 5467.3

What About a Future Boyfriend?

About a year ago, I got an IM from this guy who lives in my apartment complex. Apparently, he found my address on Facebook and wanted to make friends with someone in the complex. This seemed reasonable enough, and he's a nice enough guy, so I talked to him. But soon the conversations were making... interesting digressions. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but there was something odd about his interest in me. He seemed very intent upon being my friend.

I have yet to meet this guy face to face, and he still messages me. I'm not a particularly nice person when dealing with strangers, so I couldn't figure out why he wanted to talk to me so much.

Today, I got my answer.

I'm talking to him again this evening and the conversation goes like this (his name has been changed):

ApartmentGuy: btw, whats ur relationship status?
Me: single. but always on the lookout for my future ex-girlfriend.
ApartmentGuy: what about a future boyfriend?
Me: nope. afraid not.
ApartmentGuy: fuck buddy?
Me: nope

Suddenly it all made sense. This guy was hitting on me. I've never been hit on by a gay guy before. I was actually kind of flattered. I didn't want the poor guy to feel bad, so I said:

Me: I don't swing that way. Not that there's anything wrong with it if you do.
ApartmentGuy: I love pussy...... but nothing wrong in gettin off
Me: Ah! So the door of [his name] swings both ways.
ApartmentGuy: it has.......... discretely......... depends on the situation

Given the guy's penchant for joking around (looking back on it, it was probably flirting), I thought he might have been pulling my leg again, so I decided to Google his screen name. What came up was a personal ad for "OurGayborhood.com," which is, quite frankly, the BEST name for a website ever! He describes himself as "heteroflexible."

The guy has never met me in real life, so I can only assume that he decided I was bi-curious based on my Facebook profile. Is it the distinct absence of anything sports-related on my Interests list? Is it the degree in English? Is it my flowery but lovable prose style? I don't think I wrote "I've always loved the taste of hot man-juice" anywhere on there.

I got nothing against the guy (literally or figuratively). It's got to be a ballsy move (pun totally intended) to hit on a guy who may or may not be gay - especially in West Virginia.

I know you may read this Apartment Guy, and you may not like that I shared the tale (anonymous though it may be), but it was just too choice to pass up.

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JP: Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.

The Best Bar in Morgantown

I used to think that the best bar in Morgantown was The Sports Page. They have the cheapest and most generous Long Island Iced Teas that I've ever had. The female bartenders are also cheap and generous - but not really in the same way. I soon discovered a better place!

Late last night, after having a few drinks downtown to celebrate being done with our papers, Vivek and I decided to check out a bar that he'd heard of but never been to. All we knew was that it was right next to the strip club. The strip club, which is about 30 seconds from my apartment, is in what appears to be a remodeled barn, which gives me pause. I've never been brave enough to check it out; what if one of my students (or even worse, one of my fellow GTAs) is up on stage? That would just be awkward (or perhaps oddly erotic) for everybody!

So we get to the bar next to the strip club - it's called "Leo's Bar," and it looks like a dump. It looks like it could be the setting for From Dusk Till Dawn 4. I was beginning to have second thoughts, but through the front window, we see the bartender staring at us, so we figure we have no choice but to go in now. Looking back on it, I don't know what we thought he was going to do. You'd think a year and a half of West Virginia would make me immune to such concerns.

When we go in, I'm amazed at how nice the place actually is. It's a pretty cozy watering hole. There's plenty of space, some good music on the jukebox, and a pool table. But the BEST feature by far was their Star Trek: The Next Generation Pinball Machine!!

That alone makes it the best bar in Morgantown! This Podunk bar with a clientèle that has maybe 12 teeth among them has this pinball machine prominently displayed. The bartender even bragged about his high score. I suck at pinball, and I don't even really like it, but I certainly enjoyed playing this one. I even beat the "Q Challenge" and defeated the Borg Cube. Kiss my fat ass, Worf!

When we came in, the bartender was very excited to see us. He hollers, "Welcome to the best bar in Morgantown!" Then he thinks for a few seconds and says, "Well... it's at least the cleanest bar in Morgantown... according to the health inspector anyway." That either says a lot about this bar or a lot about the other bars in Morgantown. I don't want to know which.

There's only four other people in the place. Three of them are on the upper level playing pool, and then there's this old man sitting at the bar. He introduces himself as Leo, owner of the establishment. The man is 61 years old (as he was happy to inform us) and looks like a shorter Boss Hogg with glasses and a speech impediment. He was even wearing a cowboy hat. We talked with Leo for about 15 minutes, and as he mumbled at least four or five times, Leo spent most of his life working for the post office. I told him that I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life yet, and over the next ten minutes, he told me about the importance of health insurance. The only reason he stopped was because his arthritis was acting up. I think I want to be Leo one day.

We didn't stay long since it was getting pretty late (and it was awkward being the only ones in there after everyone else left), but I fully intend to go back. The drinks were reasonably priced, the pinball machine rocked my world, and Leo amused and enchanted me.

And the bathroom was spotless! It probably was the cleanest in Morgantown.

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Leo's Bar: A refuge for redneck Star Trek fans since Leo's midlife crisis.

The Infinite Sadness

For the last couple of weeks, I haven't been able to get the The Fray's song "How to Save a Life" out of my head. It's a good song, and it's on my "Current Favorites" list on my iPod, but it's about as feel-good as a movie about the Holocaust and 9/11 combined.

I've looked at the lyrics a few times and can't come up with a positive interpretation. According to Wikipedia, lead singer Isaac Slade says that it's about mentoring troubled teens at summer camp. Others think it's about drunk driving or the Dissolution of Czechoslovakia (easily my favorite possibility). I'm convinced that someone ends up dead by the end of the song. Look at the chorus:

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life.

Any way you slice it, someone ends up kicking the bucket. Actually, since the chorus is repeated six times, it could be a half-dozen deaths. Maybe it's actually about Jack the Ripper.

It gets worse. A few weeks after I first got the song stuck in my head, I sat down to watch a rerun of Scrubs, and it happened to be an episode called "My Lunch." It's a stellar episode, probably one of the best that I've seen. Dr. Cox becomes obsessed with getting organs for three dying patients, but after getting the necessary organs and getting them in the patients, they discover that the person that the organs came from had rabies. As you can imagine, the ending isn't exactly positive, and guess what song is playing!!

Did you watch it? You feel like shit now don't you? So not only do I have the song itself trapped in my head, but now I have this depressing ending lodged in my head with it. Every time I hear this song now, I think of all kinds of sad things like drowning puppies, genocide, ten grandmas dying, terminally ill children, and just about every episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.

I get lots of songs stuck in my head, and usually I don't mind (though sometimes people glare at me for humming them in line at the store). Most of the time it's either some 80s gem or an extremely embarrassing girly song, so I can just rock out privately in my car as passing motorists look on in confusion and disgust. But I swear to your God, if I can't get this song out of my head soon, I'm not only going to slit my own wrists, but I'm going to come over to your house and slit yours too.

The Fray proves that even the most cynical asshole can be manipulated by a man with a piano and a catchy tune.

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9 out of 10 readers are pissed that JP has depressed them when they were looking for a good laugh. The last reader thinks JP is never funny anyway.

Entering the Home Stretch

In the Matrix movies, whenever Neo does some sort of ninja, reality-bending moves, the film slows down to what is called "bullet-time" so that the viewer can see what's happening (specifically so that you can see the bullets zipping past him). For the last 15 weeks, I feel like I've been living my entire life in bullet-time.

This is the LONGEST semester that I've ever endured. I can barely remember I time when I wasn't enduring the mental wrist-slitting that is Old English and 19th Century Magazines, and I feel like I've been dealing with the same bitchy students for 12 eternities.

But now I've only got one more week to go. The nice thing about grad school (a positive comment???) is that unlike the undergrad, the stress actually gets lower during finals week. My Old English paper was due on Tuesday, and my Magazines paper, which is actually half done, is due next Tuesday. I practically feel like I'm on vacation already.

I actually liked Old English by the end of the semester with the exception of the final test. I've never been raped by a man-ape, but I imagine that this test was the emotional equivalent. Aside from that (and the mid-term that was actually more painful), I liked the atmosphere of the class. There were many laughs to be had (often "with" or "at" the professor), and translating Old English wasn't really all that difficult with the book that practically translated everything for us anyway.

19th Century Magazines was a like a needle in the eye from beginning to end. I never really understood what the class was supposed to be about. Slavery was a big issue, but there's only so long that 12 white grad students can talk about the trials of black slaves without sounding like pompous assholes. I think the time span is about two weeks. Fortunately my final paper is shaping up nicely. I'm working with 19th century Christian magazines. Longtime readers of the blog should understand why my paper may contain some asinine and scoffing comments. (Anonymous Assholes should read my "Stormin' Mormon" entries from about a year ago to understand this and other previous references.)

My two English 101 classes have been a mixed bag. I let them do message board postings instead of short writing assignments, which totally bombed as an idea. Ninety percent of the students posted about two hours before the deadline each week; you can imagine the clusterfuck that resulted. By the end, everyone realized that the whole thing was a failure, but we all muddled through it because they didn't want to write short papers, and I didn't want to grade them.

My second class was actually pretty good. There were a few really lousy students in that class, but they were all pretty colorful people. It made for entertaining classes. More importantly, they thought I was comic genius. As you can imagine, I loved them.

My first class never laughed at my jokes. Assholes. Even when I gave them gold. Yesterday, they were filling out course evaluations, and I told them, "Don't write anything that could be interpreted as inappropriate by the social justice department. Lines like 'He's touched me in ways I've never been touched before' don't go over too well." I got maybe two chuckles. I was also telling them how stellar writing quality won't necessarily get them an "A" if they haven't met the basic requirements of the course. I said, "If you show up to work and give the boss 110% and do a great job, but then at 5:00 every day, you take a big dump in the office wastebasket, you're still going to get fired." They all stared at me. The douchebag who wrote on his evalution "His jokes are cheesy and he has a poor sense of humor" back in my first semester would have been right at home in this class. My A-material is wasted on them.

Only one week left, and then I can enjoy four weeks of watching TV and movies, playing Super Mario Galaxy, and drinking at the Kittanning bars as I belittle everyone that I graduated with.

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Christmas Break: Long enough to unwind, but too short to get a real job. It's a lazy man's paradise!

An Apology to Dora and Diego

Last week I was sure that Dora the Explorer and Go Diego Go were the worst children's shows on television. This week, television proved me wrong. I was surfing through the channels yesterday morning, when a yellow robot and blue cat dancing caught my attention for a moment. I was curious and stopped on the channel. Suddenly a black guy in an orange afro and matching jumpsuit popped out yelling YO GABBA GABBA!!!

I couldn't turn away. Thus I was introduced to the show Yo! Gabba Gabba!

I've never dropped acid in my life, but somehow I imagine the experience being something like watching this show. The show just needs to be seen to be believed.

What is even going on there?? Why is there a wizard and a cowboy seen briefly? And a man with a mustache drawn onto his face? From the episode I watched, that has nothing to do with the show. On YouTube, the comment below the video from a man identifying himself as "kungfuabuse" reads, "The only people hating on this show are people who hate fun."

The premise of the show, as I understand it, is that this highly excitable black guy shows up with his puppets. Once he shouts, "YO GABBA GABBA!!" the puppets come to life and sing and dance. The orange-adorned black guy is seen as their god apparently, because all the puppets look to him for adoration and guidance. It seems like a strange conglomeration of Eureka's Castle and Pee Wee's Playhouse. That alone should scare you.

The messages this show teaches are terrible. The one song yesterday encouraged kids to "keep your hands to yourself." Apparently, touching is only acceptable for hugs and high-fives. The show is obsessed with high-fives. This show needs to be addressed on Law & Order: SVU, I felt so unclean after watching it.

Here's a classic that I found on YouTube:

The monster just ate the sentient food, and the other sentient food is sad... not because their friends were eaten, but because they want to go to the tummy party!

I don't think I can summon a big enough "WTF" for this.

I couldn't imagine what kind of twisted mind made this show, but then Wikipedia made everything crystal clear.

Here is the creator:

His name is Christian Jacobs, but he is better known by his alias, "The MC Bat Commander." But the absolute best part is that, according to Wikipedia, he's a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

He's a MORMON!!

[JP leans back in his chair and lets loose a belly laugh that scares the neighbors]

I just can't do anything to this show that it hasn't already done to itself. Compared to this, Dora and Diego are upstanding role models of sanity. I almost feel bad for blogging about this because it's such an easy target.

I think I should just review children's shows every week. With what's on TV these days, I fear for the sanity of future generations. Thank god I won't be teaching them.

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Yo! Gabba Gabba: Causing one-year olds to fear reality since August 2007.

Dora! Dora! Dora!

Over the Thanksgiving break, my brother and his family came to visit, which means having a five year old and a one year old around the house. (I'm sure I'll be properly reprimanded at Christmas if I got their ages wrong.) I've come to the realization that I won't be able to stand having kids, and I think the only reason for that is children's TV.

Most of the shows are about as exciting as watching paint dry. Some shows like Wonder Pets and Lazy Town are just plain creepy. But my two favorites have to be Dora the Explorer and its male-oriented spin-off Go Diego Go!

The creators of these shows have to be raking in millions of dollars (or pesos as the case may be). Both shows look like they cost about 30 cents to make, but kids go apeshit for them. What bothers me about them is that these shows have very peculiar premises and even worse messages for little kids.

Both shows feature these two kids who can't be older than seven living in the jungle. Dora seems to at least have a house nearby, but I think Diego lives in a treehouse somewhere in the rainforest. At first I thought neither child had adult supervision. Dora only seems to chillax with what may be a lice-infested monkey (or perhaps a jaundiced monkey if the yellow tail and belly are any indication) while Diego pals around with a baby jaguar. But then right at the beginning of one episode, Diego's dad bikes in. He tells Diego that he just spent a week in the mountains with the eagles. What does this tell kids? It's okay little beaner-babies, it's normal for Mexican dads to run off into the wilderness and abandon their kids.

I've now seen a few episodes of each show. Dora's fun usually involves a trip to some destination with two minor obstacles in the way. In a Christmas-themed episode, Dora decides to hike to the North Pole. Remember that this girl lives in the jungle. According to Dora, the trip involves hiking over a snowy mountain, crossing an icy river, and BAM! You're at the North Pole. Keep in mind that Dora's idea of mountain climbing involves throwing a rope (which she once repaired with tape!) up to the top of the mountain. She makes mountain climbing look about as hard as blowing your nose, and her trip halfway around the world took about 20 minutes. Jesus Christ, where's the DORA button on the Travelocity website?

Dora's nemesis is a weasel named Swiper, a kleptomaniac who wants to steal Dora's helpful items for the hell of it. Like Wile E. Coyote, Swiper seems to have a huge cache of devices and vehicles at his disposal all for the sole purpose of stealing Dora's lunch money, coloring book, or magic mittens. Personally, I always root for Swiper because he comes prepared. In one episode, Dora wants to get something that's across the river before Swiper can get it. Dora summons several large blue whales (IN A RIVER!!??) to create a bridge to the other side. Swiper brings a jet ski. He understands that summoning aquatic life should be left in the hands of professionals like Aquaman. My only problem with Swiper is that he never wants Dora's magic backpack that can produce ANYTHING. It makes the replicator in Star Trek look like a soda fountain. Of course, Swiper always loses, and he dejectedly walks away saying, "Ohh, Maaaaannn!!" Dora the Asshole never offers to share.

In Go Diego Go, Diego works at some sort of Animal Rescue Center. So not only is Diego's dad a deadbeat, but he's also in violation of child labor laws. While he's up in the mountains, Diego's pulling down a job. Some animals ends up in trouble (falling in a pit, breaking an ankle, or whatever), and Diego goes to rescue it. What kills me is how well Diego seems to get along with the these jungle creatures. Jaguars, condors, pumas, monkeys, bears, and even snakes just LOOOVEE that little Mexican boy. This kid wouldn't last five minutes in a real jungle. Just once I want to see Diego come down with a horrible case of malaria and then he's mauled by a leopard and then eaten by a snake. Is that too much to ask from Nick Jr.?

In one episode, Diego decides to race a group of monkeys and a group of pumas. What kills me is that Diego wins! He races a fucking PUMA and wins!! In another episode, Diego encourages kids to duck low as he races under some dangling vines. Okay, that's fine. Then he encourages them to duck low again to race under some dangling vines that have GIANT SPIDERS on them. I'm not shitting you, these spiders were huge. I wouldn't go within ten feet of a spider that big let alone run underneath a whole swath of rainforest filled with them. But just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Diego then ducks down to race under dangling vines filled with hundreds of giant snakes. At that point, the little bastard deserved to die.

I tried to find some video of either show, but I found something even better. It's set to the song "Lean Like a Cholo."

I love how well the words match up with the clips. Some loving fan of both the song and show spent a lot of time on this. I don't know what's going on in any of the clips, but Dora the ExploraChola is seen here riding on a giant chicken while dancing with what appears to be the Lorax. This makes about as much sense to me as the real show.

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Dora the Explorer: Encouraging children to wander off without adult supervision since 1999.

Pass the Pie and my Dignity

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I usually like the whole thing, what with the delicious pumpkin pie and all, but this year I'm just not feeling it. On Wednesday night, I went to the bar, and it seemed like everyone that I went to high school with was there. I hadn't seen most of these people since high school. This was not good news because I didn't really get along with many people in my high school. Truth be told, I was kind of an asshole back in high school (he reflects as though this is no longer true). I was usually in my own little world, didn't talk to people outside of the band, and gave way too much attention to my schoolwork. I got better in my senior year, but through most of high school, I wasn't really all that popular.

Well, my friends knew a lot of people in high school, so in this little reunion, I got to meet all kinds of people that I hadn't talked to much since high school. Talk about some awkward conversations. Most conversations with me started with some variation of, "So what are you doing now?" or "How's grad school coming along?"

This question comes up a lot lately. I usually have two options. I can either lie and say, "Grad school's going great! It's a lot of fun, and really feel that I made the right decision there." This leads me to feeling like a tool. I'm also not very convincing when telling said lie. It usually results in me either laughing hysterically or wailing in extreme emotional anguish.

The other alternative is to tell the truth and say, "Yes I'm in grad school, and I hate it more than the old Jew down the street hates his German furnace repairman." The regretful inquisitor then dutifully asks, "So what are you going to do when you're done then?" And I'll say, "I have no idea. My future looks bleak. I'll probably end up in a tech writing job or something." The person will then make an excuse about having explosive diarrhea and quickly leave.

Needless to say, I drank heavily and loudly made fun of others in order to compensate.

I hate talking about myself when I come home. I just don't have anything good to say about what I'm doing with my life right now other than that I'll be finished with it in 5 months. (Grad school, not my life. Don't put me on suicide watch here. I'm far too allergic to pain.) Add into that the 15 or 20 pounds that I've gained again since being in grad school. You can also factor in my ongoing status as a pathetic single man because all I'd have to talk about on a date is grad school (not good conversation). I'm not really a happy camper. The only people who can truly understand the misery of being an English grad student are other English grad students. It's not that there's all that much work - truth be told I slack off quite a bit. The real problem is the guilt. There's no way to have free time without sacrificing something that you should be doing.

Take tomorrow for instance. I should have a fun time between playing football (albeit in the ball-numbing cold) and probably heading out with my friends later in the night. But while I'm doing that, my mountain of grading, my Beowulf translation, and my Old English project are all waiting for me in my room. Even as I'm having fun, I'll be thinking that it's just less time over the weekend to cram in all that shit. It's a horrible existence.

People who read my blog are generally divided into two camps: my fellow miserable WVU grad student colleagues and my fellow redneck Kittanning posse (though I think I have a few stragglers from other locales - I'm looking at you, The Shit). To those in the grad student group, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about. To those in the Kittanning group, try me again in about nine or ten months. Maybe by then I'll actually be worth talking to.

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This self-involved personal reflection was brought to you by the WVU English Department - spoiling your holidays and dignity since man first put pen to paper.

In a Galaxy Far Far Away

I don't really update as often as I could, and I seldom have a good excuse other than having nothing to blog about. This time, however, I've got two good reasons for not posting.

The first is that I had 10 pages of my seminar paper due last night. Writing this paper was boiling my eyeballs in liquid shit. I now want to go build a time machine, take a nuclear bomb, and completely obliterate the 19th century. Time paradoxes be damned!

The other reason for my attention being diverted is my recent purchase of Super Mario Galaxy. The game may look like it was made for a five year old, but I think the real audience is 30 year old gamers whose brains have been drug-fried to the point that a Rubik's cube totally blows their mind because of all the right angles.

Super Mario Galaxy is just that twisted. The premise, as with all Mario games, is that Bowser has kidnapped Princess Toadstool (or "Peach" for those playing the home game), and Mario must make his way through trippy worlds to get her back. The catch this time is that Bowser has traded in his castles and clown-themed hot-air balloon for an army of spaceships and makes his way to THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE! Mario enlists the help of some kirby-like star creatures who help him travel among something like 30 galaxies in search of golden stars to power his own spaceship.

The laws of physics be a harsh mistress.

But Mario games have the same principle as bad porno: the story doesn't matter. Apparently, neither do the laws of physics, which is what makes the game so damn trippy and amazing. You have to take Mario around these planetoids in every direction. There are larger planets as well that resemble the worlds of Super Mario 64 and Super Mario Sunshine, but be prepared. In every level, gravity will make you its bitch.

But the bizarre nature of the game does not end with the uber-3D exploration.

This game is getting a lot of good buzz (ba dum bum!)

Remember those weird super suits from Super Mario 3 and Super Mario World? Well guess what's making a comeback? This game turns Mario into a bee, a spring, a ghost, an iceman, and even the traditional fire-throwing Mario.

In this game so far, I raced a shark, three penguins, and even a shadow version of myself. I also battled a half-dinosaur, half-piranha plant creature. The Toy Time Galaxy made me fear toy robots again, and the Space Junk Galaxy makes space-littering look cool. Then there's the "normal" stuff like the giant lava planet and the desert world. I haven't seen themed worlds this elaborate since the Starship Enterprise went to the gangster planet, the Nazi planet, and the cowboy planet in the same month.

In short, if you own the Wii, you must buy this game. If you don't, you will die alone.

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Super Mario Galaxy: causing Isaac Newton to turn over in his grave since last week.

Turtle Tip: Ignore Those With Problems

Back in the late 80s/early 90s, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was taking a lot of flak for its comedic depictions of senseless violence. I mean, they were essentially a group of mutant vigilantes carrying lethal weapons and dispensing justice at their whim. In order to appease parents and other people who couldn't enjoy a good robot/turtle melee, the show began to have these little public service announcements called "Turtle Tips" at the end of their episodes.

In this message, an elementary school mullet boy is heckling poor Joey about taking some pot ("You know... MARIJUANA!"). After Joey gives the 80s punk his "oh snap, son!" comeback, Donatello comes on with his final message: "Drug dealers are dorks. Don't even talk to them!"

That's right kids. If a ten year old has somehow fallen in with a gang of drug runners and is trying to push drugs onto elementary school students, the right answer is to castigate this kid. Ignore him and make him a social pariah. Come on, Donatello! This kid is clearly a newbie seller. What kind of professional heckles his customers by flapping his arms and making chicken noises? This kid either needs a friend or an "Intro to Business" class.

I think Michaelangelo has the right idea. Get a pizza, sit down with the drug dealing kid, and make friends. Maybe that's all this leather-clad pre-teen is looking for: a buddy and a good meal. Hall Monitor Donatello the Hardass would have us shove this kid down a well and forget about him.

You're the real turkey, Donatello! That's why no one talks to you.... that and the purple flair.

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9 out of 10 drug dealers in prison blame Donatello for the zero tolerance policy. The last one blames Krang for his Ecstasy from Dimension X.

Thanksgiving Triple Fowl

I was in the Rec Center this afternoon, and as I was changing in the locker room, I overheard an old man with two canes telling these two guys about his Thanksgiving plans. Apparently their crippled companion fancies himself to be quite the chef. He was regaling them with tales of the elaborate feast that he was planning to make for his family next week. The centerpiece of this dinner is to be, as he put it, "a turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken."

My first reaction should have been, "Blleeechhh! That's like a triple-play culinary sodomy!" but instead I was thinking, "Hmmmm.... fill that with some melted cheddarjack cheese and I'll bet that would be delicious!"

The man's description intrigued me, and while I was searching for an appropriate image for this post, I discovered that he didn't make this thing up. It's an actual dish called (I hope you're ready for this) the Turducken. Apparently, it was either invented in France or Louisiana quite some time ago. All three birds must have their bones removed and then you pretty much stuff each bird into another, with layers of stuffing in between.

Again, this should get my gag reflex going, but it actually sounds like the tastiest thing I've ever heard of.

According to this website, you can actually order a ready-to-go turducken by mail. Turduckens cost about $50-$60, but the shipping cost for sending it overnight in dry-ice is what costs the most. In fact, it costs more than the turducken. Turducken shipping will run you at least a hundred bucks.

I'm not sure if I can afford to make a turducken, but if anyone wants to do it, I better be the first person on your invite list.

By the way, I'm also well aware of the irony of this triple-bypass-bird dish being discussed in the gym locker room. I considered it extra incentive to literally run that extra mile.

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Three out of four readers are now inexplicably craving Turducken.

Customization Fascination

Bob Kelso replies to complaints about substantive updates

In the last six hours, I've altered the appearance of this blog at least four times. I stumbled across Blogger's "Template Customization" feature, and it's proven to be quite the time waster. Between this and the Law & Order: Criminal Intent marathon that was on this evening, I managed to completely avoid my work. Thank you Blogger!

I'm not convinced that this the final format, so I may change it again. Give me the power to change colors, fonts, and shapes, and I'll be a happy little tech-savvy procrastinator for quite some time. I really like the color scheme right now - very Superman-esque. I'll see what else I can play with.

It's not your enjoyment I'm worried about; this is just the four year old in me that's fascinated with pretty colors.

UPDATE: Yep, I changed it about five minutes after I initially posted this... God damn, I need to get laid.

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Customization Features - Endorsing style over substance for the last ten years.

Dopplegangers of the Mushroom Kingdom

What's the deal with Wario? Where did this tubby mustachioed menace come from? Common sense would seem to indicate that he's Mario's evil doppleganger, but the two seem to cooperate in casual sports and games on many occasions. Wario will drive a kart, play tennis, or even just play a board game with the gang. This doesn't make sense if he's a simple nemesis, but perhaps he's also Mario's brother. They sure do look alike... except for the huge schnoz on Wario's face. Maybe Papa Mario would drink a lot after work and then smack Wario in the face a few times. That would explain the big nose and the surly disposition. Mario and Luigi were doubtlessly upstairs investigating their own plumbing.

Then you've got the recently introduced Waluigi, Luigi's evil doppleganger. He pops up in all the Mario Kart and Mario Party games. He looks like a cross between Wario and Dick Dastardly. Wikipedia claims that Wario and Waluigi are brothers, but there was no mention of any relation between them and Mario and Luigi. If these two brotherly pairs aren't related, that has to be one hell of a coincidence. Sort of like Alvin and the Chipmunks and their suspiciously similar-looking love interests, the Chipettes.

Personally, I think this should all be settled in the Mushroom Kingdom version of Maury. Maury would have the DNA tests on this settled over a commercial break. I guarantee that Mama Mario stepped out with that Frog King from Super Mario 2 on at least one occasion. It could be billed as a special paternity test episode that also features the seven motherless children of Bowser.

The other possibility is that Wario IS the aforementioned abusive and alcoholic Papa Mario. In fact, that would explain a great many things. Mama Mia!

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Super Mario Galaxy comes out in two days, so my final two papers will be given the shaft as I play this game for hours on end over Thanksgiving break.

Par for the Course

I have been tagged by Virgil to blog on the following topic:

“Devise a list of 5-10 courses you would take to fix your life. It’s more fun to be in classes with friends, so include one class from the person who tagged you that you’d also like to take. Tag five.”

Never one to back away from a challenge (especially since she said that my "caustic take on graduate school" would be worthwhile), I thought it sounded like a good way to procrastinate.

LINGUISTICS 203: Students in Translation
This is one that Virgil came up with. In this course, you will learn the necessary vocabulary for translating the phrases of English 101 students. Learn how to translate such phrases as "I didn't have internet access in my dorm this weekend" so that you know the student actually means, "I spent most of my weekend piss drunk and didn't bother to do any research."

HEALTH 101: Eating Tips for Dummies
In this course, you will be introduced to the basic concepts of not eating when you're not actually hungry. Important lessons include "Not opening the refrigerator," "Putting the pie back," and "Picking up a carrot." Extra credit will be given for not actually purchasing items like Salt and Vinegar chips in the first place. Getting your 6'5" fat ass onto a treadmill is saved for the advanced classes.

ENGLISH 622: Using Theory Without Knowing It
Are you tired of looking stupid in class? Are you sick of actually learning literary theories in order to apply them? Well then this course is for you! Learn how to name-drop like Chuck Woolery at a dive bar. Learn the exquisite art of turning the names of theorists into adjectives (Foucaultian, Lacanian, Benjaminian), using bullshit words like heteronormativity, and using the theories of black, female, Native American, or gay theorists so that anyone who disagrees with you will look like a racist, sexist, imperialist homophobe.

ED PSY 343: Understanding System Apathy
Do you feel like your bosses or the administration will have your back when something goes horribly awry in the classroom? This is a dangerous frame of mind, my friend, and this course can show you how the world of academia works. You will come to understand that no one in the department cares about backing you up when necessary. Learn the basics of how your salary equals that of an indentured servant. Understand that "the harsh penalties of plagiarism" mean nothing when your boss has to be the one to implement them. Learn how being quiet and invisible works in your favor. Remember: an obedient teacher is a teacher with a job.

MATH 101: Finances for English Majors
In this course, you flowery English majors will be introduced to the basic concepts of a how money works. You will learn that spending money before you have it is a bad thing, and that you can't pay for a meal with a clever Haiku. How to calculate a tip so that a waitress won't throw her used gum at you as you walk out the door will be covered on the first day of class. Other topics will include: how to use a credit card, what taxes are and how to pay them, why the government doesn't like sarcasm on a tax form, operating a calculator, counting past 20, and why "consolidating your loans" isn't necessarily the Foucaultean hegemony closing in on your free will.

PSYCH 399: Coping With Your Own Paranoia
The world is not out to get you, and we're here to help. That's right! We can see you right now, but the world is not conspiring to keep you in a miserable job with a workload that seems to lead nowhere. In this course, you will see that there is happiness beyond those shots of absinthe, and the light at the end of the tunnel is not the flashlight of O'Brien as he examines your eyes to see if you're ready to be thrown back into the Ministry of Love. Now drink up your victory gin and sign up for this class you miserable prole!

COMP SCI 201: Running an Effective Blog
In this course, you will see how blogs don't necessarily have to be about English class all the time. Maybe if you actually went outside sometimes and did something with your life, you'd have something else to talk about other than graduate school, food, movies, and your miserable excuse for a cat. You will also learn such valuable skills as brevity, making jokes that are funny to more people than just yourself, and italicized quips at the end of posts are no substitute for legitimate conclusions.

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Tagging - A waste of time for me since 2006 since I don't know anyone with a blog that Virgil hasn't already tagged.

Reel Ruminations: Death Bed: The Bed That Eats

After fortuitously stumbling upon the wrong Deathbed movie, I quickly found the movie that I wanted. For weeks it sat on my desk. I wanted the perfect opportunity to watch it. A gem like this has to be shared with friends (and hopefully plenty of beer). Well Halloween night provided that opportunity, and I was not disappointed. A friend of mine was having a Halloween party consisting of scary movies and such, and I brought the newfound raison d'etre for said party's existence: Death Bed: The Bed that Eats.

After watching the cinematic masterpiece Jason X: Jason in Space (perhaps worthy of its own blog post), we turned out attention to Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. The full title is an absolute necessity. All requests for shorthand will be denied.

Death Bed: The Bed That Eats opens with a black screen while what sounds like someone eating an apple is heard. The movie is divided into four parts: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and The Just Dessert. The whole thing is narrated by a ghost that lives behind a painting. The basic premise is that this demon had the hots for a "fair maiden" about a hundred years ago. In an attempt to have sex with said maiden, the demon forged this bed from an evil tree (I think). Unfortunately, the demon was so evil that the sex killed her. The demon cried, and his demon tears put a curse on the bed. Now the bed eats people (typically when they're having sex).

If this makes sense to you, stop doing shots of absinthe right now.

Symbolism anyone?

The "eating" is shown with this yellow shit that gurgles out of the bed as the people slowly sink into it. And when I say "slowly," I mean SLLLOOOOWWWLLLYYY!! The underwhelming reactions of the victims are hilarious.
"I say! The bed seems to be consuming me. What a predicament this is."
"Indeed. This just won't do. I do believe I'm going to shoot at it."

Hell, one guy keeps smoking his cigar as he gets eaten. Check out this clip.
The fact that this movie is on YouTube fills my heart with untold joy.

Death Bed: The Bed That Eats makes the 2002 Deathbed look sensible. Every element of the 70s is present: the kickass black chick with the power-fro, the weepy hippie girl, the strutting 70s disco star (who bears a strange resemblance to Peter Frampton), the psychedelic editing... it's all here. Also, for some reason, every woman in the film manages to get naked at some point. Either the bed psychically removes their clothes, or the bed creates a dream sequence in which the woman is naked. I guess when you're a bed with an oral fixation, you can do whatever you want.

Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea! YAY PEPTO BISMOL!

Some favorite scenes:
> The Peter Frampton wannabe gets his hands eaten in such a way that he's left with skeleton hands. He stares at his hands as he calmly remarks, "There's no flesh."
> After a particularly large meal, the Death Bed consumes a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
> The Death Bed eats a couple's box of fried chicken and apples. Upon opening the box and finding bare chicken bones (the Death Bed politely returns the box and apple cores), the man says, "Huh! Must have been a mistake." Yes. KFC mistakenly filled your container with garbage. Some mistake.
> In the same scene, the Death Bed downs an entire bottle of wine.
> An old woman (maybe in her 90s) relaxes in the Death Bed. She opens a magazine clearly titled "ORAL LESBIANS." She is promptly consumed.
> In a tribute to feminist ideals, two women (the black-power chick and the hippie girl) enjoy a picnic of raw sausage and pickles.

While Death Bed: The Bed That Eats doesn't have anyone as awesome as Joe Estevez, I did find an interesting tidbit. The only actor in the movie to appear in anything other than this movie was the Peter Frampton guy. His real name is William Russ (though he wisely used the pseudonym "Rusty Russ" in this movie). He went on to guest star on several sitcoms, but he is perhaps best known for playing the dad on the show Boy Meets World. A true thespian!

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Rusty Russ: From Peter Frampton wannabe to Feeny's next-door neighbor.

The Man-Ape Demands Updates!

Do you really want to fuck with a gun-wielding man-ape who is using his English degree to plot global domination? I know I don't. Updates are coming soon.

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Posting an update about delayed updates caused three readers' heads to explode.

For Tomorrow We Diet

In the last two and a half years, I've lost about 70 pounds. I'm quite pleased about that; however, most of that loss happened about a year and a half ago. Since I entered grad school, I haven't lost anything. In fact, I've gained about 10 pounds since I started grad school.

It's certainly not exercise that's the problem. I get to the gym about 3 or 4 times a week. My problem is simple: FOOD IS DELICIOUS!!

Milkshakes, pizza, ice cream, Salt and Vinegar potato chips, cake, pie... holy crap, I haven't had pie in forever! And Thanksgiving is coming up! It's going to be so sweet (pun intended)! And pie is only the tip of that top space on the food pyramid. Don't even get me started on my love affair with doughnuts.

I seem to have very womanly eating habits. I overeat when I'm stressed or upset... and these two emotions run rampant in grad school. I even have certain foods that are my weaknesses. Christ, the only reason I don't sit down with a carton of Ben and Jerry's is because I'm trying to hold onto the few strands of manliness that I've somehow tricked people into thinking that I have.

Eating healthy can be disheartening too. I went to the store a few weeks ago and purchased a few healthy things - salad, cucumbers, rice, Healthy Choice frozen dinners, fat free ice cream, etc. My small, but very healthy cart of food cost me about 50 or 60 bucks. Meanwhile, the woman in front of me had a cart full of frozen pizza, sugary cereals, processed fried meat, and enough bagged French fries to feed an elementary school - 25 dollars!! Damn woman was the size of a toothpick too.

I do my best to eat well, but there are so many tasty things to eat. My only consolation is when I imagine what sort of walrus I'd be if I didn't exercise.

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The weight scale - creating new vulgarities since man first created it