Reel Ruminations: Deathbed

I was listening to a stand-up comedy CD by Patton Oswalt (called Werewolves and Lollipops - I highly recommend it), and near the end of his act, he mentioned a movie that caught my attention. It was called, Death Bed: The Bed that Eats People. Needless to say, I was intrigued, so I typed "Deathbed" into my Netflix search and downloaded what I thought was the right movie.

Wrong movie. Right choice.

Believe it or not, there are two cheesy movies about a death bed. The one that Patton Oswalt was talking about had "Death Bed" separated into two separate words, while the one I ordered was all one word ("Deathbed"). I may have received the wrong movie, but I took the movie over to a friend's house for a "bad movie night" and was not disappointed.

The studio apartment... OF DOOM!!!!

Deathbed is about this yuppie couple that moves into a studio apartment that used to be a warehouse (or something). Karen (Tanya Dempsey) makes children's books for a living, and her boyfriend Jerry (Brave Matthews - yes, Brave Matthews) apparently takes pictures of beds for catalogs (no heavy-handed symbolism there at all). Well, the stairs you see in the photo there apparently lead to an attic that the landlord has never opened.

Ah yes, the landlord. The landlord is played by Joe Estevez, the oft-forgotten brother of Martin Sheen (and uncle to Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez).

"My brother is the PRESIDENT! And my nephews were in RED DAWN and THE MIGHTY DUCKS! I am NOT CRAZY!"

Joe Estevez has apparently been in over 150 movies including such masterpieces as "San Franpsycho," "Zombiegeddon," "Max Hell Comes to Frogtown," "Beach Babes from Beyond," "Death, Can I Buy You a Drink?" and "Buy Sell Kill: A Flea Market Story." As you can see, he has a certain niche.

Anyway, Karen and Brave (fuck Jerry - the actor's name is so much better) ask Joe Estevez what's up in the attic, and Joe says, "I don't know. That door is sealed tighter than a nun's ass." As you can imagine, Joe Estevez is the man in this movie. He has the hots for Karen and owns a talking cockatoo.

Back to the room in the attic. After hearing some screaming and seeing some smoke roll down the stairs, Karen checks it out (because that's the smart thing to do when there's smoke and screaming). In the attic is this antique bed that Karen decides to move down to their apartment.

Here's where the movie gets down to business - on so many levels. After sleeping in the bed for a few nights, Karen apparently channels the spirit of a prostitute who was raped and murdered on the bed 80 years ago. She gradually becomes more and more slutty, much to the approval of her lecherous boyfriend Brave.

"Does Brave the Photographer know how to say CHEESE?"

Brave has apparently been into bondage all along (he says near the beginning that Karen should "punish" him). Karen was apparently raped as a girl by a creepy uncle who would handcuff her to the bed with what in the flashback appeared to be Barbie handcuffs (why would those exist?). Even after learning about this, Brave still tries to have his way with her. Needless to say, Brave is kind of an asshole.

So anyway, Karen keeps seeing these spirits of the people involved in the murder from the 1920s. She wants to move out of the apartment, but Brave won't let her, because the landlord could make them pay rent for the rest of the year (which is what they get for signing a lease that was written on a crumpled piece of paper from a legal pad - which is seriously what Joe Estevez gave them to sign in the beginning). Then Brave sees the spirits too, and he has sex with this gothic Cleopatria-looking woman in his vision.

The next day he goes up to the attic (because he's a fucking idiot) where an arm bursts through the mirror and grabs Brave's throat. When Brave comes back downstairs, he undergoes a "subtle" character change. He puts pills into Karen's hot chocolate ("DRINK YOUR CHOCOLATE!" he demands in a completely nonthreatening manner), and then tries to kill her. She peels his face off with her fingernails. He somehow survives and morphs into the rapist from the 1920s (played by a man named "Dukey Flyswatter"). She ends up smashing his face in with a hammer.

Epilogue: Karen ends up in a loony bin. Suddenly a man identified in the credits as "horny orderly" comes in, unties her arm restraints, and attempts to rape her. She then peels his face off too.

End of movie.

As I said, this is not the movie that I wanted, but it was such a great mistake. I have now ordered the other movie, Death Bed: The Bed That Eats. Once I get a crew together to watch that, I'll be sure to let you know about it.

Either that, or I'll just start ordering every movie that Joe Estevez has appeared in.

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Joe Estevez: The man who needs no punchline

Don't Have a COW, Man

“The wind woke me…”

That’s how the Council of Writers’ (COW) creative writing reading began Friday night. It was the first line of the first poem of the first speaker. As soon as I heard it, I felt this sudden and painful lump in my gut. At first I thought it was just gas, or perhaps a horribly messy case of diarrhea. It turns out that it was pure revulsion.

The wind woke me. Who wakes up to the wind in real life? Fuck that. I wake up when my alarm goes off for the third time.

At these readings, grad students in the creative writing program (MFAs as they like to be called) read their latest scribblings. The whole thing took place at this coffee shop that truly embodies the word “pretentious.” It’s called “Zen Clay;” it serves overpriced coffee and what appears to be Ramen soup – in other words, it was the perfect place for this event.

The waking wind was hardly the worst offender. I was treated to grandiose descriptions of blankets, trinkets, dresses, cancer, and doll testicles. Okay, that last one was actually pretty cool, but the rest of it reeked of pure bullshit. Listening to poems and short stories like the ones at this function make me feel like my life is painfully dry and dull. These guys find meaning in the wrinkled creases of their father’s old jackets. I see a donation for the Salvation Army.

I spent a semester as a creative writer, and that’s why I couldn’t make it. I’m far too plot-oriented. My pathetic attempts at poeticism were even worse. I’m well aware that poems don’t have to rhyme, but mine always seemed to look like Dr. Seuss’s rejection pile.

I once bought a tasty ham
It went well with bread and jam

Leave it to me to wax poetical about food.

A few of the poems were quite funny, and those were the ones that worked. They didn’t get bogged down in pretentiousness, but they still worked on an aesthetic level (see, I can use English-type terminology if I want). The ones about mothers who knit dresses out of tablecloths as they are dying of cancer… well… perhaps Cold Case is looking for new writers.

The friend who told me about this reading suggested that I would get a big kick out of it for all the wrong reasons. She was right.

Edit: It occurred to me this morning that perhaps attacking half of the English department could lead to unforeseen and undesirable consequences since a large portion of my readership is in the aforementioned English department. So let me say this: If I have offended you in any way, don't do anything hasty like bringing it to the attention of my superiors. Do the mature thing... make fun of my pathetic, uncreative, misanthropic ass instead. There's plenty of material to work with there.

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The MFA Program - Keeping bullshit alive for generations of wannabe-poets to come.

Ic laþette Engliscgereorde

I hate Old English (is what my title says, I think).

What a horrible mistake this class was. "Introduction to Old English" sayeth the syllabus. It might as well say "Introduction to Shitting on your Morale." I feel stupid when I'm studying for it. I feel stupid when I'm sitting in the class. And I always feel incredibly stupid just after I leave. This is not to say that I think everyone in the class is doing better than me. I just feel like a total dunce for signing up for this course in the first place.

This is not really a literature course. The class involves learning the Old English language - which sounds like a forced mating between a drunken Irish accent and a German salute to Hitler. If you remember the Pikers from the movie Snatch, then you've probably got a pretty good idea of what it sounds like.

First of all, the book is a pain in the ass. Apparently it's the best Old English book on the market - which really says something about the rest of them. The author will spend ten pages explaining that there are irregular adjectives, but then he won't tell you what they are. He can go andslyht himself. (the Old English word for "blow" - which is the closest I can come to finding a word to suit my feeling on the matter)

The professor is even worse. In every legitimate way - he's a terrible teacher. But he's entertaining as hell, so I love the man. Someone in the class will ask a question like, "How do you conjugate "habban" in the past tense?" and he'll reply, "Well back when I worked at the circus making lollipops for midgets in the summer of '71, I used to recall poppyseeds blowing in the wind..." The story will continue like that in a similarly circuitous manner for another 15 minutes before he completely forgets why he was talking in the first place and moves on. One time last spring (this is actually the second time I've had him), he was in the middle of talking about something legitimate for once, when he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out three combs. He then spent about five minutes musing about the possible origin of the three combs. After all - two were understandable, but three!? It boggled the mind, it did.

I may not learn Old English, but I can see what happens to those who do. I think I'll just accept that if I ever encounter an Anglo-Saxon warrior who wants to battle me for my treasures, I'll be royally screwed whether I know Engliscgereorde or not.

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Old English - Proving to be completely useless since Beowulf sodomized Grendel in a manly fashion.

Who Will Jesus Damn?

I love religious kooks. They make for quality entertainment. WVU recently got a healthy dose of them when the groups "Life and Liberty Ministries" and "Repent America" showed up to have a pro-life rally.

I have no objections to people being pro-life, but there are more productive arguments than "THEY'LL ALL BURN IN HELL! EVERY ONE OF THEM!" That charming line was uttered by a 9-year-old boy named Malachi (according to The Daily Athenaeum website). Are these parents dropping acid in order to see God? These kids eventually grow up to take English 101. Doesn't anyone think of me when they raise their kids?

Anyway, several campus groups were on top of these guys. Our pro-life friends had huge pictures of dead baby fetuses set up in front of the Mountainlair, and some people found dead babies objectionable. The WVU Feminist Majority Leadership Alliance chapter held bedsheets in front of the signs. Even Virgil (of "Dante's Virgil" fame, linked on the right of the page) got into the act. I'm annoyed that I didn't know it was such a big deal until it was too late. Nothing spices up a boring day like a good religious brouhaha.

I did get to experience some of the fun second-hand. A friend of mine brought one of the cards that these guys were handing out back to the office. It's called "W.W.J.D." which stands for "Who Will Jesus Damn?" (sounds like the name of a reality TV show). I was fortunate enough to be able to find a copy of it on the internet.

(click for larger image)

(click for larger image)

You can't make this shit up. My personal favorites from the damning list include the effeminate, drunkards, the abominable, whore-mongers, and sorcerers. So a gay, drunk snowman with a penchant for strip clubs and black magic is totally screwed.

Choice quotes from the back:
"Maybe, just maybe, the Savior from the Bible isn't all about warm fuzzies."
"See, Jesus isn't just a teddy bear kind of guy to be ignored or simply mentioned as a curse word."
"Things aren't looking too good for you friend."

They apparently aren't reading the same Bible as me. Jesus was a passive kind of guy. It's God who loved to smite, kill, and torment people for his own perverse pleasure. That's why the Old Testament is so much more fun to read. God is like the army general dad who ended up raising a pot-smoking hippie son.

I'm glad that WVU rallied together to protest this pro-life protest, but they shouldn't discourage these guys from showing up at all. I'm a huge fan of their literature (even if not in the way that they intended).

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Religious Fanatics - providing quality entertainment for heathens like me since we stopped becoming targets for human sacrifice.

By Any Other Name

This isn't the pinnacle of anything

This is a completely meaningless issue that's been bothering me for some time. I can't stand the completely soulless naming scheme for some of these planned communities and apartment complexes around Morgantown. I've seen these pretentious, meaningless names elsewhere, but Morgantown seems to throw words together on a map in a way that would make Magellan weep.

For example, the apartment complex that I live in is called "Pinnacle Height Apartments" (pictured above). While my apartment is actually quite nice, the name doesn't really fit the entire complex. These apartments are not at the top of a hill, as the name would seem to indicate. The buildings were actually constructed on the side of a hill next to the WVU Animal Sciences Farm. I suppose "Sloping Pasture Apartments" didn't have the same ring to it.

Of course the big real estate construction on campus right now is this collection of on-campus apartments that have been given the name "Augusta on the Square." What kind of meaningless bullshit name is that? Am I supposed to think about doing geometry in Maine? And in case you're wondering, there's no part of Morgantown that's called "Augusta," and there's no square to speak of. You can't have a square on the mountainside that they shoved this complex into. Even better is the ridiculous logo (seen here) that they have for this place. Where was the chemistry department when these people decided that "Au" was the symbol for "Augusta" instead of gold?

Speaking of gold, I feel that the gold medal of misnomers must go to the new shopping plaza that's being built north of the city: "Suncrest Towne Centre." Every single word in this name is complete bullshit. I guess the old school spellings of "town" and "center" are supposed to make it seem sophisticated. The location for this soon-to-be commercial hub is in the middle of nowhere. There's no town (with an "e" or not), and there's no "centre." Also, I would be remiss if I didn't point out that Suncrest is an invented location in Morgantown as well. It's a completely meaningless term. What the hell is a suncrest? The top of the sun?

While I'm thinking of it, this whole process of adding an "e" onto every word to make it sound classy is getting a bit tired. Even Kittanning got in on the action when they named their new industrial park "Northpointe." Maybe Morgantown could freshen up its image if the city council changed the spelling to "Morgantowne." I'm dusting off my monocle already.

Invented towns always have these meaningless yuppie names with pretentious words. I guarantee that if you find yourself in a town with a words like "heights," "crest," or "pointe" in its name (usually preceded by the name of some tree: cedar, pine, chestnut, etc.), that town was probably constructed in the span of six months by a firm who has a list of words that appeal to white, upper-middle-class, suburban parents who are looking for a non-threatening, sterile, contained environment with just enough trees to provide shade for their kids' play dates.

Towns that have real character have names that sound somewhat unpleasant. Pittsburgh - sounds like something that requires a lot of deodorant. "Ford City" sounds like a place with too much car exhaust (though a simple name change to "Fjord City" could change that image). The name "Kittanning" even has character - granted we stole that character from the Indians, but it's better than something like Chestnut Heights Pointe.

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Pinnacle Height Apartments - Setting unreasonable expectations for the appearance of my domicile since 2006.

Reel Ruminations: The Hunt for Red October

"What is that?"
"That's the sound of my career slowly dying."

There are movies that I love because I think that they're well made in a legitimate sense. Then there are movies that I feel are awesome despite all logical reasoning. The Hunt for Red October falls firmly in the latter category. I don't know how many times I've watched this movie on AMC or some other cable channel on a Saturday afternoon.

Brief recap: Set during the 1980's, the movie has two parallel stories. One details how Captain Marco Ramius (Sean Connery), captain of the Soviet nuclear submarine Red October, sets out to defect from the Soviet Union and reach the United States. In the other story, CIA analyst Jack Ryan (a younger and slimmer Alec Baldwin) tries to figure out Ramius's true intentions since the Russians have convinced the US that Ramius has gone mad and plans to fire his nukes on the United States.

The movie is completely ridiculous if you stop to think about it. All the conflict in the movie is a result of the Soviets trying to stop Ramius before he reaches the United States. But the only reason the Soviets even know what Ramius is up to is because HE SENT THEM A DAMN LETTER! He told them his cunning plan.

When he tells his crew this, one of them even says, "In God's name, WHY??"

Ramius's response: "When he reached the New World, Cortez burned his ships. As a result his men were well motivated." I can come up with allegories too. Most of them involve the HMS Bounty you magnificent bearded swashbuckler. You're lucky you didn't end up with a broken vodka bottle shivved into your sternum.

Some of the crew continue to call Ramius out for his dumbass move, and I give props to the movie for recognizing this obvious MacGuffin, but that doesn't excuse the fact that it's there in the first place.

What the hell is Sean Connery doing playing this guy anyway? He doesn't even try to have a Russian accent. He still has that thick bagpipe-playing, haggis-eating accent that he always does. Granted, he does exude 12 different varieties of awesome during this movie, but it still doesn't make any sense.

Speaking of casting, our good-ol' boy Fred Thompson has a bit part as the Admiral of the USS Enterprise in this movie. I really don't think Fred Thompson plays anyone other than Fred Thompson. He's the same country-fried folksy authoritarian in everything. He suspects that nuclear war is imminent, and he says to Jack Ryan, "Well maybe you can tell me what all the hubbub's about?" Hubbub? And of course his famous, "Russians don't take a dump, son, without a plan." Hey, taking a dump without a plan can lead to one cleaning far more of the bathroom than you may have time for.

Of course, America seems to be represented by the South throughout the entire movie. You've got Freddy Thompson of course, but the captain of the US ship is also from somewhere in the South. Hell, the ship is even called the USS Dallas. Fuck Texas.

I think one of the things that makes this movie so watchable for me is that it has amazing scenes of submarine maneuvers. I have no idea how accurate they are; the only thing I know about subs is that a cold cut trio is mighty tasty. But there is a surprising amount of tension that builds from submarine battles and maneuvers. There's one scene that milks about five minutes of tension out of the Red October making a right-hand turn.

If you get a chance, watch this movie. The characters are likable, the battle sequences are taut, and it's a lot of fun - ridiculous flaws and all.

"You arrogant ass! You've killed us." - Russian underling to the evil Russian captain just before their sub blows up.

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Sean Connery - Masterfully portraying Sean Connery on screen for 53 years.

Go Mountaineers! (Seriously, Just Go)

DARWIN: 1 - - - MOUNTAINEERS: 0

On Sunday, my friend Dave had a bachelor party (planned, in part, by me) where we went down to the Waterfront in Pittsburgh, and it was loads of fun. We went to a comedy club to see Rich Vos and then went to a Japanese Hibachi Grill. We thoroughly made spectacles of ourselves in both places. After watching a friend try to pick up our Ukrainian waitress and witnessing our chef squirt enough vodka into the mouth of another friend to drown a Cossack, we headed over to a bar called Bar Louie's.

At the comedy club, we were made aware that a bachelorette party was taking place there as well. As luck would have it, this group made its way to Bar Louie's as well. Some of my friends started talking to them (some with clearer intentions than others). I decided to keep my distance. The night was going well - I didn't need to bring the rejection of a woman into the mix to bring the night down. I can do that anywhere.

All was going well until I noticed my friends yelling and pointing in my direction as the women looked at me. Not used to this kind of positive attention from the opposite sex, I went over.
Dave: "Hey JP!! This girl goes to WVU!"
Me: "Oh yea? What year are you?"
Woman: "I'm a faculty member in the pharmacy department."
Me (in my usual joking sarcastic tone): "Oh! So you're on the good side of campus!"
Woman (giving me a scowl): "It's all good!"
I start to get bad vibes at this point. This woman has too good of an opinion of WVU.
Woman: "Did you go to the football game yesterday?"
Me: "No"
Woman: "Did you watch it on TV?"
I could have lied. I could have said, "Yes! I'm a big Mountaineer fan," but that subterfuge would only have lasted for about a minute. "Oh? Who's your favorite player?" "Oh it's, um, Chuck..... Steak...?" So I went with the truth.
Me (feeling like a gay loser): "No"
Woman: "You are a Mountaineer aren't you?"
Me: "Technically I suppose I am."

She gave me a look like I'd just jiggled by bare belly at her while screaming "Show Papa Bear some lovin!" She then turned her back on me and the conversation was over.

Am I really the only straight man alive who doesn't give a shit about football? I mean, I can enjoy a game if it's one. I had great times at the Penn State football games out at State College. But I really don't watch football by myself.

But I don't think football was the only problem. This woman seemed extremely dissatisfied with my negative attitude toward WVU. It's hard to explain my anti-Dub-V attitude. If I had come here for my undergrad, I would have had a blast. There are so many fun things to do. The communal atmosphere among the undergrads seems to be fantastic. Hell, even the undergrad English classes are far superior to grad classes.

I'm currently at the #1 party school in America, and I'm too fucking busy to enjoy it. Even when I have free time, there's such a bizarre disconnect between undergrads and grad students. It feels creepy to drink with them sometimes.

Never mind the pain and misery that comes naturally with grad school. All of that negative energy seems to bleed into my feelings toward West Virginia University as a whole. I have six hours of grad classes on Tuesday nights (two 3-hour classes), and by 10pm on Tuesdays, I feel like I want to experience that cool breeze on my brain that only a hatchet to the face can provide.

I'm taking this class about Old English (a class that deserves its own blog post in the future), and the book feels like it was written by John Cleese after smoking enough crank to take down a small blue whale. The guy skips around topics and then says "If you speak German, you'll feel right at home with this," the implied message there being, "If you don't speak German, you will be Grendel-fucked in a manner that would make Hrothgar cry."

So to the woman who thought I was a complete waste of flesh for not loving WVU football:
1. My ill-will toward the school has more to do with grad school than anything else.

2. WVU is a shithole anyway. "Party school" is just a euphemism for "severe substance abuse locale," and most of this place should be (and parts already have been) condemned.

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WVU Mountaineers - Arrogance and self-importance tempered with the promise of self-inflicted deaths related to arson.