Mmmmm...can't wait til July!

Raising the Bar: Even Top Lawyers Fail California Exam

Former Stanford Law Dean Becomes Latest Victim;
A Mayor Tries Four Times

By JAMES BANDLER and NATHAN KOPPEL
Staff Reporters of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
December 5, 2005; Page A1

Kathleen Sullivan is a noted constitutional scholar who has argued cases before the Supreme Court. Until recently, she was dean of Stanford Law School. In legal circles, she has been talked about as a potential Democratic nominee for the Supreme Court. But Ms. Sullivan recently became the latest prominent victim of California's notoriously difficult bar exam. Last month, the state sent out the results of its July test to 8,343 aspiring and already-practicing lawyers. More than half failed -- including Ms. Sullivan.

Although she is licensed to practice law in New York and Massachusetts, Ms. Sullivan was taking the California exam for the
first time after joining a Los Angeles-based firm as an appellate specialist.

The California bar exam has created misery for thousands of aspiring and practicing lawyers. Former California Gov. Jerry Brown passed on his second try, while former Gov. Pete Wilson needed four attempts. The recently elected mayor of Los Angeles, Antonio R. Villaraigosa, never did pass the bar after failing four times.

But it's unusual for the exam to claim a top-notch constitutional lawyer at the peak of her game. "She is a rock star," says William Urquhart, who last year recruited Ms. Sullivan to join his firm, Quinn Emanuel Urquhart Oliver & Hedges LLP. "Practically every lawyer in the U.S. knows who Kathleen Sullivan is." If anyone should have passed, Mr. Urquhart says, it is Ms. Sullivan. "The problem is not with Kathleen Sullivan, it is with the person who drafted the exam or the person who graded it."

Ms. Sullivan, 50 years old, did not return phone and email messages
seeking comment. Her firm said she wasn't reachable over the weekend because she was at a remote location.

OMFG this sandwich is good

I don't know if you've ever heard my sister talk about the Gardenburger brand meatless riblets (I would link to that, since I'm sure she posted about it, but I'm too lazy to go through her posts and find it), but anyway just ask her what she thinks of them sometime.

I came over to her place one time when she was living a few blocks away from me on the west side of Chicago with Katie Werremeyer, and she was in the middle of a rant about these things. She had actually sat down and written a letter to the company because they were so good. I'm not kidding. This is the same sister that takes pictures of her food in public when it looks good. I do that too, but not in public. Though now I have a camera phone, so I might. She pulls out an actual camera with flash, in front of God and everybody and takes a shot. She'll stand up in the booth if she has to. I love her.

So I've known about these for a while, but tonight something hit me. A few weeks ago I broke down and went to McDonalds. Yes, you read that right. I've been McCrap free since I saw Supersize Me over a year ago. Actually, I hadn't been there for a while before that, so it had been about two years. But I just came out of a night class, had to go shopping because there was nothing at home, and was starving. Plus the McRib was back. Justify, justify, justify - I ate the fuckin thing. It was good.

As soon as I finished it, though, I remembered the Gardenburger rib thingies. DAMNIT, I coulda had one of those! They ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE MCRIB. Plus you don't have all that guilt/wonder about what exactly it was you just ate. It's not real food, you know. It's some sort of pseudomeat shaped to look like it has bones in it. That should bother you. A lot.

What I decided to do, and I finally remembered tonight to do it, is imitate the McRib exactly using Gardenburger riblets. Here's all there is to it: Get the Gardenburger riblets (buy two packages cuz there's only two in there and you will regret not having more in your freezer. Trust me.). Punch a couple holes in the plastic and put it on a plate and microwave it til it's bubblin. Cut the plastic open, slide it out onto the plate, then put a slice of swiss on there. I know, the McRib doesn't have cheese - this is better. I break the cheese longways so it covers the whole ribby. Mike it for 30 more secs. Now slide that onto a hoagie/french/sour dough roll. I put some extra BBQ on there cuz I'm all about the sauce. Use your favorite - the smokier the better cuz the sauce that comes on the ribby is smoky and delicious. Next put some sliced raw onion. Now, the crucial part. Pickles. I used Vlasic Ovals hamburger dill chips. If you don't use the right pickle you'll fuck it up. Go ahead, try Claussen and see if you don't hate it.

That's it. Eat the shit outta that and come back for more. And smile! You're screwing McDonald's out of money!!

Happy birthday to me (and Frank)

Today is my birthday, and it just so happens to be the birthday of Ole Blue Eyes himself as well. I can't think of a better guy to share your birthday with if you're an overly dramatic, somewhat cynical Italian kid who likes to drink whiskey and tends to romanticize things in his head. We were truly born under the same star. Now all I have to do is have a meteoric rise to fame (I never understood that phrase, don't meteors ALWAYS come DOWN?), hit rock bottom in my career and have an even better comeback that proves everyone wrong. Did I mention I romanticize things in my head?

In that spirit, I am not studying in my kitchen today. I don't have an International Entertainment Law final tomorrow that has me looking at flash cards for the next 14 hours. Nope, today it's nighttime. Me and Frank are sittin' in a bar lamenting some lost love with our pal Jack. That's how I wanna spend my birthday this year.

Here's the song we'd sing. If you've got the record, put it on and sing along. Pour yourself a little whiskey and wish me and Frank a happy birthday.



It's quarter to three, there's no one in the place except you and me
So, set 'em up, Joe, I got a little story you oughta know
We're drinkin', my friend, to the end of a brief episode
Make it one for my baby and one more for the road

I got the routine, so drop another nickel in the machine
I'm feelin' so bad, wish you'd make the music pretty and sad
Could tell you a lot, but you've got to be true to your code
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road

You'd never know it, but buddy I'm a kind of poet
And I got a lot of things to say
And when I'm gloomy, you simply gotta listen to me
Till it's talked away

(bridge)

Well that's how it goes and Joe, I know your gettin' pretty anxious to close
So, thanks for the cheer, I hope you didn't mind my bendin' your ear
Don't let it be said, little Davey can't carry his load
So, make it one for my baby and one more for the road

The coolest thing I have ever seen

Is here. Make sure you have the sound on, and watch the whole thing. Reminds me of something me and Eric Coulthard and Blake Whittington would have spent an entire Saturday doing.

The secret life of a Hooter's waitress

A while back some friends and I went to Hooters on a Sunday night. Two of them were girls, by the way, and I believe it was their idea. I mean, personally I would never go there. Eat spicy fried things while lookin' at ass? Noooo thanks. But I make sacrifices when I'm asked. That's the kind of friend I am.

Anyway, as we sat down at our table I realized that some member of the staff had accidentally left a piece of paper there. It said simply, "Thank you, tell a friend!" in preprinted calligraphic writing (this IS a classy joint!), and "Yolanda" handwritten in pen above it. Upon turning it over, however, I discovered that it contained MUCH more. It had, printed right there in Comic Sans font (now THAT'S delightfully tacky AND unrefined) for the world to see, THE ENTIRE LIST OF 16 HOOTERS GIRL INSTRUCTIONS/TIPS/REMINDERS.

Obviously Yolanda is a mole. I quickly pocketed the paper so as not to be discovered. Can you imagine what management would do to Yolanda from the Sunday night shift at the Santa Monica Hooters if they found out? She obviously knows that I am a disseminator of the truth. A guardian of information that the PUBLIC MUST KNOW. She was sending me a message, and I cannot let her down. Now the truth is out! So here it is, folks: the


HOOTERS WAITRESS OFFICIAL GUIDE

#1 Lead Guests on from wherever you are

#2 Seat Guests (at the table of the waitress with the best breasts, yours of course!)

#3 Greet table with false interest within 30 secs, make a vague sexual innuendo to males as a group

#4 Inform Guests of a specific special or promotion, while giving them no reason to look you in the eye

#5 Bring drinks (in 3 min. or less). If not beer, insult masculinity while smiling.

#6 Suggest a specific appetizer. Pretend you've eaten it and it's good

#7 Sit down to take food order, next to male you believe will be paying. Suggest sex with ever order

#8 Tits, Ass, Tits, Ass, Legs Tits Ass!

#9 Entertain, Entertain, Entertain! And don't forget sexual favors for management

#10 Secret Service - anticipate the Guests' needs. You know what we're talking about

#11 Deliver food to the table. That's where the food goes. You know, food, the stuff we serve. Ok crap. Just get it to the table. What do mean, which table?? YOUR TABLE. YOU ARE A WAITRESS. YOU BRING THE FOOD TO THE TAAAAAYBUUULLLL. Jesus Christ, just gimme the tray. I'll do it myself. Go flirt with somebody.

#12 Check back in 2 cock teases or 2 minutes and refill drinks. If not beer, insult masculinity more harshly

#13 Hands Full Golden Rule: Pre-bus, help with wait station, adjust bra and shorts often

#14 TEAMWORK - acknowledge and pretend you might sleep with every Guest while stubbornly insisting we're a family restaurant

#15 Offer Dessert and Merchandise! NOT LAPDANCES. We don't have a permit for that yet

#16 Present check in a timely manner. Bring to manager, busboy, or foreign cook to count change for you









The evidence.

God Bless You, Web MD

I woke up one Saturday morning a few weeks back, slung my legs over the side of the bed, popped up, and immediately sat back down, hard. I was overcome with the most serious attack of vertigo I'd ever experienced. After about 10 seconds it passed, and I stood up slowly, waiting for the room to dance out from under me. Nothing happened.

It wasn't the first time I'd experienced such a thing, so I opted for my usual approach to potential health problems: ignore it. I was fine all day, and that night when I went to bed I laid back and BAM! The room spun around on a gyroscope. I closed my eyes and waited it out, pretending I was in astronaut training. Sure enough, about 10-15 seconds later it subsided. Jesus, that was weird. Whatever. I went to bed.

The next morning I'd forgotten about the incident(s), and repeated the pop-out-of-bed-get-crazy-dizzy-and-sit-back-down phenomenon. Okay, this is starting to cause me some mild concern. I mean, what the hell could it be? I tried sitting back on the bed. Nothing. I laid down...vertigo. Wow. I sat back up, very very slowly. It took a few seconds to kick in, and it didn't last as long, but it repeated itself.

For the next ten days this continued. When you're a kid a slight bout of vertigo can be fun. This was not fucking fun. I figured out that it happened any time I leaned my head to the side, leaned back, laid down, or got up from laying down. Now I consider myself the farthest thing from a hypochondriac, but this was fairly alarming. I know that dizzy spells can be a sign of something serious. Do I have a tumor? Is it gonna get worse? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?? Those thoughts were starting to fill my head more often than a 15 year old boy thinks about sex, and that simply will not do. I mean that throws a serious wrench in your day, leaving precious little time to think about sex. Unacceptable.

So, I finally broke down and made a doctor's appointment. That would be four days from now at this point. In the meantime, I thought I'd check out the Internet and see if it could earn its keep in my apartment by teaching me something. Namely, "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME, INTERNET???" I decided to start with Web MD.

After several fruitless searches wherein I learned that I might need to consult a physician in the next two weeks, I called it quits. It appeared I had a symptom that could be indicative of anything from going to a concert that was too loud to being a paranoid schizophrenic. I was not satisfied with this diagnosis. I didn't have ringing in my ears, a recent headwound, vomiting, or lightheadedness. I wasn't lightheaded or faint, just dizzy. Even that doesn't really describe it, because although I wasn't able to walk straight or look at things while the vertigo had its way with me, I never really felt dizzy. I just waited for it to pass. This should not be construed to mean that it was not extremely unpleasant. So a day later I decided to try again. This time I found some hidden path not previously revealed to me on the magical Web MD website. I discovered what I had been looking for. My ailment: Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (or BPPV).

BPPV is when you experience sudden, short episodes of intense vertigo when changing the position of your head. This HAD to be my affliction. Apparently, it's caused when miniscule crystalline calcium formations appear on the tiny bones inside your ear. They eventually break off, and when they do they fall into your ear canal.



As you shift your head around, they slide back and forth inside your ear canal, sending your brain mixed signals as to which way is up, and that doesn't go along with what your eyes are seeing. This causes momentary intense vertigo until the "debris" inside your ear settles and stops moving.

First thought: That's insane. That can't be real.

Second thought immediately following the first: OH JESUS, DOES THAT MEAN I'LL HAVE THIS FOREVER?!?! I mean, how the HELL would anyone ever get those little pieces out of there???? This is not happening. What the hell can be done about it? There has GOT to be something. Modern science must have an answer for this. Can't Dennis Quaid shrink himself and travel inside me in a rocket ship, blasting apart the debris with plasma weapon of some sort? I wonder if those maps of the stars' homes have Dennis Quaid on them? Is he even a star anymore? Was he ever, really? If I stood on his lawn screaming "Get your rocket inside me right now!", would he misinterpret that?

All this nonsense was soon rendered moot as I discovered that there were actual exercises that "your health care professional" could do that would likely eliminate the condition in ONE treatment. Not only that, but the website proceeded to tell me what those exercises were, step by step. To hell with my health care professional, I'm tryin this shit NOW.

I sat on the edge of my bed and tried the first exercise.



Tilt head 45 degrees to the left (I was totally guessing as to which ear had the condition). Done. Slowly lean over to the left until lying on the bed, feet still on the floor. Done. Nothing so far. I wonder how I'll know if this is working? Very rapidly move back up to the upright position, through that position and back down to the right. Here we go. Did it. Nothing. I still don't see how I'll know if it's OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING. At that moment I felt vertigo like I'd never felt it before. I also realized what was going on. The exercise is designed to make the pieces go around your ear canal. The fast motion holds them to the outside of your ear canal until you can flip over, then they drift downward to the other side. I couldn't literally feel the pieces falling inside my ear, but my mental state told me that was exactly what was happening. As they drifted, so did I. It was as if my entire personality, my being was falling through space. I gripped the edge of the bed as hard as I could and closed my eyes as my consciousness was spun inside a washing machine riding a tilt-a-whirl on top of a teacup ride inside the flying bobs going over Niagara Falls, which was hurtling through space. It lasted about 20 seconds, then it stopped. Sweet Jesus. One more step. Raise up slowly back to the middle upright position. I did it, picturing the debris falling harmlessly into the "bulb" end of my ear canal, where it couldn't send anymore mixed signals. I waited. Nothing. God I hope that did it.

Hesitantly at first, I got up from the bed. Then did it again, faster. Within seconds I was laying down, shooting back up, jumping on the bed, off again, tumbling. NO VERTIGO! I was giddy with normalcy.

I can't express the relief I felt. It was like pulling the largest splinter in the world out from under your fingernail. Only in your brain, and the brain splinter is huge. A railroad spike. A MIND SPIKE. It was like pulling out a fucking MIND SPIKE.

Can you imagine if you could've done this simple maneuver for someone in medieval times, or ancient Rome? They would have worshipped you like a God. Or stoned you, or burned you at the stake. Probably a combination of all three.

I've always been a fan of recreational self-medication, but Web MD takes it to new levels.

I love, love, love that website.

Mannah from Heaven

In the form of tomato soup. This shit is the Bo-bah-zee. That's a step up from the bomb, for those of you who don't know.

I got this recipe from my friend Niki (who finished her marathon, more on that later). Apparently there was/is this restaurant in L.A. called the Gypsy Cafe, and they had this tomato soup, and everyone wanted the recipe. There also was/is this column in the L.A. Times that would hunt down recipes that readers couldn't find, and once they printed this, and Niki saved it from a bear or something. I don't know, I was trying the soup for the first time when she was telling me all this and I couldn't really concentrate.

It's weird (to me, at least), because it's not what I normally think of as tomato soup. Being Italian might have something to do with that. My favorite is still a semi-clear broth with lots of vegetables (including celery of course). My grandma Africano, who wasn't really my grandma but you know how it goes, used to make a great one with rice in it. Campbells makes a really good one (for shelf soup) called Tomato Garden. That's probably my favorite soup out there on the market.

Anyway, the point is that this soup is different, so you kind of have to think outside the box. For example, don't expect it to be dark red. It's pink. The first time I made it I fucked it up but good, and it was pretty awful. I was on very little sleep and read the directions all wrong. The next time I did it it came out perfectly. In other words, if you don't like it, it's because you did something wrong.

Couple tips: pour a little of the half and half in with the potato mixture when you process it. It goes smoother that way. And don't try, as I did, to use a little mini food chopper and make it a couple cups at a time. It won't work. You need a full on food processor. I bought a cheap one at Target just for this recipe, and it made all the difference. Also, I used hot tap water and the bouillon didn't really dissolve very well, so I suggest heating the water on the stove to make it really hot. And I skipped the oregano at the end (I dunno, just didn't go) and added cheese and garlic croutons.

Enjoy!

Gypsy Café Tomato Soup


1 T oil or butter
1 red onion, chopped
1 large potato, baked and peeled
4 cups tomato sauce combined with ½ tsp. Baking soda
2 cups half and half
2 T grated parmesan cheese
½ tsp. Chicken base or boullion
½ cup hot water
dried oregano


Heat oil or butter in skillet over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until tender, about 5 minutes. Place onion and potato in food processor and puree until smooth. Combine tomato sauce (with baking soda) and half and half in a large saucepan. Bring to a boil and simmer 10 to 15 minutes. Add potato-onion mixture and cook, stirring occasionally, until thick and smooth. Add cheese. Mix chicken base with water and stir into soup. Add dash oregano before serving.

4-6 servings.





Pictures courtesy of the LG VX6100 camera phone, my new favorite thing in the Universe.

Habit of taking pictures of food courtesy of Patinella genes. (Not to be confused with Gene Patinella, who does it too, and in public. Goddamn, I'm clever as hell).

Matching dishware courtesy of Briton Pyne.

I'm goin' back to Boney End

That's a Barbra Streisand reference that only my sister will get (and my thousands of adoring gay fans).

Just before Halloween my friend Niki took me to see this house in her neighborhood that decorates and lets everyone and anyone come by to visit. It's the home of a producer on The Simpsons, and he adds a little to it each year. It's pretty cool, there's an entrance to it, which I did not take a picture of, but the thing is called "Boney Island." Get it? Like Coney Island, but with skeletons. Each little "station" features moving skeletons, controlled by hidden motors pulling wires back and forth, and each is accompanied by prerecorded music, narration, dialogue, etc.

I'm pretty sure some of the voices on the recordings are Simpsons actors, but I could be wrong. Some of the art, though, looks like it was created by Simpsons illustrators. Take this little kitty, for example:



This was part of a fishing pond display where a skeleton was trying to fish out a prize. Looks suspiciously like snowball to me.

Moving around the yard, there was a "batting" cage, with a blindfolded skeleton swinging at flying bats, a shooting gallery, and then this:



The pumpkins sang along with the band, and above the roof was a hot air baloon going back and forth:



Here's a closeup of the band:



These were all taken with my camera phone (which everyone should get, and you'll see why in a post or two), so they're not that great. Here's my favorite one:



This guy never, NEVER should have told a person like me where he lives.

You can see more pics at www.boneyisland.com

right wing black, intolerant hippie

So these two articles aren't really about the same thing, but if nothing else they represent two interesting perspectives. Give 'em a read when you have some time.

First, check out this guy. He's black, by the way.

I agree that there's moral bankruptcy in the black community. And the white community. And every other community on the face of the Earth. Except the Vatican. They're perfect. Or at least more perfect than all the people who don't worship Jesus. And believe in one holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. Amen.

It just seems to me like generalizations of this kind are oversimplifying the situation. Could it really be that ALL the black people who didn't get out of New Orleans in time were lazy? I'd like to submit that statement to Kevin, the black guy from "Real World Boston" (I know it's pathetic that I remember his name) who claimed that black people were incapable of being racist. He's obviously never met Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson. What about the white people who didn't make it out, Reverend? What happened there? Bad luck? Couldn't find their keys? Too busy workin' real hard?

Do some black people need to stop using their situation as a crutch or excuse? Yeah, sure. So do some whites. You get my drift.

Then check out this dude. I like the way he writes, and it's no secret I totally agree with everything in this article. But that aside, it's a good rebuttal (in my opinion) to the argument that lefties should be more tolerant. That's the right's equivalent of a bully saying "You should let me do this to you more. Why are you fighting back? That's not like you."

Like Mr. Morford, I'm a tolerant guy (making fun of everyone you see or hear about doesn't necessarily mean you're intolerant). Except when people are trying to tell me what to do. That's when it's time to drop the tolerance. It's why I argued a long time ago for more outrage against those in the red states who voted for Bush. I know, I know, he's in office, he won (no matter that he cheated), my side lost, time to let it go. Just let it go. Stop bitching and moaning and being so angry. Let's try to get along with the southern evangelical right wing Christians who speak in tongues and take snakes to church. Let's try to see things their way. Maybe gays should die alongside abortion clinic doctors. Let's be uniters, not dividers. Let's be better than them. Roll over and take it, hippie.

NO. That's what they want, and only so they can get their way. Being difficult is the only thing stopping them from dictating their lifestyle onto me (well, that and the fact that I live in California). And if gays and blacks and Democrats and liberals and poor people don't learn to be more difficult, it's only gonna get worse. They push their agenda while we preach tolerance to each other. I know it's not what Jesus would do, but damnit I'm human, and I get mad. If the left was as mad about intolerance as the right is about boys kissing, this country would be a different place.

Dave's Flamin' Holiday Bag O' Crap

I have several things to blog this week, but for now a few simple facts will have to suffice, because I am pressed for time. So here goes:

My fantasy football team sucks.

Check out my sister's blog, if you haven't. She's funny.

Vertigo is not fun, but there is a MIRACLE CURE (more on this later).

I did nothing for Halloween. However, I felt less sorry for myself than I did for some of the houses in L.A. I saw so shabbily decorated. I also saw some Mexican kids who at first I felt sorry for because their costumes were so crappy and they were trick or treating in such a shitty neighborhood, but then I realized they were having a ball and I was jealous. I was not, however, sorry I didn't go to the street party in West Hollywood. That truly looks like hell.

I have discovered a tomato soup recipe that will CHANGE YOUR LIFE. I have not, however, been able to reproduce it to the level of the friend who gave it to me, and until then it will remain unblogged. Soon, my friends, the gift shall come down from the mountain.

My fantasy football team S-U-C-K-S.

Check this sentence out...

The World Series will be held in Chicago.

And somewhere else, too, no doubt. But

THE WORLD FRICKIN' SERIES WILL BE HELD IN CHICAGO.

Unbelievable. I watched the game tonight, and I have to say that the White Sox deserve it. 4 complete games by their pitching staff in the LCS against Anaheim. Does any team get 4 complete games from its pitchers over a whole season?!?! That's crazy talk.

My brother-in-law was wondering who to root for in the MLB playoffs, and I said I'd root for the Sox. I don't regret it. Being out here in L.A. and seeing them win was great. I get WGN, so I immediately turned to the news after the game to see the celebrations. Those south side drunks were remarkably well behaved. I was expecting to see at least five buildings in flames and some overturned cars. And get this: not one, not two, but THREE of the people interviewed talked (slurred) about welcoming Cubs fans into the celebration. Now that's just nuts. Drunken Sox fans welcoming Cubs fans to celebrate with them?!?! I don't know if you're supposed to get a warm fuzzy feeling right before Armageddon, but I gots me one. Maybe it's because I live in L.A. now and the mere sight of the Chicago skyline chokes me up these days, but I think it's fan-fuckin-tastic. I hope they win the whole thing.

The only thing that makes me bitter is that John Thomas, that ungrateful son of a bitch, is actually in Chicago right now. He couldn't even be bothered to take out his fantasy football wide receiver who was on a bye this week, and the prick still beat my brother-in-law. The lazy bastard hasn't even seen the smack I've been talking about him on the FF site (or here, now). I'm gonna kick him in his nuts twice as soon as he sets foot in this town. I hope he's been watching the series, though. He's actually an Angels fan. HA HA!

Ready? Cause you're not gonna see this too often coming from me...

GO WHITE SOX!

maybe from now on I'll just say:

GO CHICAGO!!!!

Sick, Visitors, Aliens

Well it's been two weeks, suppose I should write something in here. Was sick for a while, and didn't rest enough to get over it right away, so it kept coming back. Then John came into town, so of course we went to every bar in L.A. over the course of five days. That helped a lot. It's like being on tour with Motley Crue hanging out with that guy. I can't afford his rock and roll lifestyle. Luckily he loans you money, which is very nice. And he's the only other person I know who watches Battlestar Gallactica religiously. We watched the season finale together. It was very romantic.

Thanks to everyone who chipped in (mainly Clubbs) to let me know what those little toy muscle guys were called. That was driving me nuts.

And now, I'm gonna say something that I never thought would come out of my mouth (or keyboard) so long as I lived: There are too many alien shows on tv. That's right, a Sci-Fi whore such as myself is saying that there are just too damn many alien shows on television. It wasn't so long ago that I would utter a nightly prayer which went something like this: "Dear God, please bless everyone I know and love, and smite my enemies before me. Pillar of salt, spontaneous combustion, Dark Angel of Death, your choice. Just so long as they get smote and I get to see it. And please let every non-animated show on television be immediately cancelled and replaced with Science Fiction, something in space, or with aliens invading Earth. You don't have to save all the animated shows, come to think of it. Anime sucks, and should be replaced with Science Fiction. Or horror. Some horror would be nice. Amen."

Boy does Garth Brooks know his business when he sings about unanswered prayers. God has granted me my wish (almost, I have yet to witness a smiting). I'm guessing it's because of Lost, which isn't about aliens (yet), but now there are 1838 alien shows on television. Let's see if I can remember them:

The 4400 - been on a couple years now, and it's actually pretty good. More character driven.

Invasion - Lights come down in the water, people start acting weird.

Surface - Lights come down in the water, turn into giant sea monsters

Threshold - Lights come down over the water, people start acting weird. Cheap way to get out of special effects budgeting.

Here's the thing: I have tivo, and I can record all of these shows. But damn, man, I only have so much time to devote to watching tv instead of studying. And the last three shows (the new ones) are all pretty similar. I guess I shouldn't have prayed for more sci-fi, I should have prayed for better sci-fi. So far the only one I think I'll keep up with is Surface, because at least there you get an occasional shot of giant sea monster (and a small one that a kid is keeping in his bathtub).

None of them holds a candle to Battlestar.

Blog

What a weird word. I think there should be a candy bar called Blog. Or maybe a plastic container with a bright green substance inside similar to "Evil Horde Slime", only you can eat it. A snack of slime called Blog. I would buy the shit outta that. Remember slime? It was sold in gumball machines (the prize kind, not the gum kind). It was just....slime. It wouldn't stick to anything though. It was wet, yet not wet. Crazy. That was a toy.

Also, does anyone remember those miniature musclemen things? They were like the size of your fingernail, and made of pink rubber. You had to look closely to see the details. Each one was different. That doesn't sound like much, except that you could buy them 300 at a time. Or less. Jason Pastori had thousands of em, and we never did find two alike. They were like little superheroes. I guess you were supposed to pit them against each other or something. One would have six arms, one a cannon in his chest, etc. Someone please tell me what those were called, it's drivin me nuts.

As you can see it's a ramble post. I haven't posted in some time so I thought I better not get back to my old ways. But I was sick for about 10 days with an intermittent sore throat, so that's my excuse. I hate sore throats. Give me vertigo and explosive diarrhea before a sore throat.

Back to blog. It reminds me of two things. 1) That song from Ren & Stimpy (sung to the tune of the slinky theme): "It's log, it's log - it's big. It's heavy. It's wood." And 2) something from an old book of Dave Letterman's top 10 lists. If you ever see those you should buy them. They're funny. This one was Top 10 failed candy bars, and one was "Roger Ebert's Mystery Log." Goddamn that's funny.

Other lists included Top 10 failed kids' games, with such notables as Traffic Tag, The Junior Electrician's Outlet Exploration Kit, and "Will It Burn?" by Parker Bros.

So what else? My fantasy football team SUX. Best wide receiver - out for the season. Other WR's - can't catch a cold. Super star pro bowl all time favorite QB - looks like he's been practicing interceptions and fumbles all summer, and was sacked so hard he bruised his chest. Favorite RB - calf injury. JT's team looks to be an unstoppable juggernaut though. Good thing I invited him into the league. Bastard. Oh yeah and now my brother-in-law has taken to rubbing in the fact that I don't have T.O. and he does, and his brother, who trounced me in the first week, has taken to making references which allude to me being a homo-sexsual (pronouned in Stewie's voice from Family Guy). Whatever dicks.

I guess that's about it. Started working out again, which really hurts. Watched the ENTIRE US Open while sick. I mean every single friggin' match. That was cool. And no commercials thanks to tivo. John McEnroe is my hero, btw, but that's for another blog.

he he. I said blog.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...Who Has the Blackest Name of All?

My buddy JT and I were talking about names, and who has the blackest name in sports. I think it started with my observation that there are some guys with decidedly un-black names out there, especially in football. Take Donovan McNabb for instance. Now don't get me wrong, he's my guy. He heads my fantasy team and is my favorite QB in the universe.

But what's up with that name? He has the first name of a folk/troubadour singer from the 60's who couldn't be more white. His last name sounds like the bastard son of a red-haired hamburger selling clown and a masked hamburger stealing bandit who trolls around playgrounds snatching kids in a van. And that ain't very black. Serial killers and child-snatchers are ALWAYS white.
That being said, I love the name Donovan McNabb. I mean look at this guy, he rocks:



But what's the deal with all the black guys with McNames in football? Steve McNair, QB for the TN Titans, Adrian McPherson, QB for New Orleans, and the above mentioned McNabb, QB for the Eagles. And what about wide receivers Billy McMullen, (Philly) and Leron McCoy (AZ)? Isn't "Mc" a Scottish thing? Then there's Jeff Blake. I guess that one could go either way.

There are some names that give it away. Dez White. You know he's a black guy. In fact, Yahoo Sports lists four players with the last name white: Dez White, Jamel White, Roddy White, and Manuel White - all not white guys. It's like the name Black - you know that's a white guy. Lewis Black, Michael Ian Black, Frank Black. Those are some white-ass dudes.

Here are some guys with some black names: Laveranues Coles (pronounced Luh-VER-nee-us, at least by the announcers I've heard). Javon Walker. Priest Holmes. Cedric Benson. He's got the first name of a black comedian and the last name of a black butler (played by a black guy with a white name - Robert Guillaume). Lee Suggs. Onterrio Smith. Jerome Bettis.

Of course we didn't limit the search to just football. There's former Cub pitcher LaTroy Hawkins. Or what about 18 year old tennis player Scoville Jenkins? Hmmm...that might be a winner. Just then JT thought of one that the others can't hold a candle to:

Cadillac Williams.

Carnell "Cadillac" Williams, to be exact. That, my friends, is the man with the blackest name in all of sports.



We started trying to see if we could top it, and create just the blackest name, period. I used to work for a guy named Rodell Jones. Or what about Washington Jones? Those are both contenders in my book. Cadillac Jones? Hmm...that's pretty good too. But it doesn't have that same smooth shiny ring to it that it does when paired with Williams. Cadillac Jones might be a caricature; a character in a blaxploitation movie. Cadillac Williams is the "TING!" sparkle of a brilliant smile. A bear of a man - but a really nice guy wearing a new suit and a huge shiny ring that could crush you like a bug but wouldn't ever think of it.

No, it seems there's only one way to make this name any blacker. Add the middle name "muthafukkin'" to it. Let's try it out:

Cadillac Muthafukkin'Williams. The man with the blackest name, period.

Yep, that's the one.

Don't be offended, next week we'll be searching for the person with the most Italian and Greek names. Frontrunners so far include Ouzo Grisi, Grabbin Mycrotchalot, Nick Cockblockopolis (from NY), and Shorthairydirtydagowopguineabastid Smith.

Oh, Fine.

In a magnanimous gesture of selflessness, I have decided to show everyone on earth where they too can get a Drunken Monkeys T-Shirt. Here it is:

www.slavelabor.com

Just click on 'webstore', then do a search for "drunken monkey shirt." Voila!

In other news, I'm conflicted again. The Dodgers play the Cubs in a 3 game series this week. On the one hand, I'm a Cubs fan first. I was thrilled when they came out here to L.A. and swept the Dodgers, even though I live right by Dodger stadium and am also a Dodger fan. But that was when the Cubs were on a tear and had a chance to do something with their season. Now it doesn't look like anything's gonna happen, even in the wild card, so I'm leaning more toward the Dodgers, since they still have a shot in the NL west. Then again, their division sucks so bad that they could probably lose all 3 to the Cubs and still win the division.

Well they've split the series so far so I guess it doesn't matter. And even if the Dodgers win the division they'll just get swept by the Cardinals anyway. It's tough liking TWO teams that suck.

The highlight of the series so far was when an obviously drunk and shrooming Tommy Lasorda sang "Take Me Out To The Ball Game." He didn't do the "a 1, a 2, a 3..." he just went right into it. Then he had the balls to sing "root, root, root for the Dodgers..." Not quite as bad as when Jeff Gordon said it was great to be at "Wrigley Stadium" and then forgot the words. That is, he probably never bothered to learn them. I'm sorry, but that just proves you can be a TOTAL IDIOT and drive a racecar. At least Kurt Busch ripped on him when he sang a few weeks later. Anyway it's been more entertaining than what's happening on the field.

Ah well, there's always next year!

I'm so good I'm even inspiring hatred by accident!

Ok, so those of you who post blogs know that sometimes you're inspired by an idea that you just have to write about immediately. It's brilliant and hilarious and everybody's gotta know about it. Other times you just slap something up there because you're totally out of ideas and you have to take a crap. You do a five line blurb about some uninteresting bullshit, like what you had for breakfast, say, or the name of your new bowling team.

That's what I thought my last post was. And then Mike posted a comment (which was pretty funny). But I had no idea how serious he was. I thought, oh he's just giving me crap. He doesn't really want one of those shirts. Really, I thought that. For Mike Bradecich to give someone a guilt trip over something he's totally uninterested in is par for the course. I've seen him harangue someone for 6 1/2 hours until they were on their knees, crying and begging for forgiveness, only to be answered by the sound of his maniacal laughter. It's what he does. But apparently, he really wants one of these goddamn shirts.

Now, here's the rub. Mike is gonna love this. I posted my own comment on my last post, in answer to his, and I included the information on how he could obtain one of these shirts. The cost? A mere 29.95. A pittance, and I now know it's an amount far below what he's willing to pay. I made a joke about wanting to see him wearing this shirt (WITH pants).

Then I just happened to check out his blog, and I was awestruck. Never in my life have I received such an honor. I believe I'm the only person ever to step above Greg Schaertl in Mike's hatred. I mean I know he has mad photoshop skills, but it still must have taken a while to change the entire name of his site to reflect his hatred of me!

I immediately went back and deleted the comment.

Can you blame me? I gotta ride this train til the wheels fall off. I mean, once I tell him where to get the supersweet bowling shirt, his site will go back to being Mike Hates Greg, and my 15 minutes are up! Ask yourself, WWMD? Would he drag this out a little bit? You betcher ass he would. I'd probably get a letter on my death bed telling me where I could get the shirt. I'd get weekly pictures of him and all his friends wearing the shirt.

What I really should do is this. I should email Greg Schaertl (and other people) the info on where to get the shirt, have them all order one, then have a party, make sure Mike is there, and have everyone be wearing the shirts.

Or get everyone he knows to buy one and show up to one of his improv shows wearing the shirt.

What to do with my new found power? The possibilities are endless.

Maybe I should leave it up to the people... I could be like Pontius Pilate and see what the masses want. What say you, rabble? Jesus or Barabbus? I'm sure I spelled that wrong.

I'm gonna go save a copy of Mike's new blog logo before he changes it. Now THAT is supersweet.

And the Drunken Monkeys shall rule the Earth

That's the name of my new bowling team (Drunken Monkeys, not the rest of it). We will strike (get it?) fear into the hearts of our enemies.

Here are our shirts:



We are:

Dave Patinella
John Thomas
Rachel Segneri
Heidi Bitterman

Go monkeys!

Good tv

Just watched the season finale of Six Feet Under. Man, what a great show. Sad to see it go.

I am the King

Of slow progress. In 2002 or so, I was first published in the Not For Tourists Guide to Chicago for 2003. I did a review of two neighborhoods of Chicago, the only ones left by the time I applied. Both shitty, I actually requested that one of them be omitted from the guide, since I didn't want to be responsible for any tourists going there (it was the neighborhood east of the 94 containing the Robert Taylor homes). Seriously, don't go there. We were supposed to research our assigned neighborhoods on foot. I didn't. I'd been there before, as a cable guy. Once. After that I told them they could fire me if they ever sent me there again. Sadly, two weeks later RCN's brilliant and unbelieving management called on me to step up to the plate, in case I was bluffing. I wasn't. They sent a black guy. That same week my friend Dustin was chased out of an alley, without even getting out of his cable van, by a wall of thugs chanting "F&*%$ you white boy" and hurling bricks at his windshield.

Here was my review of "map 15" as printed:

"This is a rough neighborhood you should avoid unless jury duty demands you travel to the Cook County Criminal Court building on W 51st St. Public housing projects fraught with gang skirmishes dominate the streets. Here, the Union Stockyards that earned Chicago's reputation as "Hog Butcher to the World" once stood. All that's left is the limestone entrance gate to the stockyards. Pass on the sightseeing and keep heading south to upbeat Bronzeville."

The next page read:

"If Chicago ever hosts the Olympics, this will be the perfect neighborhood to host the shooting event."

Now there are several problems with this review. Number one, I didn't write it. It's all bullshit. It was written by someone, an unknown. I'm credited in the beginning as the "neighborhood editor" of areas 15 and 35. The above review was of area 15. We'll get to 35 later. As for 15, I had suggested to the editors that instead of reviewing the area, they not include it because it actually isn't a safe place for tourists to go. They didn't tell me I could convey this through sarcasm. Those of you who know me know that I would have undertaken this task with GLEE. Hence my point - I have been introduced to the world of editors. Someone who tells you one thing and then tempts you with a desire to sue for slander by twisting and contorting and fabricating your words in ways you didn't contemplate. Don't get me wrong, I quite like the review. But I'd have loved it if I'D WRITTEN IT, WHICH I COULD HAVE DONE HAD THEY NOT PRESENTED ME WITH THE ASSIGNMENT AS NOT ONE THAT INVITED SARCASM. Instead of finding out if I could be smarmy and funny, which I can, they just assumed I couldn't and made up words for me.

Oh, and incidentally - the adjective "upbeat" for describing Bronzeville is suspect at best. It's described in the Guide as "experiencing a resurgence." I'm not sure what that means, but ask a member of the white audience that this Guide is certainly aimed at (they only sell it in bookstores in totally white neighborhoods - for almost 20 dollars) what he or she thinks of hanging out in "Bronzeville" after dark. Several famous people are mentioned (all from decades ago, like Louis Armstrong and Nat King Cole), and only four bars are listed. They're all on 43rd, S. Cottage Grove and 47th streets. You and your friends go hang there and tell me how it went. I'm guessing "upbeat" won't be in your report.

Second neighborhood, for which I actually did make up a pretty funny review, which wasn't used (about the lack of anything interesting in the area):

(As printed): "Near, middle and far east meet in Arcadia Terrace and Peterson Park."

Next page: "Cruise Western Ave.'s car dealerships."

Ok, not only did I not write that CRAP, they couldn't even be bothered to spell out AVENUE, they were so ready to be done with what I'd actually written. Jesus. It's ok to be funny about the south side, where I was actually concerned about warning tourists away (they could really get SHOT), but it's NOT ok to joke about the fact that the only thing on that stretch of Western AveNUE is car dealerships??!!

Anyway, they paid me. But the point is this. In the limited and spaced-much-too-far-apart experience I've had with being published, I've seen the bad that editors can do - and the good. For today I got an article published that I wrote for Niki to support her fundraising campaign, and although a couple words were changed, the thing actually appeared almost verbatim as I'd written it. So big thanks to Gabrielle Pascoe of Single Shot for printing me the way I wrote, and especially for thanking me in something that has never given a byline before. That was above and beyond. Some editors ARE cool.

Here's the article that appeared today in Single Shot (a daily email service that goes out to thousands of Los Angelenos - hey it's a start).









August 19, 2005
Where Singles Click

Ever dated someone and found you just didn’t click?

You might have avoided all that headache and drama if you’d met them at a One Key Away singles mixer.

It works like this: on the web site you fill out a short personality/lifestyle questionnaire and register for a mixer. Your answers are programmed into a device you pick up at the event — about the size of a car remote. Take your new toy into the room and click it with others. Voila! Instant compatibility rating.

Lights on the devices tell you what kind of match you’d be: red — not a good sign, unless you’re both great at compromise; green — smooth sailing ahead.

The events are usually held at a bar, in and among the "non-clicking" crowd, with plenty of liquid courage nearby. The questionnaire you fill out asks for information you might not normally reveal right away — from personality traits to sexual preferences — but it’s all kept secret. Unless you want to tell…

It’s not a flying car, but it’s a step up from other dating gimmicks. The gadgets make great icebreakers, and you’re not forced to move on after three minutes.

So listen up, gadget hounds: Flash drives, PDAs, podcasts — yeah, they're all cool, but technology is finally doing something useful: finding you a date.

Find out about One Key Away mixers in your area at www.onekeyaway.com.

Special thanks to Dave Patinella.

The Simpsons MLB Analogy

My brother in law (who is not a bitch, but a very upstanding human contrary to what I may have said two posts ago) sent me this today. I thought it was an interesting idea - but of course I have some criticisms. If you don't like baseball, this probably won't interest you. If you don't like the Simpsons, please kindly hurl yourself into space. You don't deserve to be here.

The Boston Red Sox: I certainly don't agree with "loved by everyone." I don't like the Boston Red Sox and never will. For one thing, I can never like a team in a red uniform. For me, being a Cubs fan, red is the color of evil. Wearing a red and white uniform in baseball is, to me, the equivalent of having a British accent in a Star Wars film. It means you're the bad guy. That feeling's been ingrained in me ever since I can remember. It is, after all, the color of the St. Louis Cardinals. Even after I moved to L.A., I started rooting for a team that wears blue (the Dodgers) and has a rival to the south that wears red and white - the Anaheim Angels. Coincidence? I think not. I'm not meant to like teams that wear red. Incidentally, I will never call the Angels the "Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim." That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

Two other things. When they get a day in the Sun, they DO know what to do with it. Bostonians will never stop talking about it, just like I wouldn't if the Cubs won it all. So I don't fault them for that. And they did beat the Cards (and the Yankees), so for that I thank them. Lastly, Lisa Simpson doesn't play dirty.

Chicago White Sox: Are they bitter and jaded? They don't seem like it to me. Maybe their fans are, but that's only because they live on the poor side of town.

The rest are pretty good, but I take issue with the description of the Cubs. Now don't get me wrong, because Moe is actually my favorite character, both in the show and the video game Simpsons Road Rage. What other character in a video game says things like "So long, puke pail" and "Stop the car, or I'll punch you in the neck!" I love Moe. But I don't think it fits the Cubs.

First off, they're not "unloved by all but a select few patrons." I went to a Dodger game last Saturday where my friend and I were surrounded by Cubs Fans. We saw them on the way in, all around us in the stands, and on the way out. Wearing my Cubs shirt, I was greeted by most of them. I think they thought it was a little weird that I was also wearing a Dodgers hat, but whatever. "Jesus, dude, you guys are everywhere!" said my friend. It would have been understandable had the Cubs been playing. But it was the Dodgers and Mets. So you see, it's not "a select few."

I suggest that the Cubs are more like the one character the author of this article left out: Homer!

Chicago Cubs - Homer Simpson - A lovable loser who, despite his best efforts, can't seem to win. Some would even call him cursed. He takes pleasure in the simple things in life (donuts, beer/beating the Cardinals 3 out of 4) instead of grand success. He represents the working stiff and is regularly surrounded by drunks. Although he dissapoints them regularly, his friends and family remain rabidly loyal for some reason. Plagued by constant injuries. Works for the head of a tyrannical empire (C. Montgomery Burns/The Chicago Tribune) who never seems to have his best interests at heart. His uncaring boss knows he's providing a service the city can't live without, so he is unwilling to spend money on improvements. Though everyone seems to know he's bound to fail, he is watched and enjoyed all over the country every week.

Oh, and one more note to the author. There's no apostrophe in The Simpsons.

The boy who cried wolf

So I just got off the phone with 911. I was sitting here watching a tape of Family Guy that I had made (tv is out - see my last post), when I heard a huge explosion. It shook the windows in my apt. I looked outside and saw a giant plume of black smoke rolling out of the trees across the way, right by Dodger Stadium. What the hell could that have been? Car bomb? Nah, this isn't Fallujah. Maybe somebody killed himself in the oven? It happened in Bourbonnais and the whole house exploded, nearly killing the guy next door (he was saved because the couch he was lying on flipped over and covered him from the ball of fire). Anyway, I called 911 and told them all about it. The CHP transferred me to the fire dept. who told me it was a special effect from a movie being filmed up there. That made sense, since by the time they told me that all the smoke was gone. Sure enough, a minute later a huge truck marked "Emergency Response Team" came rolling along, a camera truck in front of it filming. Damn, that was some special effect.

Reminds me of the time I called the cops on themselves. A couple months after I moved into this neighborhood I heard what could only be gunshots in rapid succession and lasting 20 minutes or so. I called the police, who said they'd send out a car. This went on every night for almost a week (not me calling, I only did that once). Turns out what I was hearing was gunshots, only from the Police training academy just over the hill. I guess I should have recognized that most gangfights don't last half an hour.

Anyway, the cops and the firemen always seem pretty happy that someone called. They always thank me, which I think is cool. Pretty soon we oughtta be on a first name basis.

THE KILBOTS WILL DESTROY YOU.

That's the mantra of my fantasy football team, The KilBots. We just had our draft and this year JT is getting in on the fun. By fun I mean smack talk, disappointment, anger, frustration, and humiliation. But it gives you a reason to drink on Sunday.

I've got pretty much the same team as last year except my bitch of a brother in law stole T.O. from me. I'm torn - if T.O. doesn't play for Philly it would serve him right for not letting me have him, but then again my QB is Donovan McNabb and if T.O. doesn't play he doesn't have anyone good to throw to. Oh, the drama!!

The bad news is that football starts at 9 am on the west coast. The good news is that this year I have Tivo. The bad news is that I had just finished programming ALL of the preseason games into Tivo to be recorded when the frickin' dvr crapped out on me. Now I have to wait 2-5 business days for a new one. Oh, the woes of the technoaddict. Don't you care at all? Don't you have compassionate bone in your body, you son of a bitch? You go to hell, my problems are serious.

Don't talk to me right now, I'm watching the game. DAMMIT! I guess I'll go read. But I won't like it.

Dave Is

I recently heard about a fun time wasting activity from Katie Werremeyer. You go to Google, type in your name + "is" and copy the best results for others to see.

At first I did "Dave is" and amazingly got only 10 results, most of which were useless. I did get these:

DAVE is the first and only cross-platform networking solution of its kind.

DAVE is an integrated environment for the reduction, visualization and analysis of inelastic neutron scattering data.

Dave is dressed for bed, even though it is just 8:50 pm


Switching to my full name, I entered the phrase "David is" and got several hundred thousand hits. Here are some of the best ones in my opinion.


David is a 'People - Canine Educator' who works and lives in Marbella, Spain.

David is 23 on skyonline's "Fancy a funny guy?" gallery.

David is sincerely sorry for all the pain he has caused by his actions.

(that one is actually referring to David Berkowitz, a.k.a. the Son of Sam. I don't know how to feel about that.)

David is Goliath.

One special thing about David is when we take a bath he sits on a chair in the bathroom and licks himself.

Lately I started watching the series 'The Young and the Restless' which I usually don't. I do now because David is in it.

David is anointed king of Israel.

David is the "Best Hacker".

David is currently breaking ground in the African-American community with his presentations.

David is clearly suggesting that he has transcended the physical universe and has become a God.

(this one is from a website by some people who are convinced that David Hasslehoff is plotting world domination, and I honestly don't think it was a joke)

David is miserable at Murdstone and Grinby's and decides to run away to Dover to throw himself on the mercy of his aunt, Betsy Trotwood.

David is a bit of an overachiever, but he is a smart player with natural instincts who always seems to be around the ball.

Note that David is both a 'skilled warrior' and 'a young boy, untrained for war.

Readers quickly determine that David is a master at innuendo and half-to-no-truths.

David is automatically disqualified from some jobs such as being a police officer or other jobs requiring a clean, honest background.

David is a solid wrap-up tackler who makes good body adjustments and delivers powerful hand swipes to defeat blocks.

The DaViD is a highly tricked-out $4500 high-performance DVD transport built by Theta.

David' is an erect perennial 36-40 inches tall with opposite leaves.

We get the sense that David is a flawed human being, but not a bad one.



Now you try!

Encouraging news!

Sex offenders live in your neighborhood! Wanna know how many? Find out here.

Music City: A fictitious, simplistic place where cliches come true

I promised my friend Niki that I would blog this next, since she was nice enough to type it for me (although she supposedly types 70 wpm with no mistakes, so I think it took her about 28 seconds to complete). She typed it for me, not because I'm lazy (I am) but because it was only to be found printed in a program for the Hollywood Bowl. She instantly recognized its brilliance and sent it to me for shredding (as in sarcastically ripping apart). If you've ever had doubts about your chances of success at becoming a professional published writer, fear no more. But don't try to get printed in the playbill for the Hollywood Bowl, or you'll have Dan Macintosh to compete with...my comments are in italics.


Music City …the ultimate, living, breathing jukebox
Dan MacIntosh

    But what makes Hollywood’s music scene special? It doesn’t have a distinctive sound or style, such as Nashville’s country or Detroit’s Motown soul. Instead, Hollywood’s musical uniqueness is attributed to its close proximity to the hubs of both the television and film industries. This are is [sic] a kind of melting pot of the arts, if you will, with actors, musicians and other fame-seeking entertainers all inhabiting the same small creative stage, simultaneously surging to capture the spotlight.

Nevermind that Motown left Detroit in 1968 and Nashville has more than country. What the hell do the tv and film industry have to do with the "musical sound" of L.A.? All the bands are from somewhere else, is that what he's trying to say?

    Every night of the week, soundboards are humming hot with live music action in this town. Sounds flow from underground haunts like the Hotel Café or Largo, to that special musical magic emanating beneath the stars at the Hollywood Bowl.

Ooh, what a turn of phrase! "Special musical magic beneath the stars..." Que Bella! Ring ring! It's the hack club calling. They want their cliche back.

    The worlds of music and film have had a co-dependant [sic] relationship ever since silver screens first brightened darkened theatres. For instance, when D.W. Griffith produced his silent movie classic, “Birth of a Nation” (1915), he underpinned its visuals with a large orchestral score stitched together from classical and popular sources. And even during the silent movie ere [sic], such films were still scored primarily by classically trained musicians. Furthermore, such musical accompaniments insured that there have never been any completely silent movies.

DUDE. You...are....blowing...my...mind.

    When looking at the way various entertainment avenues intertwine, The Hollywood Bowl is akin to a pivotal intersection for such connections. “The Bowl has been in a lot of movies and television shows,” explains the Director of the Hollywood Bowl Museum, Carol Merrill-Mersky. “Some very great movies of the past have had scenes at the Hollywood Bowl. The most famous ones would be “Double Indemnity” and “Anchors Away” with Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly. More recently, “Beaches.” The whole opening of the film is shot on the stage at the Bowl. It’s been included in television shows from “The Beverly Hillbillies,” up to the current ones. And these have been seen by millions of people worldwide, over many generations.”

Hmmm...yes, the fact that the Hollywood Bowl has been seen in many movies does make it "akin" to a "pivotal intersection" for "such connections." In much the same way as that donut stand with the giant donut in front has been featured in many films, and is thus a crucial crossroads between the high art of film and the world of food. Or toilets, having been featured in countless movies, are a seminal conjunction between the world of entertainment and that of shitting. And I'm sorry, but Double Indemnity, Anchors Away, and Beaches are NOT "very great movies." If you have to tell us who's in it, it's probably crap. Obviously, though, when discussing television shows, Carol is right: there are two categories - "The Beverly Hillbillies" and "the current ones." Brilliant. Other things that have been seen by millions of people: the Superbowl, Mars, two dogs humping, and flies on shit.

    Although Hollywood music and institutions are known globally, there’s still no such thing as truly ‘regional’ Hollywood music. Because so many artists come here from every nook and cranny of the world, it’s more like the ultimate, living breathing jukebox, offering a little something for everybody. In fact, it’s nearly impossible to name a genre that doesn’t have a significant Hollywood page in its history book.

Jesus Dan. Are you saying that Hollywood music is known globally because the structure it's sometimes been played in has been seen in Beaches? Or are you talking about music from the movies? The Jaws theme, maybe? Rocky? Those are known globally. Is that what you mean? I'm glad you did clarify your point from earlier, though, about the bands that play in Hollywood being from somewhere else. Because clearly bands from all over the world don't ever play in, say, backwaters like New York City or Chicago. Or every other freakin city on earth.

    Take jazz, for example. This original American art form is alive and well in Hollywood these days, for instance – especially since The Catalina Bar & Grill has moved to its new Sunset Blvd. Home. But Hollywood jazz is hardly just a club thing in these parts, as the Hollywood Bowl annually hosts its renowned Playboy Jazz Festival, which packs in two full days of some of the best jazz music around. Furthermore, books could be written – and probably already have been – about the large role jazz music has played in the Hollywood film scene.

My God, it just gets better. Yes, having one club on Sunset where Jazz is played is definitely "a significant Hollywood page" in the genre. Are you on crack? I'll give you the Playboy Jazz festival, though it doesn't break any ground and the artists are already well established from somewhere else. And, uh, Dan? Dan? You listenin'? Huh, big guy? Look at me. Now pay attention, and repeat after me: "It makes you look stupid when you, A WRITER, say things like 'books could be written - and probably have been'." PROBABLY, DAN?? P.S. you're still confusing Hollywood the place, where the live music is played, and Hollywood the imaginary land of movies.

    Even country music, believe it or not, has roots in this seemingly rootless locale. Of course, the first city that comes to mind when you think about country music is naturally Nashville, TN. But Hollywood also has its own Western music traditions to tout. This is especially true for country-rock, which was practically birthed in Hollywood. One of its earliest practitioners was The Byrds – especially when Gram Parsons contributed to the group’s seminal “Sweethearts of the Rodeo” release. On the more commercial side, one cannot forget about Linda Ronstadt’s early country-leaning records, and especially The Eagles contributions. It’s important to always keep in mind that when Don Henley and his band mates exposed “life in the fast lane,” they did so with a distinctive twang in their voices.

Congratulations! It's the first paragraph that actually offers some relevant facts AND isn't completely trite! You're writing an article!

    There are about as many different variations on rock music styles as there are waitresses/actresses working in Hollywood clubs, so it would be foolish to describe rock’s history in simplistic, all-encompassing, generic terms. But undoubtedly, Hollywood has been a breeding ground for rock music of every imaginable flavor for decades.

Did everyone catch that? It would be FOOLISH to describe rock's history in SIMPLISTIC, ALL-ENCOMPASSING, GENERIC TERMS. Just making sure.

    “This is the edge of the continent,” says KLOS-LA radio icon Jim Ladd. “This is where people from all over the planet – not just America – come here to follow their dreams. So we’re getting talent from everywhere in the world – not to mention whatever local talent there is. So the talent pool here is astonishing.
    During the Sixties, for instance, The Sunset Strip produced a seemingly endless supply of astonishing talent. The Doors, for example, was once the house band at The Whiskey. Furthermore, groups like Love, Buffalo Springfield, and many, many others, took those first baby steps at polishing their stuff under the lights of various clubs along The Strip.
    When it comes to ranking Hollywood’s homegrown talent, The Doors top a many [sic] music fan’s lists. “First and foremost is The Doors,” votes Ladd emphatically. “And that’s personal as well as an objective thing. They were that important when they were discovered on the stage at The Whiskey, and they’re that important today to those 17 or 18 year old high school students listing [sic]to my show (“Headphones”), and listening to The Doors as a new band.”

Man, you'd think since he mentioned the phrase "astonishing talent pool" twice there would be more to talk about than one band from 40 years ago.

    In the early to mid-Seventies, Los Angeles becomes synonymous with the laid back, soft rock sound as singer songwriters like Joni Mitchell of Laurel Canyon made a large, soothing impact. But toward the end of the Seventies, punk rock began to put a safety pin into Hollywood’s otherwise perfectly tanned flesh. Bands like X took the social commentary of the laidback Eagles, and revved these messages up with rapidly strummed guitars.

Oh, I get it. We're going decade by decade now. My bad. Yes, now I clearly remember my uncle reminiscing about this era. He would release his bowels right into the recliner as he mumbled about Joni Mitchell's large, soothing impact. Wait, did he say social commentary of the Eagles?

    Just as punk’s initial sonic blast began to dissipate, its roar was soon replaced by glam metal hard rock on the Sunset Strip. Groups like Motley Crue and Poison sported male musicians that looked pretty enough to give the girls in their audiences a run for their money, as they sprayed-up [sic]their hair, squeezed into spandex pants, and gave hard rock a particularly glamorous face. Its proponents ranged from the hedonistic Motley Crue, to straight road [sic] of those Bible-tossers, Stryper.

Who is he writing this for, 3 year olds?

    Simultaneous to this glamorous hard rock period, there was also something bubbling La Brea tar pit-like just beneath the surface. And just as The Doors had explored the harsh alternative to the Summer of Love many years prior, the group Guns ‘N Roses could perceive that just outside of Hollywood’s bright lights, this area could also be as scary as a jungle.

Wow, now that is some piece of prose there. Did you see that? Did you see how he did that? He used the word "jungle" when talking about a band that had that very same word in one of their songs. Fucking genius.

    Hollywood continues to be the place where unique artists get their first recognition. Modern day troubadours range from the nearly indescribable alternative rock of Beck, to the quiet sadness of the late Elliot Smith. Musicians will always come to Hollywood in search of success, mainly because these are the ones with the greatest drive to make it. At least that’s how promoter Sean Healy sees it. “The bands are a little bit more eager to actually advance their careers,” he’s observed.

And what an observation it was.

    Even though musical styles have evolved, and many great musicians have come and gone over the years, that Capitol Records Tower is a beacon. Just a short glance away from the 101 Freeway, it may appear closer to some than others. But fore [sic] those with the drive to succeed, Hollywood will always be a special place where musical dreams can come true.

That article changed my life, friends. And now you know why. For those with the drive to succeed, or at least a typewriter with some keys that work, the Hollywood Bowl program will always be a special place where writing dreams can come true.

this is just to say

that I've been studying for two finals, which is why I haven't posted. so keep your bitchin' to yourself. ;)

took my music publishing industry final on monday, and I feel pretty good about it. of course that doesn't mean anything, but...

tonight I take the entertainment labor and employment law final, and then I'm DONE (for three weeks).

in other scholastic news, I got my exams back from the spring. On my entertainment law final, for which I got the only "A", I got a total of 60 out of a possible 210 points. That was the second highest grade in the class. Ludicrous!

More later.

And Uh-Gin!

Again, it's overdue (wouldn't be me if it was on time), but I gotta send a big shout out to two people who recently donated to my friend Niki's Team in Training fundraising campaign. In case you don't know about it, see my earlier rant.

So without further ah-doo, thanks so much from myself and Niki to Brooke Clubbs and a HUGE thanks to Jenny Rieck. Superpowers granted all around. Bobby Hill style kicks all around.

You guys, and all the people who donated, are unbelievable. I'm glad I know so many cool people. Thank you.

I did it.

I developed the unified theory that Einstein was looking for! Actually, I did something much more significant. I filled up my netflix queue with the max of 500 movies. No one reads this damn blog anyway, so I figure I'll catch up on some films.

This Shit is F&*%$*# Crazy, Man.

What is F&*%$*# Crazy, you axe?

Dorkfest 2005. Yes, I was there. Last Wednesday I attended Video Games Live, a concert wherein the LA Philharmonic played the music from several popular video games at the Hollywood Bowl. (National tour dates are on the website). If you think that's cool, you're a dork. You're also right - it was awesome.

They showed footage from the games on a huge screen while the orchestra played, and the inside of the Bowl had a changing light show that would have been really cool had I been on hallucinogenic drugs, like some good mushrooms for example. I mean, I don't do drugs, but man, if I'd had some really high potency mushrooms, that one part where the red was swirling around and all the smoke, and they were showing "God of War" clips?! That would've been totally....um....awful, and probably made me sick or something, cuz..uh...drugs are bad.

Anyhoo, in between the songs they had some people talk - some on stage and some on video screens. The creators of Sonic the Hedgehog and Super Mario Bros. drew huge cheers from the crowd. That is to say, some people knew who they were. Now that's dorky. But they also had the video game pianist play live, and he was pretty damn good. Check out the footage for yourself, especially the ten minute clip where he plays all the music from Super Mario Bros. It's worth the wait until the end when he plays the music fast, like the game did in the last minute or so of a level. It's been said that the footage was sped up digitally, but he's disproved this by using a metronome in the background. Pretty cool.

I was also amazed when, while the 70's and 80's video game medley played, the 6 yr. old girl and her slightly older brother behind us named off all but two of the games (they had no idea what Tempest and Joust were - losers). They had also never heard of Tron, and were amazed to hear that it was a movie BEFORE it was a video game. Yeah, that was how we did it back then. They were cool little shits though. The girl used the word "perplexed" in a friggin sentence. I swear she was no more than 6.

Then they had a 9 year old kid compete on stage in a game of Frogger against a 30-something mom who had never played a video game in her life (I know, what kind of "life" is that, right?) It was supposed to be randomly selected people from the audience, but they totally set that shit up. She scored 170 pts., never getting a frog past the highway. He only scored 1900 pts. in his 1 minute of play, and you could tell he'd never played before, but he did alright. I would've smoked him though. That playstation would have been MINE. I would have done to him what I've promised to do if I ever catch a foul ball at a baseball game with a kid near me: hold it out to them and then snatch it away and laugh. That or bounce it off their head and catch it again. Can you imagine the audience's reaction after seeing that on the Jumbotron? Priceless.

Oh yeah, and I love the Hollywood Bowl. It's hidden way up in this ravine and you get there by going past all these little nature park areas where you can picnic before the show (and alcohol is allowed both there and inside the arena). But you don't have to hike - they have these cool escalator things that are basically moving sidewalks raised to impossible angles. It's all outside, and not that big actually. There's also a bus that brings you there from the parking lot and then back to your car afterward. It's my new favorite place.

F&*%$*# Crazy shit no. 2: Today I was made aware of a stunt by pro skater Danny Way wherein he jumps the Great Wall of China on his "Megaramp" (tm). You can just check that out for yourself and I'll let the video do the talkin.

As the MCP cone says (that's the Master Control Program from the movie Tron for all you 6 year olds):

END OF LINE.

A Simple Twist of Fate

I never know when terrible things happen. I found out about 9/11 when a coworker in Chicago called me on my radio (I was a supervisor for a cable company at the time) and told me we didn't have to go in that day if we didn't want to. We wouldn't get paid, but we could take the day off. Hating my job as I did, I took the day off. I went walking up Milwaukee ave in Wicker Park and noticed that the streets were deserted. I stopped in at a t.v. store and saw the footage of the planes hitting the twin towers.

I was just in NY over the holiday weekend (I'll blog that another time), and hadn't checked the news for a few days. I don't watch the news much. I prefer The Daily Show, the Internet, or the Washington Post. Anyway, during that time the London bombings happened.

I remember being annoyed when I was in London last spring visiting a friend because I was forced to carry around my empty coffee cup all morning. They had removed all of the public trash cans from the streets in case someone were to put a bomb in one. I guess they weren't being paranoid.

I was supposed to be in London right now, for a study abroad program through my school. I decided not to go because of the expense, and also because my boss is producing a movie this summer and I wanted to stay and learn the process. I would have been taking classes in the Brunei Gallery building, across the street from Russell Square. It's within two blocks of the second AND fourth blasts (click on interactive: map, galleries...). I'd have been staying four blocks away in Coram's Fields.

I probably would have been in class, but who's to say? In all of London, to have two bombs go off within two blocks of where I'd be taking classes and living, that's pretty crazy. I have to take a cue from the British people though. I'm glad I wasn't anywhere near those bombings, but I'm still going back to London to visit (among other places). I have the utmost respect for those Londoners that are going about their lives. Terrorists just don't get it. They can't win. Ever. I hope they find the people who did this and execute them.

"A" day arrives, D day approaches

I'm having the kind of day my friend Mike describes in his latest post. In the past I've been known to go months without posting, and I am determined not to repeat that behavior, even though I've been told it was part of my blog's "charm." So this is basically being put up because I feel I should be posting, though I don't have much to say (though that's never stopped me from blathering on for a good 3000 words or more).

Well ok, I am gonna blather - two things. First, I got my first "A" in law school. It was in Entertainment Law, and that teacher only gives out 3 A grades no matter how many people are in the class (one A+, one A and one A-). In Copyright I got a B+ (the fourth highest grade out of 90+ people, thank you very much), but I was pissed that I missed getting one of the A grades. This time I got the 2nd highest grade out of about 60 people. Yeah, I'm bragging a little. I'm damn proud of my little A. I've had a couple A-'s, but this one is just a fresh, clean, unencumbered, free of minuses, straight up A. It's been so long since I've seen one I was starting to forget what they looked like!

Why am I so excited about one little A, you axe? I've been pretty much a straight A student my whole life, excepting my first semester of college when I went a little, how shall we say, apeshit? But by my last year of college I was back on the ball. Straight A's, vice president of a fraternity, president of the interfraternity council, lead actor in three plays, and doing an internship at a Fox TV station an hour away twice a week. I made up for all that by waiting tables for two years and getting to know bartenders on a first name basis. And becoming a bartender myself for a while. You know, just so I could be around bars more.

Anyhoo, the school I'm at now takes extreme pride (or prejudice) in making minced meat out of straight A students. Seriously. After our first semester, our contracts professor spent half the class "counseling" us. The first grades were coming in, and people were losing their shit left and right. Panic, crying, rage, depression, and a lot of defeatism going around. She said to us: "Now I know for a fact that many of you have never received anything less than an A- in your lives, and grades are coming out, and a LOT of you aren't going to like what you see. Especially when you get my exam back. But you have to make an adjustment. Here's how it works at Southwestern..."

She proceeded to explain to us that Southwestern doesn't have "grade inflation." This is the process by which grades are curved so that the average student's performance is taken into consideration when deciding what makes a good grade. It isn't always this simple, but often it consists of the highest grade being raised to a "100" and the rest of the grades being raised proportionately. It results in all students' grades being raised and "inflated." Almost all law schools do this. A few don't. Guess which kind I picked?

Now imagine how that makes the students at schools without "grade inflation" look compared to students at schools with such a curve. If, for example, you're an employer looking at two resumes, and one student has all A's and B's and the other student has a C average, what will you think? It's pretty obvious. One student is either smarter or works harder, or both. If they both went to comparable schools, then there's your answer (a C average at Harvard might still beat out an A average from the Orange County Mail Order School of Law).

But my school goes one step further. They do have a curve, and it is designed, as they will proudly tell you, to keep students in the C range. It is such a hard curve, combined with often sadistically difficult exams, that most students come out of it at the C level. Now you would think most students would be at the C level anyway. But it's entirely possible to have the majority (and thus the average) of students get something in the B or even A range. There's nothing that says that average has to equal C. Except at Southwestern. Here its more like this: take the average performance of the students. That's a C. Now grade the rest accordingly. So if 80% of the class got between a 90-95% on the exam, that would be the C level. In fact, if the professors get an average grade on any one exam that's higher than a 2.1 something, they have to petition the Dean to get a waiver. Meaning the exam was probably too easy. Other schools have open book finals. Other schools have TAKE HOME finals. We have a petition process.

This results in students from my school having to take a specially written form letter, supplied in bulk by the Career Services office, to interviews to explain why their grades "may be different" than the grades of other job candidates who went to different schools. Yeah, that looks good. "I know my grades suck, but check it out - they're designed that way! This letter explains it all. So when do I start?"

One school in Michigan was sued by their students for this very practice. The students claimed it was too hard to get jobs because other candidates' grades were significantly higher. They won, and the school had to adjust their grades and change its practices.

I'm not completely unaware that some students still get straight A's at Southwestern. I know some of them. They're smart (freaks), good-hearted (evil), humble (no-life) people. Ok, I should probably work harder. The thing is, not everyone can do well at my school, no matter how hard they work. It's not possible. That's what I don't think is fair. It's been over twenty years now and the reputation that Southwestern is looking for as a tough school hasn't materialized, at least not in its ranking so far. It does seem to be known for its 33% dropout rate after first year. They don't, however, tell students about this policy/system until they're enrolled. Luckily, the school does have an excellent reputation for its entertainment law program, which is all I really care about. And my entertainment law GPA is significantly higher than my regular grades. Maybe that means I'm interested. Maybe it means I should try harder in my other courses. I don't know, probably a little of both. But for now, I'm going to cherish my little gem of an A for all its worth. It may have to last me a while.

The second thing I wanted to say was just this: I wanna send mad props out to my homey Matt Hasemeyer for spending almost two hours with me on the phone fixing every single problem on BOTH my computers. I am now ready to do what I intended to do when I called my boss and asked him if I could "work from home" today. That is, play Medal Of Honor: Allied Assault. So yeah, I'm gonna study harder. But right now it's time to save the Frogs from the Krauts!!!!

Ah lahk em thingamuhjiggers. Git em!

This was interesting. Or as some might say, "In-Ter-rest-in." I found it through my sister's blog. I think it's funny that I have zero percent midwestern. I wonder what that means.

Your Linguistic Profile:

60% General American English

20% Upper Midwestern

20% Yankee

0% Dixie

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Personally, I didn't know there was a "midwestern" and "upper midwestern." In Illinois, for example, you would think most everyone would qualify as upper midwestern. I, however, would have split the state into two categories: Chicago and Kentucky. I used to think Illinois should adopt the travel and tourism slogan: "Illinois. It ain't Kentucky, but you'd never know it." He he. I'm funny. That came mostly just from being amazed at how many rednecks lived 60 miles south of Chicago.

Anyhayow, trah it fer yersef, n see whut comes ayuht.

AGAIN!

It's high time I was fair. In fact this is overdue, so my apologies. Anyway, a couple of blogs ago I thanked Michael and Abby Bradecich for their donation to my friend Niki's marathon running campaign, and also bestowed on Mike some extraordinary powers. Well that all still stands, but there have been some new developments since then, so updates and accolades are in order.

For one, my mom donated generously. So I want to give a big shout out to moms. Should anyone who saw my guilt trip and didn't donate happen to get into an argument with my mom, be advised that she is allowed, by my official decree, to kick you in the groin Bobby Hill style, TWICE. She may also put you in a headlock and give you noogies while saying "I HELPED CURE CANCER, BITCH. WHAT'D YOU DO?" The noogies will continue until you admit that you have, in fact, done nothing.

And now, if I may direct your attention to the center ring ladies and gentlemen. There is a new reigning champion. A new sheriff in town. Or should I say champions/sheriffs. A new King and Queen of the (Bobby) hill (style kick to the groin) if you will.

Chris and Gina Witt!

In all seriousness, I thought I might, through my extraordinarily annoying guilt and shame flinging, provide Niki with a couple of bucks from a few people. I wasn't expecting the generosity that all of you, and especially Gina and Chris, showed. G & C - that was way above and beyond. Niki thanks you very much. She's gonna run with a bracelet with Dad's name on it (in addition to the Fuck Cancer hat, which I think Dad would approve of also).

As for powers, I grant Chris & Gina Witt the following:

1) Ability to say to anyone who didn't donate from now until October: I HELPED CURE CANCER, BITCH. WHAT'D YOU DO? And not just during arguments. Any time they feel like it - to strangers while jogging, in the grocery store, etc.

2) Ability to kick anyone they want in the groin, Bobby Hill style, as many times as they like. Simultaneous kicks by both of them are preferred.

3) Flight.

4) Superhuman strength, telekinesis, invisibility, and laser vision.

So, to all of you who want superpowers, all you have to do is donate and I will grant them to you. Even if it's just groin kicks. Now go forth and abuse your powers in the name of curing cancer!!

Enjoy your experience....ON X!

Monday I told my boss I was helping a friend move. In reality I went to Magic Mountain with my friend Niki. What is Magic Mountain, you axe? It is a Six Flags theme park. But it is not just any Six Flags theme park. It is the most funnest place on Earth (tm).

Since most of the three people who read this blog are from or are still living in Illinois (Rachel says she reads it but can't prove it by commenting - ahem), I will explain by comparing it to that old IL standby, (Six Flags over) Great America.

Now don't get me wrong, Great America is cool. In a way. Like a muddy puddle is cool if you're in the desert dying of thirst. But check this out:

Great America: 10 coasters, 7 of which are "real". The American Eagle - sorta cool for nostalgia value, or if going backwards, but otherwise a non-thrilling bone rattler. The Demon - good memories of riding it 8th grade, but could now take naps or read on it. Ragin' Cajun - it spins, but it's described as a "family coaster." Nuff said. That leaves the rest - of which Raging Bull is the best. I once spent a day riding nothing but raging bull over and over again. I still put that one up against any for quality. And you do get a free pass to the new waterpark. Big downside - GA is about a million miles away from everyone in IL.

Now, Magic Mountain. It's 30 minutes or less from L.A., to start. It'd be like living in Bourbonnais and going to Lincoln mall, except Lincoln mall is a theme park. Next, it has 14 coasters, 10 of which are "real". A couple wooden coasters: Colossus and Psyclone, which are about like the American Eagle. Revolution, which while not mind-scrambling, is the first coaster ever built with a vertical loop, so there's some nostalgia there. Gold rusher, the first coaster built in the park. Cute.

Then comes the heavy firepower. Batman, which is identical to the one at GA. A very cool ride, and still one my favorites. I forgot how much fun it is. Riddler's Revenge, which is a standup kinda like Iron Wolf but smoother and longer and taller and faster with crazier turns. Ninja, which is kinda like Batman, except your in a car instead of having your feet dangling. The cool thing is that it rips you in and out of the supports for the boat ride and you think you're gonna hit one and die. Viper, which is a medium strength hyper coaster - good to start with as we did. Flashback - the world's only hairpin drop coaster. Unfortunately not open on the day we went.

Then it gets serious. Scream, a hyper coaster with a double loop shaped like a smiley face. I ain't never seen no shit like that before. Oh yeah, and you're suspended. Very smooth ride, and long.

Goliath, which is kinda like Raging bull, except the first drop is 255 ft. (55 ft. higher), the top speed is 85 mph (10 mph faser) and it's 3 minutes long (30 seconds longer). Now Raging Bull was my favorite coaster of all time. But that tick-tick-ticking up the sheer wall to the 255 ft. drop actually made me a little scared. Niki already had her hands up (she's a junkie). I actually didn't raise my arms until she started calling me names (but I did it). That coaster don't play. It gets worse...

Deja Vu. Another suspended coaster. I'm starting to think they all should be - you just can't get the crazy whiparounds in regular cars. This one is identical to the one at GA, so just go ride it and see. It's insane. You get hauled backwards straight up a wall, then dropped, shoot back through the loading area, through a 102 ft. high loop, and up another wall. Lather, rinse, repeat. I was so disoriented that I didn't have time to be nauseous until we stopped.

Superman. I saw this ride as we neared the parking lot, and was immediately terrified. I had thoughts of doing it first to get it over with. Upon closer inspection, that was out the frickin window. It's a rocket sled that shoots you out of a tunnel, reaching a speed of 100 mph in 7 seconds. You go right up a 90 degree turn and scream up the 415 ft. of vertical wall. Did you read that number? That's 41 and a half stories in the air. I argued with Niki when she said you're weightless for 5 seconds, but the specs say it's a record breaking 6.5. I still don't think it's that long, but I was too retarded with sensory implosion to count. Then you come down backwards at 100 mph again. I was actually really scared to ride this thing. My friend kept telling me I was gonna love it, and I was thinking in my head how wrong she was, but couldn't say it for fear of looking dumb. A 13 year old kid behind us, who had no idea what ride he was about to get on until Niki started describing it to him, visibly paled in front of us. I saw him turn grey. He voiced every fear that was in my head: "WHY DON'T THEY WANT YOU TO SEE IT????" (steel doors opened just in time to let you on and blocked the view of the sled - all you could hear was the deafening roar of it taking off). "WHAT DOES IT DO AGAIN? HOW HIGH? I'M REALLY SCARED. SERIOUSLY!!!! Niki was right though. After it ended, I was forced to say, "That was awesome." Then again, I didn't look to the side for one second.

Finally, the hands-down, coolest thing ever created by man: X. Fuck the moon landing. Fuck movable type. Fuck fire, the wheel, chocolate, ice cream, computers, and yes, fuck even Tivo. There is nothing like this. I defy anyone to tell me that this is not the best rollercoaster of all time without friggin' question. I will hunt them down and kill them where they stand.

It has its own line closing time: "Please note that the line to ride X will close ONE HOUR PRIOR to the time the park closes. If you intend to ride X during your visit, please plan your day accordingly. Thank you."

It's the only coaster of its kind in the world. I don't know if I can describe it. I'll try: It's got a track in the middle, and on either side of that there is a two seater "car." You get in and close a harness, not by pulling down, but by closing it over your chest like a reverse-aliens move. Like an exoskeleton closing over you. Wheels under the car, which have been keeping it upright, then retract, and the car tilts backwards so you are looking at the ceiling. It isn't the kind of tilting you get from the zipper or the salt and pepper shaker at your local carny - it's precision controlled by hydraulics (I'm guessing) and is totally smooth. Then you hear the recorded voice saying "Enjoy your experience...ON X!" I thought that should be sampled for a techno song.

The whole train then begins moving you out, backwards and looking up at the sky (we rode at night which was unbelievable). You go up the ramp that way, unable to see what's coming, and unable to see the ground, with only a notion that you are getting higher and higher, approaching some kind of horrific moment. Now I was really and actually scared. Even Niki says she gets scared every time on this thing. Why did she have to tell me that????

As you go over what you think is the first drop, you are tilted forward suddenly (it's all controlled so that you move exactly how they want you to when they think it will frighten you the most). You drop a little as you tilt forward, then BAM! You hit the real drop facing downward with the track above your head. And it's a vertical drop. Not kind of steep - VERTICAL. After that it's a blur. One minute you're on your back going through a loop, then you're facing forward right side up. It took me 10 minutes afterward to figure out how they did it. You start out, say, on the right side of the track facing backwards. The car then flips you over the track. Now you're on the left side of the track facing backwards but upside down. Then the car flips and now you're on the left side of the track facing forwards and right side up.

I thought for sure I was gonna a)vomit while spinning, spraying puke like a power washer all over everything, b)crap my pants, c)pass out, or d)explode. Instead I found myself cackling with glee the whole time. It had been so long since I rode coasters that on the first picture (taken as we rode viper) I looked like I was gonna puke - eyes closed, mouth shut, cheeks puffed out. We kept looking at my face after every ride. The expressions got better and better. By the time we got to the "X" picture, I was smiling from ear to ear. And the best part is that when you're done, you're certified as a NASA test pilot.