Archive for January, 2008

Remembering Heath Ledger

I was standing around my local comic shop, BSI Comics, yesterday. And I asked if they had heard the latest news about the upcoming Batman film, The Dark Knight. That of course, got us talking about Heath Ledger, and how the producers are scaling down the publicity campaign (which to this point had been focused on him) out of respect.

The world has been absolutely abuzz since the “shocking” news of actor Heath Ledger’s death. People are just torn up over it. They can’t stop talking about it. So let me be the first to say… Who gives a shit?

Jack Nicholson was pissed off that the producers of The Dark Knight did not consult him before casting Heath Ledger as the Joker. Apparently, Ledger needed Nicholson’s permission before assuming a role that he neither created nor even did a good job of portraying. So when Douchebag Jack found out Ledger died, he ominously stated “Well, I warned him.” like he put a fucking voodoo hex on him or something. He really is a twat.

I don’t feel nearly as strongly as Douchebag Jack, but I don’t really understand the public outcry. I’m sorry that a man is dead. I’m sorry his infant daughter will never know her Dad. But why is everyone so disturbed by HIS death? Everyone keeps talking about how he was this amazing, promising actor. Where do they get that from? The first time I heard of Ledger, was when I saw a film based on Shakespear’s Taming of the Shrew, called 10 Things I Hate About You.

I loved that film. I still do. I think it was a high point in teen comedies. Then later I saw that giant, rockin’ anachronism known as A Knights Tale. Again, really liked it. Liked him in it, but not once have I ever watched him and thought “Wooooooowwwww. This guy is incredible. I HAVE to see all his movies.” He was okay. Good. That’s it. Since then he’s done a string of forgettable films.

Yeah, I know, I’m forgetting Brokeback Mountain. Well, there’s a reason for that: I’m trying to. I’m sure it was a wonderful film. But I’m not seeing it. Because to me, it’s a joke. I’m not against homosexuality portrayed in film. It’s just that I think the writer was making a joke. Let me walk you through this.

The writer says to himself “I want to write an honest love story about two gay men struggling with their own sexuality and the ramifications their forbidden love has on their life and families. Let’s see, how should I do that??? …. EUREKA! I’ll make it about two cowboys on a mountain fucking each other in the ass!”

That’s a joke. If I wanted to see a movie about a cowboy receiving anal sex, I’ll watch the Village People biopic.

Seriously, the only way it could have been more stereotypical was if it were about firemen giving each other pearl necklaces. Take that however you like.

And even if Ledger did give the performance of his career, is it really that impressive that a Hollywood actor made a great gay man? Do you have any idea how much these actors fuck each other? These people make Caligula look like Seventh Heaven (although I secretly believe the subtext of that show was in fact based on him).

The latest news (rumor?) is that Heath hadn’t had a chance to record any of his dialogue for The Dark Knight.

They’re saying that someone else is going to have to record it for him, or else they have no film. Unlike Ledger’s death, this does actually affect me, since I’m a Batman fan. This could be really, exceedingly bad. If the voice actor who replaces him sucks, it will be really distracting. And I doubt they’ll hire Mark Hamill (whose iconic portrayal of the Joker on Batman TAS had forever branded him as The Joker in my mind).

So with that in mind, I have a suggestion. I say they throw caution to the wind and just make it a comedy. Dub over all of the actors’ voices. Hire Frank Caliendo to play them.

Imagine him as John Madden playing the Joker.

Or George W Bush as Batman.

And Bill Clinton as Harvey Dent/ Two Face.

We’ve got a blockbuster on our hands, people.

I don’t mean to be crass about a man’s death. My sympathies to his family. But to the rest of you, there are more important things going on in this country than a dead actor. It’s Hollywood. THEY’LL MAKE MORE.


A Dozen Corpses

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. Constantly. End of the world, dying alone kind of stuff. I haven’t talked about it here, because it’s very depressing. I’m a paranoid psychotic. You do NOT want to read about the scary shit going on in my mind. But I’ve been overly preoccupied with it, to the point of waking up in the middle of the night, draped in fear.

But right now I’d like to talk about death in different manner. I was viewing Loree’s blog (apologize for the lack of link, but frelling Websense blocks Myspace at my work) and it got me to thinking about dead people. So I wanted to make a list of 12 dead people I wish I could meet.

1. & 2. My Maw-Maw and Paw Paw.

Because I miss them dearly. They are nearly twenty years gone, and sometimes I can’t remember their faces. That the worst part of losing someone; when time steals their faces from your mind’s eye.

3. My Dad’s father. I never really got to know him, and I have a few questions.

4. Dorothy Parker.

The Queen of the Algonquin Round Table. Andquite possibly one of the wittiest people who ever lived. I adore her. In fact, here’s a few quotes:

-I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.

– If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.

-You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.

-This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.
5. & 6. Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash.
What’s heaven without a couple of hillbillies and some good music? These men weren’t cowboys. They were rebels and outlaws. I would love to spend a week listening to their stories and music.
7. Marilyn Monroe.
She was a little slutty and a whole lotta crazy. That doesn’t make for much of a relationship, but it makes for a hell of a weekend.
8. Leonardo Da Vinci.
Wouldn’t it be incredible to meet a man who defines the words savant and genius? I would have to learn Italian for this, but I want to do that anyway.
9. Sam Kineson.
Comedic genius. If you don’t get why this guy is on my list… you just aren’t cool.
10. Bruce Lee.
He’s Bruce Lee. I don’t need a reason.
11. Allen Ginsberg.
A leader of the Greenwich Village Bohemian movement. He’s sort of a personal hero of mine. Again, I think he would have amazing stories.
Here’s a clip of his epic poem, Howl :

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at
dawn looking for an angry fix,
angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient
heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the
machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high
sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,

12. Britney Spears.
Technically not dead yet, but come on… any day now. She’s going to OD sometime this year. This one is VERY slutty and even crazier than Marilyn. This meeting would be strictly sexual, like in that weird Steve Guttenberg movie, High Spirits, where he bangs the ghost of Darryl Hannah into life. … moving on.
So that’s my list. Go tag yourself. I want to know who you want to meet.

It’s Carnival Time

It’s that time of year again, the number one tourist draw of Louisiana, Mardi Gras.

I have a lot of conflicted feelings about this season.

There’s traffic.

The pollution is out of control.

Drunk assholes are the rule.

Tourists everywhere.

Bad music. And above all a celebration of all things New Orleans.


There’s also family



heh heh, kidding.

That marvelous pastry achievement, King Cake

Debauchery (I personally loved being debauched.)


And good clean fun

Plus it’s intrinsically tied to my childhood. So try as I might, I can’t really get myself to hate Carnival season.

So far I’ve only been to two parades, both of which were last night. We walked down the route a little, as is customary. Parades are often like family get togethers or high school reunions in this town. You can’t go to one without seeing someone you know.

We picked up some daquiris about a mile down. We got a good look at the freaks on the way there and a look at the underage girls on the way back. actually they looked more like this. Unfortunately, as we stared lasciviously at barely post- pubescent trailer trash, my stomach started turning. I had forgotten the golden rule of parades: “go before you leave.” We have port-o-potty’s here and there, but frankly… well… you’ve seen the pictures of the city after the 2005 flooding? It’s usually more disgusting than that.

There was no way I was going in one of those, no matter how bad I had to go. Have you ever farted on purpose because you were afraid you might shit your pants? I have. Aside from that, it was nice.

Also, they had a free concert series this past weekend called Family Gras. I was really looking forward to it. Friday night I hauled ass through rain and a ridiculous level of cold to make it in time to see Taylor Swift.

(She’s the one on the left.) Unfortunately, if there’s one thing you can count on in Louisiana, it’s that rain will ruin anything good that manages to find it’s way there. The concert was canceled just as I got there.

Fortunately, Sunday Blake Shelton was playing, which I was looking forward to even more. I go there seconds before he started playing, and found my way 20 feet from the center of the stage.

There was a good crowd there too. Some hotties. Some… not-ties. Seriously, there were some inbred, snaggle-toothed motherfuckers out that day. There was a forty year old guy in front of me who was losing it when Blake started singing. I swear I thought he was going to throw his panties up there.

About a half hour in, a 70 year old old black woman in a turbin asked if she could get in front of me so she could take a picture. I was feeling uncharacteristically generous and agreed, under the assumption that she would leave after she got her pic. Unfotunately, as Blake sat down to do an acoustic set

she ingratiated herself into her position and then started screaming at him. “BABY YOU SO SEXY!!!!! CAN I TOUCH YOU BABY?????!!!!!!! I WISH I WAS THAT BOTTLE IN YOUR MOUTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (still not sure what that one meant) “I’LL SUCK YO DICK!!!!” Alright, I made that last one up. But everything else is true. He played along with her at first, until he realized she was fucking nuts and quite serious. She kept screaming to touch him for twenty minutes. Then her phone rang and she thankfully fucked away off.

But it was a fun concert. An hour and a half for free by a major recording artist. Awesome. There’s a reason to love Mardi Gras.

Pieces of Me

The very idea of a blog is self-aggrandizing. It’s terribly narcissistic.

So as long as I’m being obnoxious, let me tell you about myself. After all, if you’re reading this, I’m assuming you give a shit.

I’m Adam.

And I’m kind of a mess.

Okay… not quite that bad.

I’m 28 years old. I live with my father. No girlfriend, few friends, and I hate just about everything and everyone. All of which makes for convenient comedic cannon-fodder.

Curt, romantic and old fashioned. And I’m set in my country ways. I’m sort of like Curly from City Slickers.

Except pudgy… less grizzled… not a cowboy… not nearly as tough… probably not even as attractive… you get the point.

But that’s just part of me… maybe most of me… but not all. I am obnoxious and rude. I can be dirty and lowdown. Mean and excessive in my vulgarity. (Can one be vulgar in one’s vulgarity?) But I am also artistic and sympathetic. I am good humored and often good natured. I’m a writer and a photographer, a dime store therapist and a twelfth century philosopher. I’m a man who tries. For however much I may fail in my endeavors, I do try.

I love women.

I love comics.

Fast cars.

And my friends

But those are just aspects. They’re really all just pieces of me.

This is the me that celebrates life.

This is the me that is all geek.

This is the me thats pure whimsy. (It’s also the me that loves “the bitches”. Juuuust kiddin’ ladies.)

This is Katherine Heigl. I’d like to have sex with her.

This is who I am.

This is the place I feel most at home.

This is a woman on a horse.

This is just me.

Ultimately, I am a writer and these are my observations.

Australian Affinity

Ever since I was a little kid, I have been absolutely in love with Australia. Hell on Disney, to me Australia was the most magical place on Earth. And it still is, sort of.

So many great things have come from Australia. Crocodile Dundee… Nicole Kidman… Farscape… the Tazmanian Devil… uhh…kangaroos… OH! OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE! And lots of other great stuff.

I’ve always been fascinated with their continent. Looking back, it all started with Grease. Yes, Grease, the Broadway musical-turned film musical- turned Broadway musical again. From the second my five year old eyes saw Sandra Dee and my tiny ears heard her melodic voice singing “we go together like wap babaloo bop ba wap bam boom” I was in love. Well, it was a crush actually, but love sounds more romantic. And to be fair, I recall watching the video for “Let’s Get Physical” and remarking to my Mother something to the effect of “Mommy I want to marry her when I grow up.” To which I believe she said something vaguely lesbian.

Olivia Newton- John was my first crush. And what a crush she was; long golden hair, green eyes, sexy accent, the voice of an angel… sigh. Is it any wonder why I still get wood every time I hear Xanadu? Yeah, that’s right… XANADU! I love that song. Which is good, because once you even think about it, it’s stuck in your head for 3 years. Seriously, Xanadu should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for most difficult song to forget.


For some reason I was thinking about her yesterday. And I wanted to hear Hopelessly Devoted to You. So I plugged her name into youTube, and up popped a few dozen videos of her. And I realize this is a little gay, but I sat there for an hour and a half, staring and listening to my first crush with a moon-faced expression. Olivia may be a sterling representation of all things 80’s, but she still holds up. Her music isn’t just great in a nostalgic sense (let’s be honest, a good bit of 80’s music is); it’s just great music. Why isn’t this angel of melody celebrated more than she is?

And you know what? As I watched those videos… many of which are 25 years old now… I still have a crush on her. Hell, I think I still want to marry her. And I want to visit Australia more than ever.

Hmmm. I wonder if I could meet her?

Video of the Day (watch this and TRY not to fall head over heels for her, I dare you):

Dr. Adam and the Women

My friend Josh wants me to try speed dating with him.

My response?

“Ugh. Seriously?”

It just doesn’t seem particularly, umm… prudent. (Which, I realize, makes me a prude.)

I’m not all that familiar of speed dating beyond what I’ve seen in the movies. Honestly, how many of you think of speed dating and instantly flash to that scene from 40 Year Old Virgin where the lesbian tries to get Steve Carrell to “tuck it back” and the brunette with the Tara Reid moment was the least dysfunctional? That isn’t to say I wouldn’t date a large breasted woman whose top comes off five minutes after meeting her. I would at least give her a one-date lease with an option to buy. But that’s beside the point. In my wildly psychotic, histrionically paranoid mind, I’m expecting to go to this and meet the cast of Rob Zombie’s House of a Thousand Corpses. Or maybe the circus is in town. I don’t know.

“But how else are we going to meet people?”

He has a point. This is not a singles-friendly city. And contrary to popular feminist dogma, life is not an episode of Sex and the City. Despite the testimony of Carrie 3:16, women don’t hunt down men, and they aren’t looking to fuck everything that walks. Even if that were true, do I really want to spend money on some loose hooker in a bar, just so I can take her back to her shitty apartment and fuck her from behind to the Kanye West songs she insists on playing, while I’m trying not to lose my erection from thinking about what a racist piece of garbage he is and how unbelievably stupid she is, and she’s desperately trying not to vomit from all the jaeger and the pounding? No I do not.

No, I don’t ever want to pick a woman up in a bar. For one thing, I subscribe to the Groucho Marx theory when it comes to dating. I would never join an organization that would have someone like me as a member. Basically I would never date a woman that would go out with me at first sight. I want a girl who thinks she’s too good for me. Then, I would slowly bring her over to the dark side and make her do all sorts of other things she never thought she would do. That’s right ladies, I am the Darth Vader of the Gulf Coast dating scene. Wanna polish my light sabre?

I’m not delusional. I’m creative.

I’m also alone. So maybe I should stop breathing heavy and using “I am your father… you do not know the power of the dark side…” as a line. … Nah. (Admit it, your panties got a little spring shower there.)

People are always telling me I’m too picky. That aggravates the shit out of me, because I’ve always maintained that I don’t ask much as far as my expectations. I’m sorry if I’m not Deuce Bigalow or Tommy Lee. (However, I am Rick James, bitch.) I do have some standards. So here’s a list.

Drugs: Fuck off. I REFUSE to date a woman who does that shit. If she experimented a few times in the past, there’s some wiggle room, but nothing long term, or current. And weed is a drug, regardless of what your older cousin taught you in your grand-daddy’s shed, hippy.

Smoking: It causes cancer. Do what you want, but I don’t particularly like the idea of black fluid filling up my lungs until I choke to death on bile simply because you need to shove a flaming cock in your mouth. That’s why God invented gay porn stars.

Drinking: I’m not entirely rigid. Even I understand the benefits of a woman lubricated and pliable after a little tequila. If you like the sauce a little, I’m okay with it. That being said, I don’t want someone who has to drink to have fun.

Weight: I like a girl with a little meat on her. No one anywhere near as big as me, mind you, but over weight doesn’t really matter if she’s a great girl.

Sense of humor: A must. I hate people that can’t take a fucking joke.

Intelligence: I want to marry a girl who is smarter than me. (Again, not a whole lot to ask.) But I don’t expect a girl I go out with to be a genius.

Tattoos: No more than 3, and nothing that covers entire sections of your body. I don’t need to be translating hieroglyphics on your back while we’re having sex.

Music: No rap. Or at least nothing post- 1993.

Piercings: Belly Button. Cool. Eyebrow. Fine. Nose. No bull rings. Nipples… well… show’em to me and I’ll decide. Vagina, lip, cheek… anywhere else… no way.

Politics: Hillary Clinton supporters need not apply.

I know it seems like a long list, but if you go over it objectionably, you’ll find it’s all reasonable. At the end of the day, I’m just looking for a nice, down to earth girl I can spend time with, laugh with, talk to… diddle…. whatever. And right now, I think I just want to go out on a date. Sex isn’t even a factor. Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t turn anyone away, but I’m honestly just looking to have fun with someone of the opposite sex. Even if there is no second date.

So I’m going speed dating. And I’m not happy about it. But at least I’ll get a good story out of it. But I am NOT tucking it back.


Quote of the Day:

“I’m not shooting for a “successful” relationship at this point, I’m just looking for something that will prevent me from throwing myself in front of a bus.”

-Bye Bye Love (1995)

Cloverfield review

When that freaky as hell trailer for Cloverfield came out a few months ago, I couldn’t not see it. It was one of the most awe inspiring trailers of all time. They didn’t even tell you the name!

They the viral marketing campaign started. It was a mystery, and we all loooove mysteries. Especially me. I have a secret fantasy of being a detective. Sometimes at night I turn out the lights, throw a blanket over my head and pretend I’m Batman. … But that’s neither here nor there. Not long ago, I found out the oddly titled Cloverfield was being produced by JJ Abrams. I’m a huuuuuuge fan of Alias. So right away, I’m interested. Then they announced that it was written by Drew Goddard, one of Joss Whedon’s boys (Angel) and one of the creators of the very excellent (and short lived) Drive. So Cloverfield was looking thumbs up.

So was it up to snuff? I’d say so, yeah. I mean, it was a monster movie, not high art. But what I saw on that screen was a gripping, nerve racking flick, filled with humanity. It’s funny, but the film runs across a large portion of the sprawling metropolis that is New York City, and yet the hand held cameras that were used makes you feel almost claustrophobic at times. The whole movie was first person, a thought that I’ve had from time to time, but never could figure out how to make it work. They did. It works.

And it is very emotional. There’s scene where one character tells a woman over the phone that her son is dead. Just hearing him wrench the words out of his mouth… I admit it… I choked up. And there are a lot of other truly human moments that will make you feel for these people.

I’ve heard people squawk at the supposed September 11th references. Those people can bite it. Cloverfield isn’t a metaphor (at least not for that), it’s a monster movie; meant to be seen and enjoyed in a theatre with a bunch of geeks looking to see Lost and drunks looking to cop a feel off of their girlfriends during the “jumpy” moments. Don’t read too much into it.

The cinematography for this film is obviously a different animal than anything else you’ve seen. People have been getting motion sickness from the constant bouncing of the camera; some have even vomited. They made me read a waver before I could go see it. But it really isn’t that bad. … Okay, it is. Just don’t sit to close to the screen and you should be fine. I didn’t get nauseous once. But the way they shot it is what made the movie great. There were moments where I literally felt like I was in the movie. And the special effects were flawless. The monsters were gruesome, and creepy. And they sort of looked like spiders, which really freaked me out. Though you never get a clear glimpse of any of them, just enough to make you want to run.

Others have dismissed the film based on false claims that it’s merely The Blair Witch Project redux. Basically anyone who says that really doesn’t understand what the tBWP was. It isn’t a horror movie. You never actually see the witch. If anything it’s a fake documentary. The people who went to see it thinking it was a true life horror film weren’t paying attention. There are similarities beyond the hand held cameras, but at no time did I note that it felt like I was watching the Blair Witch. For one thing, this film was scripted. tBWP was at best outlined, but mainly improv.

Basically, it’s a crazy, interesting movie with a lot of intense character moments and a poignant ending that will move you . I don’t like horror films, but I liked Cloverfield.