That's Not How We Do It Down In Delaware

Other Writing

2011-01-11T05:47:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned that I write music reviews for 411mania? Well, I write music reviews, and they can be read at 411mania.com.

No, really.

http://www.411mania.com/user_profile.php?user_id=5288

And that's not counting my frequent contributions to the Top 5 columns.

Go me.

Review Of "He Was A Quiet Man"

2010-11-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

It wasn't too long ago that enjoying an independent film required accepting a few cut corners. It certainly wasn't the place to go to see state-of-the-art computer generated visuals, or to even see complicated camera work. ("Clerks" was released sixteen years ago, but putting it up against the "modern independent film" (urgh), it feels more like forty.) To make an independent film was to make something that the major studios wouldn't touch and the minor studios could not afford to bet their existence on. They were strange, in other words, and possibly a little too personal.

In certain aspects, "He Was A Quiet Man" feels like a throwback to the original spirit of independent films: it contains an unsettling story, too dark for most studios wanting to put bank on it, but it is consistently quirky enough to make it through watching at least one time. There are also enough baffling choices by the filmmakers that keep this from being the classic that could have been.

The film revolves around Bob Maconel, played by Christian Slater under a lot of makeup (and yet somehow still looks like the 80's icon). Bob is a headcase, hopeless romantic, and matchstick artist all rolled into one. As part of his workday routine, he loads a revolver at his cubicle, counting off and naming each of his victims, before chickening out and resuming his work. In a series of quick coincidences, though, he ends up looking like a hero when he kills another coworker who goes postal before Bob can. Suddenly, Bob has to cope with being happy with his social standing after years of misery, a task that proves much more difficult than his previous miserable existence. On top of that, a cute coworker shooting victim, Venessa Parks (played by Elisha Cuthbert, of "Old School", "The Girl Next Door", and the television series "24" fame), has an unusual request for Bob.

It's best to start with what this film does well, because the final score is heavily offset by its devastating flaws despite doing a lot of things right. To begin with, "He Was A Quiet Man" does not look like an independent film. The writer/director, Frank Cappello, is an accomplished CGI artist, and was able to offset the budget for the special effects by doing them himself. This allows for shots of airplanes, potty-mouthed goldfish, and an entire alternate ending sequence that required no extra participation from the actors after filming wrapped. With the majority of independent films willing to use any workarounds they can for fantastical images, it is refreshing to see a film not use any and just show off its imagination. The color schemes for each scene are also sharp and distinct. It's not on par with "One Hour Photo", but it's better than most films, indie or not.

The performance that the cast gives exceeds expectations, at the very least. Slater plays Bob perfectly--an unsettling presence when he needs to be, but also likable enough to feel for the character when the story requires as much. The bigger revelation, though, might actually be Cuthbert. Though often cast as a pretty face and/or the object of lust, she is actually a very energetic and interesting person with a lot of untapped potential, judging by sit-down interviews she has done (including keeping up with Conan O'Brien at his manic peak). The role of Venessa requires her to play the role of a optimistic blond as well as a pessimistic quadriplegic, and she rises to both occasions. This isn't the kind of movie to look for future Oscar winners, but Cuthbert shows that she deserves meatier roles than she usually gets, if nothing else. The rest of the cast is made up of office stereotypes and suburban WASP-types, with the exception of William H. Macy as the company boss, who manages to simultaneously inspire hatred and laughter from the audience (intentionally) with every line despite never raising his voice and never telling a joke. He's a snake-oil salesman, and nobody is fooled by his act, which is why the character works.

With all this going for it, "He Was A Quiet Man" might sound like an underappreciated classic. The few flaws that the film has, though, are almost fatal. The biggest issue is that it can't decide what it wants to be. It begins as "Taxi Driver", changes to "Queen For A Day" in the middle, and the last third resembles "Donnie Darko". Granted, each section of the movie works well enough in their own vacuums, but the final third rings false after a great second act. Cuthbert and Slater have a warped chemistry that works very well--too well, in fact, as the romance between their characters ends up being more interesting than Bob's psychology. The turn that the film makes in its last twenty minutes feels tacked on and predictable--incalculably harmful for a film that had been unpredictable up until this point.

That's not taking into account the ending of the film, which almost destroys the worth of the film. I'll avoid spoilers, but suffice it to say that the ending is such a confusing mess that I had to watch the movie again with the director's commentary on to figure out what had happened. It turns out that he was attempting to cram a series finale's worth of tied-up plot points and deus ex machina into about 2 minutes. The ending he eventually decided on is better than either of the 2 alternate endings presented on the DVD, but that is faint praise.

Cappello admits that there was a long period of time between writing the film and the film's production, and that he respected his original script the same way that he would respect a script written by someone else. That is a brave decision, and one that is hard to fault, but much of the film's worst flaws could have been fixed with extensive rewriting. As it is, the film's end feels like it occurs about 65 minutes into it, which is a problem since it is actually 90 minutes long. If I were to rework it, the film's second act would have been extended by 15 minutes, and the film's third act would have either been excised or rewritten to the point of being unrecognizable. In the end, the film does lots of little things right. It is just unfortunate that it does a few big things wrong.

Score (out of 100): 59

Review Of "Shenmue 2"

2010-09-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

The Dreamcast is on the list of things that I need to buy when I have the money, time, and stability to start spending money on things that will make me happy (you know, after I make my first $1 million). It was a fast console that had a library games with gorgeous graphics and unique gameplay. In the summer of 1999, while I was visiting my late grandfather’s place in Florida, I played a demo of “Sonic Adventure” that was on display for 90 minutes—a full 85 minutes longer than anyone was supposed to use it. I got death glares as I walked away.

The game that got the most praise from the press (not the fake gaming press, who only come around when video games become really popular or when a video game fanatic commits a massacre) was “Shenmue”, which I never got to play because I was stuck with a Nintendo 64 and a PlayStation 2. (Poor me, I know.) The game was advertised as having a wide variety of gameplay, stunning visuals even when compared to other Dreamcast games, and an absurd level of detail. On a system that housed two 3D Sonic games worth a damn, the definitive version of arguably the greatest skateboarding game of all time, and fucking “Soul Caliber”, “Shenmue” was considered to be the Dreamcast’s killer app.

The Dreamcast failed, but that was Sega’s fault; after the 32x, Sega CD, and the Saturn, they had lost the trust of their audience, who were more than willing to wait for the PS2 and skip the Dreamcast. “Shenmue”’s sequel, “Shenmue 2”, was eventually ported to Microsoft’s Xbox console, with better graphics and fewer discs. It was initially hailed as being a better game than “Shenmue”. “Shenmue 2”’s praise, then, could be considered most of the reason why I don’t listen to many video game critics.

The story of “Shenmue” is a simple revenge story, so leave it to Sega’s crack team of crackheads to tell it in extremely confusing fashion. To be fair, “Shenmue 2” comes packaged with a 90-minute DVD of cutscenes from the first game detailing the plot, as well as a 20-minute summary of the first game on “Shenmue 2”’s actual game disc, so it can’t be said that there isn’t an attempt to get you caught up on the events of the first game. The story going into “2” is that Ryo (you) witness the murder of your father at the hands of Lan Di, who believed that your father screwed him over many years ago. Even worse, he took your father’s mirror (yes, this is placed on the same pedestal as your father’s murder). You drop out of school in order to pursue revenge. In your investigation, you find another mirror that looks significant (I imagine that there was something long-term planned here). Also, you learn that Lan Di has left Japan and has traveled to China. When “2” begins, you are under instructions to seek out Master Lishao Tao, who apparently has connections to both your father and Lan Di.

While there wasn’t a North American Dreamcast version of “2” produced, it’s not hard to say that the Xbox version looks better. Unlike Dreamcast ports of other games (“Grandia 2” to the PS2 springs to mind), the Xbox doesn’t suffer from any stuttering or blocky characters; it runs the game at the speed on the original console, with the visuals actually cleaned up a bit. Unfortunately, the game’s artistic end of the visuals doesn’t take advantage of those technical capabilities. Most of your time will be spent in or in-between gray buildings, which lend a sort of depressed feeling to the game. The game looks best when it is rendering nature, but it is dead-set on having you stick to marketplaces and industrial areas—in effect, it is doing the exact opposite of what it is best at, which could be considered the real story of the game. Character models are about what you’d expect from a game made ten years ago—the more important the character, the better they look.

The sound of the game is underwhelming, to be generous. The soundtrack is repetitive, but individual tracks set the mood well, making you feel as though you’re immersed in Chinese culture. The audio for the voice acting, to be generous again, is fucking atrocious. There is a distinct hiss that begins and ends with each line, as though their lines were put on tape and then fed through a trial version of low-end mixing software. I’ve played adventure games from 1993 that had better fidelity than “2”. To make matter worse, the actual acting is terrible. Every line sounds as though it was done in one take and the actor was given his/her script only a minute before it was recorded. It made me wish for an option to play the game in its original Japanese with English subtitles, but unfortunately, there was no such option available. This doesn’t even include the major disconnect with having obviously-Caucasian actors voicing obviously-Asian characters, but all things considered, that might be the least of the game’s problems.

You control Ryo from a third-person perspective behind him most of the time, but controlling him is a chore. Ryo can seemingly only turn when he is already in motion, as if he were a rusty grocery cart. If you are trying to go down a path that is directly to one of your sides, good luck reaching it without walking into a wall. Though you are often required to travel long distances to reach objectives, there isn’t a convenient map system in place (you have to buy maps that you can access when you pause the game), and it is often easier to just walk up to a pedestrian and ask them to lead the way to your destination. It is slow and insulting, but at least you’ll get there, which is a remote possibility when trying to get there by yourself. It isn’t helped by everything holding distinctly Chinese names. As long as you are localizing everything else, you might as well change the names to something that I can pronounce without having to hear the names said out loud first.

Making progress in the game is flawed. Ryo does not have a source of income for himself, so he takes odd jobs in order to make enough money to get to the next area of the game. In most games, doing jobs for money lets you use that money for powerups or equipment to better your character. Here, it is used to open up new areas. You are specifically told that you can only enter “that place” when you get $1,000. This wouldn’t be a problem if the games were interesting and engaging, but the games featuring you moving boxes around controls worse than when Ryo is just walking across town, with the other option having you host games of luck, which are advertised as games of skill for some reason. Seeing as how the games of luck will get you more money, you’ll likely spend a lot of time standing by a stupid Lucky Hit board, hoping that somebody stops and plays your game, and then hoping that nobody visits your booth after you’ve made something close to resembling a healthy profit. On top of all of this money grinding, you are given an ongoing timer. “Shenmue 2” only supports a set amount of time for you to complete the game, and if you take too long, you won’t be able to complete it. Granted, you are given so much time that you’ll likely never actually run out unless you make a concentrated effort to fail (making me wonder why there’s even a timer in the first place), but with the story’s built-in urgency, the games feel like a waste of time that happen to be mandatory. Sure, this is likely the best way for a person in real life with limited resources to travel from country to country, but I don’t play video games to do boring stuff that I could be doing in real life.

The real gameplay draw is the combat and the QuickTime Events. QuickTime Events, or “QTE” as they are called by nerds, are sequences in which the game tells you to press specific buttons quickly in order to make progress in a scene. These scenes are handled well, but the variety of the QTEs is ill-explained or hinted at. At one point, the QTE flashes a set of instructions in a matter differently than had been laid out before—making the sound of a sharp sword being unsheathed, followed by a flash of instructions—and it took me ten tries to figure out that I wasn’t supposed to wait for the instructions to finish flashing before pressing buttons. The combat is similar to that found in “Virtua Fighter”—quick encounters, focusing strictly on hand-to-hand, with minimal button presses. The game’s pacing kills these sequences, though. I actually counted two whole hours of gameplay between fights, and after a great chase scene near the beginning, QTEs didn’t make an appearance for almost as long. The time in between having fun was spent on explaining the plot, which consisted of a character saying “I think DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT is hiding at Genericwarehouse2!”, and Ryo responding “Then I should probably go find DudewhosenamebeginswiththeletterT. He is at Genericwarehouse2.” Granted, this kind of writing was par for course in 2001, but considering how some people refer to this game as the greatest of all time, I’m left spellbound at how boring 37.5 of my 40 hours spent on the game were.

But, oh, those last 2.5 hours. Eventually, the game gets its shit together and pits you in one awesome sequence after another. You can barely catch your breath before the next scene starts, which offers new challenges. Fights can be avoided through sneaking, but at this point, that doesn’t sound like a punishment. A boss fight occurs, and it is actually difficult. Then, when the game should be rolling its credits, you are treated to a beautiful epilogue set in nature, allowing the game the chance to look good for more than two seconds for a change (fields of grass and everything). Sure, it ends on an unnecessary cliffhanger, but it was a fun ride until then.

Honestly, if the last 2.5 hours weren’t as good as they were, I wouldn’t feel bad in referring to this game as one of the worst games I’ve ever played. As it is, I feel bad calling it a disappointment. The game’s presentation is faulty, the game’s story is overly simplistic (though you’ll likely get confused due to the lack of localization for the names and the nicknames that each character has), and you’ll spend more time hoping to progress than actually making progress. It is at its best when it remembers that it is a video game, which are rare moments sprinkled throughout until the last 2.5 hours. The entire “Shenmue” concept is strange, too. It is a story of revenge, so you know how the ongoing story is going to end before you’ve even finished the first game, but the “Shenmue” series was planned to span several video games and comic books. That the planned “Shenmue 3” has never seen the light of day is little surprise, but in case it ever actually gets made, I’m going to spoil it for you: Ryo is going to kick Lan Di’s head in. Shocker, I know.

Score (out of 100): 43

Downey's "Classics" Presents: This Poem Was Not Written By Gertrude Stein

2010-09-10T15:02:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Veni Vidi BuKAW

2010-09-06T16:05:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Review of LCD Soundsystem's "Sound Of Silver"

2010-09-03T14:00:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Old Review of "The Re-Up" by Eminem and Most Everyone Signed To Aftermath At The Time The Album Was Released

2010-08-31T16:05:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Letter Ta Bin

2010-08-25T17:59:00.000-07:00

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is an e-mail he made along with a mix CD for a friend. Enjoy.

"Letter Ta Bin"
by John Downey

(Tracklisting, without commentary, is at the bottom.)

1.) “They’re All Gonna Laugh @ You”, Atmosphere

Atmosphere is a hip-hop/emo-rap duo from Minnesota. Slug is the rapper, Ant does the production (i.e., the sounds that Slug raps over). At first, Slug was a great rapper with a crappy flow and Ant was a piece of shit producer. Then Slug’s cadence started to get better while his rhymes started to suffer, while Ant slowly became the greatest producer in emo-rap. This song is taken from the sweet spot in Atmosphere’s career: when Ant showed that he had something going for him, and when Slug hadn’t become totally populist*.

2.) “Drumsticks”, Doomtree

Doomtree is made up of, like, 9 members, 4 of which are producers. I won’t bother listing them all, since even I don’t care about all of them, and I like Doomtree. I’ll single out 2 of them for you, though, because I’m probably going to go apeshit over their work in the near-future, since they both have albums coming out in early 2009. The first is Dessa, who separates herself from the rest of the group by (a) being a female rapper and (b) being damn fucking good at rapping. (On another song off of Doomtree’s self-titled album, she spends 3 minutes ripping shit up in every possible way that an emcee can, including rapping in Spanish. The song’s called “Sadie Hawkins”, if you want to look it up. Or maybe I’ll just put it on the inevitable celebratory graduation mix CD.) The other one is P.O.S., whose previous album, “Audition”, I once referred to as one of the greatest punk albums of the past couple of years, despite being a rap album. He’s…good. He rhymes after Dessa, and he’s the only other member of the group I can be arsed to single out. It’s a problem that plagues the entire album; it’s good, but without being able to single out individual members for their contributions, it all feels so anonymous.

3.) “Paranoid Android”, Radiohead

Jarring transition in the mix, but file this one under “songs you need to own”. One website I read compared this song to “Bohemian Rhapsody”, and then said that “Rhapsody” is an inferior song. I won’t go that far (hell, I will flat-out disagree with that conclusion), but I can see how somebody would make the mistake of saying that. Easily one of the best songs of the 90’s.

4.) “N.Y. State Of Mind”, Nas

Jarring transition in the mix, but file this one under “songs you need to own”. Easily one of the best songs of the 90’s. (Huh. I could have sworn I already said that.) Since I don’t have any relevant commentary on this song, I will now point out that “Drumsticks”, “Paranoid”, and “N.Y.” were all sequenced as the 2nd track on their respective albums. On top of that, 2 of these songs were actually the first proper song on those album (“Paranoid” being the only song that was actually preceded by a song). I don’t know what the significance of that is.

5.) “Inherited Scars (live version)”, Sage Francis

Sage Francis used to write all sorts of awesome songs. Then his cadence got better, but his songs started to suck*. That’s why I love his live album, “Road Tested”. It was recorded after Sage learned how to rap properly, but he is covering the best songs in his catalog, “Inherited Scars” being among them. Also, no samples (cuz I know how much you hate samples); this was recorded using actual instruments. My only complaint is that Sage does a little call-and-response throughout, but the crowd isn’t good enough to catch all of it. I mean, they’re pretty good, but when Sage goes, “What’s with the choice of words”, the crowd is supposed to respond with, “And the body parts you decided to tag them on?” I can’t hear them say that. Urgh.

6.) “Born To Run”, Bruce Springsteen

Another “song you must own”. Irrelevant commentary: Springsteen spent 6 months writing this song. Even more irrelevant commentary: when my mom was flipping through radio stations and came across this song, I ordered her to keep it on the station, then proceeded to sing along with all of the beauty of a dog asserting his authority to all other nearby mutts in the neighborhood. I have never heard my mom laugh that hard at my own shortcomings before.

7.) “Explosivo”, Tenacious D

Some people don’t like Springsteen. Some even call him “the Devil”. Well, how about a song WHERE THE DEVIL ACTUALLY SHOWS UP?! YEAH! ROCK’N’ROLL, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

8.) “Devil’s Pie”, D’Angelo

Yeah, uh, from Satan summoning to “Devil’s Pie”. I’m witty. It’s also the start of a 3 song set of J Dilla-influenced music. J Dilla was a hip-hop producer from Detroit who made soul music (not just hip-hop songs that sampled “soul music”, but shit that actually had SOUL. Like, James Brown type of shit). During the recording of “Voodoo”, the album on which “Devil’s Pie” appears (on the SECOND TRACK!), J Dilla would should up in D’Angelo’s studio and show off stuff that he was working with Erykah Badu on. The second J Dilla would leave the studio, D’Angelo’s producers said, “We need to do exactly what he did, but with live instruments.”

9.) “Give The Drummer Sum”, Black Milk

Actually, this song is not very Dilla-like at all. I mean, Dilla’s signature siren can faintly be heard before the drums come in, but after that…holy shit. Black Milk worked with Dilla in the rap group Slum Village, but this is so far beyond any Dillaness that…fuck it, this shit is so sick, it’s actually kind of disgusting. Black Milk is a shitty rapper (great cadence, but he ain’t got shit to say)*, but I could fart on this track and it would sound fantastic.

10.) “Love”, J Dilla featuring Pharaohe Monch

And here’s the man himself. This was actually released on his first posthumous album (he died of lupus in early 2006), but I’ve heard that 75% of that album was completed by the time he died, with this song being the most Dillatastic track on it. Here’s another story about Dilla: ?uestlove says in the liner notes of this album that people would actually call Dilla on the phone with a tape recorder ready to go, and when Dilla’s voicemail kicked in, they would hit “record”, since Dilla often left hints of what he was working on as his voicemail message. That’s fucking sweet.

11.) “Clint Eastwood”, Gorillaz

The sound of so many middle-school dances, right here. Another “song you must own”, though I will admit that this is probably the least-essential song that I’m giving that label to. Oh, and a new Gorillaz album is coming out soon, according to stuff I’ve read online. Remember, it’s been 4 years since the last Gorillaz album, which was released 4 years after the previous Gorillaz album. Gotta love bands that release new material on such a consistent timetable.

12.) “Dang”, Buck 65

I preferred Buck’s work when he sounded like Elmo (I heard from somewhere that he was actually employed by Sesame Workshop as the voice for “rapping Elmo”, but I haven’t been able to confirm that anywhere, though I can confirm that he performed a song called “Grocery Store Rap” on the show), and also when Buck stuck to making hip-hop stuck in the present day. This is one of the better tracks from his most recent album that is stuck in the 1950’s. The first proper song on the album is called “1957”, and it starts off by quoting Ginsberg’s “Howl” but then proceeds to list off a couple of things that didn’t happen in ’57 alongside a whole bunch of things that did happen in ’57. Also, “Dang” has a better beat.

13.) “Good Friday”, Why?

I’ve almost put this song on so many mix CD’s, but all it takes is for me to listen to the first line of the song to know that the person I plan on giving the mix to is not going to appreciate it. The rest wouldn’t understand the humor in this song. I’m not sure that you’ll understand it either, but I’m pretty sure that you’ll still laugh.

14.) “Pigeon”, Cannibal Ox

This is the dorkiest inclusion on this mix, for reasons that are so very obscure. Here goes: I was looking through a list of samples used throughout the album that this song appears on, “The Cold Vein”, to see just what kinds of jazz El-P, the producer of the album, used to create his vision of a cold world. (El-P is the son of a jazz musician, which is a fact that makes sense when you look at how some of his songs are structured, and also makes no sense, since El-P makes rap in the vein of Public Enemy.) There’s some clear irony in what he used as samples—“The F-Word” samples “All Night Long”, “Painkillers” samples “Love And Happiness” (okay that one doesn’t fit but it’s funny to me!)—but “Pigeon” contains a sample that actually made me start laughing out loud. See, “Pigeon” contains a sample from a song by jazz bassist Jaco Pastorius. This song, I’ve learned, is now a bass guitar standard, with covers existing by several other famous bass players. The name of this song? “Portrait of Tracy”**. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of this song, so I figured a song that sampled it would suffice. Like I said, dorky.

15.) “B.O.B.”, Outkast

“Song you must own”. I just can’t think of any other 5-minute long, momentum generating rap songs with 2 emcees who complete their verses halfway through the song. And has a guitar solo.

16.) “Sing-Along”, David Cross

This is funny. ’Nuff said.

17.) “Wamp Wamp”, The Clipse featuring Slim Thug

This beat probably shouldn’t exist in this universe. It’s so dark. And cool. And, like, damn. I raved about this album when it came out 2 years ago, but it sold like shit. That happens with most music that I like.

18.) “(Nothing But) Flowers”, Talking Heads

I have completely forgotten why I put this song on the mix. It’s a great song; that’s all I can use to justify its place here. I might be starting to lose it.

19.) “Locusts”, Invincible featuring Finale

In the main event of the Ring Of Honor show, “Bedlam In Beantown”, Kevin Steen wrestled Necro Butcher in a Boston Massacre match. There was no real interest in this match (before it started, anyway); people were paying their $20 for this show mostly to see the American debut of a flashy Japanese wrestler, and to see an ROH World Heavyweight Title match, which is almost always a good time. In a press release before the show, though, ROH informed its fans that they would be putting the Boston Massacre match on last so that anyone who wouldn’t want to see it could leave before the match started without missing the rest of the show. That’s kind of what I’m doing here. This song is kind of depressing, so you can listen to the entire rest of this mix in a good mood and then not listen to this song (even though it would have fit in with the Dilla trilogy perfectly). Since it’s the best original song I’ve heard this year, though, I wouldn’t recommend it.

1.) “They’re All Gonna Laugh @ You”, Atmosphere
2.) “Drumsticks”, Doomtree
3.) “Paranoid Android”, Radiohead
4.) “N.Y. State Of Mind”, Nas
5.) “Inherited Scars (live version)”, Sage Francis
6.) “Born To Run”, Bruce Springsteen
7.) “Explosivo”, Tenacious D
8.) “Devil’s Pie”, D’Angelo
9.) “Give The Drummer Sum”, Black Milk
10.) “Love”, J Dilla featuring Pharaohe Monch
11.) “Clint Eastwood”, Gorillaz
12.) “Dang”, Buck 65
13.) “Good Friday”, Why?
14.) “Pigeon”, Cannibal Ox
15.) “B.O.B.”, Outkast
16.) “Sing-Along”, David Cross
17.) “Wamp Wamp”, The Clipse featuring Slim Thug
18.) “(Nothing But) Flowers”, Talking Heads
19.) “Locusts”, Invincible featuring Finale

*: In retrospect, that's a bit harsh.
**: The joke is that my friend's name is Tracey.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: I Laugh At Innocence

2010-08-24T15:56:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: This note is a long OOOOOOOOH, CHEESEBURGERZ!

2010-08-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

JAY: WHERE DA G'S?!
JOHN: Jay! My older brother! What are you doing here?
JAY: Looking for the next girl that's gonna scream "OH JIMMY!", that's what. What are you doing here?
JOHN: I'm making a speech to my huddled masses.
JAY: Ummmmmm...there's nobody here.
JOHN: My audience is the Internet.
JAY: Urgh. Hold on.
(takes long puff from blunt)
JAY: Okay, assface, what's the problem this time?
JOHN: I got put in only once dance for Dance Company, when I wanted to get put into three dances. My solution is to inflict much physical and emotional harm onto the E-Board.
JAY: Okay, first off, fuckface, are you sure that it was the E-Board's decision as to who would end up in which dance?
JOHN: Actually, I'm pretty sure that they had very little to do with the casting. The choreographer for each dance selected which people he or she wanted for their dances.
JAY: So where does the E-Board come in?
JOHN: When I don't get put in 3 dances.
JAY: Shitface, maybe only one choreographer wanted you in their dance.
JOHN: So?
JAY: SO WHERE DOES THE E-BOARD COME IN?!
JOHN: It's evil. It's injust. It inconveniences me. Smells like E-Board to me.
JAY: "Inconveniences" you? By making you concentrate on only one dance this semester?
JOHN: Jay, look--
JAY: Shut up, cuntface. Get your fucking facts straight, and think about the importance of this semester's performance before you go back onto your dick-wagging celebration.
JOHN: You mean the fact that the MCLA Dance Company is going to perform at Mass MoCa, the largest museum for contemporary visual art and performing arts in the country?
JAY: Yeah. You think that maybe they don't want just the ones who are willing, but are also ABLE?
JOHN: Oh shit. You're starting to make sense.
JAY: Damn straight, cockface. Hell, I would imagine that some people wouldn't be put in any dances, period. Wouldn't surprise me one bit.
JOHN: But--
JAY: AND LOOK AT YOU! You're a white boy with two left feet! You should be thankful that they don't fire you out of a cannon during intermission! People might actually take pictures of you if they do that!
JOHN: Speak for yourself, pumpkinhead.
JAY: Speaking of which, what's the song you're going to be dancing to?
JOHN: Well, it's so cool, I'm not even going to tell you.
(pause)
JAY: Ba bah. Bwa bah ba, ba....
(takes long drag from blunt)
JAY: Much better. Look, be thankful for what you've got, and stop cursing out people for looking out for your best interests. And where's my fucking Thursday shirt?
JOHN: I don't know.
JAY: Ah, fuck it. I'm gonna go watch "Gilmore Girls" on DVD.
(exit Jay Downey)
JOHN: Well....ummm...
(long pause)
JOHN: JEFF HARDY FOR PRESIDENT!
(long pause)
(John gets off of stool, and picks it up.)
JOHN: Quaseem's going to want this back soon...
(exit John)

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Can I Ghostwrite for Killer Cam

2010-08-20T17:18:00.000-07:00

Psychics suck

2010-08-19T16:29:00.000-07:00

My e-mail inbox is stuffed with crap. It's the bad side of having a shitton of free space. Here is one of the many e-mails I have received from psychics, which have been consistent since I signed up for one as part of a joke in 2004.

"Dear John,

I've written you twice before about a completely unique way to fulfill your fondest wishes and find the everlasting spiritual comfort you deserve. John, I’m concerned I haven't heard back from you yet. Have you received my previous letters? I really don’t want you to miss out on such a simple and rare opportunity to put your wishes into action and your worries to bed. So please read on.

So often in life, John, timing is everything. And it’s particularly important that you act now, in time for the New Moon, a powerful and influential phenomenon for the month of November.

Starting on November 9th, the date of the New Moon, you can experience something miraculous that literally works as you sleep. That’s how powerful it is. As a Taurus, it can help you to wake up to brand new incredible opportunities in your life -- perhaps a windfall of money, life-changing luck, and even a newfound courage and ambition to do your heart’s desire...

JOHN, DON’T MISS OUT ON CHANGING YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE -- AS SOON AS NOVEMBER 9TH!

As you know, I am always looking for opportunities for you that will help you to tap into the greatness that I know awaits you. John, I have found something so truly extraordinary that I knew you would want to hear about it immediately!

I know that you already know about the fountain of happiness and good fortune that can be possible with the guidance of your own personal angel spirits. But I have found a way for you to call upon the Archangel Raphael -- he belongs to a very special class of angel who can call on other angels to help you transform your life. I wouldn't have believed it myself, except that I have witnessed these very transformations in friends of mine, and I so want YOU to enjoy this very same abundance, prosperity, and success.

Why November 9th? Because this is the date of the New Moon. You probably know that the highest spiritual energy for success occurs at the New Moon, and this November’s New Moon is an especially powerful and unique time for positive change, luck, and love. And the November moon, also called the Frost Moon, is an even more potent time to have your wishes fulfilled and attract the wealth you deserve.
That's why, John, it's especially important that you pay close attention to what I'm about to say.

LET THE SPIRIT OF THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL WORK HIS MAGIC FOR YOU...

Angel spirits can positively shape your life, and are available to everyone all the time, but only if you are able to access them. And, John, I have discovered something that will help you to connect to this angel guidance at this auspicious time of the New Moon -- it's called The Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit. This enchanting Wish Pillow Kit lets you communicate your fondest dreams and desires.

The most amazing thing about the Wish Pillow is that it is so SIMPLE AND EASY TO USE -- all you have to do is go to sleep and let it work for you!

Here's how it works -- your beautiful Wish Pillow is made with 100% silk, with a specially sewn pocket and a picture of the Archangel Raphael on the front. Why silk? Because, John, silk is a rich natural fiber which has long been associated with personal transformation and wealth.

Along with this pillow, the Invocation Kit contains 3 Archangel talismans printed on parchment paper representing the 3 most important Angels of Abundance under Raphael -- Omael, Lelahel, and Leuviah. I will also send you 3 magical prayers to help you to invoke these angels. But I'm getting ahead of myself!

The most important thing to remember is that angels are celestial beings that exist in the spirit realm, beyond our conscious mind, so it's best to invite their power when we are going to sleep -- the conscious logical mind has to retreat from the stress and strain of the day, in order to communicate with the spirit realm. Only then are you truly open and free to receive guidance and knowledge from the angel spirits.

WRITE IT DOWN, SAY IT ALOUD, AND GO TO SLEEP.
JOHN, IT'S THAT SIMPLE!

When you consciously picture something you desire, be it wealth, more joy, or greater success, and when you WRITE IT DOWN AND SAY IT ALOUD, you are tapping into the most powerful means of bringing it into existence -- and getting visible, tangible results.

What you'll do is write your wish down on the parchment talisman and say the prayer DIRECTLY BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP. I don't think I can stress enough just how important this is -- as I said, the mind is most receptive to angelic intervention at this time. This is an ancient magical practice that has been proven to work, and I've seen just how powerful this technique has shown itself to be in countless lives.

ON NOVEMBER 9TH, ASK FOR YOUR FONDEST WISHES...
THE ANGELS WILL HEAR YOU AND DELIVER!

To bring greater prosperity into your life, you should use the Wish Pillow to invoke Raphael, the Archangel of Abundance and Fortune. Raphael is capable of generating wealth and miracles, and is associated with fire and the capacity to enjoy life to the fullest. He is the guardian of the Tree of Life, which provides an eternal bounty of fruit.

Raphael, an Archangel, a higher class of angel, will help you to contact the 3 Angels of Abundance -- Omael, Lelahel, and Leuviah -- who watch over 3 different aspects of abundance in your life: prosperity, good fortune, and success. Each Angel has his own special ancient talisman, which is the way you can invoke their spirits directly.

These mystical talismans contain the names of the Angels in both Hebrew and magical "fire letters", so-called for their special power of being visible both to the physical and astral planes of existence. Hebrew is the ancient language which appeared for the first time in the 10 commandments. Add to this the inscription of the fire letters, the alphabet of angels, and you basically have a direct line to the ears of the angels...

The Angel Omael -- Angel of Prosperity

Direct your wish to the Angel Omael when you need blessings of material needs, for he will help to bring you the richness of your innermost desires. This Angel can also provide the strength that you need to banish any negative influences you may have, and bring positive love and fortune in its place.

The Angel Lelahel -- Angel of Good Fortune

When you are in need of luck, the Angel Lelahel is the perfect angel to direct your wish to -- this angel's lucky influence will help you in any endeavor. Lelahel brings harmony and beauty to life, and will help you to experience the true joy of living to the absolute fullest.

The Angel Leuviah -- Angel of Success

The Angel Leuviah is helpful for when you want to turn your dreams into reality, and will help you overcome any obstacles that might stand in your way to achieving stunning successes in all your ventures.

Once you have written each wish, read it aloud, along with the special prayer to the particular angel you are invoking, and then place the wish in the pocket of your Wish Pillow, contemplating it as you fall asleep on the cloud of the angels' beneficent and enchanted good will.

SPECIAL ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL MEDALLION --
MY FREE GIFT TO YOU!

I am so eager for you to experience the benefits of the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit that I am including a FREE gift just for you, John -- this exquisite Archangel Raphael Medallion! Carry it with you so that it works its powerful magic for you all through the day.

This magical combination of elements -- the pillow, the 3 Angels of Abundance talismans, the 3 Angel prayers -- along with the Archangel Raphael Medallion, all come together to give you the most potent spiritual advantage I have yet to see! You can harness this magical power on November 9th, the date of the New Moon, the most supernatural time of the year! And this is why I couldn't wait to tell you about the Wish Pillow, so that I can pass this supreme opportunity for more wealth, good fortune, and success than you ever dreamed possible!

Don't waste another minute without this powerful tool -- who'd have thought that all you have to do is go to sleep to have all your dreams come true!

REMEMBER, NOVEMBER 9TH IS YOUR DATE WITH GOOD FORTUNE

To make it as easy as possible to use the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit on November 9th, you can review and use it FREE and without committing to anything. Then, only if you are completely satisfied, after 30 days your card will be billed at the exclusive price of only $19.95!

Naturally, this comes with a Lifetime Guarantee, which means that should you ever at any time feel that you are dissatisfied with the Wish Pillow, you can return it to me, be it a week, a month, or even 10 years from now, with no explanation necessary, and receive a FULL REFUND, which includes the shipping and handling fee. Of course, the Archangel Raphael Medallion is yours to keep, no matter what.

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE, JOHN!

I am so confident that by using the Archangel Wish Pillow Invocation Kit, all your treasured wishes will be realized. I have written you a letter which explains exactly how to use the Kit to your utmost advantage. As November 9th will be here before you know it, I beg you not to delay in clicking the button, John! I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that this could change your life in ways you can't even imagine right now.

Your friend,

Iam Batshitcrazy"

The text speaks for itself.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Greatest Philosophy One Can Abide By

2010-08-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Latest 7

2010-08-17T15:27:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Quaaludes, Probably

2010-08-16T16:18:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Various Orphaned Work From Senior Year Of High School

2010-08-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is various orphaned work from Senior year of high school, way back in 2004/2005. Enjoy.

Seeing as how this is only the year 2419, and we monkeys are the dominant race in existence, it was quite a shock when one day I looked out my window and saw what had to have been a genuine member of the homo sapiens race, extinct since 2006, when George Dubya killed every human on Earth after he learned that he actually lost the 2004 election. I barely managed to say, "Holy man!" before fainting back into bed.

When I came to, the homo sapien, more commonly referred to as a 'human', was still picking grapefruits out of my backyard. I couldn't call the police—not since the Homegrown Botany Ban of 2405—and I couldn't harm him since my most effective weapon was a dull blade (due to my status as a mandrill—SUCH RACISM!!!). Instead, I decided to observe him.

He took one look at my broken bike seat that was specifically designed for my hindquarters, dropped trowl, and…

***

Despite its taste and arousing smell, most adults drink coffee to wake up in the morning. Usually, adults are willing to harm themselves to a 'greater benefit'; job they hate, children that whine, cars that suck, etc. So why drink good coffee? They could just as easily swallow coffee beans and hope to get the same effect. (It does. Tastes like Cocoa Crispies, too.) Or, even better, stick coffee grounds in their mouths, then some hot water, swish it around in your mouth, and then swallow. That is a surefire way to get somebody going in the morning! That, and an alarm clock equipped with tasers. Those would be cool, too. And if those tasers were programmed to be active when the snooze button is pressed.

***

Sandra's hands were clasped. I looked at them and considered my brother, his thoughts whirling with possibilities, moving deeper and deeper into the secret, and I knew that his heart was about to get crushed. "Um, I'm already going out with somebody," she finally said.

My brother sighed and said, "Oh, okay." (If only he had left it at that.) "Just out of curiosity, who is he?"

"Her name is Katie."

You should have seen his jaw drop. I mean, I could feel for him, but really, it was just too funny. Sandra apologized for having to tell him this way, but that really didn't do anything. He just stood there with his mouth wide open. I think a fly flew into that big, gaping hole.

After she left, he walked over to me and asked why I was laughing so hard. All I could spit out was, "So, is she into you, or…" That was all I got out. Really, seeing that kid get mentally floored was something I've waited 15 years to happen.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asked.

"T'YEAH!" was my answer.

***

The room smells like perfume. It is a lovely smell, and somewhat nauseating, too. Amanda dropped her perfume, and it spilled and broke on the floor. Better than Lysol? Perhaps. But its hard to put perfume in your brother's room. God, that smells bad. His room, I mean. It smells like big brother. Which is bad. I mean, even when he comes out of the shower, he smells like a big pile of elephant crap, if elephant crap were stuck to human armpits and attacked by an army of skunks. Apparently, the ladies love it, though, since he always has a girlfriend. At first, I was weary of my brother dating my classmates's sisters; then, after seeing the sort of specimen he really chases after, I started wishing he would go back to dating my classmates's sisters, because some of those chicks were nasty.

***

I believe this was commenting on a comment made by Henry David Thoreau, who liked to live a simple life. Of course, I (intentionally) miss the point that Thoreau was probably trying to make.

I think this dude is saying, "Getting money and a family is bad; telling the truth is good." I never understood this Jacque Thoreau guy. Wasn't his specialty about the living creatures in the sea? So, he should've stuck to talking about fish and left the 'meaning of life' stuff to the psychiatrists. I mean, let's say that you marry a rich woman, and have 5 children; by definition, you are evil!

***

HOW TO PICK UP A GIRL

Obviously, the joke here is that this is not how you pick up a girl.

1) Choose a girl to hit on. (ONE choice here; hitting on two at the same time usually results in both of them being turned off and three is only for professionals with at least 6 years of experience.)

2) Introduce yourself, THEN ask her name. Order of operations is crucial here.

3) Engage in stupid conversations about stuff—how she's doing, how her sister's operation went, how her parents disowned her, etc.

4) LOOK INTO HER EYES. This part is tricky, since you probably did not pick out your target on the basis of how pretty their eyes are. But maintain eye contact as much as possible; it will make you look like you give a crap.

5) Compliment her on her worst feature. Seriously. It makes them feel good.

6) Talk about your sister as if she's the best person in the world, then show her the picture that came with the wallet. I don't know why this works, but it does.

7) Ask if you want to continue this conversation elsewhere…

HOW TO MAke WORLD PEACE. Step #1: Make everyone stop fighting. Step #2: Make sure nobody ever fights again. EASY!

***

What happens when you realize that your stream of concensiousness (or however it is spelled) piece sucks ass while in the middle of it? See below for answer.

Have it, save me from the unwilling, white flag, lets have it now. Go quick now, run away, far away from here, so you shall never have to feel it again. Its stopped, how wonderful. The past is now here to bite us on the ass. Its come; we forgot it, that's why its here. Shredded paper does not shred memories, unfortunately. We win and lose at the same time. We're here, we're now, we matter in the moment, but not for long. We died, that's what happened to everyone who lived. He is up there, laughing at us. Is he up there going, "I wonder what would happen if a turkey becomes president?" Watch out for 2024; Gobble BeCaw is favored to win the election. He has no beard, wait, does he, or does he look like Jesus? Heck, is he a she? Ha ha, the Bible could be SO wrong. Peace and quiet. Aah. I am all alone in my gray room, no windows, just a light from the TV and some grub at my feet. I am content. Withdrawal could be a means to an end. I'm going crazy; is that a voice I hear? No, just a jackal, c'mon sox! I'm funny; yes I is. Who cares what everyone else thinks?

***

One night at the local pub, Robert and Ted were having beers when a nice-looking young woman walked in.

"Damn," said Robert, "I gotta get me some of that."

"Dude," said Ted, "that's the mayor's daughter."

"So?"

"You try to hit that, you're gonna get your thing chopped off."

"You're just a pussy, Ted."

"Hey, if you want to try, its your funeral."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence. And by the way, you don't need your dick in order to live, DUMBASS."

Rob walked over and told the bartender to put her drink on his tab.

"Um, thanks," she said.

"Yeah, well, I can't stand it when a lady has to pay for her own vodka," Rob said.

"This is water."

"Right! Vodka and water! The two things that women should never have to pay for."

"What about dinner, and limos, and wedding rings?"

"…My name is Robert."

"Tracey."

"So, are you enjoying your water?"

"Well, I haven't tasted it yet."

"Well, that looks like good water. MMM-hm!"

"Yes…water usually is."

"Isn't it?"

"Well, unless it breaks, like it did for my best friend."

"Oh my. How did that happen?"

"She didn't shoot the guy when she should have."

"Oh, what a pity. I do hope she's alright."

"She's doing well, except for that whole 'have-to-stay-at-home-all-the-time' thing."

"Well, I do hope she eventually grows out of it. She shouldn't stay inside just because of one embarrassing incident."

She stood up. "I have to go."

Rob got up. "May I have your number?"

"Sure." She gave him the number for the local poison control center. Then, she left.

Rob walked back over to Ted. 'So, am I good, or am I good?" he asked.

"Up is like down when it damn well feels like it!" said the professor.

"The solution was hydrochloric acid; the problem was, therefore, an ugly face!" yelled out a student.

***

Goodness gracious. MAN some videogames are stupid, and also very entertaining at the same time. In this case, I'm referring to Rumble Roses. It certainly has an awesome pedigree—the developer (Yuke's) has been making wrestling games for 5 years, and its publisher (Konami) has revolutionized the way videogames are made and played for the last 15 years or so. Still, the game is laughable, but at least intentionally so. You see, the only characters in the game are female. Oh yeah, and there are only two kinds of matches: 1-on-1 (no pun intended) and Mad Mud match. It plays well, but there is no way to wrestle a serious match. The second I get absorbed in it, someone sticks their ass in their opponents face, or some outrageously bad dialogue comes spewing out. And the jokes range from "Cowgirl has bigger teats than my sheep!" to "I'm ready to fight! Just one question, though: how'd you get such a big rack?" The game is fun to play, and I didn't waste any money in getting it. But I should mention that Konami's latest game for its flagship series, Metal Gear Solid 3, will be released on Friday. When I get that game, I imagine that I will forget about ladies throwing each other around in piles of mud.

***

Turtles actually have lots of fun. They run laps, sip water, and wiggle their little tails for their own enjoyment. Its kind of hard to tell when they are happy, but you can tell just by when the turtle looks you in the eyes, stares…and BLINKS. That's a dead giveaway right there. The thing is, turtles are incredibly stupid—the side effect of having a brain the size of one of my fingernails. Therefore, they are very easily entertained.

***

The FLOA (Flag Lovers Of America) were marching for their cause—racists on dialysis—when an apple clocked one of them upside the head.

"Who goes there?" said the Head Flagger.

"It is I, the King of the Mountain, Towylette Byrd!" responded the tall, apple-throwing man. When the Head Flagger started giggling, the big man yelled, "Its French and I was named after my father, STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!!"

"Um, King Toilet," said the HF, "Why are you throwing apples at my lot? We are mere protectors to a good cause."

"You do not have the proper permits to be on this land. Go away, fools."

"Ha! Like you possess our combined hypnotic powers!"

"Ha! You are a band of merry travelers waving around pieces of paper and think that counts as power?! Try me, weaklings!"

"Very well!" And the lot danced around and signed LEG US THROOG YOUR LAMP, POOL. (They needed some work.)

"Ha! I would just as soon kiss a Chihuahua and believe that I was suffering from a primal form of animalistic fallacy!" said Burd.

"Um, the animalistic fallacy is mistakingly believing that animals have human emotions," replied the HF.

Burd threw another apple at them.

Downey's "Classics" Presents: The Latest 3

2010-08-11T17:24:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: INTENSELY PERSONAL BLOG!

2010-08-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Dodging A Bullet

2010-08-05T13:44:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: I Need Legal Advice

2010-08-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Snow White

2010-08-03T17:59:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: I Really Need To Talk About This

2010-07-30T17:09:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Thanks, Buck

2010-07-16T10:48:00.000-07:00

Downey's "Classics" Presents: Max, Francine, And The Monkey

2010-07-13T17:31:00.000-07:00

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this rarely-updated-but-not-bad blog is trying to get back into the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is a short screenplay written for a class, typed up in the 2 hours before it was due. Enjoy.

Max, Francine, and The Monkey

By John Downey

BLACK

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
I mean, it’s not as though I think that we can’t, you know, conceive, it’s just that…

MAX
(V.O.)
Well, we haven’t really tried, have we, honey.

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
Max, please don’t interrupt me.

MAX
(V.O.)
Doctor, it’s not as though my cannons aren’t ready to fire—but not at will, mind you.

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
We use protection every time.

MAX
(V.O.)
EVERY time.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. DOCTOR’S OFFICE – DAY

Max is sitting to the left of Francine (on Francine’s right). Max is not an ugly man, but not gifted in the looks department, either. Francine is taller than Max is, even while sitting down, but has no other remarkable features. Both look to be in their early 30’s. They are facing the camera head-on.

FRANCINE
Max, I don’t think the doctor is interested in our sex life.

MAX
She might be.

FRANCINE
Max, don’t be ridiculous.

MAX
We’re here to get advice on having a baby. Sex makes babies, ergo, our sex life is very relevant, probably.

FRANCINE
I think she can be the judge of what she needs to know or not know.

MAX
Well, doctor?

ANGLE ON: Doctor Moore, an organized-looking woman in her 40’s.

DR. MOORE
So, the concern isn’t so much on making the baby as wondering if you have the capacity to take care of the baby?

Max and Francine agree.

DR. MOORE
Well, there are ways of determining if you are ready to have a child, though they certainly aren’t conventional. The most common technique we use is to give a special doll to teenagers to take care of for a week.

MAX
That could work.

DR. MOORE
I have a better solution, though.

FRANCINE
What’s that?

Dr. Moore claps her hands twice. Pierre, a monkey, walks in and jumps on Dr. Moore’s desk.

DR. MOORE
The best baby simulation, ever.

CUT TO:

INT. CAR DRIVING DOWN ROAD – DAY

Max is driving, Francine is reading from a piece of paper, and Pierre, dressed in snazzy diapers, is strapped into a child seat in the back. We see them through the windshield.

FRANCINE
(reading from paper) “Your monkey will not only simulate how your child will act during his—or her!—first year of life, but also give you glimpses into what to expect from his—or her!—teenage years!”

MAX
Get to the part where it says how much we’re being billed for this chimp.

FRANCINE
Max, c’mon. (continues reading) “Your monkey has been trained to communicate through a variety of techniques, including grunts—”

MAX
(grunts in disapproval)

FRANCINE
“Sign language—”

MAX
(while rubbing the side of his nose with his middle finger) Go on.

FRANCINE
Don’t think that I don’t see that. “…and he—or she!—can even talk to you through his—or her!—writing.”

MAX
What? You’re kidding me.

FRANCINE
No, it says so right here.

MAX
I have to see this. Do you have a pen and something to write on?

Francine takes a notepad and pen out of her purse and hands it to Pierre, who grabs it eagerly. Pierre writes something down, then hands it back to Francine.

MAX
Well? What does it say?

ANGLE ON: The notepad. There is a circle drawn on it.

FRANCINE
It says “oh”.

MAX
Honey, I think that’s a circle, not a letter.

ANGLE ON: Windshield shot.

FRANCINE
Oh.

MAX
Why would a monkey draw a circle?

FRANCINE
Maybe it means something to him, but we haven’t figured it out yet?

MAX
Yeah, right. What could the monkey be trying to tell us?

A few seconds pass. Suddenly, both of them start making gagging sounds and clutching their noses.

FRANCINE
(through coughs) Open the windows!

Max starts pounding on the “window open” buttons while Francine holds a handkerchief over her face. Pierre starts laughing maniacally.

CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY

Max places Pierre on the kitchen table.

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
Remember, anywhere but the table! I don’t want him near where we eat!

Max lifts Pierre up.
MAX
(while placing Pierre on the kitchen counter) Do you think I’m completely stupid, honey?

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
I’m just making sure!

Francine walks in. She is wearing oversized rubber gloves, safety goggles, a dust mask, and a pair of raggedy, beaten-up jeans.

FRANCINE
Open it.

MAX
No, YOU open it while I hide in the basement.

FRANCINE
Open it, Max.

MAX
Honey, just thinking about “2 Girls 1 Cup” makes me feel dizzy, and if I throw up, that’s one more mess you have to clean up—

FRANCINE
FOR CHRISSAKES, OPEN IT, MAN!

Max takes a deep breath in and undoes Pierre’s diaper with a pair of metal cooking tongs.

ANGLE ON: between Pierre’s legs, facing Francine and Max. Max’s head briefly props into frame before he faints; a comically exaggerated sound effect should accompany Max hitting the floor.

FRANCINE
Let’s go, monkey boy.

Francine leans over Pierre, casting a shadow over him until the screen fades to black.

CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Max is writing in a diary while an extended montage is playing. His words are spoken aloud to accompany each scene. First, it shows him writing on a poker table.

MAX
(V.O.)
Dear diary, it is now Day 7 of Operation French Monkey, and we can see light at the end of the tunnel.

CUT TO:
Max and Francine trying to get Pierre off of the top of their kitchen cabinet.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
The little bastard has showed us how difficult it is to raise a baby. Babies, it seems, are capable of getting anywhere.

CUT TO:
The refridgerator bursts open. Pierre jumps out holding two ketchup bottles, screaming with delight.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
They are also smarter than I used to give them credit for.

CUT TO:

Pierre is jumping up and down in front of Max, crying for something. Max gives him a notepad and a pen. Pierre writes down a “B” and starts pointing at his stomach. Max gives a “what the hell are you talking about” look, then Francine throws a banana to Pierre, who catches it and starts peeling it.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
My wife is a warrior. I have a newfound respect for her ability to keep her head in dangerous situations.

CUT TO:

Francine walks into the bathroom and finds all of her cosmetics in the bathtub, where Pierre is bathing while testing out Francine’s lipstick.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
I wasn’t there for the day that Pierre went through his transgender phase, but she told me it was one of the hardest experiences she has ever worked through. I’m sure she’s exaggerating, though.

CUT TO:

Pierre, wearing a dress with sunflowers on it and carrying a rolling pin, chases Francine, dressed in plain clothes, in a hallway, from the right side of the screen to the left side offscreen. A second passes, then Pierre, naked and bare-armed, runs from the left side of the screen to the right side, being chased by Francine, who is wearing a football helmet and holding a golf club.

CUT TO:
MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
I think she’s actually kind of sad that we’re going to have to give the monkey back tomorrow.

CUT TO:

Pierre jumps up and down on Francine’s back while she is sleeping. She checks the clock, which says 4:13 A.M., and then looks at Pierre. He gives her the middle finger, blows raspberries, and then runs out of the room.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
That’s not to say that I haven’t pulled some weight, though.

CUT TO:
Max and Pierre are on the couch watching wrestling.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
I would want my son to grow up to be a cultured adult, so I showed Pierre some of the most graceful and powerful ballet in the world.

At this point, we see a shot on the TV of a man flexing his biceps while sitting on another man’s face. Max and Pierre both start laughing at the sight.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
I just hope he takes something away from what I showed him.

CUT TO:

Pierre sits on Francine while she is sleeping, flexing his muscles like the man on the TV. Francine quickly wakes up, at which point he gives her the finger again. Francine wakes Max up. Max gives Pierre a high-five, then Pierre blows raspberries in Francine’s face and runs out of the room. Max passes out again before Francine can say anything.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
Sometimes, he acts so much like a human that I forget that he’s a monkey.

CUT TO:

Max enters the bathroom and finds Pierre on the toilet, reading an old issue of Penthouse. Max covers his eyes and quickly exits.

MAX
(V.O. CONT.)
Tomorrow, we’ll learn for sure if Francine and I are ready to have a real child. Until then, I’m going to make Pierre’s last night at home a memorable one.

CUT TO:

Max finishes writing in his diary, then picks up a few cards.

MAX
You ready to ante up, kid?

ANGLE ON: Pierre, who is sitting right beside him, holding some cards.

MAX
Good, because we need to win my pants back this round. There’s a draft in here.

Max looks at his hand and smiles.

FADE TO BLACK

MAX
(V.O.)
It was a pleasure to take care of Pierre for a week, even though he made us lose a game of strip Rummy to Francine and her sister.

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
Oh, like that was the worst thing that happened this week. Remember when he got the runs on Monday and the bathroom smelt like rotten banana for the rest of the day?

MAX
(V.O.)
Well, he was healthy enough at the end of the day to watch some cultural programming that night, so all’s well that ends well.

FRANCINE
(V.O.)
He got into everything we didn’t hatch down! The fridge, my makeup, the top of the cabinet—

MAX
(V.O.)
All learning experiences, Francine.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. DR. MOORE’S OFFICE – DAY
Shot of Max and Francine. Francine is holding Pierre in her lap. Pierre is sucking on his thumb. This shot should look like the same shot at the beginning.

FRANCINE
He managed to completely unplug the toilet from the floor. I didn’t even know you could do that.

MAX
Well, now you know.

FRANCINE
It wouldn’t have killed you to not leave on Wednesday?

MAX
I had business to attend to, it was planned out months in advance, I’M SORRY, and it sounded like you got through it easily enough.

FRANCINE
(grunts in displeasure)

MAX
So, Doctor Moore, what do you think?

ANGLE ON: Dr. Moore. She claps her hands two times, and Pierre jumps on top of her desk. She starts examining Pierre.

DR. MOORE
Well, the wind viscosity of the triangular bistro shows abnormal, but acceptable, variations in the western hemisphere of Jimmy Buffett’s eyebrow.

ANGLE ON: Max and Francine. They look confused.

MAX
Okay…

ANGLE ON: Dr. Moore. She continues examining Pierre.

DR. MOORE
There is a surgical hemoglobin within the 5th triceratops that looks very raccoon to me. It could be water buffalo, but it looks raccoon to me. I won’t be able to tell for sure without a thorough schenectady.

ANGLE ON: Max and Francine.

FRANCINE
(whispering) What the hell is she talking about?

MAX
(whispering) She hasn’t said “no” yet, which is a good thing for now.

ANGLE ON: Dr. Moore continues examining Pierre.

DR. MOORE
Let’s check the 19th floor…good, no 19th floor OR Miss Zarves. Common parenting mistake. Glacier boxing pillowcase nerfherder cartwheel Zimbabwe. Bibbity bobbity boo, your mom lives in a zoo. Umbrella!

ANGLE ON: Door flies open. Two bald men in black suits walk in.

BALDIE #1
Rachel Karen Beadeaux, aka Dr. Alaska Rosemary Moore, you are under arrest for impersonating a licensed medical physician, bringing an illegal monkey into this country, and being out of your fucking mind.

DR. MOORE
Gentlemen, gentlemen, calm down. I can explain everything.

Dr. Moore jumps out of an open window. All rush to the window and look down.

ANGLE ON: Dr. Moore fell two feet onto soft grass face-first.

ANGLE ON: All step away from the window.

MAX
Okay, that simultaneously explained everything and made no sense at all.

BALDIE #2
That’s what crazy people do, sir.

Baldie #1 walks outside to put Dr. Moore in handcuffs.

FRANCINCE
So, what’s going to happen to Pierre?

BALDIE #2
He’s going to have to undergo some testing. If it turns out that he’s rabid, we’ll have to kill him. If he isn’t, we’ll put him in the best facility we can offer, where he can fulfill all of his monkey desires. He’s been through a lot.

MAX
Can we keep him?

BALDIE #2
Sure, if you have a couple thousand dollars to spare.

MAX
I’ll talk with my wife about it.

FRANCINE
So how are we supposed to know if we’re ready to have a baby or not?

BALDIE #2
That’s easy.

Long pause.

MAX
…Well?

BALDIE #2
What, are you waiting for me to tell you?

MAX
YES!

BALDIE #2
Well, I can’t. The only two people who know if they’re ready to have a baby or not are the prospective parents. They can feel it in their gut.

MAX
Can you feel it, babe?

FRANCINE
No…wait, yes, I do! I thought it was indigestion.

BALDIE #2
Then there you go.

Max and Francine walk to the door.

MAX
Why didn’t we think to trust our gut in the first place?

FRANCINE
Because your gut almost got you married to Bertha Wainwright, remember?

They leave. Baldie #2 walks over to Pierre.

BALDIE #2
So, what’s your name?

Pierre blows raspberries in his face and gives him the finger. Baldie #2 wipes the spit off of his face.

BALDIE #2
Ah, kids.

THE END

Extended Review of “A Lion’s Tale: Around The World In Spandex”

2010-06-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

(Book by Chris Jericho, Review by John Downey)

My worries about this book being a ghostwritten autobiography, due to the presence of a second author, were addressed right away in Peter Thomas Fornatale’s foreword: “First, I want to say that this book is not an “as told to” autobiography. My role was to brainstorm ideas and help with organization and structure. The voice is 100% Chris Jericho.” That’s certainly one way to cut to the chase, though the next 500 pages make that foreword seem redundant. Chris Jericho has a vibrant, distinct personality, has wrestled over the world, won gold in the 3 largest wrestling organizations in North America, and has probably forgotten more about the business than most people will ever know (and still knows quite a bit, as his recent ladder match with Shawn Michaels was named Match Of The Year by Wrestling Observer). The only way that the story of Chris Jericho’s life could be boring would be if there was a concentrated effort to bore the audience. As it is, this is the best autobiography of a wrestler I have ever read, and I’ve read most of them.

Jericho (born Chris Irvine, son of a noteworthy hockey player named Ted Irvine) was drawn to wrestling as a child, first from attending American Wrestling Association (AWA) events in Winnipeg. Jericho found a connection with the smaller wrestlers who would have to do something extra to stand out in what is usually an art for the “big boys”. The man who made Jericho consider becoming a wrestler, though, was Owen Hart, who was Jericho’s size (if Jericho made a concentrated effort to get in shape), lived in a town not far from where Jericho lived (Calgary), and was quickly becoming one of the biggest names in Stampede Wrestling (whose best talent eventually ended up in the WWF). Seeing Owen Hart become successful convinced Jericho that he could be successful, too.

Jericho trained in the Hart Brothers Camp in Calgary, though Jericho makes sure to point out that training to be a wrestler is nowhere close to the experience that he thought it would be. For instance, though there were several successful wrestling Harts, only Keith Hart showed up for a few sessions, and those were usually marked by him torturing students who had the gall to stand out in their class. Also, there was only one other student in Jericho’s class who seemed to stand a chance at making a career out of wrestling, Lance Storm (who went on to become a respected name in the business in his own right). Jericho was under the impression that he would be working with like-minded individuals, but he ended up sharing class time with hillbillies and freaks. Even the training itself was incomplete. Jericho and his classmates were taught how to take falls and perform impressive athletic feats, but he wasn’t taught how to put them together into a logical wrestling match, which is something that, as I understand it, goes hand in hand with learning how to fall properly in most wrestling schools today.

After he gained a lot of experience wrestling in high school gyms, armories, and birthday parties (seriously), Jericho gained employment in Mexico. After being taught for months how to take convincing falls and draw people into a match, Jericho found that most of what he learned didn’t apply in Mexico, where lucha libre was the popular wrestling dish. Whereas Jericho was taught how to absorb high-impact moves, lucha libre involved wrestlers taking lots of rolls, flipping each other using one hand, and wrestlers dancing around for no reason to the delight of the fans. It wasn’t uncommon for matches to have multiple falls to a finish, or multiple referees, or for matches to end when a wrestler did an eye-catching dive onto another wrestler located outside of the ring—which is a rule that doesn’t apply to any other wrestling organization that I’ve ever heard of. Jericho, taking the name Corazon de Leon, became a sex symbol through his good looks and natural charisma, which upset a wrestler named Vampiro, who was easily the most popular wrestler in Mexico at the time whose position as such was never in any danger. Vampiro gave Jericho intentionally bad advice (none of which Jericho listened to), told Jericho’s employer that Jericho was unhappy with his pay and working conditions, and often lied about how he broke into the business. (This isn’t the first time that I’ve read about wrestlers having a problem with Vampiro. In fact, so much word of his misdeeds has gotten around that he has essentially been blackballed from most wrestling organizations in North America, with the only ones that use him being desperate for talent.) Jericho talks about how he enjoyed being the bad guy, as it was easier to make people hate him than to make people like him. He was so good at pissing off crowds that in the course of one match not only did somebody throw a bottle filled with fresh piss at him, but another person also pulled a gun. In most cities in Mexico, though, Jericho was well-liked, and became a solid performer, good enough to hold the NWA Middleweight Championship for 11 months.

Jericho met two close friends in Mexico, Art Barr and Eddie Guerrero, though both gave him a cold reception at first. Jericho broke the ice with Art Barr by accident, when they happened to see two people have comically absurd and disgusting sex. They had a lot in common, including missing their families more than most of “the boys” and having similar tastes in music. Barr was at the top of his game, on track to possibly become one of the most popular wrestlers in the world, when he suddenly died in his sleep. Jericho was staying in Barr’s room (at Barr’s insistence) when he heard of Barr’s death, and Jericho’s description of the minutes after hearing the news are heart-wrenching. Not long after Barr’s death, the peso crashed, and Jericho, who found himself working for a third of his usual salary in a place that reminded him of his dead best friend, sought employment elsewhere.

Jericho ended up working in Germany, where a style of wrestling called “catch” had caught on. It’s a style of wrestling that I wasn’t familiar with, and Jericho doesn’t do the best job of explaining it. (As I understand it, German fans were conditioned to accept matches that actually looked real. To this end, matches usually featured a lot of jockeying for position and attempts at submissions. Moves off of the top rope and other theatrics didn’t fit in this style.) Jericho’s first match in Germany sets off a habit that he calls “The Jericho Curse”: his first match in any promotion will suck. Jericho’s problem was that he tried to make himself look good in the match, as opposed to working to making the match better. When he figured this out, he started having great matches, though he doesn’t go into detail on any of them. He expresses gratitude for the opportunity he received in Germany, but when he got a chance to work for a bigger paycheck in front of larger audiences, he jumped at it.

Jericho was brought in to Smoky Mountain Wrestling, a southern wrestling promotion, by its owner, Jim Cornette, who had also made a career out of being a wrestling manager. Jericho’s first face-to-face conversation with Cornette let Jericho know that, even though he was working in North America again, Smoky Mountain was going to be just as strange as working in Mexico and Germany, as it took several moments for Jericho to figure out what Cornette was saying. (Cornette’s literal words: “Jeet yet?” Translation: “Did you eat yet?”) Fortunately, Jericho was working for one of the smartest men in the wrestling business, so, for once, Jericho didn’t have to worry about trying to find the midpoint between “what the booker is saying should happen” and “what I should do to make myself look good”, as they were often the same thing.

Cornette put Jericho in a tag team with his Hart Brothers training buddy, Lance Storm, and dubbed the duo the Thrillseekers. They were introduced through vignettes that made them look wild and cool, though Jericho mocks them as he describes them, and were immediately put into a feud with Well Dunn, who needed a good excuse to be kicked out of SMW, as they were going to be joining the WWF’s roster soon. (Though Jericho never explicitly states this, Cornette’s decision to have Jericho and Storm team up said a lot about Cornette’s faith in them, as Cornette had managed some of the greatest tag teams in wrestling history, including the Midnight Express. I gather that the only reason why the Thrillseekers didn’t win the SMW Tag Team Championship was because they didn’t need the titles in order to become popular.) Jericho was put off by the way that SMW engaged wrestlers with the fans. During intermission, wrestlers would work the concession stands, signing autographs and hawking merchandise. Jericho saw this as being beneath him, as wrestlers are supposed to have a mystique about them, and that mystique was destroyed when you sold bandanas and promotional pictures of yourself directly to the fans. In the book, though Jericho acknowledges that this was a terrible attitude to have, since he and Lance were the highest paid workers on SMW’s roster and should have just done as they were told in order to show their gratitude. Jericho also says that this was something that SMW’s audience liked, as they preferred their wrestlers to be accessible figures rather than children of Olympus, and that if Jericho had simply done his job, the Thrillseekers might have replaced the Rock And Roll Express as the most popular tag team in the south.

Cornette was pleased with Jericho’s work, and told him that the WWF was interested in hiring him. When he learned of the details of the job, though (basically, he was to be a colorful character who lost most of his matches), Jericho, along with Lance, took a job in Frontier Martial-Arts Wrestling in Japan instead. By now, Jericho was used to expecting the unexpected, but he still wasn’t ready for what Japan had to offer. Wrestling match results were published in Baseball Magazine. He found a sports drink called Pocari Sweat. Most toilets in wrestling arenas were little more than holes in the ground.

FMW was strange, too. It employed boxers, men willing to set themselves on fire, and men in panda suits. It employed wrestlers, too, but they seemed to be the exception rather than the rule. Jericho’s stint with FMW was a bust, as he found himself waiting for future bookings and not getting them. When FMW did a tour (series of wrestling shows) based around tag team matches, they didn’t call Jericho. Eventually, FMW called and requested his services, but Jericho had already found a new home in Wrestle and Romance, a rival Japanese organization. (That name doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me. The only possible explanation I have for it is that the “Romance” half is in reference to the splintering politics and fantastic fighting techniques as described in “Romance Of The Three Kingdoms”. If that’s the case, though, why name a Japanese wrestling organization after a piece of classic Chinese literature? Even worse, the organization later changed its name to Wrestle Association R, which makes even less sense.)

Jericho had a much easier time making his name in WAR once he got accustomed to the Japanese style of wrestling, where gaining respect was based more on how hard a match was fought than if you actually won the match. For example, when Jericho wrestled an imposing man named Haku, Jericho threw punches and kicks that were much stiffer than most wrestlers would be willing to throw or take. It made sense in the context of the match, though, since Haku had a well-earned reputation of being a tough guy (indeed, several of his peers have told of his tendency to fend off half a dozen drunkards in a bar without breaking a sweat), and in order for Jericho to look like he had a chance in the match, he would need to go the extra mile. Jericho was also allowed to kick out of Haku’s finishing move, the powerbomb (which resembles a piledriver, but instead of planting the opponent on his head, the “attacking” wrestler throws his opponent onto the ground backfirst), which elevated Jericho’s profile despite losing the match soon after taking the move.

After becoming a star in Japan, Jericho worked for Extreme Championship Wrestling, an exceptionally well-booked Philadelphia-based promotion. ECW, even at its peak, rarely drew over 1,000 fans to its events, and its owner, Paul Heyman, was known for giving checks that bounced more often than not, but ECW’s influence was felt throughout the business, as its best ideas were used by larger wrestling promotions (ECW’s Sandman, for instance, was very similar to the WWF’s later Stone Cold Steve Austin), its best workers usually found themselves working for big money elsewhere, and its fan base were a creative, angry, and loyal bunch of individuals—the same people could be seen in the same seats at every ECW event (no matter where they held shows), providing weapons to the wrestlers, and delivering thoughtful chants, such as “She’s a crack whore!” (to a dastardly female), “You suck dick!”, and “Do the job, Dean, do the job!” (towards Shane Douglas, who, as Dean Douglas in the WWF, was told to lose matches in situations that made no storyline sense whatsoever). In short, getting over in ECW would get you far.

In the wrestling business, Paul Heyman was a strange figure. He would often book the shows while they were in progress (Jericho informed Heyman that Mikey Whipwreck couldn’t be in the 3rd match of the night because he was in the match that was going on right now), use grievance fares to fly in talent for cheap, and never edited out any mistakes that his performers made in a match before it aired on TV. He would be the first man that any wrestler saw when they came back from the ring, and he would always give his employees compliments, which was a big no-no in the business, since wrestlers usually were full of themselves already. His instincts for the business were on par with Cornette’s. The only difference is that Cornette got an opportunity to exhibit it, while Heyman, through ECW, made his impact from scratch. Everyone on an ECW show had their place, even the worst performers. For example, Heyman brought in a guy named 911. He was a big guy with natural charisma, but he couldn’t, you know, “wrestle,” not even in the WWF sense of the word. To work around this, Heyman would have 911 walk out during deliberately-juvenile happenings (a Santa Claus appearance, for instance) and chokeslam everyone in sight. Through a steady stream of use, 911 became one of the most popular guys on the roster, despite rarely actually competing in a match.

Heyman’s ideas for Jericho were equally genius. First, Heyman promoted Jericho through a series of vignettes on the ECW TV show, constantly referring to him as the “Last Survivor of Stu Hart’s Dungeon”. Then, in one of his first matches in ECW, Jericho was allowed to suplex Taz, who rarely ever left his feet, let alone get suplexed. (Taz is another example of Heyman’s booking genius, as Taz was booked to be the most dominating man in the world despite standing at only 5’9’’ and being towered over by most of the fans.) Jericho wasn’t allowed to beat Taz, though, as Taz gave Jericho a suplex that was so vicious, it “knocked him out”, making Jericho look good in defeat while making Taz look like a killer.

It didn’t take long for other wrestling organization to take notice of Jericho, as WCW’s Eric Bischoff quickly offered Jericho employment in his company (though, to be fair, Bischoff was making that offer to anybody with a pair of boots, as he wanted to lock up as much talent as he could before Vince McMahon did). Jericho agreed, and said he would start working for Bischoff as soon as he was done with his scheduled ECW dates. When Jericho told Heyman that he was going to work for WCW, though, Heyman told Jericho that he wanted Jericho to win the ECW World Television Championship before he left. Seeing as how Jericho was being paid for each show, and had no contract with Heyman, there was nothing legally stopping Jericho from leaving ECW with the belt around his waist, but Jericho agreed to Heyman’s plan, winning the title and then losing it shortly afterwards. (Jericho expresses confusion over this turn of events, wondering why Heyman did him this favor. It should be noted, though, that Paul Heyman hated WCW, and constantly took potshots at its bookers and performers. Heyman had done some great work for the promotion for chump change, and Bill Watts, who was running WCW at the time, treated Heyman and his friends like crap. On WWE’s “Bloodsport: ECW’s Most Violent Matches” DVD, Heyman gleefully states (I’m paraphrasing here, as I don’t have my copy with me), “Eric Bischoff did NOT ‘discover’ Chris Jericho. In fact, the VERY FIRST TITLE that he ever held in the United States was the ECW World Television Championship.” I’m guessing that Heyman arranged for Jericho to win the belt in case Jericho became a star in WCW, just so he could say, “I got there first.”)

The first time he called WCW’s offices to try to work out a long-term contract, Jericho was told that he would have to have a tryout match. This, despite already being told that he had a job. Welcome to WCW.

Jericho’s time spent working for WCW did more to kill his interest in wrestling than anything else in his career. His colleagues would get hostile if Jericho did something as unforgivable as introduce himself or (gasp!) give a compliment. His first match on TV ended in a double count-out when his opponent missed a dive on the outside and Jericho checked on his health rather than take advantage, which was meant to make him look noble but (and Jericho predicted this the second he was told of the finish) it actually made him look like a moron. The head booker, Kevin Sullivan, told Jericho to stop caring so much about his work (Ric Flair, upon hearing this, told Jericho to do the exact opposite). The only bright spot in Jericho’s early tenure was that WCW had a working relationship with New Japan Pro Wrestling, one of the largest wrestling organizations in Japan, and with no plans for Jericho, WCW sent him to Japan. New Japan was so pleased with his work that tentative plans were made to put the IWGP Junior Heavyweight Championship, one of the most prestigious belts in the world, on Jericho when WCW put the kibosh on those plans and made him return to America.

It wasn’t until Jericho was allowed to be a bad guy that Jericho found success in WCW. While the NWO group had made the idea of a cool bad guy seem fashionable, Jericho decided to be a chickenshit asshole instead. He called his opponents by incorrect name (he once referred to Booker T as “Tooker B”), he cut lengthy inane promos in which he gave himself countless nicknames, and he would exaggerate his Canadian accent. He became popular enough to win the WCW Cruiserweight Championship, though that isn’t as big of a deal as it may sound, as the belt didn’t mean much.

Jericho also engaged in a feud with Bill Goldberg, who had been on a long winning streak at the time. Jericho would call out Goldberg, only to easily defeat a midget dressed to look like him. When Goldberg didn’t show up to the arena, Jericho would challenge him to a match, have the referee count to 10, and claimed that he won by count-out. Fans (including myself) enjoyed the feud, since Jericho was entertaining in his role, and there seemed to be a lot of money to be had in seeing Goldberg beat the snot out of Jericho. Goldberg vs. Jericho never happened, though, since they couldn’t agree on the terms. Bischoff, Goldberg, and Hulk Hogan thought that Jericho should lose to Goldberg on free TV. Jericho argued that Goldberg vs. Jericho should have been put on PPV. (Hogan later told Jericho that he admired Jericho for standing up for himself, because Jericho was right. I can’t recall any other instance in which Hogan admitted that he was wrong, so props there, I guess.) After several weeks of build, the feud was ended without a proper showdown (though they did have a disappointing match in WWE), which is when Jericho started looking for employment in the WWF.

The book ends right before Jericho debuts for the WWF, leaving enough material for a second book, since Jericho’s best days happened in the WWF. With the book being 500+ pages long, I had to omit Jericho’s descriptions of bowling while taking sleeping pills, getting high on GHB at one of the most prestigious Japanese wrestling events, and his first sexual experience, among other lovely stories. I’ve learned more about the wrestling business from reading this book than from Mick Foley’s 3 autobiographies or Freddie Blassie’s book (which is saying a lot, since I think the world of those books). It’s also funny throughout, which makes it easy to read. Between the plain facts of Jericho’s career, the strange stories that he brings up (Cornette ends up threatening some Dairy Queen employees), and Jericho’s running commentary, I have to recommend this book. Even people who hate wrestling will like it.

"That's Nice, John, But It's Not Funny Enough"

2009-05-08T08:55:00.000-07:00

I thought I’d slept my last good sleep.

Then:

Narcoleptic double dreams,

The inside of my eyelids tattooed with

Pictures of Michael and I—

Twins, almost—

Stealing dreams from those more liquid than us,

Chewing apples with eyeballs for seeds

(and getting the joke),

And seeing myself smash a wood bat over my daughter’s head

Thinking that I’m doing her a favor.

Thought I should spend as much time

Awake as I can,

As one minute awake

Is one minute not spent at my child’s bedside

Playing Whac-A-Kid.

Thought that consuming the grain at the bottom of the bottle would chase them away,

And it did,

But then I dreamt of the Sandman sipping Jack Daniels.

Thought that I should resign myself

To a small room

And two glowing magic boxes.

Then:

You told me that I deserve more.

And I believed you.

I sing myself a lullaby now.

You’ll hear it someday.

Steal this material!

2008-07-09T15:14:00.001-07:00

(I found this under the title "Difficult Games". I forgot what I was planning on doing with it.)

ALL CONTRA GAMES (Various platforms)—You have almost every gun ever made at your disposal, but you die with one hit. Let the pain begin.

Metal Gear Solid games (PS2, Xbox, Gamecube)—The first one was difficult because you were ridiculously unarmed. The second one was kind of easy…until you played it on ‘Very Hard’ difficulty. That turns the two ‘shooting with Snake’ sequence near the end into moments in gaming history. And the third one? Your radar is gone, medkits are completely unavailable, and there is a boss battle that will take you more than an hour to complete—and that’s without dying. Satisfyingly difficult games.

X-Men: Mutant Apolcalypse (SNES)—The X-Men have all their different abilities, which would make the game easy if it wasn’t for the fact that a single enemy could take away 1/3 of your health all by itself. A bit on the short side, but well worth playing to the end.

Alien Hominid (PS2, Gamecube, Xbox, Internet demo)—The first example of a Newgrounds game being turned into a commercial product, and it’s a good one. It’s like Contra, but with a sense of humor. Too short, but worth a rental (and a purchase if you can find it cheap).

Bebe’s Kids (SNES)—There’s hard good, and then there’s hard bad. This is hard bad. Avoid.

Starfox Games (referring to the N64 and SNES versions)—Hard to believe that I found these to be too easy when I was young. Now it’s an event when I can complete the first level of the first Starfox.

All Prince of Persia games (Various platforms)—Get a POP game, spend two weeks playing it. It’s a tradition that started a long time ago, and it continues today.

Chrono Trigger/Chrono Cross (SNES/PS)—RPGs done right; memorable characters, engaging dialogue, amazing twists, and difficult. Worth getting by any means.

Resident Evil 4 (Gamecube, PS2)—Brian Kelley can write entire essays based on how great this game is. In fact, I actually wrote a complete review of the game as one of my final assignments in English class last year. Suffice it to say that this is the first game in the RE series that no one can find a huge flaw in, and those that do are not worth hanging out with. (Brian once asked me how many times I had to go through the ‘village’ area near the beginning. I answered ‘once’. He didn’t believe me. I didn’t tell him, though, that I didn’t activate the part where the chainsaw guy comes in. He did, which was what took him multiple tries. I mention this to prove that I was better than Brian Kelley at one portion of RE4.)

Shining Force 2 (Genesis)—The first one held your hands while you took it to town. The second one assumed that you played the first one, and ramped up the difficulty. Guess which one has aged better?

Mischief Makers (N64)—Treasure, famous for its insane shooters, makes a platform game for a change of pace. Its still hard, but with a sense of humor.

The Timesplitters series (PS2, Xbox, Gamecube)—Honestly, I can probably own you in Goldeneye 007 and Perfect Dark, which were the precursors to Timesplitters. But then you give me DUAL ANALOG STICKS and set the frame rate at 60 FRICKIN’ FRAMES PER SECOND?! (The best FPSs at the start of the 00’s ran at 30 frames per second.) Now that’s a way to die, fast, over and over again. Play with 3 friends, set deathmatch at a 30 minute time limit, and with 60 kills to a win. Then chug your coffee, cuz you don’t want to blink.

Smackdown vs Raw 2006 (PS2, PSP)—I am the king of wrestling games, but this game has tried me in all the good ways that a video game can. I once wrestled a Triple Threat Match that took half an hour to complete, and I’ve wrestled in 60-minute Iron Man Matches that never got stale. Play against someone else who is good at the game in order to pass a good 20 minutes.

The Mega Man series (Various platforms)—A good example of a series that doesn’t hold your hand and has succeeded. Beat a boss, take his weapon, use it to beat another boss. How can that be so hard to imitate? And why has no one tried?

The Pokemon series (Various platforms)—Every gamer claims to hate it, and the fad is long past its prime, but every time a new one comes out, it sells like hotcakes. Just TRY playing without some sort of a strategy guide. Yeah, I can’t, either.

The Jak series (PS2, PSP)—Here’s the thing: it’s aimed at kids, but there are many levels in each of the games that I, John Edward Downey, gamer for the past 16 years (or so), have a lot of difficulty with. The fact that I want to get to the end of the game tells you about each games’s quality, though.

Super Smash Brothers Melee (Gamecube)—You cannot own a Gamecube and not have this game; it’s that simple. It’s also damn near impossible to unlock everything. It’s also impossible to guarantee victory against even the greenest rookie. The best Gamecube game on the market, period.

The Legend of Zelda series (Various platforms)—Proof that nobody cares about an original story, just as long as that story is told well. The early games needed walkthroughs, A Link To The Past remains one of the best games on the SNES, Link’s Awakening almost made me shed a tear, but Ocarina Of Time is the best of the series, and a good candidate for ‘Best Video Game Of All Time’. Majora’s Mask needed a walkthrough, the Oracle games were a nice change of pace (Capcom made those ones), and while I personally did not enjoy Wind Waker, I know a lot of people who did. With the exception of the long-forgotten CDI games (look them up for a good laugh), if it’s a Legend of Zelda game, it’s a compulsory purchase.

(I don't like to start online conversations with a simple "hello". That's my only explanation for the following gem.)

downeyfelix: why, oh, why, oh, mofogin, WHY, do the Jamster try to see me on shizzat that I don'ts want to be hereing? Like, who the hell thinks that I listen to Rick Ross? Why would I like Rick Ross? Who the hell is Rick Ross? I don't know, and I don't care to know. All I know is that he sounds like he swallowed too much syrup and he has a huge beard. That's it. Oh yeah, and who would name themself Lil' Scrappy? Why would you make people pay attention to the fact that you are little? Why not call yourself Bigass Scrappy? Makes more sense from an advertising standpoint. And why make people listen to the song before they buy it if the song sucks? Just say, "Hey, the new Rick Ross banga is available. It's only a click away!" Rick Ross fans will go, "OH YEAH! I'M HUSTLIN' MAH WAY TO THAT WEBSITE!!!" while everyone else would go, "Thanks, but no thanks." That makes more sense to me. Then again, I'm retarded.

(From a Creative Writing class at NECC in 2006, titled, "Eh, Steve!".)

Pure reminiscence is impossible. It would require me to write in the mindset of whatever age I was, without editorial or nostalgia. The editorial part is the most difficult aspect to deal with, since it is only years later, when everyone’s ulterior motives are exposed, that the whole picture is revealed. Nostalgia isn’t a problem for me because I tend to ask “When was I young?” before I ask “Remember when we were young?” I mean, hell, I’m still young. In 10 years, I’ll be only 30 years old. It would still be too early to write my autobiography if I was 45 years old. Looking at that short span of time that I know I was a child (and I did not care), one moment sticks out, not because it was a good memory, but because very little could take away from the image. I was learning how to hit a baseball. A few kids from the neighborhood were trying to teach me the best hitting technique to use, and told me to only go after ‘good’ pitches. Of course, even at the age of 6 (7?), I was showing a fondness for alchemy, or at least attempting to turn copper into gold, as I tried to turn balls thrown above my shoulders into 500-foot bombs. I looked like an idiot, but hey, I was TRYING (and that’s all that matters in life, right?). And, well, that’s it; I hit a few, missed a lot, went home when dinner was ready. Where are those neighborhood kids now? Well, the catcher got married last May. The pitcher died 3 years ago (drunk driving, whatever). I’m not sure what happened to the rest. Two years after the batting practice, I was put on Ritalin because A) it was 1994 and B) my mom thought there was something wrong with me (ADD, no, Asperger’s!). Dad disagreed, but pretty soon, he was too dead to be able to object to the Ritalin, or Mom moving the family to a town outside of state. One thing hasn’t changed, though. I still think baseball sucks.

(From the same Creative Writing class, titled "GETUM".)

So there was this time when I was little, well, I wasn’t that little, I was always a big ’un, but back when I should’ve been little, there was this girl on the playground who was really ugly and was named Samantha, and well, I don’t do well with girls named Samantha cause they’re always this close to being guys, cuz it’s the difference between Sam and Sam, essentially, and she always called me ugly, but I always told her that she was uglier so that I had the upper hand, and one time I called her really REALLY ugly, so she kicked me between the legs, in the place where the thing and the other thing and the other thing spend their time, and I was hurt a lot, and she started laughing, so I kicked her in the same place, but it didn’t hurt her as much because I was hitting practically nothing at all, but she fell over crying anyways and a couple of girls told me that I was a big meanie because I spent all my time hitting girls, but my friends who happened to be boys had my back because they knew that girls don’t have what guys have, so we agreed to have ourselves a MUD WAR, which is like a snowball fight, but with mud instead of snow, but the boys weren’t really athletic, so we asked for a day to prepare, and the girls agreed to do it the next day because they were stupid and ugly, so the boys and me ran around the school 20 times after school, well, actually, we planned on running around the school 20 times, but Fat Ricky gave up after two steps because he didn’t have the right kind of shoes, and Joe gave up after two laps because he hurt his ankle, and Lenny gave up after 6 laps because his mom was waiting to drive him home, and the rest of us did 14 laps because we didn’t want to miss “Power Rangers”, but at least we worked out, the girls probably sat in a corner, practicing their best “DON’T SHOVE MUD DOWN MY THROAT” looks, and the next day came, and the girls had forgotten all about it because they were stupid like that, so I got a big pile of mud together and put it in my right hand, so I had, basically, a mud fist, and I punched Sam in the ear with it, and she started crying, and the boys all threw mud at all the girls, and I tried to shove mud down Samantha’s throat but SHE BIT MY FINGERS BECAUSE SHE’S A CANNIBAL, so I spit in her face and kicked her between the legs again and then I ran home so that I could put a band-aid on my fingers and the next day, my mommy told me that I had to go to a new school because I was too good for my old one.

(Same class; this time, the assignment was to use only dialogue. Titled "Not Sure That's Legal, But Whatever".)

Timothy: But you said before that it would cost only $15.

Anthony: It’s called ‘inflation’.

Timothy: No, you’re just being a dick.

Anthony: Prices go up. I have to make a living.

Timothy: By changing the price to $150?

Anthony: My little boy needs money for a class field trip.

Timothy: Really? What school is he going to?

Anthony: It’s a private school.

Timothy: Well, all of my nieces and nephews are in private schools, so which one?

Anthony: It’s a private school that I run in my house.

Timothy: Huh?

Anthony: What?

Timothy: Isn’t there a word for—

Anthony: My kid’s taking a field trip to the hospital.

Timothy: Right. Sure.

Anthony: Hey, he’s visiting my sick mother. She’s got cancer. She needs the money, too.

Timothy: What kind of cancer?

Anthony: The one that makes them get chemo.

Timothy: Yeah, that narrows it down.

Anthony: She’s got more than one kind of cancer, you know. Hard to keep ’em straight.

Timothy: Name one.

Anthony: Brain cancer. Her brain got too smart. Didn’t know you could get that, did you?

Timothy: Okay…

Anthony: Bone cancer, too. She was lactose-intolerant. Go figure.

Timothy: That doesn’t make any—

Anthony: Now she’s got titty cancer, too. With a growth. Looks like she’s got a third funpiece.

Timothy: Forget it. No bag of candy is worth $150.

Anthony: Inflation, motherfucker. Inflation.

(The following is my entire portfolio I put together for an online poetry class at NECC, complete with explanations of each poem.)

I don’t like Dane Cook. I’ve never liked Dane Cook. Most of his jokes are based around him saying the unexpected, which only works once (twice, at most), and frankly, I don’t see the humor in bee punching. I’m more of a David Cross fan, since his humor never loses its edge to me. (On “It’s Not Funny”, Cross says that he would rather hear the death rattle of his only child than listen to Creed, which always gets a laugh out of me despite having the album for two years.) That said, the dude came up (or stole from somebody who I haven’t heard of—I’m not sure) with one joke that I had to admit was pretty funny. The entire joke goes like this (more or less): “You know, someday, I just want to walk up to one of those people who are wearing the Superman S on their shirt, shoot them in the chest, and say ‘I TOLD YOU SO’!” So that’s why I reference Dane Cook in the title of the poem and then talk about Superman in the poem itself. As it may have come across in the discussions of this poem, I’m not a big comic books fan, but I stay up to date on what’s going on in the world of the big two, while most people don’t stay up to date on either one. (By the way, best DC comic ever was Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman”. Best comic ever: Miyazaki’s “Nausicaa Of The Valley Of Wind”. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.) To explain some of the more obscure references (again), the guy with crystals for bones and immeasurable strength was Doomsday, who ended up killing Superman in a battle that spanned hundreds of miles and many different Superman strips (the guy had, like, 4 separate books dedicated to him). (On a separate side note, I really HATE how only the comics concerning Superman’s death and return have been put into anthologies, since the ones in between were some of my favorite Superman stories. One story saw a superhero in training travel back to about 5 seconds before Doomsday dealt Superman’s fatal blow with the intent of saving Superman. His mentor traveled back with him and asked him what other “wrongs” he would like to correct without care for the consequences that come with them. (I don’t remember if he referenced specific people, but I kind of like to think that he brought up Martin Luther King Jr.) The student eventually agrees, and then watches Superman die in front of him. (Hey, what do you know, I was wrong. I just looked up info on those comics and saw that they WERE put into an anthology. I was just looking under the wrong name. Instead of calling it “Funeral For A Friend”, which was what most people used to refer to those comics, it was published under the title “World Without A Superman”. I need to look for that the next time I’m in Borders.) The bad Shaq movie was “Steel”, which was universally agreed to be one of the worst superhero movies ever (despite the fact that Steel was not, in fact, a superhero; Steel was simply outfitted with a metal suit and fought crime. Technically, that only makes him a hero, as superheroes have naturally-occurring superpowers. MAN, I’m a geek.) In fact, I’m pretty sure that the combined awfulness of “Steel” and “Batman and Robin” (fun fact: George Clooney actually said that if people stopped him in the street and told him that they paid money to see “Batman and Robin”, he would give them a refund out of his own wallet. I don’t know if anybody took him up on his offer, but I would like to think so) may have caused the “superhero movie” genre to go into hiding, only resurfacing when a good one (“Spiderman”) came out. The light socket bit was concerning the stupid as all get-out “reimagining” of Superman near the late 90’s when he became a being made out of energy. It was stupid in concept, stupid in execution (seriously, one page he’s talking on the phone, the next page he’s being randomly electrocuted, and the next page he’s glowing blue), and was totally unnecessary. The last line is a reference to the Five For Fighting song “Superman (It’s Not Easy)”. This intro has officially gone on for way too long.

COUPLET: THE SOURCE OF THE ONLY DANE COOK JOKE THAT I’VE EVER LAUGHED AT

It’s boring to be perfect, isn’t it?

He’s got super super hearing, but he ain’t listenin’.

“Hey, look at me, I came from another planet!

My backstory couldn’t be better if I planned it!”

Yeah, whatever, CLARK, you little alien bastard,

You laughed when you saw my arm in plaster.

I mean, yeah, I looked pretty funny with my arm at an angle,

But you wouldn’t be laughing if you saw my limb dangle

Off of my shoulder right after the accident.

But I’ll ask for the millionth time—where were you, Kent?

Were you protecting the fosters by throwing the bad corn around back,

Or more important things, like getting Lana in the sack?

I’ve got connections, farmboy; I can send Lois the tape.

“What tape?” THE tape. Your mouth gapes.

Bet you’d be willing to make it disappear?

Ah, yes, but first let’s watch it together—hey, have a beer.

There’s you as a baby—oh, you have your father’s hair!

Here’s your homeworld exploding, AND EVERYBODY CHEERED.

“This isn’t—” And here’s you excelling at pretty much everything

With no asterisks or anything; an alien as prom king!

Luthor? Check. Mxy? Check. Apok? Check.

The tragically misunderstood in need of help Bizarro? Check.

A guy with crystals for bones and immeasurable strength

Who could hop distances of football fields in length

“That doesn’t even—” and doesn’t shy away from beating up women

And has a name that basically means ‘the end’?

“Doomsday?” Check, but it took you long enough

And resulted in a movie starring Shaq. It sucked.

Oh, and death? Yeah, there’s a check, too.

“I didn’t beat—” Yeah, but he didn’t beat you.

Here’s the time you stuck your tongue in a light socket—

WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? No further comment.

Yeah, just try to kill me. No, seriously. Try to bite.

Thought you should know, though, that your can’s made of kryptonite.

HOW DOES MY LEATHER BOOT TASTE, FOOL?

Hmm…drag your carcass over to the pool

OR STICK HOT POKERS IN YOUR EYES?!

I can’t stand to flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…

Wow. This one’s dark. So dark, in fact, that I spent the rest of the semester focused on killing alarm clocks and elephants. So yeah, this one’s about my dad. So…yeah. Awkward. I should point out, though, that I included a slight fabrication in the poem, that of him being lowered into the ground. Dad was cremated, therefore, no need for a coffin. Or burial space, for that matter. As for the other references, well, 4^th paragraph refers to “Redneck Rampage”, which was a ripoff of “Doom” that my father liked a lot, and the Calvin referenced in the last paragraph refers to the Calvin of “Calvin and Hobbes” fame (specifically, a strip in which Calvin and Hobbes find a dead bird and then wonder how one goes through life with the specter of death hanging over your head, which is one of my favorite “Calvin and Hobbes” strips).

GHAZAL: THE SOURCE OF ALL HAPPINESS

Here comes the ground, all packed and brown

And we see superdad being lowered down all the way.

Scraped knee, but I fly through the garage thanks to the guardian angel

Devilish smile, bandages, anticeptic, he’s here to stay

I asked him what hell was like once, when he visited my dreams

And he said that compared to his time living, he loves living every day.

“Man, look at what video games have become. Rednecks on a rampage?!”

Pops open his drink and sits outside, looking over at the sunset on the bay.

As Calvin sort of once said, “In order to go on with your lives, you can’t think about it.”

Still, though, Downer gets down-er with each passing day.

What a great title for this next piece. “Hmm, this poem is about wanting to kill your alarm clock, and shotguns can kill things, so hey, why not mix the two?” The best poems are the ones that you can relate to, and I’m pretty sure that a lot of people related to this one. The “get the money” line may have had too much going on with it to work (trying to bring up the reasons why one should get out of bed doesn’t work all that well when you are trying to celebrate laziness), but I’m keeping it in because I still kind of like it. Oh yeah, and this one was really hard to write.

ACCENTUAL-ALLITERATIVE POEM: SHOTGUN ALARM

Comes the choice

Can I come out?

Distance to the door

Don’t; too far.

Kill the rooster

Kick the snooze.

Get the money

Get the blanket.

Snooze the day

Snails have fun.

Once I figured out what a rhyming metrical poem consisted of, this was a piece of cake. Encourage me to be silly, and I’ll give you an elephant looking for ice cream. I tried to amuse myself with as many of the lines as I could, which worked out pretty well. I should also point out that I watched the Flash animation “Charlie The Unicorn” shortly before writing this, which may be why I put a mountain in the poem, since “Charlie The Unicorn” sees the title character try to get to Candy Mountain.

RHYMING METRICAL: ICE CREAM GUPP

The ice cream at the top of the mountain wasn’t going to get itself,

So they left it up to me, Ralphie, to go get it for them.

I gathered my things with my tusk, said goodbye to my pet hen Lem,

And started my trek up Mount Matankarmelf.

Mountains aren’t good for elephant feet,

But I guess I needed to get some exercise.

Halfway up the mountain, I met a monkey who liked to tell a lot of lies.

After a 15-minute water balloon fight, he admitted defeat.

My food supply started running low about three quarters of the way up,

And I’m not the kind of person who likes to eat ice cream.

While pondering what to do, I dozed off and had a weird dream;

It was about juju beans, sheep wearing wool, and a dog named Gupp.

I made it to the top, but couldn’t find the ice cream that was supposed to be there.

I panicked, and started throwing around everyone who got in my way.

One little boy, bruised and battered, cried out, “Ice cream man leave yesterday!”

In my fury, I think I might have swallowed a bear.

Using a sled that nobody seemed to be using anymore,

I managed to get down the mountain in 5 minutes.

The town, it seemed, had been destroyed; smashed to bits.

Looks like I didn’t have to worry about ice cream no more.

One of my Facebook notes, brought in to pad my grade! No fabrications, either. I really did punch that refridgerator magnet, and I did meet a homeless girl who was way too smart to be without a place to go home to. It’s the least I could do.

FREE CHOICE: COUPLETS (SORT OF)

Why am I friends with myself? Shit, it's not like I have a choice,
But c'mon, gather round, little girls and boys
And see the retard with the silver fingers talk to you about self-doubt
And make sure you've got your earplugs ready, because this could get loud.
When I was 4 years old, I attacked a magnet on the refrigerator.
It was a picture of my brother--oh, how I used to hate her.
Yeah, I know that he's not a she,
But really,
He's not the kind of guy that should be using a lot of pronouns
Because he can get dozens of people to say "Go Downs"
While I've got only a select few biggest fans, they're always in the fronts seats
Braving the smell of yours truly's dank feets
To hear whatever the fuck it is that JED's got on his mind.
All I do is repeat a comedian's act and then add, "Signed,
John Edward" and I'm called a fucking genius
And people make encouraging comments on the size of my...hairline.
And that's what really separates friends from family,
Because my family knows not to be friendly around me
Since it's not as though I could feel it anyway
I mean, sure, I can feel a hug, but at the end of the day
That's still a gesture meant for people who have feelings
And all I've got is some sort of onion peelings
From the layers that I've stripped off, starting at the fingers,
I finish picking at them, but the smell of blood lingers
And my dog can taste it, that's why she's afraid of me,
That's why I like to call her Coffee Downey
Because that bitch gets it, I'm not to be trusted,
My sense of empathy has already rusted
Over the course of the past 20 years
So if you cry, I'll probably just laugh at your tears.
Read my autobiography, it hasn't been written,
But I told it to a stray kitten
That I found while walking around a cold mountain town before being shipped down south
You wouldn't believe the poetry coming out of her mouth;
She described a train as a "lumbering beast",
At which point, my negative thoughts towards the homeless ceased
And I wondered how a girl with a mind like that could fall so far
And I wondered...

I wondered how I could forget her name.

That's enough for now, kids, story time is over,
Now go outside and play some red rover.
I'll just be picking my mind, see if I've got friends in Decatur,
And ask Sufjan for more words that rhyme with alligator.

NUMBER 2: Most useful learning experience? Heck, that’s every time I get backed into a corner with a poem. Twelve more accentual-alliterative poems and I’ll figure out the meaning of life. I’ve learned that I’ve got a really silly side that hasn’t worn off with age. My favorite part about my work this semester is how silly my work has been, compared to my material last semester. Spill your guts too many times and you won’t have anything to breathe with anymore, I guess. My writing hasn’t changed all that much, unfortunately. I have a better understand of meter now, along with a few new ways to rhyme stuff. The best piece of advice I’ve gotten is when somebody said that they didn’t get one of my poems. I tend to make all sorts of obscure references (or self-references, which are fun to write…right before you delete them), and being told to make things more accessible is a good way to keep your audience. I’m still struggling with the poems that have the most rules attached to them. The most frustrating part of the writing experience is when I have to choose between the great line and the decent line that follows the poem’s guidelines. My goals after this semester are to continue writing poems. I’ve been writing a few of them on my Facebook notes, as a matter of fact. It’s good exercise.

NUMBER 3: Deadlines are more lenient in an online setting, which is good for lazy people like me. The problem with doing creative writing online is that it makes giving feedback harder. Once, I told someone that their poem was too “poety”—which is my way of saying that the work sounded like it was written with the intent of sounding really pretty without care for the content. This person thought that I had misspelled “poetry” and proceeded to give me an undeserved online bitch-slap. In a face-to-face setting, that wouldn’t have happened. The lecture notes and assignments were easy to follow. I didn’t have to read anything more than twice to get it. I barely read the text, to be honest. The discussion questions were fine, and really helped me mold my poems. The instructor should only put in their word in the discussions if we’re all REALLY missing the point. I would like to read everyone’s poems when they post them, so I’m in favor of a whole class workshop. The only people that I really got to know were the ones that I got to know outside of class, which is how it worked with my other online class. In a face-to-face setting, I would know something about everyone. As it is, I know 1 or 2 people in this class. My favorite assignment was the first one; my least favorite was the accentual-alliterative poem. I would like to see an assignment that has one person coming up with a few names, objects, and/or words, and another person has to write a poem using all of the listed words. The only thing that I would suggest that could improve this class is to have more live readings.

The Downey Obscure Game Report: Week Three

2008-01-09T22:44:00.000-08:00

The history of video games has already been covered by people much smarter than me in much more detail than I could hope to, but if I were to write a book on the subject, I would make sure to include a fairly long chapter on how the home computer gaming market changed after video game consoles proved themselves to be both critical and commercial successes in the 90's. This was likely the first time someone meant it when they said, "Consoles are going to make PC gaming obsolete." The only market that PCs seemed to have that the consoles couldn't touch was the point-and-click adventure game market, which was still relatively strong. Then CD-Roms came out, and everything went to hell.

The CD-Rom was a big deal. In exchange for beefing up your computer's hardware and waiting 5 minutes for a game to load, you could experience something that the SNES and Genesis couldn't hope to replicate. The CD-Rom promised a multimedia experience. Everything sounded crisper, everything looked better, and hey, if that's what it can do to a game's look, what can it do to the gameplay?

Um...what gameplay? Geremy Mustard of Chair Entertainment noted in a recent essay that most of the memory used by a video game goes towards art, and not by accident: "Every time I found a way to make the game ("Undertow") smaller, the artists would find a way to increase its size again! By the end of it, they put in 15 custom environments, hundreds of effects, 5.1 surround sound, motion-captured cut-scenes with full voiceover, and subtitles in nine languages." ("Small Is Beautiful", Game Informer, January 2008) "Undertow", by the way, was an Xbox Live Arcade game that weighed in at a little under 50 MB, which was the maximum size for Live Arcade games at the time of its release. Such attention to game art has its roots at least as far back as the CD-Rom days, when full-motion video took up most of a game's memory.

The entire idea behind using full-motion video was to immerse the gamer into a game as much as possible, and there seemed to be no easier way of doing that than to have professional actors perform in front of a blue screen. They're real; they're more relatable than a pile of pixels; they look like you and me. What could go wrong?

First of all, most of the actors employed in such games sucked. Second of all, even if they didn't suck, the material that these actors had to work with sucked. Third of all, even if the actors and material were actually good, the gameplay itself sucked; most of this stuff was a thinly-concealed slideshow filled with hotspots that needed to be pressed in order to get to the next encounter.

Were any good games that incorporated full-motion video released? Well, yes; there has to be exceptions that prove the rule. "Myst" was one. "Gabriel Knight: The Beast Within" was another. "Under A Killing Moon" was yet another. But for every "Myst", there seemed to be two piles of crap. It wasn't helped by the fact that developers seemed to enjoy showing people dying. Yes, having your main character die as a way to reinforce the danger of his/her surroundings is a good thing, but there's a point when it stops being reinforcement of negative behavior and starts being about just grossing people out just for the sake of grossing them out. "Phantasmagoria" was built almost entirely around the appeal of seeing people die--but not just in parts where you've done something wrong. Throughout the game, you see visions of a previous tenant, Carno, killing each of his wives in horrible ways. Rest assured, the following link isn't the worst death featured in the game, and is actually pretty funny, but I still wouldn't recommend watching it while eating: http://youtube.com/watch?v=sNaG-oUMp28 . As any good entertainer knows, though, you can't give away your best material in the first act; you need something for the big finale. In other words, can your character's death be just as gory? Unfortunately, yes. The next link is much gorier, and you'll probably hate me for putting it here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=e3hX0rbw1rA .

The wasted potential here still astounds me, especially considering what they could have done with this technology. As long as you're using live actors, why not make a live-action Choose Your Own Adventure? As it was, most companies were willing to put out live-action Choose Your Own Goosebumps, overestimating their own wit and underestimating the expectations of the average gamer. Why not make a game that's concentrated less on pixel-hunting and more on decision-making?

Which brings us to this week's DOGR. If a version of this game had come out in the 90's, it would have been hailed as a classic and a benchmark. As it is, it was released in 2005, and it's simply a great game.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

Developed by Quantum Dream, previously known for making a game featuring David Bowie, and published by the king of good luck, Atari. The game is known to the rest of the world as "Fahrenheit", but there was some concern that consumers would associate the game with Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11", so the name was changed when it was translated for American audiences. The difference in names also helps separate the censored and uncensored versions of the game. We quaint Americans got the censored one.

The game starts off with you taking control of Lucas Kane, moments after killing someone in a diner while seemingly not in control of himself. How you act affects the next scene, when you take control of Carla Valenti and Tyler Miles, two detectives that are assigned to this case. You switch back and forth between these 3 characters (and Lucas's brother Markus on rare occasions), and it never really feels like you're fighting against yourself; all of the characters that you control are good people who are just trying to get by. There's also a vicious wave of snow that's devastated New York City, which means that these characters are going on despite themselves. (It also plays into the original title for the game.)

This game needs to be played with a controller that has two analog sticks, as the action scenes require you to play a version of Simon in order to proceed. The controller also has to have 6 other buttons on it, as two of them are used for tug-of-war contests sometimes played out in action sequences, too. This goes much better with a video example, so here's a sequence in which you get to see both mechanics at work: http://youtube.com/watch?v=v_MLnryT46g . Creative freedom is taken away from the gamer, but in return, you get the closest thing to an interactive movie that I've ever seen. The inner monologue is greatness, too, and reminds me of an even better game that I'm willing to do a column about in the future. Some reviewers say that it's too hard to watch the on-screen action and pay attention to the action cues at the same time, but I never had a problem with it. Maybe I'm just special.

It's got great writing, the choices that the characters (and you) make affect the outcome, and it plays well enough. But in my teaser for the game, I said that it was only awesome for about 3/4 of it. The last 1/4 was just one big disappointment to me, as that was the point in which all of the cards were revealed, and, to quote the cool kids, shit goes down. The problem is, though, that the characters stop acting rationally. There's a two-week space of blank memory for Lucas that is given an explanation that completely lacks inspiration or originality. Oh, and when they do battle, technology kills magic. I'm a bit of a SF nerd, but that ain't right.

It gets more right than it does wrong, though, so this is an easy recommendation. It was released on the PC, Xbox, and PS2, so it's not as though it's a hard game to find. Check the used racks for this one. Also, keep an eye out for "Heavy Rain", which is supposed to be a spiritual sequel of sorts. As long as I'm posting videos, here's the trailer that single-handedly made "Heavy Rain" a big deal: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=9133667929405103814&q=heavy+rain&total=3165&start=0&num=100&so=0&type=search&plindex=1 .

If you're reading this, please comment. On anything. Next week (maybe), I'll tackle another adventure game. One that involves Luke Skywalker, stealing gasoline from the police, and fertilizer. Now THAT'S a teaser.

The Downey Obscure Game Report: Week Two

2007-12-31T22:59:00.000-08:00

When asked, video game developers will gladly give all of the reasons why it is so hard to make a video game adaptation of a licensed product. "What works in one medium might not work as well in another." "The people who own the license tend to not know much about developing video games, but we still have to respect their wishes concerning how their product is portrayed." "If we're making a game based on a movie that's coming out soon, then we need to be able to ship our product at around the same time that the movie is released, regardless of how much advance notice our bosses give us."

These interviews are pretty fun to read, since you can pretty much see that the interviewer was too afraid to address the elephant in the room. You see, there's no logical reason for any bad licensed video games to be released.

"What about money?" you might ask, and okay, that's kind of hard to argue--IF you go back 2 decades, when (a) the cost of making video games was lower and (b) the consumer was dumber. One of the worst video games ever made was "E.T." for the Atari 2600 (not the subject of this week's article), and that...thing still sold 1.5 million copies (and here's something to think about: despite selling that many copies, "E.T." was actually a big financial failure for Atari, since they had produced 4 million copies of the game and the movie rights hit them in the wallet hard). Nowadays, it takes millions of dollars just to DEVELOP a video game, never mind mass-producing it, and the consumer has plenty of video game magazines and websites to assist them in separating the cream from the crap.

"What about franchises that don't translate into video games well?" What about them? Look, I'm not a video game programmer, but I'm pretty sure that there are months of planning done by supposedly smart people, making sure that what they invested in will make for a good product. Hell, why not have that meeting BEFORE agreeing to take on a license? That would make a hell of a lot more sense from a financial standpoint, and if the people who own the franchise turn you down, you might still have the groundwork for a great game that you could use for your own devious purposes.

Then again, "Where's Waldo?" for the NES (not the subject of this week's article) exists. The developers apparently decided to translate the concept of the book to the NES, without considering how proficient the NES was at showing detailed pictures. Without detailed pictures, "Where's Waldo?" is pointless. Fortunately, the developer of that game, Bethesda Softworks, went on to do many good things, so all's well that ends well, I guess.

"Why are you so hung up on licensed video games?" Because it's a simple idea that most companies seem to mess up. You already have a built-in audience, so all you have to do is replicate the elements that the audience enjoyed from the license and put a good game on top of it. If you're making a Batman game, then you need to make sure that all of Batman's gadgets work, and beating up people must feel satisfying. If you're making a Lord of the Rings game, then the battles need to look like they came right out of the movie, and that your actions still matter in how things turn out. If you're making a Simpsons game, then you have to include elements and music from the TV show, and then make sure that all of the other stuff works.

"Why do you keep saying that everything has to work?" Because the Wii version of "Jenga" doesn't work.

"What would you know about making a licensed product?" Actually, as part of an art class, I made a "Jurassic Park" board game. I was able to recreate the thrills of running away from (not shooting at, or playing as, which was what lazy video game designers did) dinosaurs, and make it play well, too. If I had more time to work out some minor problems with the rules, and I had a skilled artist to help make everything look good, the thing would have passed for professional quality. Oh, and I made it in middle school.

So how good can a video game based off of a comic strip from the 1910's be? In this case, it turned out to be one of the best games for the NES.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...
While looking up the developer, I said to myself, "I hope they went on to do even better things." Then I saw that it was developed and published by Capcom in 1990, and all was good.

"Little Nemo: Dream Master" has you play as a child named Nemo, navigating him to Slumberland. The road is tricky, though, as most of the creatures you'll encounter will try to kill you. It's not helped by the fact that Nemo is not physically up to this task; he can't jump high, he's relatively slow, and he is completely incapable of killing his enemies.

Nemo's only hope of getting through each stage is to throw candy at creatures that are willing to accept it. After getting full, these creatures will fall asleep, at which point Nemo can touch them and gain abilities that change depending on which creature you've possessed.

This is genius shit. While you're not able to possess the vast majority of creature that you'll encounter (though those creatures can be temporarily stunned by your candy), you're still given access to 8 creatures that you'll need to use in order to complete each level: fish (can swim fast), frog (can jump high, and can kill enemies), gorilla (lots of health, can climb walls, can punch enemies), hermit crab (can dig in sand, can pinch enemies), hornet (can shoot stingers, has limited flight capabilities), lizard (can climb walls, very fast), mole (can dig through dirt) and mouse (can climb walls, Nemo can hit enemies with a hammer). Consider that "Super Mario Brothers 3" gave you access to 6 powers. Also, you're not really given the choice between which creature you think is best for a given situation. You use what the game gives you.

Oh, and simply getting to the end of the level won't do you much good. In order to complete a level, you have to collect 6 (most of the time) keys. They are hidden throughout the level, and most of them can only be found by possessing a creature. Now, item collecting has become a trademark of lazy platform-game developers, but this game does it right: it tells you what you have to collect, how many of them you have to collect, and getting them is not an impossible task. This also forces the player to see as much of the level as they possibly can, which makes it hard to ignore the art design.

And, well...
Look at the details given to the mushrooms. Look at the personality given off by the shrubbery. You can see a sense of emotion on Nemo's face. You can tell that jumping on that snail's back is a bad idea. It's easy on the eyes, despite the black backdrop. THIS is how you make a good-looking 8-bit game.

And it's hard. There are only 8 levels, but it's hard. And that's a good thing. Video games nowadays are way too easy, and playing something from way back when reminds me why I had such a sense of accomplishment from playing video games. The soundtrack rules, too.

There's no reason why you shouldn't track this game down. It's an excellent platformer with as much gameplay variety as "Super Mario Brothers 3". Why this isn't on the Virtual Console is beyond me. I can't recommend this game too highly. PLAY IT.

I might take a week off from writing this thing (I almost took this week off!), but that doesn't mean that I've abandoned this idea. Next column, I'll talk about an interactive movie that's completely awesome for 3/4 of the game, and then extreme disappointment for its last 1/4. It's spiritual sequel, though, is one of the most anticipated titles for 2008. Happy Holidays.

(originally published December 22nd.)

The Downey Obscure Game Report: Week One

2007-12-31T22:52:00.000-08:00

It should be noted that saying that a video game rips off ideas from other forms of media--whether they be music, movies, novels, or other video games--is not necessarily a condemnation of said video game's quality. The "Halo" games, for example, contain elements from both "Ringworld" ("hey, look, it's a big ring, what the fuck does it do?") and "Ender's Game" ("Kill the bugs!"), but the "Halo" series has been universally acclaimed for its quality. Also, the game that many critics claimed was 2006's Game Of The Year, "Gears Of War", uses a cover mechanic that was previously used in a somewhat obscure PS2 game called "kill.switch", and yet "Gears Of War" was still praised for its innovative gameplay. In both of the previous examples, ideas that were taken from other forms of media were either approached from a new angle or improved upon so much that they might as well have come up with the idea in the first place. (Another example: the first Digimon games were virtual pets that improved on the Tamagotchi model and were released more than a year before the first Pokemon games came out, but who was the one that came out on top as the marketing juggernaut?)

Obviously, then, to say that a video game is a ripoff with negative connotations is when it's a video game that only exists because it's feeding off of a fad without adding any significant ideas to its chosen genre. This is where the inaugural DOGR comes in. It feeds off of the ninja fad of the early 90's while adding nothing for the action genre. It's not the worst game ever made (I've played MUCH worse), and in fact, this game can bring enjoyment to you, but there are some problems that I have with this game that could have been easily fixed.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...
In case you can't read that font, it's "Wrath Of The Black Manta", created and published by Taito Corporation (now a part of Square Enix) in 1990. Taito's biggest contribution to the video game industry was the Lufia series of RPG's, which is a very hard series to hate and a very easy one to love. Outside of those games, though, Taito hasn't done much. "Wrath Of The Black Manta" is no "Lufia & the Fortress of Doom". It aspires to be a quick cash-in on the ninja craze at the time by doing what "Ninja Gaiden" did so well: great sidescrolling action with a decent storyline. I'll discuss the storyline first, since this shit gives me a headache.

Here's the setup that you get before the first stage begins:

Children have been disappearing in New York City. A few people believe that the kids are getting kidnapped, but the authorities are considering all possibilities. One day, though, Master (that's the only name that he's referred to as) found a note at the scene of one disappearance left for him by one of his students, Taro. The note says: "Please send help! We have been kidnapped and are being held near the waterfront." Master relays this message to a former student of his, the Black Manta, who vows to find Taro and bring his kidnappers to justice.

Putting any degree of critical thought into the previous paragraph reveals all sorts of plot holes. Why don't the authorities believe that the kids are being kidnapped? How could Taro write that note and place it in a spot where his teacher could find it? Why didn't Master give the note to the FBI? And why is the Black Manta wearing purple?

I should note that the rest of this plot description contains spoilers (and is completely stupid), so if you don't want this game spoiled, tough shit.

After interrogating certain underlings, some of whom don't even know the name of the organization that they're working for (this is entirely optional, by the way), the Black Manta learns that the kidnappers are actually a large, worldwide criminal organization called D.R.A.T. (there is no explanation as to what it stands for). D.R.A.T. has been kidnapping children with the intention of brainwashing them to become drug addicts and dealers. Through these brainwashed children, they hope to gain enough money and power to take over the world.

Critical thoughts: Why would the grunts agree to work for an organization that refuses to even tell them their name? How did D.R.A.T. become as powerful and expansive as it is if all it does is evil and illegal activities? Why spend the time and resources to kidnap and brainwash children when (a) all of their faces are on milk cartons by the time the brainwashing process is completed and (b) when dealing drugs is not the most reliable way of making money? Why not brainwash the children to become soldiers for your cause, instead? And furthermore, is global domination D.R.A.T.'s only cause? And seeing how the world has turned out, wouldn't a world where marijuana is legalized be considered a good thing?

The game answers that last question by saying "Don't do drugs," which has been proven to be too commanding a phrase and too single-minded to actually keep kids from doing drugs. Still, though, every time the Black Manta frees a child, he reminds them to don't do drugs. Welcome to the 90's.

I've gone through 8 paragraphs without even touching on how this game plays. Alright, here goes. It plays almost exactly as you would think an action game on the NES should play: press A to jump, press B to either slash your sword or throw a ninja star, hold down and release B to use a special ninja ability (throw a flame, become invisible, project a duplicate of yourself, etc.). There are a few awkward flying portions that play like R-Type gone stupid, and the last level contains some first-person shooting elements, but for the most part, this is "Ninja Gaiden", with an even worse storyline. You can have a maximum of 8 hit points, though you start with 3.

So, by this time, you get the idea behind the game. It's stupid, but in a funny way. There are no bugs or glitches of any kind, and getting to the first boss can easily be done without losing a life. The only problems you'll likely encounter are trying to get into hidden rooms, which are activated by throwing a ninja star at a wall while standing in the right spot (this part is much more difficult and imprecise than it should be). So what's the big deal? Why am I revisiting a 17-year-old game? What drew me to WOTBM?

Imagine that you're 4 years old. You're playing this silly ninja game, having fun, kicking ass, and laughing your butt off when you hear that the first boss is named "Tiny". Going into the battle, you think to yourself, "How hard can this be?"

And then...

Up until this point, WOTBM has been populated with silly looking characters and ridiculous dialog. Then you run into an ugly, muscular, tattooed guy the size of a building.

When Tiny jumps, a brick falls right on the spot where the Black Manta is standing; therefore, you must keep moving. Tiny jumps from right to left, and back again, meaning that there will be parts where you can barely move at all. The only way to hurt Tiny is to throw a ninja star at his head. The longest amount of time that Tiny spends on the ground, though, is approx. one second. The shortest amount of time you'll have is about half a second. If Tiny is in the air when you throw a star at him, you won't hit his head, and therefore, won't hurt him. In order to jump high enough to hit Tiny's head, you must jump as high as you can, which means holding down the A button and hitting B at the height of your jump. Tiny has 8 life points, but it takes 3 hits to remove one of his life points, effectively meaning that you'll have to hit Tiny 24 times in order to beat him. If you touch a brick or Tiny, you'll lose one point from your life bar, and remember, the most life points you can have is 8. If you die, though, you'll lose a life and go back to 3 life points, while Tiny's health is completely regenerated.

This is the hardest first boss I have ever seen. And remember, this game was made for kids.

Giving Taito the benefit of the doubt, "Wrath Of The Black Manta" has its heart in all the right places. Good intentions, though, don't make good video games. While the game screams at you to stay away from drugs, everyone who had something to do with this game, from the level designers to the graphics illustrators to the translators to the people who made the sound for the game (this game plays so much better when you mute it), seems to have been on drugs. While I wouldn't search for it on eBay, though, I can honestly say that if you can find this at a flea store, it's worth taking a look at, if only for a laugh.

So, that was this week's column. Next week, I'll take a look at one of the best licensed video games I've ever played. This, despite featuring "item-collecting" aspects that have been pointed at as hurting the genre. Oh, and despite the license being a comic strip from the early 1900's. And despite this being an NES game. If I said anymore, I'd be giving it away. Good luck on finals, everyone.

(originally posted December 13th.)

New Year, new blog.

2007-12-31T22:45:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I had blogs going all over the place, so I might as well composite it down in one place. Or something. Downey Obscure Game Reports coming soon; until then, here's my most recent Facebook blog.

"You know, this is a time when I should look back on the past year, see what I did right, apologize to the people that I wrongly hurt, and then look forward to the New Year. But, uh, 2007 was possibly the best year of my entire life, which means that I don't exactly have a lot to regret. I took a couple of jobs, performed on stage multiple times, got a social life, returned to MCLA, and got good grades. I can only think of one huge mistake that I made this past year, and I already apologized for it.

I'm not looking forward to 2008, though. Why? Well, first of all, I'm almost certain that one of my step-relatives is going to die not long after the New Year comes. (And no, this isn't a "I have this feeling in my gut" kind of thing. This is a "They took her off of life support a couple of days ago and now we're waiting" kind of thing.) Also, with my oldest cousin graduating at the same time as the kids that were freshmen when I was a senior in high school, I'm really going to start feeling like an old man. Oh, and 2008 is an election year, and if the last two elections were any indication, our new president is going to kick off 2009 by stabbing somebody at the podium, raping their dying corpse, and then saying it was all okay, either because they were in favor of the war or because they were against the war (depending on which party wins). Did I mention that 2008 is also going to mark ten years since my dad died? Happy New Year indeed.

So, obviously, I'm turning a blind eye towards 2008. I won't have to worry about it for a little under 7 hours, anyway. So, instead, I'll just toss some thoughts out there for you to consider.

-Acting according to the wishes of spineless individuals can seem like a good idea at the time, but you'll be regretting it when your inbox gets flooded with hate mail.

-Women don't like it when you touch their toes.

-Remember the saying, "If it's free, I'm going to get my money's worth"? Yeah, that's been proven wrong.

-If their name is hard to spell or pronounce, there's a 90% chance that they are awesome.

-The phrase "child-bearing hips" is fucking hilarious and needs to be put into casual conversation as often as possible.

-If you didn't regularly watch Patriots games until they won the Super Bowl, but now consider yourself to be a big fan of them, CONGRATULATIONS, you're a douchebag. You're dumber than Yankees fans. You have less worth than Dolphins fans. Terrorists hate America because of people like you. Kill yourselves. (Note: the previous couple of statements should not be taken literally. Just know that you suck ass.)

-There's more than one way to spell "Jumanji".

With this, I now bravely, and with a heavy heart, lift up my Sprite and toast 2008, which, according to Chinese Astrology, is the Year of the Rat. Which means that Hilary Clinton is going to get elected. Fuck."