I’m an asshole

I’ve known this for some time, understand. I vaguely recall my mother being the first to name me a smartass – a similar, yet somewhat elevated, example of the breed. No doubt others had appended the label to me behind my back, but that was the first time I’d been forcibly made aware of it. Her saying it with a smile rather than a scowl took away any sting, and so began my lifetime affair with sarcasm.

Sometimes I take great delight in having been slotted into that particular cubbyhole, wielding it as some sort of writ giving leave to engage in outlandish or crude manners, apathetic toward any perceived social stigma – indeed, raising it from mere gutter commonality to a sort of Art, dependent on quick thinking and some breadth and depth of knowledge. Other times, I cringe when my mouth bypasses my mores and engages in that sort of cutting verbal repartee just as my brain is recognizing its crass inappropriateness. All that’s to do at that point is apologize and hope it will be seen as a wayward witticism - not intended, and obviously not to be repeated.

Knowing my propensity for engaging in asinine behavior, I try to channel it into acceptable means of expression such as my writing, where it can be foisted off on some hapless character, who will then bear the brunt of scorn and enmity rightfully mine. Another valve is listening to obnoxious music at high volume. This tends to happen mostly when I’m alone in the car. Even so, I keep the volume down until I am out of residential areas, unless I know for a fact that no one is home.

As is the case in my neighborhood.

Coming from downtown, you turn right off of a central street to get to my house. The road you’re now on goes from commercial to residential very quickly. To your right is a graveyard; to your left, a bank followed by two empty houses, then the street upon which corner sits my home. The two houses immediately behind us are empty as well, and our closest neighbors all work days. Understandably, I felt fairly comfortable in cranking the volume up to absurd levels as I was returning from a recent outing.

The oppressive humidity had finally broken, and as it was cooler than it had been, all windows were down and the moonroof open as I enjoyed a few choice selections from a Goth Metal band. These were not your dreary, all-is-hopeless Emo-esque Goths, nor the ephemeral all-this-is-but-fleeting-so-celebrate-the-moment-with-these-odd-harmonics Goths. No. These were paganistic power-chord shock Goths, idealizing Death and emotional pain, with a large helping of sex in the backbeat. I topped the slight rise, letting the wails and groans carry me the last few dozen yards to my driveway.

Remember the graveyard across the street? Yep. There was a funeral going on.

There’s no real way to justify that as being anything other than the grossest intrusion, and I’m a champion at rationalization. You can’t even apologize for it without compounding the damage.

So I’m an asshole.






Speaking of the graveyard:

There’s a walking path that winds through the shadier spots. Its upkeep is underwritten by a nearby funeral home, and there are a couple of signs to that effect. These signs give the length of the path, note a couple of rules, thank the funeral home, and have a little motto:

Enjoy the Journey

I love it. The unspoken “Because you’ll end up here no matter what” really makes it a much more introspective stroll.

Of Popcorn and Prescriptions

I saw an article noting that prominent Hindus are all up in arms about The Love Guru. They want Paramount to create a video and booklet about Hinduism, and distribute them along with the DVD when it’s released “to counter the gross misrepresentations in the film.”

As of last week, the movie has made $29,427,850. The average ticket price in the US right now is $7.08, so slightly more than four million people have seen this movie. The random comments on IMDB – “Self-indulgent mess”, “R.I.P. Mike Myers’ Career”, and “It was painful” – suggest that those people are bleaching their brains just to get any residue out of their long-term memory. Rotten Tomatoes ranks it at a 15% “Freshness” (for comparison, Police Academy 6 is ranked at 0%, and Airplane! at 100%).

I think it would be cheaper and easier for Paramount just to issue a blanket apology for the film having been made at all.

I didn’t see The Love Guru because I saw the trailer, and have standards. This also applies to the upcoming Will Ferrell “comedy” Step Brothers. People actually laughed at his lowest-common-denominator shtick when the trailer was shown before Hellboy 2 (which is at least an order of magnitude better than its prequel), reinforcing my belief that people are sheep and society is doomed. This is the same character that Ferrell plays in all his movies: a grown man acting childlike. “Childlike” in this context meaning: moronic. I am horrified that he has been chosen to play Rick Marshall in the upcoming Land of the Lost movie. Actually, I’m horrified that there is an upcoming Land of the Lost movie, but to cast Ferrell, whose only connection to it is that he played Federal Wildlife Marshal Willenholly in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back is ridiculous. It was a brilliant in-joke that gave somebody a moronic idea.

Of course, this is Hollywood, where moronic ideas are the status quo. Usually in the form of remakes. In addition to the aforementioned Land of the Lost next year, we can expect 2010 to bring us Robocop, The Warriors,and Red Dawn. This Christmas, we’ll get treated to Keanu Reeves in The Day the Earth Stood Still. We’re being punished for something, evidently.

One remake that I did enjoy was Get Smart. The writers tipped their hats to the original series, established the break between the two, then went off and did their own thing. I’m also looking forward to Death Race. Ostensibly a remake of the mid-70s Death Race 2000, it makes absolutely no pretense of being anything other than a fluffy popcorn flick with cool explosions, sexy women, and Jason Statham kicking ass. It is so secure in its movie manliness, it gives away central plot points in the trailer, knowing we’ll go see it anyway.

In other media-related ranting, I’ve been watching a smattering of television lately since we have cable again, but I don’t think that’ll last much longer. I’ve become increasingly annoyed at commercials in general, and drug commercials in particular. It really grates on my nerves that the drug companies spend approximately ten seconds giving a general overview of what their product is for (Mnemosynil – when you can’t remember why you’re taking medicine), and the next three minutes reading the “possible side effects” page from the prescription pamphlet. I kind of think of that as being the responsibility of the doctor and/or pharmacist. It’s not like I can go into the store and get this stuff without a prescription, so presumably, some sort of medical professional will weigh whether or not I should be taking it before giving it to me, accessing the exact same information. Why does this need to be in the commercial? This is the reason an “hour-long” show lasts for forty-two minutes anymore.

I also saw a commercial for a headache remedy that used a timer to illustrate how fast their product works. They claim 15 minutes, but I noticed the timer was counting the seconds from 00 to 99. That’s an extra forty seconds per minute, which tacks on an additional ten minutes. If you lack the basic sense to be able to tell time, I’m not so sure I want to use anything that comes from your labs, which generally require finely-calibrated machinery and precise chemical measuring. I’ll just deal with the headache, thanks.

Television has too much of a bread-and-circuses vibe for me to stomach much of it. I was looking at the channel guide recently, and in one two-hour block, there were ten shows listed. Seven of these were reality shows, two were different episodes of the same crime drama series, and one was an investigative news show. Really, people. Seven reality shows? Come on; you’re not even trying anymore. Just roll them all into one show (America’s Got Talent when it’s Dancing with the Next Top Idol Survivor!), put it on its own channel, and leave the rest of us alone. Watching these shows is the modern equivalent of visiting the geek tent at the local fair, or paying sixpence to stare at the inmates at the insane asylum. It’s sad to watch these contestants with their delusions of competence. They’re just average people with average talent. Nothing special. But everybody acts as if they are. They’re like bloggers who think their thoughts and opinions are interesting to anybody other than themselves and a few close friends.

Wait…