Eric Sims

[California Seething] Madness Revisited

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : April 14, 2015

Category: California Seething

Tags:#Pro99, baseball, Calipari, Charlayne Woodard, Christian Laettner, crying piccolo player, Duke, Jack Nicholson, Jameis Winston, Kentuck, march madness, NFL, obama, rand paul, Wisconsin

As far as I’m concerned, there are three types of people in the world:

People who get sort of excited about March Madness and kind of miss it when it’s done.
People who REALLY get excited about March Madness and look forward to it with the eager anticipation of parents awaiting their first child only without the accompanying dread of terrible baby shower games (can we go back to not inviting dudes to these? I’m cool with that little bit of inequality if it means I never have to worry about tasting fucking baby food.) People like me who, when March Madness is over, feel as though a couple of nattily dressed brainlessly burbling SportsCenter anchors reached into their chest and ripped out their still beating hearts Temple-of-Doom style as they endlessly jabbered on about Tiger Woods’ chances at the Masters this year and the Opening Day of the fucking interminable death march that is the Baseball season. I swear, it’s like the Trail of Tears with Vin Scully filling in for Andrew Jackson and nachos for smallpox infested blankets.
Weird, freaky, pasty faced people with hateful little beady eyes who don’t enjoy March Madness at all but instead prefer clubbing baby seals, leaving passive-aggressive notes on their neighbors’ cars, and watching fucking baseball.

So- clearly you’re waaaaaaay to cool to be one of the THIRD type of people- right? Of course you are. And that’s why I’m pretty sure that you miss March Madness at least a little bit and yearn for those magical days of endlessly chasing the buzzer beater dragon – just hours and hours of “What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? Don’tshootdon’tshootdon’tshootdon’tshootdon’tshooot no no no no no no…..YES!!! yesyesyesyesyesyes IT’S OVER!!!!! IT’S OVER!!!!! Good game good game good game good game game. ” Come on- you know you miss it- and that’s why I’ve decided to relive the glory of the past month through the email updates that I, as the humble commissioner of my company’s TOTALLY for entertainment purposes only March Madness pool sent the participants in the pool. Join me as we relive the almost infinitesimal number of highs and all the many, many, oh so very many lows, as I take you from anticipation to devastation to the inevitable conclusion- with as much of the really boring crap cut out as I could manage (so, yeah, just imagine how much worse this would be if I left that stuff in!) Also- names have been changed to protect the innocent, profanity has been ramped up cause FUCK THE INNOCENT and I punched up a bunch of jokes cause I can’t stop myself.

Plus- as a bonus- you get all sorts of random and totally outdated jokes about current events- it’s as much fun as going through the old newspapers in your mom’s house when you’re putting together her audition video for Hoarders! Not that I have any idea what that’s like.

March 4, 2015

Subject: It’s March- And You Know What That Means

….at least- I’m hoping you know what that means, because if you’re getting this email it means that you participated in last year’s CTG March Madness pool, which means (unless you were only participating out of a sense of obligation or because somebody smacked you on the back of your head and took your money) that you’re as excited to get this email as I am to send it!! Or, OK, maybe not as excited because I’m bouncing up and down with glee- but, you know, pretty damn close.

Yeah, all the rest of this is just boring functional crap- you just need to know that the winner gets 75% of the pool and buys bagels for everyone, second place gets 25%, loser gets their $5 back and the Most Creative Bracket name wins some random prize. I say all of this like 10,000 more times and people are still like “now, what do I get if I win again?” People are dumb. Not any of you reading this of course- but, you know, OTHER people.

Let the madness begin!!!!

March 13, 2015

Subject: Selection Sunday is This Sunday- Can We Please Start Freaking Out Already?

OK, so last week when I sent out the first March Madness message a whole WEEK AND A HALF before Selection Sunday, I was told by some people who shall remain nameless but are dicks that I was being overenthusiastic and premature (something which I was often accused of as a teenager- if you know what I mean. Yeah- you got it. Raising my hand in English class. Sigh #lonelynerd.)

But, can you really blame me? I mean, clearly March Madness is the most important thing happening in the world right now- hell, it’s so important that the President himself takes time away from testing the patience of Westside liberals by fucking up traffic on the way to do Kimmel (seriously?? Kimmel??? They’re closing streets so you can do Kimmel??? What’s next- declaring a national state of emergency so you can be a guest judge on Masterchef Jr???) to participate- although, 47 Senators did send a letter to the NCAA to ignore Obama’s bracket. Hey Senators- when you make the foreign minister of IRAN look like the adult in the room- it may be time to admit you’ve gone too far. It’s like the kid who eats paste telling the kid who eats his own shit to grow up and behave already. (OUTDATED CURRENT EVENT REFERENCE ALERT) Anyhow, you see my point- I mean what am I supposed to focus on if not March Madness- the 99 Seat Theatre fracas? That’s like a Civil War in the world’s smallest, poorest and least relevant country with Facebook playing the role of Gettysburg and Charlayne Woodard as General Lee. (If you think you’d like to learn more about the 99 Seat Plan controversy you totally don’t.)

Well, anyhow- I held off on sending any further communication- but now- now- Selection Sunday is two days away, Conference Tournaments are in full swing and it is officially, incontrovertably and indubidably time to start FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! etc.

OK- so- if you are getting this message and you played last year, or have already registered for the group- then all you have to do is:

Yeah, yeah, yeah, boring stuff about how to participate- blah blah blah.

I’ll send another annoying reminder on Monday! If you don’t want to play – just let me know and I’ll bug you no more, though I will think significantly less of you.

March 24, 2015- Rounds of 64 & 32

Subject: My Bracket’s Not Busted and I’m Sort of Freaking Out About It

When I awoke on Saturday morning from uneasy dreams and ran to check my bracket I discovered something very troubling had transpired the night before and somehow, inexplicably, I was very close to the lead. You can see why I was disturbed by this. I mean, normally, when I wake up all excited on the first Saturday of the tournament and check my bracket, I find a terrifying bloody wreck and my excitement quickly turns to horrified dismay, like a kid waking up on Christmas morning and finding the mangled corpse of a goat under the tree- and if that hasn’t been used as the opening of a Criminal Minds episode yet- then WHY THE HELL NOT? They can use a line from Had Gadya for the opening quote. Eh- Had Gadya? Obscure Passover reference? Fellow Jews? Anyone??? Is this foreskin on????

Anyhow- my point here is that I’m used to looking at my bracket and seeing a ruined mess, so it was jarring to see it all neat and tidy. I haven’t been this freaked out since I visited New York after a decade away and saw what Bloomberg had done to the place- hell, I went down to Tompkins Square Park and there were actually KIDS playing in a sandbox….filled with…. get this…sand! Not syringes and puke, shattered malt liquor bottles and broken dreams- but pure, clean, wholesome sand- WTF???? THIS IS NOT MY CITY. Sigh.

You know what I’m saying right- New York isn’t New York without the junkies and the piss and the crime and March Madness ain’t March Madness without the agonizing failure, crushing disappointment and wave after wave of punishing self doubt OH YEAH – BRING IT, BABY- THAT SHIT’S LIKE HEROIN TO ME. Plus all of my picks were predictable and dull and if there’s one thing the tournament should never be, it’s predictable and dull (aside from the first day- that was great- but, of course, that was the one day I was way too busy with my stupid “job” thing to actually watch games. By the time I started watching on Friday, it was like when I showed up all excited for my first summer at camp and all everyone kept talking about was how awesome last summer was. Sigh.) It got to the point that by Friday night I started cheering for outcomes wildly in conflict with my own self interest just in the hopes that something interesting would happen. So- Dayton over Providence- SURE! Michigan State over Virginia- WHY NOT??? NC State over ‘Nova? ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY!! Score that upset! Bust that Bracket! Make that piccolo player WEEP- IT’S THE TOURNAMENT, BABY- IF YOU AINT’ CRYIN’- YOU AIN’T TRYIN’.

And yet, despite the massive upsets in the East Region my bracket still looks pretty good. And, you know what- I think I’m OK with that- hell, I’m in a big tie for third, and, who knows- maybe I could actually win this thing after ten years of heartbreak and despair- or, much much much more likely, I can get my hopes built up REALLY HIGH only to slide into defeat like a coach off a chair. Man, that guy loves his son. It’s kind of weird, right? The only time my dad cried when he talked about me was when he told people I was a theatre major. Kidding! Kidding! My parents have always been supportive of all my creative ambitions. So supportive that they are probably gonna read this post- hi guys! Thanks for always having my back, Dad and not crying like a bitch about it in front of the whole fucking country:

Anyhow- all of this is to say- we’re just one week into this thing with games starting up again on Thursday two more weeks of (hopefully) crazy action to go and anything can still happen! (within reason) So- good luck, have fun- and GO WHOEVER IS PLAYING KENTUCKY!

March 30, 2015- Sweet 16 & Elite 8

Subject: I Guess I Was Asking For It

Look, I’m no dummy. I know I was asking for it. Hell, last week I was all “ooooh the tournament is so boooooring” and “why hasn’t anyone busted my braaaaaacket yet” and “oh boo hoo hoo I’m actually winning this year wah wah wah” shamelessly whining about my First World Problems like a Food-Babe-reading-Whole-Foods-mom screaming at a minimum wage cashier cause she can’t find the right brand of Cruelty Free Kale Chips (there’s no such thing, of course. Kale Chips are cruel by definition). I should have known that my hubris would never be tolerated by the Tournament Gods Lundquist and Vitale (who maintains his youthful vigor by sucking the souls from insufferable actresses, but the joke’s on him cause she traded her soul years ago to take Sandra Bullock’s role in Double Jeopardy. Then again, he was able to suck out a mouthful of used Botox and stale collagen- which makes his look younger and gives him the energy he needs to extol the virtues of clean living in between shooting Hooters commercials.)

Anyhow, the Tournament Gods let me have my One Shining Moment during the Sweet 16 while I was competing for the lead, before they smote me with a Mighty Hand and an Outstretched Arm (can you tell I’m getting psyched for Passover? Charoset in the Chouse!!) That’s right- in the very first game of the Elite 8 Wisconsin beat my super-brilliant pick to win the whole tournament: Arizona. Yeah, that’s right- Arizona. Gun totin’, immigrant hatin’, Jan Brewer electin’, MLK Day not celebratin’, Daylight Savings Time rejectin’, sun blasted, godforsaken, racist fuckin’ ARIZONA. Arizona- who’s only two attractions are a gigantic hole in the ground and an absurdly warm climate- making it, officially, the sweaty asshole of America. I mean, there’s a reason why Arizona was the last of the contiguous states added in 1912 after every single other territory had already been granted statehood- nobody wanted it! And do you think Congress was even serious about making it a state when they did? Hello no! It was like inviting Carrie to the prom- they were gonna dump pig’s blood on Arizona’s Senator on his first day of work (their all going to laugh at you, Arizona) but then they saw he was heavily armed and bat-shit crazy so they sad, “Screw it, we’ll keep the damn state. We can send baseball players there to train and old people there to die. Oh- and someday- someday maybe they’ll have an actual university. Yeah- and that university might have a basketball team- and that basketball team might get really, really good. So good, in fact, that some pundit might write an article about how in a large March Madness pool it’s actually statistically better to pick Arizona than the heavily favored Kentucky. And then, some complete and utter nincompoop with a beard who runs a theatre and sweats a lot will read this article and he’ll pick Arizona only to have them lose terribly in the Elite 8, blowing his bracket to smithereens while we laugh and laugh and laugh. Except of course, that we’ll be dead. Long dead. Almost as dead as that sweaty fuckwad’s bracket. Ha!” – and THAT’s the story of how Arizona became a state. It’s like Schoolhouse Rock up in this bitch.

And then- to add insult to bracket breaking- Notre Dame came within SECONDS of pulling off a gigantic upset and beating Kentucky in the second game on Saturday- which would have been awesome for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which being that everyone’s brackets would be a screwed as mine- only to lose in heartbreaking fashion in the final seconds of the game. Of course, it could be seen as karmic retribution that Notre Dame, which is located in Indiana, had their hearts torn out by Kentucky just days after the passage of the Religious Bigotry Act. Which, I know, is crazy when you think about it- when has Kentucky ever been the LESS bigoted state to cheer for? (OUTDATED CURRENT EVENT WARNING)

Alright- that’s all I’ve got- semi-final games are this Saturday and I’ll be watching on my phone during the Seder and trying not to yell out profanity during the Ten Plagues- or, at any rate, more profanity than is usual for our family Seder (come party with us!)

Good luck this weekend (to those of you whose brackets aren’t completely fucked)! Happy Passover (or Easter, whatever).

April 6, 2015 (Final Four Update)

Subject: Who Cares Who Wins? Kentucky Lost!

Alright, I promised myself I was gonna be gracious here. Be professional, be objective- just report on the facts. Not to express my feelings about how ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY AWESOME it is that Big Bad Blue Kentucky, led by coach John “Douchebag” Calipari (hey, it’s not my fault that his parents named him that. It’s cause he was born with a full head of douchey coach hair- a rare congenital condition known as Pitino’s Disease. And also cause he’s a douche) and his over-hyped gaggle of pumped up one-and-done, Happy Meal All Americans CRUMBLED in the final seconds of the semi-final game like matzah under the weight of a Kaminsky-sized wedge of Wisconsin cheddar.

And, I’m sure as hell not going to talk about how TOTALLY AMAZEBALLS (is “amazeballs” still a thing? I’m very old) it was to see Ashley Judd and the rest of Big Boo-hoo Nation in the stands watching as their hopes and dreams for a history making undefeated season went down the toilet The “toilet”, I’m told, is a bathroom fixture that I eagerly look forward to revisiting just as soon as Passover is over. Just picture Wisconsin’s big men clogging the lane and you’ll have a rough idea what’s going on inside me. I know, TMI (is TMI still a thing? God, I’m so old).

Anyhow- like I said- I’m not gonna revel in Kentucky’s SOUL CRUSHING defeat (tee hee hee. Tee hee hee. Stop that!) – but I am going to report objectively and without bias that this has basically tanked just about half of the brackets in our pool- and has left only two players still seriously competing for victory. But in a way, we’re all winners- because whoever wins the tournament will be gracing us with the traditional Victory Bagels so that we can all share in the triumph. Except for me, of course, because Passover. And Kentucky because THEY LOST WOO-HOO!!!!! Sorry, sorry, sorry. I wasn’t going to celebrate. It’s OK Kentucky- you guys tried your best and it just wasn’t good enough. There’s no shame in that, unless, of course, you’re ashamed of being a bunch of fucking losers which, of course, you should be. Plus- it’s good for you to get used to losing- cause it’s all you’re gonna be doing in the NBA when you play for the Lakers next year. (All suck and no game makes Jack a sad boy. All suck and no game makes Jack a sad boy.)

tl:dr Kentucky lost. Wisconsin won. Everyone’s brackets are fucked and I’m inappropriately happy about it. (I know tl:dr is still at thing, cause it’s the most common comment on my posts. Sigh)

OK- to check all the standings please visit the site- and for any UK (and Laker) fans who want to punch me in the face- I’ll be out of the office til Wednesday. If you need to punch someone in the face urgently, please contact Charlayne Woodard immediately (though she’ll make you pay her minimum wage for the privilege or, you can wait until Wednesday and punch me in the face when I return. And if you’re not following the whole 99 seat mess, you can just punch Rand Paul. Go on, do it. He’ll throw a little temper tantrum like a five year old who’s daddy took away his Fountainhead Lego set (build a towering skyscraper as a testament to human superiority and then smash it on the ground because it’s too perfect to exist).

Happy Final Game!

April 7, 2015- Final Update

Subject: Duke Wins. Oh Goody.

You know, I talk a lot of trash about Kentucky- but I really owe them a debt of gratitude. Because a few years ago, if Duke had won (oh, yeah, Duke won, BTW) I would have been full of piss and vinegar- all “entitled preppy white boys” this and “J. J. Reddick” that and “something something something cleaning my toilet with Christian Laettner’s stupid 90’s Lesbian haircut”. But now, because I find Kentucky so utterly loathsome and repellent – I’m totally fine with the fact that Duke won! Cause, you see, I take the same approach to sports that the U.S. Government takes to the Middle East- I just support whichever side seems less repulsive at the time (also a common strategy for U.S. voters and consumers of Passover desserts. Honestly, goyim- eat a goddamn macaroon and then tell me you don’t like Marshmallow Peeps.) It’s like- one year the Broncos are in the Superbowl and Seattle is the devil- and the next year Seattle’s playing the Patriots and I’m all “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST RUN THE FUCKING BALL!!!!!” – and, of course, no matter which side I support, I end up losing- so…hey- just like the U.S. Government in the Middle East!

So- yeah- Duke won. Whoopi-dee-doo. I was cheering for Wisconsin cause they beat Kentucky (the enemy of my enemy is my team) but, whatever. And – of course, that means that the winner of our March Madness pool is….Steve’s bracket “Steve” (congrats, “Steve!”)- and the winner of the Most Creative Bracket Name prize is……pretty clearly NOT Steve. Actually- that goes to “Unexpected Value of Ignorance” which is the best bracket name to be taken from an Alejandro Inarritu movie title since “Basket-Babel” and “21 SLAMS!”. And, of course, the second place bracket is “Crying Boys” – or as they are also known “The Harrison Twins”.

Alright, that’s all for now- I hope all of you beady eyed, pasty faced seal clubbers enjoy your stupid baseball season while those who prefer our sports “entertaining” drown our sorrows in the NBA playoffs while we wait for the start of FOOTBALL SEASON!!! WOO HOO!!! Go Jets…or Broncos…or whoever is playing the Patriots- it doesn’t matter. You’re just gonna lose anyhow. Crap.

Meanwhile- while we’re waiting for the football season, we can enjoy the build up to the NFL draft. It’s especially heartening that the NFL is so committed to raising awareness about violence against women that they’re selecting a known rapist with the number one pick. Shame on you, NFL. If only you treated violence against women as seriously as you treat the risk of brain damage to players- oh, wait, never mind- you do! (SADLY, NOT AN OUTDATED CURRENT EVENT WARNING)

Until next year!

Postscript:

I was jonesing so bad for some March Madness action that I finally watched the ESPN documentary I Hate Christian Laettner and, hey, guess what? I HATE DUKE AGAIN!!! I knew I should have watched it before the Championship- just think of all the red faced sputtering fury I missed out on. It’s like when I forgot to watch Schindler’s List before Germany won the World Cup. It’s a good flick, though- best video I’ve seen about white privilege in ages that doesn’t feature the NYPD. Oh well, there’s always next year- and, who knows, maybe Wisconsin will actually win the championship and I’ll have to come up with a reason to hate them. Beer swilling, cheese eating, Scott Walker voting motherfuckers! Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff- ONLY 11 MONTHS TO GO TIL NEXT MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRCCCCCHHHH!!!!!!!!!

March Madness. Fuck yeah.

[California Seething] The Punky Chronicles- Rocky Mountain Why???

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : March 10, 2015

Category: California Seething

Tags:Denver, Downton Abbey, fleece, Frontier, Kitty, LAX, Punky, Rhonda Rousey, Shirley Temple, snow, Southwest, Uma Thurman, weed shopping, yorkies

When I was in high school in the late 80’s, my parents were friends with a couple who took their little dogs with them everywhere they went. Oh, how they doted on their precie-wecious little Yorkie-poos (the Yorkie being the Swatch of dog breeds). They gave them cutesy names and talked to them in baby talk and even, on occasion dressed them up in clothes. How I sneered at them from the frosty heights of my adolescence- throwing lightning bolts of cynical derision from the top of Mount Sourpuss. How absurd they looked to my perpetually rolling 17 year old eyes- how pathetic.

Anyhow, I hadn’t thought of this couple in years, but I found myself suddenly thinking of them while I was talking to my wife very seriously about whether we should get Punky little booties to go along with her new polka dot fleece in preparation for our upcoming trip to Denver to visit my in-laws. After all, it’s cold and snowy in Denver, and we have to protect baby Punky’s little footsie-wootsies from the snow, don’t we? And what are we supposed to do- get her booties that don’t match her fleece- now that’s crazy. This is a big trip for Punky and it’s important she look her best. After all, Punky’s never seen snow before- haven’t you Punky? Haven’t you little Punky wunky woodlie woodle? Who’s a little dog who hasn’t seen snow before? Who’s a little dogey wog wog who hasn’t seen snow before? PUNKY!!!

Oh oh oh oh- you’re gonna judge me, now 17 year old Eric. Seriously? Cause….uh…. I’m not the one with a half grown shitty teenage pornstache and a mullet. Walking around with a peace sign earring from Spencer’s Gifts and a tie dye. And not a cool tie dye- not like a psychedelic, Steal Your Face, spiral of shapes and colors and dancing bears and skeletons. No this is some piece of shit tie-die you made out of one of your dad’s undershirts at Camp Givah last summer that looks like you were feeding a baby Fruit Loops and mud and it threw up all over you. Seriously, dude- what was up with your hair? It’s like business in the front, party in the back- but the only business you’re in is the business of not getting laid and self respect ain’t invited to the party. Just look at that ridiculous hair. All that…luscious…curly….long…ridiculous hair. No baldspot like an ever expanding flesh-colored yarmulke. Hairline not yet receding like my youthful ideals. All that…hair. Sob. PUNKY! Make me feel better about my bald spot. Ahhhh. That’s the stuff.

Anyhow- like I was saying- my wife and I were headed to Denver and we decided that if we had to leave the sunny confines of LA in February and head to one of the Crap Weather States (you know- the ones where 25% of your Facebook friends bitch about the snow, 25% bitch about how annoying it is that the other 25% are bitching about the snow like it’s some new thing they’ve never seen before in their lives and 50% can’t post a goddamn thing cause their power’s out. AGAIN.) then Punky should suffer right along with us.

We had wanted to fly Southwest – in fact, we even went so far as to purchase the Official Southwest Logo Branded Under Seat Doggy Tote Bag. But of course Southwest, being the noncommittal jerkwad boyfriend of airlines, had a typically infuriating pet policy. You see, the customer can pay in advance – and they’ll take an unlimited number of pet reservations but they’ll only actually allow 5 pets on each plane- so you just sort of have to show up early and hope that you’re one of the first five. Confused? Well, here’s a transcript of my conversation with Southwest:

(Southwest is sitting on a tattered couch doing bong hits and playing Mario Kart. I enter and sit next to him.)

Me: Southwest- we need to talk.

SW: Sure- ok- so…talk.

Me: Could you please turn the game off?

SW: (rolls his eyes, turns off the game with theatrical flourish. Sits back on the couch looking exasperated.) Happy now?

Me: Yes. Thank you. Now, the reason I wanted to talk to you is that my wife and I are going to be flying to Denver and we wanted to bring our dog.

SW:(relieved): Oh- cool- is that it? Yeah- sure, all you’ve gotta do is pay a little extra and then we can take up to five pets per flight.

Me: Great! So you only take five pet reservations?

SW: No- we take an unlimited number of reservations. We just only take five pets per flight. So, you’ve just gotta be one of the first ones there.

Me: Oh- well…can you check and see how many are already reserved on this flight?

SW: (rolling his eyes) Uh-no- but, you know, it’s cool- you’ve just gotta be one of the first five there.

Me: So- we could pay for the dog and then not be able to get on the flight with her?

SW: Yeah- I guess so…(turns the game on)

Me: (turning game off): I said- turn that OFF.

SW: Fine, whatever (picks up Details Magazine)

Me: So- there is no way that we can make a reservation and get some commitment from the airline that you’ll actually honor our reservation and allow us to bring the dog on the plane??

SW: Whoa whoa whoa- this is getting pretty serious. I thought we were just like, you know, hanging out, having a good time, flying to Denver and shit. I thought we like, you know, had an understanding. I don’t know- I mean- you’re a cool customer and all- but, like, I just don’t know if I’m ready to commit to guaranteeing that you’ll be able to bring your pet on board. I mean- why do you have to get all weird about it? What’s next- reserved seats? It’s cool- you know. All you’ve gotta do is pay now and then be one of the first five people at the airport with a pet.

Me: Yeah- but what if I get to the airport and then I can’t get on the plane with her? Then what??

SW: Yeah- oh, man- listen, I’ve gotta go I’ve got, like, another customer on the line and it’s …uhm…an emergency….so just book the flight and I’ll, like, email you a confirmation- cool?

Me: Fine. Whatever. FINE

SW: Alright. Cool. You’re not mad right? Cause, Customers and whatever are like our number one priority.

Me: IT’S FINE.

And it was fine, we just decided to fly Frontier because they were willing to commit to giving us a pet reservation- and the fares were actually pretty good- until we realized that when you buy an airplane ticket on Frontier- that’s literally ALL you get- a “ticket” to board an “airplane.” Everything else costs extra. I’m not just talking about Bloody Mary’s for $7 and $25 for checked bags- I’m talking $2 for water, $5 for aisle seats, $10 for CARRY ON LUGGAGE, in case of emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling for only $5.75 and for $16.95- your seat cushion may be used as a floatation device. Seriously- how do they have the fucking chutzpah to sell me an airplane ticket and then charge EXTRA for bringing on luggage- like that’s optional- like it’s some crazy, decadent impulse purchase that only coked out millionaire Wolf of Wall Street stock brokers would ever dream of buying. I mean what do they want me to do??? Just wear all the clothes for the trip at once??? Swallow a condom full of socks and underpants??? Who came up with this airline, anyhow- my Israeli contractor?

Frontier: You want to fly to Denver? Not problem! I make you very good price- $169.

Me: That is good- and we’ll just be carrying on….

Frontier: Oh- you want to bring luggage? No no no no no. For that, I have to charge extra- but don’t worry. Because we are friends, I make you very good price – $10,000- and I’m not make any money at all, I promise.

We quickly realized it wasn’t worth paying the “Classic” rate and paying for all the crazy, luxurious upgrades like LUGGAGE and SEATS separately and that we should go for the “Classic Plus” rate instead– which includes one checked bag, one carry on bag, the assigned seat of our choice and priority boarding. Though, next time we fly – I really think I’m gonna choose “Premiere” which includes a complimentary soft drink and shred of dignity.

When we paid for priority boarding, though, we didn’t realize that Frontier actually had come up with a whole new way of boarding a plane at LAX. They don’t “call people in by row” or “board by seating groups” – they just sort of open the door and let people board in the order that they realize that nobody cares enough to stop them. It’s brilliant! Such a refreshingly social Darwinist approach to boarding a plane. Welcome to Fountainhead Airways – an airline only Rand Paul could love- assuming, of course, Daddy saved him an exit row seat.

In the weeks leading up to our flight, we debated whether we should sedate Punky before taking her on the plane, but all the info we found online said this was BAD. Like High Fructose Corn Syrup bad (aw shit!) Like processed lunch meats with NITRATES bad (daaaaaammnn!) Like giving your kid a peanut butter sandwich to take in their lunch to A PUBLIC SCHOOL bad (oh no you didn’t!!!!) So being responsible, 21^st Century, enlightened pet owners we were absolutely, positively 100% certain that under no circumstances would we be sedating our dog, thank you very much, I say good day, Sir. Good day…until we brought her to the vet for her pre-flight health certificate and the first question the vet asked is “so- you wanna sedate her?” Now- this may be because the vet was knowledgeable enough to be immune to all the pseudo-scientific balderdash on the internet and knew that, from a medical and scientific perspective, the risks of sedation are extremely minor, and that the benefits of reducing flight related anxiety for the dog (and owners) through mild sedation far eclipse the risks. Or- it could be because the vet observed that Punky barked at EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DOG that walked into the waiting room and then, when the receptionists couldn’t take any more and moved us into a private exam room, she barked at EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DOG who walked outside the exam room door (Punky has a penchant for barking at dogs that are exponentially larger than she is. In her mind she’s a cross between Rhonda Rousey and Uma Thurman in a yellow jumpsuit, but she comes across more like a coked up Shirley Temple with eyeliner running down her face screaming “Do you know who I AM?” at the bouncer outside Sky Bar who’s played by The Rock) Or- it could be because the vet observed that trying to get Punky on the scale is one of the more challenging rodeo events, right up there with Bull Riding, Obama Bashing and the Greased Jew Contest. At any rate, the vet quickly evaluated the solution and offered a cutting edge scientific solution- half a Benedryl for Punky, vodka and People Magazine for us. DONE.

And so, the day of the flight came- we Benadryled Punky down from “spastic” to “frisky” and shoved her in the Official Southwest Logo Branded Under Seat Doggy Tote Bag. As she smushed her sad little face up to the mesh of the bag, looking like she had Sarah McLachlan on speed dial, we boarded our Frontier Airlines flight in some totally random order, pausing briefly to pay our Jetway Usage Fee of $21. We took our seats towards the front of the plane so that Punky could yap fiercely at every single passenger that walked by like they were celebrities on the red carpet and she was possessed by the ghost of Joan Rivers. BTW- I was shocked to discover this year that red carpet coverage is actually worse without Joan Rivers. It’s a warning to all us basketball fans who’ve been cheering for Dick Vitale to drop dead- though football fans putting pins into their Chris Collinsworth voodoo doll should please feel free to proceed unabated.

We took off from LAX and headed out over the sparkling Pacific Ocean before turning east. I’ve never been clear why planes have to cruise out over the ocean first before heading east from LAX- sort of a dick move, if you ask me, like LA is rubbing it in- you know? Like LA is flashing it’s tits in our face and saying that we can say goodbye to these cause it’s the last time we’re gonna see them. Anyhow, I must have dozed off because when I woke up we were heading into Denver and something terrible seemed to have happened. The only explanation I could think of was that there was some sort of terrible explosion at the doughnut factory because everything we saw was covered in powdered sugar. Clearly that was the only logical explanation because the other possibility- well, that was just too terrifying to be considered.

I suppose I was still in denial when we landed and I offered to take Punky out for a quick walk while my wife waited for the luggage to arrive at baggage claim….the luggage which contained my coat, hat, scarf and gloves. Still- no problem- I was just popping out for a quick stroll- how cold could it be?

So- yeah- how cold could it be? Oh, I’ll tell how fucking cold it could fucking be. Really cold. Really, really cold. Really, really, really goddamn motherfucking, cocksucking cold. So cold I saw three Eskimos gather around a witch’s tit for warmth. So cold I wanted to grab every person I saw, shake them by the lapels and scream “WHY DO YOU LIVE HERE??? DON’T YOU KNOW??? HAVEN’T YOU HEARD YOU CAN LEAVE???? I mean, seriously, dude- LA is like right over there- WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU STAY?? I mean- sure, I get it- you like legal weed and snowboarding – but get a prescription, learn how to surf and RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIFE- IT’S SO DAMN COLD!!!!!!”

OK- so it was cold. But surely it wouldn’t be too bad. After all, it’s not like I’d be spending a lot of time during my trip outside, right? Well- that’s what I thought, but then our adorable little Punky Wunky- our darlingest, dearest, cutest Little Punky Wunky Woodles who charmed the hell out of everyone she met with her relentless adorability (she’s like the Terminator of cute) decided that she wouldn’t go pee pee outside unless I was walking her. And so, ten times a day, I strapped her into her little polka dot fleece, roped her into her harness like a champion Jew wrassler and trudged with her into the icy misery of suburban Denver. At first, I thought this was her way of saying “hey- you dragged me out here, asshole, you’re gonna suffer, too” – but after a while, I realized what she was actually saying was- “ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!!!! Have you seen how AWESOME IT IS OUT HERE?????? Cause it’s AMMMMAAAAZZZZZIIIIIIINGGG!!!!! There’s bunnies and birds and squirrels and birds and squirrels and bunnies and ohmygodohmygoohmygod there’s all this SNNNNNOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!! WWEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! I can jump in it and run in it and roll in it and the best part the best part the best part the best part is when I pee in it turns yellow. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! SNOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!! YELLOW SNOW!!!!!!! Can we go outside? Canwegocanwegocanwegocanwegocanwego????? Oh- and, chop-chop, cause in about 30 seconds I’m gonna take an enormous dump all over your father in law’s carpet so get to steppin’. WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! I love SNOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!” Fuckin’ dog. Fuckin’ goddamn dog. Fuckin’ adorable little fuckin’ irresistible dog.

So, yeah, every two hours- or pretty much any time she asked I took Punky out to frolic in the goddamn snow. Now- – you may think that I faced my destiny without complaining. That I braved the elements with manly, stoic grace like a Jack London character. You may also think that leprechauns are real and that the snowball you brought to Congress disproved global warming- I can’t control the stupid shit you believe. Because, the fact is, I kvetched and moaned and complained every single time I had to go outside. The Eskimos may have 50 words for snow- but I’ve got a WHOLE LOT MORE- except most of them are actually the same four letter word said over and over again and conjugated a million different ways- and you’d better fuckin’ believe that fuckin’ word ain’t “snow.” What do you want from me? It’s my birthright to complain. Let me tell you something about my people: we don’t do home repair, we don’t do the Easter Bunny and we never, ever suffer in silence. Honestly, there’s nothing more goyisha than that. Hell, my ancient Biblical ancestors (if you believe in this stuff) were liberated from a life of slavery and oppression and delivered to freedom in the Promised Land where they could become a great nation- and they had the audacity to complain about the food- the FREE FOOD, mind you, that God just DROPPED OUT OF THE SKY in their fucking laps on the way- FOR FREE. I mean- what the fuck? They’re like the original millennials. That’s like complaining to Harriet Tubman about your seat on the Underground Railroad. Anyhow, with that proud heritage of miserable ingratitude, you’d better damn well believe that if I have to go out into freezing cold weather over and over again, I’m going to bitch about it- and no fluffy little white Shiksa dog is going to change that no matter how loveable she is (she’s like the irrepressible canine Rose to my miserable, kvetching Atticus).

Horrible weather aside, though. It was a perfectly lovely trip. I would have liked to do more weed shopping- if only to win back some street cred with Teen Eric, but otherwise a perfectly fine way to spend a weekend freezing my balls off.

Of course, the best part of any trip to LA is coming home- and this trip was no exception. Punky was better behaved on the plane home than she was on the way out (I guess we must have given her the good half of the Benadryl) and we had that wonderful moment, familiar to anyone whose arrived at LAX, when we first stepped out of the airport and realized that the temperature on the outside was exactly the same as the temperature on the inside- the only thing in LA, in fact, that’s the same inside and out. And as for the Punkster- well, she may have enjoyed romping in the snow- but, come on, she’s a California girl at heart and she’s totally psyched to be back in the warm weather and has no interest in ever going back to a snowy climate ever again. Or, at least those are the feelings I’ve chosen to project on her, cause, honestly, she’s a dog and what the hell does she know? And even if she does want to go back to the snow, well that’s just too damn bad because there’s no way in hell I’m ever going back to the freezing cold weather again no matter how much she whines….or whimpers….or how super duper cute she looks. Sigh. Get in the Official Southwest Logo Branded Under Seat Doggy Tote Bag, Punky- hopefully Frontier’s got great deals to Albany- as long as we don’t mind paying the State Capital Surcharge, the Cross Country Flight Fee and the I Can’t Believe You’re Going Back to Albany After You Vowed You Would Never Ever Ever Ever Ever Return Charge. Anything for Punky. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Teen Eric- the joke’s on you cause you’re gonna turn into me. That’s right, bitch-ass- feast your eyes on your future:

That’s right- I’m old, I’m bald, I’m holding a dog wearing a red sweater with rhinestones- and LOVING IT!!! (also wearing a t-shirt with her face on it. Oh yeah.) And, hey- it’s not like we lost our minds completely- I mean, look- we didn’t get Punky the booties to match her polka dot fleece, did we? Cause, you know- THAT would just be nuts. I mean, please, this is Punky we’re talking about- it’s doggy Uggs or nothing.

Hell, I told you she was a California dog.

[California Seething] Screw the Oscars Some More- Part II

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : February 20, 2015

Category: California Seething

Tags:Alzheimer's, Birdman, Boyhood, Breathless, Channing Tatum, Ed Norton, Emma Stone, Foxcatcher, Godard, Goodbye to Langauge, House Hunters, John Paul Belmondo, Mark Ruffalo, Michael Keaton, Notorious RBG, Steve Carell, Still Alice

Hey- I bet you thought I forgot all about this and wasn’t going to write part 2. Ha! No such luck:

The “Best Performance That’s Going to be Totally Ignored Cause the Actor’s Not Playing Ugly or Crippled or Autistic or Something” Award- Channing Tatum- Foxcatcher

It’s OK Academy Members- I get it. It’s not your fault. You’re old. Very, very old. Not like Grammy voter old but close. Your eyesight is fading, your hearing is shot and you’re so very tired. And who can blame you? You’ve worked hard! You’ve dedicated your lives to cynically churning out vacuous pabulum for the mindless consumption of the drooling masses and sucking each others’ egos off at awards shows. That’s exhausting even if you’re not dodging rape allegations! It’s not even fair for us to expect you to thoughtfully evaluate a nuanced, carefully constructed, beautifully layered, multidimensional naturalistic acting job. That’s hard work- and you’ve got shit to do! You’ve gotta hit the early bird special at the Ivy (those who are tardy do not get fruit cup), accept your lifetime achievement award from the Douchebag Guild of America (DGA) and meet with your surgeon to delicately remove those last, pesky traces of your humanity (There’s no “I” in team and no “sag” in SAG). And as a result of this, you don’t want to see “acting”– you want to see “ACTING” you know- fake noses! Rapid weight loss! Beautiful people heroically diminishing their glamorous appearance so that they look like (gasp!) the rest of us! BTW- I don’t care how ugly you make yourself- it’s never “brave”. Saving a cage full of bunny rabbits from a burning pet store is brave- gaining 20 pounds and not wearing make up is just fucking lazy. I mean, if being shulmpy was a feat of courage, I’d have the goddamn Presidential Medal of Valor by now- hell I’m the motherfucking Chris Kyle of letting myself go to shit- but do I get any recognition for it? Nooooooooooooooo. But Jennifer Aniston eats a piece of cake and they make a whole fucking movie about it (although- to be fair, she didn’t get nominated for anything, so my point doesn’t really make any sense. I just wanted to make a cake joke. I love cake! Cake anyone?)

And it’s nothing new- we all know the only reason Oedipus poked his eyes out was that Dionysus Award season was coming up and Sophocles was a total prize whore. He was like the Harvey Weinstein of ancient Greece- you should have seen the For Your Consideration ads for Antigone. Shameless.

Anyhow, my point here is that I don’t blame you guys for nominating two actors from Foxcatcher and ignoring the one who deserved it the most. But I do think you’re dumb. Really really dumb. I mean, Steve Carell is terrific as an unfunny Michael Scott with a Nicole Kidman nose job and Mark Ruffalo squints and drinks coffee like a young Olivier – but it’s Channing Tatum who straps this movie to his back and carries it like a piano up five flights of stairs only to get punched in the stomach when he reaches the top so that he has to walk down alone with nothing but bruises and the denim jacket he came with to show for his efforts. His role calls for no eloquent speeches, no flamboyant physical choices and only a modicum of histrionics. All he does, really, is turn in a deeply felt, grounded and utterly truthful performance. You know- no big. Just that little thing that every actor should aspire most to do above all else. And, sure, I hear ya’ “Academy Award Nominee Channing Tatum”??? It’s like “Chief Justice Katy Perry” or “President Joe Biden” – but, hey- if they’re gonna recognize great performances- and, in particular, the performances in Foxcatcher, then ignoring Channing Tatum is just dumb. And I mean really dumb- like Anti-Vaxer dumb. Hey parents- listen- if you don’t want to vaccinate your kids – that’s fine. All I ask is that you just quarantine yourselves in some remote part of the country with all the other freaks and weirdos and never ever ever mix with normal people again. And, sure- I know that sounds awfully draconian- but I think you’ll really love Seattle! Plus- if you think you make dumb decisions- wait til you see the Seahawks offense! And what’s up with Republicans hoping on board the anti-vax crazy train? This is an idiot liberal thing, not an idiot conservative thing. Oh- I get it- it’s cause Obama said that vaccinations are good- right? Well- hey, I heard Obama said you shouldn’t drink drain cleaner- so maybe you should slug down some Drano and fucking die. You’ll have to name it something else, though- I mean, Drano does sound kind of Spanish- so….hey- maybe Freedom Cleanse. Yeah- that’s it- suck down your Freedom Cleanse assholes- cause every time a Republican dies, a climate scientist gets his wings.

“Why Would I Possibly Go See This Movie? Real Life is Depressing Enough”- Still Alice

Quick impression of the marketing guys for Still Alice trying to convince me to come see it:

Me: So what are you guys working on?

Marketing Guys: Oh- it’s this really great new movie called Still Alice.

Me: Oh yeah- what’s it about?

Marketing Guys: Well, it’s got a great cast- Oscar nominated actress Julianne Moore.

Me: I love her! So, what’s it about.

Marketing Guys: Alec Baldwin, Kristen Stewart….

Me: What an ensemble! So- what’s it about?

Marketing Guys: And it’s based on a bestselling novel that got really terrific reviews.

Me: Sounds terrific! What’s it about?

Marketing Guys: Well. Uhm. See- Julianne Moore plays this really brilliant professor who’s married to Alec Baldwin and has this, like, totally perfect life until…you know…things go wrong.

Me: Wow! Sounds steamy! What happens?

Marketing Guys: Uhm…yeah…so, like I said…she has this totally perfect life with her sexy husband until she..uhm…well. Until she develops early onset Alzheimer’s.

(silence)

Me: Uhm, Yeah- that sounds…really…interesting.

Marketing Guys: But it’s, like, totally life affirming and inspirational and surprisingly funny and….

Me: Oh…sure…yeah….sounds really…interesting.

Marketing Guys: So you should totally come see it.

Me: Oh…absolutely….I’ll really try. I mean, I’m like super busy this month with work and Tu B’Shevat and Punky (PUNKY!) and everything…but- yeah- I’ll totally try to come…see it.

Marketing Guys: Great! It’s now playing….

Me: Yeah- so- I really have to…

Marketing Guys: Oh…sure…well…see you…

Me: Gotta go! (Cloud of dust. Hole shaped like me in the wall.)

See, one of the great things about movies is their power to transport us to far away places- places that we could never go to otherwise: the far reaches of space, crazy hazy LA in the swinging 60’s, a grand European hotel at the precipice of it’s glorious decline. But why would I want a movie to transport me to the fascinating and exotic world of Early Onset Alzheimer’s??? What’s next? A fantastical journey into the magical realm of Diabetic Nerve Pain? Skin Cancer- The Musical? Osteoporosis on Ice??? (that one is particularly problematic and also awesome.) Shit, I don’t need a movie to transport me into the world of an Alzheimer’s patient- I’ve already got my worst anxiety nightmares for that (or, sadly, til recently, a quick flight to Albany.) And don’t talk to me about how good a movie it is or how well made a movie it is- hell, you can offer me first class seats on the Concorde with free champagne and a hand-job- but I ain’t flying to Buffalo (or, who are we kidding? Albany). Listen, if I forget where I put my glasses or can’t think of the Hebrew word for monkey I’m calling the Mayo Clinic for an emergency diagnosis, so as far as I’m concerned this isn’t a touching and heart-warming family drama- it’s a goddamn horror movie with Alzheimer’s as Freddy, Michael and Chuckie all rolled into one. Only instead of punishing teenagers for having sex, it punishes the Middle Aged for not being dead yet.

And I know you’re gonna say- Eric, the movie’s not about terrifying you with the disease, it’s about inspiring you by showing how well Alice and her family cope with her terrible illness. Oooooooh- goody goody gumdrops! Not only can I be terrified by the ravages of Alzheimer’s – I can be depressed about my shitty coping skills. No fucking thanks.

Best 3D Movie (by Default)- Goodbye to Language

OK- quick trivia question. What’s the coolest movie of all time?

Ocean’s 11? Not even close. Pulp Fiction? Getting warmer. The Lego Movie? You’re dead to me. No- the coolest movie- by far and away- is Breathless. I mean- come on- what’s cooler than Jean Paul Belmondo (which is French for “bad motherfuker”) cruising around Paris in a convertible wearing shades and smoking Galouises with his spunky, short haired girlfriend at his side and the Eiffel Tower in the corner of his eye as he dodges the law, imitates Humphey Bogart and philosophizes? Nothing. The answer is “nothing”. (also the best answer to give if Godard asks you “what’s the point of it all?” or “how do I make love last” or “why are there so many songs about rainbows- what’s on the other side?” cause he’s probably just testing to see if you’re cool- like really cool- cool enough to go get gelato with him. But not any gelato- really cool Parisian gelato- like “Cigarette Ash Hazelnut Despair” or “Hopeless Huckelberry”.) Breathless has it all- casual sex, casual violence and casual existentialism. Naked people having a long sullen conversation that goes absolutely nowhere, groundbreaking cinematography, a press conference scene with a famous novelist cause why the fuck not- I’m Jean Luc Godard- bitch! What are you gonna do about it???? Plus – let’s not forget the coolest death scene of all time. Jean Paul Belmondo (French for “yeah- well, so’s your mother”) is gunned down while running from Monsieur Law- and as he lies on the street he looks up at his treacherous girlfriend he exhales a mouthful of Galouises smoke with his dying breath and says “bitch”….or maybe “puke” – nobody ever translates it the same way – but everyone agrees- it sure as merde ain’t “je t’aime”. But here, here, here- don’t take my word for it- watch this yourself. It’s OK- I’ll wait:

So- why am I talking so much about a movie that’s older than Barack Obama and almost as cool? Because that was a Jean Luc Goddard movie that I can actually describe – Goodbye to Language? Good fucking luck. Hell, even people who stayed awake the whole time have no idea what happened. Here’s Godard’s own summary- first posted as a handwritten summary on Twitter (which sort of nails Godard right there):

“The idea is simple: A married woman and a single man meet. They love, they argue, fists fly. A dog strays between town and country. The seasons pass. The man and woman meet again. The dog finds itself between them. The other is in one, the one is in the other and they are three. The former husband shatters everything. A second film begins: the same as the first, and yet not. From the human race we pass to metaphor. This ends in barking and a baby’s cries. In the meantime, we will have seen people talking of the demise of the dollar, of truth in mathematics and of the death of a robin.”

Now for some of you, this may seem to be a rather unorthodox use of the word “simple”- but those of us that are theatre professionals are very well acquainted with it as in: “it’s a very simple show. Bare stage, music stands, a couple of microphones, some simple hand props, very limited choreography, a three- maybe four piece band tops, just a couple of video screens, two tiny little pyrotechnic effects – barely more than sparklers really, one really short ninja battle on wires, and at the end, we just want the main character to very simply levitate over the audience out of a tiny little hole in the roof of the theatre and get picked up by a helicopter. That’s it. Very simple.”

And not only was it impossible to figure out what’s going on-half the time, it was impossible to figure out what to look at. Shots were overlayed on top of each other and split so that at time each eye was receiving a completely different image. As a result, my vision was often blurred and unfocused. I found the best way to deal with that was to look away form the screen and focus both eyes clearly on one point- like, oh, let’s say my watch so I could figure out just how much more time was left until I could get the hell out of there, and longingly speculate about how many steps it would take to me get the fuck out.

So, if it was so painful to watch, why am I saying that this is the Best 3D Movie of 2014? Well, I guess cause it’s the only 3D movie I saw in 2014. Actually- it’s the only 3D movie I’ve seen, ever- and frankly- I think that’s awesome: “Oh- what- you don’t listen to music in your car- just NPR and Serial podcasts? And you- you don’t even HAVE a television- you just watch Portlandia on your iPad? Well, I’ve never seen a 3D movie- except Jean Luc Godard’s Goodbye to Language. Now excuse me while I slap on some shades, fire up a Galouise and drop the mic- LE BOOM!”

And that’s the great thing about Godard. At 83 years old, he’s still the coolest motherfucker in cinema- and he makes you feel cooler just by watching his movies. I mean- dude makes one movie in 3D and totally changes the game, his cinematographer built his own custom 3D camera rigs, he cast his dog- and not like in a little cameo or something but as one of the leads- and the dog CRUSHES IT. If I didn’t already say Channing Tatum was the most overlooked actor- I’d give it to the dog. So what if I have absolutely no idea what happened, so what if I spent half the movie asleep and the other half wondering if my glasses were broken, so what if I was such a 3D novice that when the “please put your glasses on now” slide came up with the 3D image of the revolving glasses I yelped involuntary and screamed “OH MY GOD- THEY’RE COMING RIGHT AT ME!!!” like a turn of the century Frenchman jumping out of the way of the oncoming train on the screen. This was a cool movie- and it made me feel cool. When I left this movie- I felt like John Paul Belomndo. An extremely confused John Paul Belmondo with a splitting headache- but, John Paul Belmondo nevertheless.

Actually, I have to give the credit here to my wife. It was her idea to go see this flick. Cause, let’s keep it real- left to my own devices- I wouldn’t choose to watch anything more foreign than House Hunters International. And while that might seem awfully superficial- there is nothing Godard could create which is more baffling and incomprehensible than a pair of bloated American rubes looking for a newly renovated apartment in Paris with a view of the Eiffel Tower, outdoor space, open plan kitchen and a man cave for under $500,000. Seriously you loathsome, entitled, cornfed morons- what the hell are you thinking???? Oh right- the answer is nothing.

“I Don’t Care How Good You Say It Is- There’s No Fucking Way I’m Seeing It”- Boyhood

Yeah, yeah, yeah- I know it’s supposed to be sooooooooo good- but why would I possibly want to see it? Oh oh oh- so I can find out what it’s like to really grow up in Texas? I thank God every DAY that I don’t know what it’s like to really grow up in Texas. I’ve already had film and TV teach me everything about Texas that I could possibly need to know: The Ewings have all the oil, McConaughey has all the weed, and the Alamo has no basement- what the fuck else is there? And Richard Linklaiter is boring. But not in that super cool, ennui and cigarettes, Paris in the 60’s, mind bending narrative kind of way. More in the pseudo-deep college freshman, half literate psycho babble, shut the fuck up already kind of way.

Plus, if I don’t see how old Ethan Hawke has gotten- I can still pretend that I’m 25. Cause there is nothing pretty about Gen X at middle age- I mean, have you seen Janeane Garofalo lately? Reality done bit.

I Know, I Know, I Know- I Totally Have to See It- Just Haven’t Gotten Around to It Yet- GET OFF MY ASS – Birdman

OK- let’s get something very very clear.

I AM going to see Birdman.

Birdman is a movie that I plan to see.

On a list of movies that I intend to view, Birdman Is prominently featured.

Seriously- I don’t know how many more ways I can say it (seven?)- but I have absolutely every intention of seeing this movie. So you can stop telling me that Michael Keaton is one of the most underrated great actors of his generation and stop telling me how AMAZING Emma Stone is, and what a fine performance Edward Norton turns in and what a total directing genius Inarritu is and how I, as a theatre person, would especially appreciate it because I know, I know, I know and I am absolutely, positively going to SEE BIRDMAN- so you can STOP TELLING ME I HAVE TO. Because I’m getting pretty fucking tired of having this conversation every time I’m talking to someone about last year’s movies:

Me: …and that’s why anyone who likes Nightcrawler should be punched in the face.

Everyone: Wait- I thought that was anti-vaxxers?

Me: No, no, no- anti-vaxxers should all be infected with polio so I can sneak into the hospital late at night, unplug all their iron lungs and leave a note saying “At least you’re not autistic :)?”

Everyone: Oh. Right (long pause). So…what did you think of Birdman?

Me: Well, I…

Everyone: Don’t you think that Michael Keaton is one of the most underrated great actors of his generation?

Me: Uhm- well…

Everyone: And wasn’t Emma Stone AMAZING? And didn’t Edward Norton just turn in a brilliant performance?

Me: I suppose….

Everyone: And, of course Inarritu is a total directing genius.

Me: Well….

Everyone: I would think you, as a theatre person can appreciate it way more than I can!

Me: I guess

Everyone: So – what did you think?

Me: Well. Uhm. I guess. I mean. The thing is… I haven’t seen it.

Everyone: You- WHAT?????? (Eyes pop out of head in the manner of a cartoon wolf with comical “aooogah” sound)

Me: Yeah- I mean… I’m going to….

Everyone: Oh. You just have to. Michael Keaton is one of the most….

Me: I know.

Everyone: And Emma Stone- AMAZING. And Edward Norton….

Me: I know.

Everyone: And, as a theatre person, you would especially….

Me: I KNOW. I KNOW. I KNOW. I’m going to see Birdman. I’m going to see Birdman. As god is my witness in the motherfucking sky I AM GOING TO SEE BIRDMAN!!!!!

Everyone: Oh. (pause) OK.

Me: (breathing heavily. Face red): Happy now???

Everyone: Yeah. Sure. (pause) So….what did you think was the best 3D movie last year?

Me: (suddenly brightening): I’m glad you asked!

Now, at this point, gentle reader, you might want to ask- “So….hey…crazy person- why don’t you just watch Birdman?” And let me assure you- there’s a good reason- a VERY good reason why I haven’t gotten around to seeing it yet. And the reason is…I don’t know. I have Birdman. I’m excited to watch Birdman. I want to watch Birdman. I NEED to see Birdman. And yet- each night when the time comes to decide whether to watch Birdman or House Hunters I find myself, 20 minutes later, yelling
“Pick number 3, you loathsome fuckwits!! There’s outdoor space AND a man cave!!!! What more do you want???” And Birdman goes unwatched for another day.

At this point, I’m terrified that there’s no way this movie can possibly live up to all the expectations that have built up- and that’s why I’ve decided to give my Movie of the Year Award to Birdman– not for the movie that was actually made, but to the unrealistically amazing one that’s been built up in my imagination. I just hope in the real one they keep the marshmallow fluff wrestling and that Keaton is HALF as good with a light saber. He’d better be, if he’s gonna do that thing where he cuts Boehner’s dick off and carves “Libertarianism is stupid” into Rand Paul’s forehead all in a single move.

OK- well, that’s it I guess. I give you my picks for noteworthy accomplishments in film in 2015- just 2 days before the Academy gives theirs and six weeks after everyone else in the world seriously stopped giving a shit. And you know what- I’m so inspired by finishing this, that I think I will watch Birdman after all- although- wait- oh my god- is that Tiny House Hunters I see? “Don’t pick number two, you hippie dingleberries!!! How are you gonna squeeze a man cave into a yurt????” Oh well, sorry Birdman. I guess I’ll never know what happens in the movie after Michael Keaton and Ruth Bader Ginsburg do a bunch of Jager bombs and then attend the State of the Union address only to sneak out afterwards to Clarence Thomas’ house to leave a flaming bag of equality on his doorstep.

Anyhow, I’d better watch it soon- cause after this Sunday, I’m gonna have to turn my attention to the movies of 2015. Fine original works of cinema like The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Insurgent, and Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2. And what, do you ask, am I most excited to see in 2015? Well the answer, as ever, is nothing.

Although- wait- isn’t Furious 7 coming out this year?? Woo-Hoo!!! Oh, oh, oh, oh- you’re going to judge me now? I’m sorry- what was your favorite 3D movie of 2014, again? Yeah- that’s right. Le BOOM.

[California Seething] Tinkling Glass and Choo Choo Trains

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : February 8, 2015

Category: California Seething

My grandmother left us this weekend at the age of 93- off to join her husband in the great beyond, where’s he’s been waiting patiently for the last two years for her to show up and make his dinner, already.

Those of you that read my stuff regularly, and I like to pretend that you actually exist to keep myself warm on cold winter nights, may recall that I’ve written three increasingly depressing posts over the years about visiting them in Albany. Well- when I was thinking about what to write to pay tribute to her- I decided not to repost any of them. Instead, I chose to share the poem below. It was written a long time ago, before the low flame of longevity melted away the lives they built together like butter in a pan with nothing more to cook until there was only smoke and the lingering odor of what used to be. Photos on the dresser of people she didn’t remember, social graces hard-wired like the muscle memory of top athletes- built up over decades of Hadassah luncheons. Even once she was in the “Memory Enhancement Center” at Daughters of Sarah, she could still, for a time, fix up her hair and makeup, pick out a handbag to go with her outfit and walk right the fuck out of the locked ward, smiling warmly at the unwary doctor who held the door open for her.

Along those lines, my wife and I were just remembering her last (and only) trip to see my parents in Albuquerque for her 85th birthday. My grandfather had chosen that inopportune moment to have a cardiac incident (always had to be the center of attention, that one) and was rushed to Albuquerque’s Heart Hospital (one of Albuquerque’s finest tourist destinations). We all staggered into the waiting room at 5 AM- haggard, exhausted- wearing sweatpants and PJ bottoms- proud of ourselves for just showing up. Until the elevator opened up and my grandmother came out in a smart tweed jacket with matching chapeau at a rakish angle, matching handbag, tasteful jewelery, hair and makeup fixed just-so like she was fresh from a Canasta game and not my grandfather’s bedside- and put us all to shame. Mic dropped- Gertrude Iselin.

Goodbye, Grandma. I won’t wish you a peaceful rest because I know you’d rather stay busy – forever potschking for the ones you loved. I know that when we see you again- wearing sweat pants and hospital gowns and looking like hell- you’ll be there to greet us-smart outfit, matching handbag, perfect makeup, ready with a sliver of cantaloupe or a perfectly cut half grapefruit, shimmering and pink with a tiny glaze of sugar on top. Until then- may your memory be for a blessing.

Tinkling Glass And Choo-Choo Trains

I would always come down the hall like a boulder, a monsoon,
a monster from a Japanese movie, stomping and clomping
leaving tinkling glass and crooked pictures in my wake.
Too loud, too big for the delicate order of the house.

And then, at dinner, she knows what everyone should eat,
pink meat for Heather, not that much for Peter, “Ronni, eat something”,
“Ralph, that’s enough.”

Breakfast always starts with the perfectly cut half moon of melon,
or half grapefruit, English muffin and toast arranged on the plate
like the furniture in the living room we rarely sat in.
Love is in the details of her perfection.

He is full off exotic place names,
Idaho, Onienta, Mechanicsville,
and then there are the characters,
Bunty Carabunty and Blackfeet Indians,
always dapper and off to the store,
always showing off new gadgets.
The compass in the car full of mysterious fluid,
the radar detector, so he could slow down from 40 to 30,
the keyboard, the computer, the Internet.
You can measure the years by his toys.

He reaches into his pocket to reward the Afikoman finder,
and pulls out a dollar,
“Big spender” she says.
“I hope his intentions are honorable” I say,
“Oh, the’re honorable, boy are they honorable” she says.

The DJ asks, “so what’s the secret to staying together as long as you have”
“just do everything she says” he answers.

Through wars cold and hot,
Democrats and Republicans,
Mel Blanc, Mel Brooks and Mel Gibson,
television, video, internet and beyond,
they remain together,
solid in the knowledge of each other,
their shared love and shared life.
For sixty years past and sixty more to come,
they continue to inspire those of us who have the audacity to fall in love,
and think that we too can spend our lives together,
so perfectly.

In memory of Gertrude Iselin- 1921-2015 and Ralph Iselin- 1917-2012.

[Desert Droppings] In Case You Missed It- They WON!

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : February 7, 2015

Category: Desert Droppings

Tags:patriots; jets; superbowl; seahawks; homer the porcupine;

Note: Some of the pictures have been inserted at the discretion of the editor who’s a grumpy, bitter Jets fan. Deal with it.

I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico THEY WON! so why THEY WON! THEY WON! am I so excited that THEYWONTHEYWONTHEYWON! the New England Patriots triumphed in Super Bowl XLIX?

NM has no professional sports teams. So, in ABQ folks root for the Dallas Cowboys, the Denver Broncos, the Arizona Cardinals (Really?!), or as in the case of Super Bowl XLIX (love those Roman numerals!), the supposedly stronger, swifter, smarter Seattle Seahawks, because they’re a “west coast team.” In case you were under a rock, locked in a vault, or trapped in a cave, Seattle lost in a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping, eye- popping 28-24 finish that will be forever recounted in the annals of Super Bowl History. And in case you’re wondering why as a desert dweller, I’m so passionate about the Patriots, it’s because I’m a New Englander at heart.

Once upon a time, before there was even a Super Bowl,I was a newly wed, college graduate, rookie teacher in the Boston area. I ate lobster by the ocean in Rockport; fettuccine Alfredo at midnight in the North End at the very restaurant that was rumored to be Jackie Kennedy’s favorite; spring rolls in urban Chinatown near Filene’s Basement; and pastrami on rye ordered from a plastic coated mile high, ten-page menu in a deli in suburban Newton. And that was just the food!

Nationally, it was Camelot time. JFK was in the White House and in Massachusetts, the Kennedys felt like everyone’s hugely successful second cousins. Their epic misfortunes and dramatic family minutiae were chronicled daily in the Boston Globe.

Even after leaving New England, as an American History teacher in Upstate New York, I returned to the Boston area to walk the Freedom Trail, search out the site of the Boston Massacre,and knock on the door of Paul Revere’s house. In case you’re imagining him answering…I’m not THAT old!

In case it’s been a while since eighth grade social studies, that sharp jawed, stony-faced Patriots team logo is SURPRISE! – a Patriot! Think John Adams and Sam Adams (Yes, the beer one) ,The Minute Men, and of course the legendary Paul Revere. Maybe if the Patriots were called the Boston Bulldogs, or the Mass. Marauders, it wouldn’t resonate , but “Patriots” just stirs up a slurry of memories thick and tantalizing as steaming clam chowder on a snowy New England day and as elusive as the true story of Paul Revere’s ride or the “real” reason those footballs deflated – which brings us to Super Bowl Sunday, an event this year which no marketing maven could have scripted better. Deflate-Gate, the Hernandez trial, Brady’s sniffles,the whole snide, sly, suggestive pre-Game media mix that guaranteed SB XLIX a massive audience for its multi-million dollar self-consciously clever ads and hyper-hyped Half Time glitz gone wild.

In case you’re puzzled by this post’s lack of wink-wink references to Tom Brady’s balls, we’re just resisting the urge to add one more smirky “What did he squeeze and when did he squeeze it?” joke to those that made us feel for days like we were chortling and high- fiving in a corner of the boy’s locker room in Middle school.

In the end, it appears that the only thing the Patriots deflated was the Seahawks. The Patriots won! Get over it!

Homer, the ABQ Bio Park porcupine, who predicted by eating raisins near team signs, that the score would be Seahawks 32-

Patriots 26 WAS WRONG! Didn’t figure on Brady’s perseverance, Carroll’s catastrophic call, and Butler’s miracle catch, did ya, Homer?

Once more, everybody! THEY WON!

We now return you to the post – Super Bowl world. In case you’re curious, guess what has its mid-season premier on February 8?

GLRRRRRK!

[California Seething] Screw the Oscars – My Awards are Better

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : January 25, 2015

Category: California Seething

Tags:ana duverney, Balls, clint eastwood, Deflategate, dick poop, Foxcatcher, Grand Budapest Hotel, Inherent Vice, Meg Ryan, Nightcrawler, obama, oscars, selma, Tom Hanks, Wes Anderson

The Oscar nominations were announced recently and, due to the lack of diversity, it now looks like these will officially be the whitest Oscars since 1998. Woo-Hoo! We’re Number One! In your face everybody else! Wait, no, sorry. Inappropriate. It’s actually terrible. Shockingly terrible. I haven’t seen a result this shocking from an old white male voting pool since….oh…well, I guess it would have to be the midterms. OK, but before that, well, if you want to get a result this disappointing, well, golly, you’d have to go all the way back to, oh let’s see, if I remember correctly, I think it would have to be almost every single election in the history of forever.

And, of course the other big story from the Academy Awards nomination announcement is Cheryl Boone Isaacs’ mispronouncing “Dick Pope” as “Dick Poop.” Although, some believe that this was actually a Freudian slip expressing how she felt about having to announce yet another fucking white guy, cause she also mispronounced Bennett Miller as “this is some bull-shit” and Clint Eastwood as “Ana Duverney.”

Now at this point, many of you are asking- “Hey, Eric- why do you even give a shit about the Oscars? It’s not like you like movies.” Well, let me the record straight, here. Nothing could be further from the truth. Hell, I’m not even sure how you got such a crazy idea. I mean, I suppose it might be because of posts I’ve written like “Summer Movie Preview- I Didn’t See Any, You Can’t Make Me” and “Sharkando 2 Makes Citizen Kane Look Like a Steaming Pile of Crap” but it’s probably because I’m a Jew and you’re anti- Semitic. Yeah, that’s it, nothing to do with what I wrote- hell, what’s the fun of taking responsibility for my actions when I can just accuse you of being a bigot? And you’re not even a good anti-Semite- I mean, if I’m a Jew, I should love movies- after all, the Jews control Hollywood, don’t they? I mean, not my family, we were never popular enough to join the really cool Jewish conspiracies. Not the Zionist Occupation Government, not the International Jewish Banking Cartel, and DEFINITELY not the Left Wing Jewish Intellectual Media Elite, hell, that’s like the Sky Bar of Jewish cabals. They offer Christian blood in bottle service.

No, the closest my family ever came to World Domination is having a moderately rich (not even Albany rich- like, Troy rich) great uncle who had a tiny ownership share of the Jets back in the 60’s. And let’s face it, that’s not so much a proud family legacy of power and glory. It’s just one more embarrassing box to check on the Family Medical History form of my life- Diabetes- CHECK, Heart Disease- CHECK, endlessly cheering for fucking losers year after year after year after year while your youth and your hope and your life slip away and all you’re left with are rage issues, a green pom-pom hat and a compost heap of broken promises where your heart used to be- check CHECK MOTHERFUCKING CHECK. But, hey, that’s my family legacy for you. We’re the Anti-Krafts, the Protocols of the Shmendricks of Zion. So take that microaggressors!! You see- not all Jews are successful. We’re banding together with the other victims of microagression- Asians who suck at math, black people who can’t dance, and gay men who are comfortable with their less than perfect abs. We’re through being polite and we say “NO MORE , please!” Take your well intentioned and, if I’m honest with myself, somewhat flattering BIGOTRY and shove it up your ass- assuming, as a white person, that you have enough ass to shove it in. #JeSuisDonNoSoulSimmons

Speaking of defying stereotypes- I was very encouraged, particularly in light of my last post, by all the number of Islamic leaders and academics who’ve spoken out against the attacks in Paris- most notably the leader of Hezbollah. Now I’m no terrorist, but if the head of Hezbollah is condemning your actions- you might have gone too far. Might be time to just dial it back a little. It’s like Marion Berry showing up to Rob Ford’s intervention or Bill Cosby giving Jameis Winston dosage instructions.

Anyhow like I was saying….at some point earlier today…I think… there’s a pervasive perception that I don’t like movies and it’s just not true. I love movies! What I don’t like is crap, and unfortunately, Hollywood studios don’t make movies anymore- they make crap. They manufacture as much brain-dead CGI fertilizer as they can, so they can spread it across the fertile fields of China and grow a new crop of suckers movie lovers. So, sure, if you want to catch a Third Man, Night and the City double header or analyze Chinatown as an expression of Vietnam era American disillusionment- I’m your man. But if you want to catch the latest CGI cum stain to be spooged all over an IMAX screen by Michael Bay (I had a bunch of Transformers as a kid- but I don’t remember the one that turned from shit into cash) or any movie featuring the one man oompa-loompa minstrel show that is Kevin Hart (does Chris Tucker know his mini-me is loose?) you’re on your own.

Now of course not all movies are crap- but how can you tell which ones are worth seeing? Well, it’s not easy- but I’ll share my top secret technique with you here, refined over many years. So- here’s what I do. When I hear that a new movie is coming out, and I’m trying to decide if I want to go see it, I say “Huh. Well that sounds like total crap” and I stay home and watch Archer reruns in my underwear instead. Works every time!

Well, ok, maybe not every time. Sometimes, there might be a movie that I’m really tempted to see- like, let’s say Jeff Bridges is in it or there’s a really cool song in the trailer that’s not actually in the movie. Well, in that case, I wait until someone affiliated with the movie, like, oh let’s say Jeff Bridges, is on Jimmy Fallon. And then I watch impatiently as the Golden Retriever of talk show hosts obsequiously slobbers all over Mr. Bridges with his drooling declarations of undying love, until they show the clip, of, oh let’s say The Giver. I watch the clip carefully, scrutinizing every nuance- dialogue, cinematography, mise en scene. And THEN once I’ve carefully weighed the evidence and given it some thought, I say “Huh. Well that looks like total crap” and I stay home and watch Archer reruns in my underwear instead.

But, then, of course, the end of the year rolls around, and the studios dump all their award bait on the marketplace like prestige diarrhea. This is my cinematic Groundhog Day. The time when I stick my head out of my comfortable pop-culture hole in the ground, grudgingly put on a pair of pants ON THE WEEKEND and drag my ass out to see what Paul Thomas Anderson has come up with. And if I see something good, than it restores my faith in humanity’s ability to create something worthwhile, albeit infrequently, for another year. If not…well that’s where my manifesto comes in- but let’s hope it never comes to that- because, hey, as turns out, there were actually a few pretty good flicks this past year. (I’m joking of course about the whole manifesto thing. You got that, NSA guys- there’s nooo reason at all to be concerned. But- hey- thanks for reading Been & Going! I’m touched, really. Like us on Facebook! That’s where I post all the REALLY big threats to national security. Kidding! But seriously, like me to find out for sure.)

So- alright, if I’m gonna watch these damn movies, then you’re gonna suffer right along with me- so, here, in honor of “Award Season” (recently ranked #4 on Terrible Seasons Magazine’s Top 10 list –right behind “Monsoon Season”, “Tick and Lyme Disease Season” and “Baseball Season”(shudder)) here are my own, personalized 2014 movie awards. Enjoy- or, at the very least, be thankful that I didn’t ask Ricky Gervais to host (shudder).

The “I Wanted to Love It but Only Sort of Liked It” Award- The Grand Budapest Hotel

Look, I like Wes Anderson. No, you know what- fuck that- I LOVE Wes Anderson. I’ve seen just about every damn thing he’s made- and I’m not just talking about the Big Three- Rushmore, Tennenbaums and Zissou- I’m talking Bottle Rocket, I’m talking Fantastic Mr. Fox– hell I even saw the totally pointless Jason Schwartzman hotel room web video thing that was like a companion piece to that totally pointless Jason Schwartzman India movie. And you know what else I love? Hotels! And the faded glory of architectural masterpieces! And Cold War Europe! And complicated story structures! And WES FUCKING ANDERSON! So- yeah, I was super-duper-extra-plus-camel-on-Wednesday-actor-who-booked-national-Geico-commercial-Jason-Schwarzman-when-he’s-running-low-on-weed-and-he-finds-out-Wes-Anderson’s-making-a-new-movie-Obama-cause-now-he-doesn’t-have-to-give-a-FUCK excited to see this movie. So, given that, it’s possible that no movie could have lived up to my expectations. Hell, Wes could have made a remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre where the New England Patriots’ bus breaks down on their way to Dallas and they get hacked to bits gruesomely in slow motion by Leatherface (Jerry Jones, natch) and I still would have been like- what- no Chris Christie??

So, yeah, sure, Hotel checks all the Wes Anderson boxes- fanciful world crafted with dollhouse precision, extravagant characters costumed to almost self-conscious perfection, a framing device which embraces the whimsical storytelling and imbues it with wistful nostalgia, and Bill Murray- just cause- all there. But, in all of his other movies, there is The Moment. It’s that point in the movie where he delicately pushes my ribs apart and squeezes my heart like a dog’s toy, so that all that comes out of my mouth is a squeaky little gasp as I sit breathless and broken and captivated completely. “I’ve had a really rough year, Dad” in Tennebaum, “I wonder if it remembers me” in Zissou, hell, even that totally pointless India movie had “I couldn’t save mine”.

It’s the bittersweet filling that makes the fluffy cinematic confectionery so utterly satisfying. And in Hotel- it wasn’t there. I never had The Moment. Now, maybe it’s me. Maybe I was so angry and distracted by the sheer stupidity of the animated ski race sequence that I forgot to feel it. Maybe I need to watch it again. Whatever it was, for me this movie was beautiful but unsatisfying- Tantric filmmaking at it’s finest. Hell it was so Tantric, it was like having sex with Sting, while listening to the Police and reading an insightful New York Times article about the box office struggles of The Last Ship. Turns out, BTW, that The Last Ship was a lot like having sex with Sting- it’s really good but nobody comes. Thank you. I’ll be here all week. No, I mean it. This is a very long post.

I should add that, if Wes Anderson does clean up at the Oscars for Hotel, then he’ll also win this year’s “Scent of a Woman” Award given to the artist who gets the most deserved recognition for the least deserving movie. The last time I gave this was in 2007 to the Coen brothers for casting the sexiest Spaniard alive in Dumb y Dumbero.

The “I’d Like to Thank the Academy for Agreeing with me that this Movie Blows” Award- Nightcrawler

So, of course, we all know how important the local TV morning news is and how much power is wielded by the producers of local TV morning news to shape our understanding of the very world we live in. What’s that? No? Oh right- cause it’s TWO THOUSAND FUCKING FIFTEEN. Why would anyone possibly make a movie exposing the sleazy underbelly of the local news game, unless they were trying to appeal to the dentures and Depends set? And if that’s the case- what’s next: Andy Rooney- Baby Eater; I Watched CBS and Now I Have Gonorrhea; If You Didn’t Want to Be a Burden then You Should Have Just Died I mean, I like a scrawny, bug-eyed, amoral Jake Gyllenhaal spewing vacuous corporate double speak as much as the next guy….and judging by how much love this movie got when it first came out – the next guy must REALLY like that a lot, because there’s not much else that’s good about this movie. Nightcrawler is like a Harvey Wallbanger- it’s straight out of the 70’s and it would have sucked then. And I’m not just talking about the fact that it’s a local news movie in a Fox News world. Everything about it oozes pet rocks and bell bottoms. The fetishized urban grit, the tell-don’t-show screenwriting, the ridiculously heavy handed imagery (LOOK- Broadcast Towers! SEE how they dominate the landscape of Los Angeles AND OUR MINDS!!!), Rene Russo. It’s like they went back in time to 1976 to go dumpster diving near Paddy Chayefsky’s house and stole all the shitty scenes he threw out while writing Network.

When I saw this movie, I was worried that I was the only one who noticed it wasn’t very good- since it garnered a lot of critical attention and positive reviews from people I know and respect. That’s why I was so relieved when it was pretty well snubbed by the Academy. I was still a little baffled that Dan Gilroy got a Best Screeplay nomination, but then I remembered who was in the Academy and I realized that maybe an expose of local morning news wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Hell, they Academy voters are all excited to see who plays Andy Rooney next year. I hear Idris Elba’s amazing!

The “I’d Like to Thank the Academy for Agreeing with Me This Movie Was Awesome” Award- Foxcatcher

I’ve got to admit, I’ve been surprised by the response to this movie. I mean, I fucking loved it-but, as the year drew to a close, it seemed a lot of critics were sort of “meh” about it. And I just don’t get it. I mean, sure, some of the pacing was excruciatingly slow. And, yeah, ok, maybe the storytelling was a little wonky. And, fine, I get it, it’s one thing for audience members to leave early but when the main character walks out three quarters of the way through the movie like “I don’t know about you guys- I’m out of here!” that’s sort of a red flag. And, ok ok ok ok FINE the Big Shocking Event that the movie is based on happens at the very end and feels totally tacked on like part of a “where are they now” montage at the end of an 80’s summer camp teen sex comedy. And, yes yes yes, I get it already- the plight of emotionally underdeveloped white dudes is hardly unexplored cinematic territory. I mean- hey, what’s next- a sheriff moves to a lawless town and tries to impose order. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan develop a relationship via some at the time cutting edge and now outmoded means of mass communication (so many classics: Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail, Dot Meets Dash, I Only Have Eyes Semaphore You and MySpace or Yours.) So, huh, sure, I guess now that I think of it- Foxcatcher is a terrible movie! What the hell was I thinking? It’s garbage! I should just shut up and watch Oxygen. Oooh- I Want to Fax You Up is on- that’s my favorite Hanks/Ryan movie!

OK, so, yeah in the cold light of day maybe all the issues with this movie become apparent- but while I was watching it, the movie had me totally enveloped in its sweaty intimacy like a Mark Ruffalo bear hug. All I know is that, regardless of the flaws, I was right there, living every painful, queasy, humiliating moment with Mark Schultz as he mistook John DuPont for a plutocratic Toucan Sam and followed his nose- only instead of Fruit Loops, he found disappointment, disillusionment and despair (soggy Fruit Loops).

Anyhow, I was worried for a little while that I loved this movie way more than everybody else- but then I saw how many nominations it got and I felt vindicated. There’s nothing better than being validated by a bunch of racist, geriatric, sexist white men. Wow- this feels great- no wonder Mitch McConnell’s so happy!

If nothing else, you should see Foxcatcher for three simple (or, ok, not so simple) words: “ornithologist, philatelist, philanthropist”. See the movie, watch the scene I’m talking about and tell me that it’s not fucking awesome. No- go ahead- tell me. Cause, seriously- whatever evidence you present, whatever arguments you make- I’m just gonna keep saying that you’re wrong wrong wrong. Wow. This feels great. No wonder Ted Cruz is so happy!

The “Fuck the Academy- What do They Know Anyhow?” Award- Inherent Vice

So- ok, you know everything I just said about Foxcatcher being great despite it’s obvious flaws? Multiply that by, like, a googolplex (a googolplex, of course is an unfathomably large number-not to be confused with the “Googleplex” which is home to an unfathomably large number of Bay Area tech money dickholes), replace sweaty wrestling with stoner noir, add in a totally baffling plot about LA land use, Nazi prison gangs, vast right wing conspiracies and, I think, dentists?? And what do you have? An absolute total fucking disaster area of a movie- but a goddamn entertaining one. The most entertainingly baffling LA movie since Southland Tales- and yes, I mean that as a compliment.

Inherent Vice is the unholy wedding of Big Lebowski and Chinatown, with Joanna Newsom as the officiant using the vows Thomas Pynchon stole from Nancy Reagan’s astronomer. Watching Inherent Vice is like watching Paul Thomas Anderson play Jenga using electric eels and jellyfish while blasting Sly and the Family Stone, driving a 1964 Dodge Dart from Manhattan Beach to Hollywood and rolling humongous joints in pages randomly torn from The Big Sleep, the Crying of Lot 49 and the Thomas Guide he’s supposed to be navigating with- all at the same time. And, yes- I also mean that as a compliment.

Actually, my feelings about this movie can all be summed up by a conversation I had with a spunky, short haired waitress (who only knows about the 60’s because 60’s nostalgia in the 80’s was part of the 80’s nostalgia she grew up with in the 00’s) late at night at a Vietnamese place in Culver City. She overheard that we were talking about the movie and said “Oh- are you guys talking about Incoherent Vice? I watched that last night and had absolutely no idea what was going on but I loved every minute.” I laughed and complimented her on her cleverness for “Incoherent Vice” and she said, very earnestly and slightly crestfallen “Oh, wait- that’s not what it’s called?”

OK, fair enough- but if incoherence is a vice- then it’s one many of our finest writers periodically suffer from (though certainly not their only vice-let’s face it, no one ever died of incoherence of the Liver.) But, hey, if you think fiction is incoherent, just take a look at reality. And isn’t that why we yearn for guys like Doc and Phil Marlowe before him? Men who dive headfirst into the incoherent muck looking for that one shiny sliver of truth at the bottom of the urban shit-pile. And sure, they get hassled and harassed; beaten, bullied and belittled; locked up, smacked down, railroaded and fucked over- and that’s just by their clients. But at the end of the day- they just take one long pull of the office bottle or roll another joint on that bongwater scented couch- and dive right back into to the muck again. Cause every city needs a keeper-even if it won’t call them brother. And even when they solve their itty-bitty mystery- it’s still just one little right in a whole world of wrongs. But, hey, one is better than nothing- and sometimes you’re lucky just to get that.

Plus, I know that a stoner detective may seem counter-intuitive cause of the whole weed makes you stupid thing (ahhh, the cancers I could have cured) but- really it’s a perfect job for a stoner. Think about it- the breezy familiarity with the criminal world, obsessing over details that less stoned men find insignificant, seeing the deep meaning and interconnectedness that lies just beneath the surface of modern life (and also Magnum PI.) And, hey- you can make your own hours, nap anytime, and get fucked up in your car while you work!

Clearly, though, the people at the Academy disagreed with me, since all this got was a screenplay nomination. Well, fuck them anyhow. You can rant and rave about how Selma and the Lego movie got robbed (it’s about 50/50 between those two on my Facebook outrage-o-meter)- I’m gonna be pissed off about Incoherent Vice.

Wow- this is just like a real awards show. It’s already too long and I’m nowhere near done yet! Also, like an awards show, I think I can make it all OK just by making a self aware joke about how fucking long it is- well, I’ve got news for you award show hosts- THAT MAKES NOTHING OK- WE STILL WANT TO PUT OUT OUR EYES WITH FONDUE FORKS. WHY WON’T IT END???? WHY. WON’T. IT. STOPPPPPP.

Anyho0, in the interest of dragging out the Awards Season as long as possible, I’m gonna pick this up in my next post. So – be sure and join me for such awards as “I Don’t Care How Good You Say It Is- There’s No Fucking Way I’m Seeing It”, “Best Performance That’s Going to be Totally Ignored Cause the Actor’s Not Ugly or Crippled”, “Best Pseudo-Fascist Propaganda Starring Bradley Cooper and Directed by Clint Eastwood and called American Sniper”, “Why Would I Possibly Go See This Movie? Real Life is Depressing Enough” and, of course the coveted “I Know, I Know, I Know- I Totally Have to See It- Just Haven’t Gotten Around to It Yet- GET OFF MY ASS” Award.

And, oh yeah, it might not be a movie award- but let’s go ahead and give the “Best Speech by a President Whose Keeping It Real” Award, too. Wondering who’s gonna get it? Well, here’s a hint- he’s also “Best President who saved America and got nothing but shit for it”, “Best President we’re likely to see in our lifetimes, and doesn’t that make you want to kill yourself?” and “Best President to fill out a March Madness bracket on ESPN every year even though he totally sucks at it.” That’s right- it’s President “I won both of them” himself – Barack Obama. And, hey, come to think of it- that’s TWO elections right there that weren’t ruined by out of touch, racist, old white men. So, maybe, there’s hope for the Academy after all. Maybe. We’ll see if Ana Duverney gets nominated for Obama. Probably not, though- she’ll probably get shafted so Clint Eastwood can get nominated for American Oligarch, the Mitt Romney story. Talk about out of touch, racist, old white men- has Eastwood ever even worked with a black person? Hell, when he had to cast Obama, he used an empty chair.

Now, quiet- Tom Brady’s about to talk about his balls. Have I mentioned how much I love this story? If it wasn’t for this story, SportsCenter this week would be all about the Patriot way, and Tom Brady’s legacy, and Belichick’s genius- but instead all we’re hearing is balls, BALLS, BALLS!!!! And as a 40 something Jets fan with the emotional maturity of a 12 year old- I just have to say- thank you. Thank you Tom Brady. Thank you Bill Belichick. Thank you Gillette for choosing this horribly inopportune moment to promote “Flexball” technology. The Patriots may win the Superbowl, but we’ll always have Tom Brady saying “I’m not squeezing the balls. That’s not part of my process.” among other great quotes. So, in a way, we’re all winners. Wow- it’s nice being a winner. No wonder Tom Brady’s so happy all the time! Except of course, when his balls are being squeezed. Ha!

[California Seething] The Stupid Year’s Over- Here’s a Random List

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : December 30, 2014

Category: California Seething

Tags:FSA, hot chocolate, injustice, Islamic radicalism, Israel, new year, political correctness, shiloh jolie pitt, Simpsons, y2k

Holy shit, you guys- it’s almost 2015- can you believe it? I know I can’t believe it because I keep saying “2005” all the time. But then, I’m hardly reliable when it comes to stuff like this- hell, I still wake up in a cold sweat wondering if my VCR is Y2K compliant. Remember Y2K! Ha! Remember how we were so incredibly freaked out and worried that something TERRIBLE AND APOCALYPTIC was gonna happen on January 1^st 2000 and then the following September it totally did. Yeah. Good times. If we’d cared just half as much about tracking the terrorists enrolled in our flight schools as we did about making sure that we’d still be able to watch our old Animaniacs tapes in the new millennium then we might have been spared all that bloodshed and anguish and schmaltzy halftime spectacles where soldiers are brought out to surprise their tearful family on the field. I’m amazed they still find families who fall for the whole “surprise reunion” gag, but then I’m amazed anyone still joins the Army in the first place. Don’t get me wrong- I support the troops- hell, someone has to protect the cherished freedoms that we tortured so many people for- but I think we all know that being a soldier these days is an incredibly shitty job. Hell, isn’t that why we have to be so fucking grateful all the time? It’s not even like they get to go somewhere cool- there’s a reason nobody sings “How you gonna keep em down on the farm after the’ve seen Fallujah?” And think of the miserable shit they have do over there- hell, if they were sipping Earl Grey and getting handjobs from doe eyed British nurses all day, we wouldn’t have to throw them parades, and let them go ahead of us in line when we’re boarding a plane. and clap when they walk into bars and all the other shit they do in Budweiser commercials to show their love for the poor sons of bitches who got their legs blown off as a thank you note for spreading the gift of democracy. A gift which the US has dispensed over the past decade like so many Christmas fruitcakes around the world- unwanted, hard to make and impossible to swallow.

So, right, anyhow- like I was saying- it’s almost 2015- which means it’s time for everybody to engage in their favorite meaningless end of the year rituals- hurray! For most, that means drinking til you puke and emptying your FSA account (Who wants Abilify?? I’m makin’ it rain at CVS, mothafuckaz. Keepin’ it real in Fiscal 15!). For me, though, as a semi-professional, totally unpaid and largely irrelevant blogger- it means putting together an arbitrary and totally random top 10 list. So- here you have it- since I’m not really sure I’ve seen 10 new tv series or 10 movies and I sure as hell haven’t bought 10 new albums- I decided to do the Top 10 Things I’m Seething Over in 2014.

#1. SONY Deciding to show The Interview after all

If there’s one thing that really gets my goat it’s a Chupacabra. Poor little Billy. He never stood a chance. But that’s a whole other story.

Anyhow, if there’s something else that really pisses me off it’s when I get myself whipped up into a rich, frothy, delicious foam of righteous indignant fury only to get exactly what I want before I have a chance to spew my hot, sweet rage all over the place (does anyone else want hot chocolate? Hot chocolate? Hot chocolate? Just me?) It’s absolutely one of the worst things that can happen- and I’m not alone in thinking so. White People Problems magazine has it as as #2 on their Top 10 of 2014. #3 is buying the absolute perfect Halloween dress for your newly adopted darling little Maltipoo only to find out it’s a size too small and the bastards at Petco won’t take it back cause they say she stretched it out and now I have to sue those motherfuckers because she has body image issues and her vet therapy bills aren’t covered by Bobamacare. And #1 is picking up your precious little Maltipoo’s precious little poo in a plastic bag in a park in San Francisco and trying to figure out which can to put it in. Is it compost, cause- poop? Recycling cause- plastic? Or landfill cause- fuck it? Would it kill them to put a picture of dogshit on one of the cans? Cause what the fuck else are people throwing out in the park??? I mean thank god they have that picture of the broken saucer cause if the homeless-by-choice trustafrians and me decide to have a tea party with the crazy bitch yelling about Jesus and the phone company, and one of us breaks a piece of priceless delft china at least we’ll know which fucking trash can to put it in (Landfill. Fucked up right? They can’t recycle that Shit? No wonder the polar bears are dying.)

Yeah- so just imagine how frustrating it would be for me if just as I was getting ready to rant about the stupid trash cans some little Oompa Loompa came out with a paintbrush and added a picture of dogshit while singing rhymed cuplets (“what if you throw your recycling in trash?/the homeless will take it and trade it for cash”) and totally took away what I was pissed off about? That would suck , right? Well- it’s the same thing with this SONY crap.

Here I was brewing up a nice hot, dark, sweet, rich and creamy rant (Seriously- nobody wants hot chocolate?) about SONY’s pathetic cowardice and how we should screen the movie on the National Mall and show those North Koreans that the eagle isn’t our national bird- the Washington Monument is- and we’re flipping it right in Kim Jong Un’s gouty little fucking face- and then- what does SONY do? They back down from their backing down and decide to show the damn movie after all- provided Obama cancels North Korea’s AOL account. (It’s about fucking time if you ask me- they’ve been stockpiling those Free 1000 Hour CD ROM’s over there since 95.) And there I am, with my proverbial dick in my proverbial hand all pissed off cause I’ve got nothing to be pissed off about. Man, that pisses me off! I mean, really I should be grateful to SONY since now that the movie’s been released I don’t have to see it- cause the only thing more American than having freedom is being too lazy to take advantage of it (this is also the slogan of the GOP’s new Koch the Vote campaign- a huge success in the midterms.) But instead all I feel is outrage. You know what I mean? Oh yeah you do- cause this is 20-fucking-14 and if you’re not pissed off about something- you’re not alive. Which brings me to my second thing:

#2. Pointless Outrage

When I was 19 and used to attend Indigo Girls concerts, I participated in a Women Take Back the Night march. To be clear, I didn’t actually march since, being a man, I already had the night and it would have been gauche to try and also take it back. You don’t win Final Jeopardy and also ask for the home game. I stayed back with the other sensitive men and beleaguered boyfriends in a support circle. The idea was that we would talk earnestly about womyn’s issues while they were marching and then greet them with lit candles when they returned in a show of solidarity. It was a lovely notion, but unfortunately it was a windy night and the candles kept going out and as a result when the womyn returned they were greeted by a bunch of dudes with wax phalluses. But anyhow- while we were engaged in our earnest chat, one of us, a square headed meat log with Greek on his sweatshirt and Long Island in his voice shared an “aha!” moment that he had. While he was in his dorm room, someone came by selling “slap a JAP” (Jewish American Princess) t-shirts- and even though all his suitemates laughed and thought it was funny, he realized these shirts encouraged violence against women and told the guy selling shirts to “Fuck off!” We all nodded and shared our support, but then the stringy haired string bean leading the group said “It’s interesting that you chose to say ‘fuck’- which is a sexual word ,to express a violent idea” and instead of supporting and encouraging our frat boy friend for taking a stance- he crapped all over him for using the wrong word. And I remember watching this happen and thinking “Huh. FUCK YOU! There’s no way I’m going to participate in anything you organize ever again. I just hope I never live in a world where words are more important than actions, where everything we think and say is scrutinized for ideological correctness and where shitheads use semantics to feel superior. That would suck!” So….hey, everybody- Welcome to 2014!

Look, I get it- the things we say matter, we all have unconscious biases and good intentions aren’t enough. But just cause the road to hell is paved with good intentions it doesn’t mean the road to heaven is paved with self righteous dickitude. You keep reminding me that I’m an unconscious asshole- fine, I might as well just be one consciously, too and at least have some fun with it. And speaking of “fun”- when did we lose our ability to have any? I’m not talking about just liberals here, the one thing Americans on both sides of the aisle agree about is that the only way to react to anything they see, hear or read is to get their panties in a twist- and if you just read this and are outraged that I said “panties in a twist” – well then, I might just be talking about you (I can rephrase it to “briefs in a bunch” if it makes you happy- or is that culturally insensitive to the plight of Wedgie Sufferers?) Seriously- when did we get so uptight? Is Social Media to blame? It’s true that Twitter accounts are like hemorrhoids- no inflamed asshole is complete without one. And, of course, there’s academia- we used to stare at Magic Eye posters looking for dolphins and students today watch Two Broke Girls looking for White Privilege (I haven’t seen either). And, yeah, sure, if the media’s gonna fish for clicks by chumming the internet 24/7 then of course the dumber sharks will fight it out in the comment section.

But, regardless of the cause- I think we should make 2015 the year we all GET OVER IT. A scientist Tweets out a joke about Isaac Newton’s birthday on Christmas? GET OVER IT! A total stranger’s email is stolen and after you read it without her permission you don’t care for what she has to say in a PRIVATE conversation? GET OVER IT! Black James Bond? GET OVER IT! White Ramses II? GET OVER IT! The President who’s been busting his ASS for six years to save this nation of ingrates from the catastrophic stupidity of his predecessor, and has managed to get a hell of a lot done despite unprecedented opposition, wants to take his family to Hawaii for a week and play a GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE ROUND OF GOLF??? GET. OVER. IT!! #getoverit Just think how much better life would be if we as a nation just took a fucking chill pill. And- hey- I’ve still got money on my FSA- CHILL PILLS FOR EVERYONE! Wash ‘em down with an Abilify chaser and a warm mug of hot chocolate. Seriously-NO ONE???

Or- if you’re going to be righteously indignant all the time- at least be entertaining. Or, if you can’t be entertaining- at least be consistent, which brings me to:

#3 Islam-ipocracy

Quick impression of my fellow liberals (love you guys!)

White cop murders a black man through the use of excessive and unjustified force: This is an outrage! All cops are racists, power crazed, jackbooted thugs committing state sanctioned violations of human rights. We demand action!

Islamic radicals murder 140 people in a school, days after other Islamic radicals kidnap 100 young women, days after a different Islamic radical takes over a café in Australia: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not jump to any conclusions. These are radical extremists who don’t represent Islam as a whole. And anyhow, we’re pretty sure it’s Israel’s fault.

So….yeah. Here’s the thing. If we’re going to say that the repeated incidents of violence and discrimination by police officers demonstrate that there is a deeply ingrained culture of bias and abuse that must be dealt with on a macro level (which, fuck yeah, it absolutely should) – then, why can’t we say that the far more frequent- and exponentially worse instances of violence and brutality committed by Islamic radicals, who are heavily funded by wealthy citizens and the governments of Arab nations, demonstrate that there is a deeply ingrained culture of extreme intolerance, unspeakable cruelty, vicious hatred and an utter lack of regard for human life in Islam today that needs to be dealt with on a macro level???? If we truly consider ourselves to be advocates for human rights- why aren’t we FUCKING ADVOCATING where it counts the most? Why are we less outraged by what’s happening in the Middle East as we are by who Ridley Scott casts to play Middle Easterners? Where are the cries for divestment to state sponsors of terror like Saudi Arabia and Qatar? Look, Qatar may be a great country when you’re stuck with a “Q” in Scrabble- but it’s a living hell for migrant workers (migrant workers playing Scrabble are conflicted.)

And, yeah, I know, all religions have their crazy extremists- but, come on here, when was the last time Westboro Baptist Church members strapped bombs to themselves and blew up a bus? And when was the last time Chabad committed a beheading on YouTube? Sure- Christianity had the Crusades back in the day and they were horrible. Fair enough. Tell you what- if the Pope starts sending armies of children to the Holy Land to be massacred, I’ll be the first to tweet about it. I’ll start working on the hashtags now (#CancelCrusades #TemplarLivesMatter)

Look, I’m not saying we should scream epithets at people wearing turbans or throw rocks through Muslim owned businesses. Of course that’s bigoted, wrong, and intolerant. I am just saying- we need to openly acknowledge that there is a very serious human rights crisis around the globe and that the international Islamic community needs to be held accountable. Oh, and that there is a whole lot worse shit happening in the Middle East than what’s going on in Israel- which brings me to another minor point of contention with my leftist comrades:

#4 Endlessly attacking the only island of democracy in the ocean of madness that is the Middle East is just plain silly. So…yeah- some of you may want to skip this part. Maybe read this inspiring article about Eight Ways You Can Improve Your Life in 2015 and meet me a little later.For the rest of you- I’m not saying Israel is perfect- they’ve done their share of incredibly stupid things and have certainly not always dealt well with the Palestinian population- and for the mistakes they have made they need to be held accountable- no question.

But, imagine for a moment that Canada and Mexico refused to recognize the US and were hell bent on destroying it. Actually- no, fuck that. Imagine that you lived in Rhode Island- no, no, no- wait- hold on it gets worse. Imagine that you lived in Rhode Island and that Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Ohio and Delaware were all totally committed to assuring your absolute destruction. I know what you’re thinking- OH NO- NOT DELAWARE! But yes-EVEN DELAWARE hated you and, when they failed to defeat you militarily, they turned to sponsoring waves of terror attacks, including suicide bombings and indiscriminate rocket firings from densely populated civilian areas. What would you do? Shut up. I’ll tell you what you would do. You would fucking defend yourself- you’re an American. We got attacked ONCE and turned the fucking world upside-down. And you know what, you’d probably make some mistakes, and some tragic shit would happen, and some of the wrong people would die because your enemies don’t care about the lives of their citizens and fire rockets from schools and hospitals- but, seriously, what the fuck are you supposed to do? No- please – enlighten me oh fucking enlightened ones- and tell me what the fuck, exactly, would you do?

Or, wait – how about this? If you believe that Israel is the real problem country in the Middle East- why not take a little trip around the area? Visit some of the neighbors. I hear Syria is beautiful at this time in history. Perhaps you could consult the local peaceful, moderate, Islamic religious authorities and have a little chat with them about gender equality, or gay rights, or religious tolerance, how important it is that the military be inclusive to transgender individuals (like it is in Israel). Then, after a quick beheading, spend the weekend in Israel hitting the gay clubs in Tel Aviv, tanning topless on the beach in Eilat and protesting in Jerusalem without getting shot. Then, perhaps we can discuss human rights situation in the Middle East. Maybe having your head cut off will open your eyes.

Alright, I could go on at this point cataloging all the terrible stuff that happened this year and how mad it all makes me, but I’ll just save us all a lot of trouble and say:

#5 Absolutely all injustice committed by anyone against anyone at any place at any time ever from the beginning of the world to infinity. It’s all very, very bad.

And- oh yeah- Guns (#5)– what’s up with all the guns? Guns are dumb. We have the right to own grapefruit, too- but if you blabbed on all the time about how important grapefruit is and how the man is taking your grapefruit away and you stockpiled a basement full of grapefruit to assert your rights, everyone would just think you’re nuts. And, guess what? You kinda are.

And, oh oh oh, why does everyone always think my dog is a boy (#7)– It’s not enough she’s got body image issues, now you’ve gotta give her gender issues as well?? I don’t need a fuzzy little Shiloh Jolie Pitt on my hands, thank you very much, so just stick to “it” if you don’t know.

Alright- good enough- the Top Ten or, well, Seven Things I’m Seething About in 2014. Now I can just kick back and relax knowing I’ve spent all my FSA money in 2014 and I’m leaving nothing on the table. Wait- what? Our fiscal year ends in June? CRAP. Well- I guess I’ve got my first thing to be pissed about in 2015. Alright- now who wants to join me in a celebratory hot chocolate? OH COME ON!!!! Fuck y’all then.

Want some now??? PSYCH! Happy Fucking New Year! Let’s bring back “psych” in 2015!

Awesome map above created by FreeWorldMaps.net

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[California Seething] Keep Your Stinkin’ Pity Menorah

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : December 15, 2014

Category: California Seething

Tags:batism, bris, chanukah, Christian Bale, christmas, Exodus, hanukka, hanukkah, kosher, menorah, RIdley Scott

Haunukkah begins this Tuesday night- and, so, to celebrate the Season of Giving I’m regifting my Hanukkah post from a few years ago in shiny new Been & Going paper. It was either this, or that half eaten box of See’s Candy I got from the cleaning company, and I figured this was easier to share. And, since I can’t control myself, I made a bunch of changes to make it seem more relevant. So think of this as the Hanukkah post where Han shoots first. Hey I put the Han in Hanukkah. I should have learned from George Lucas to LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE. Oh well. Hope I haven’t completely ruined your Hanukkah. And if I have- may the rest of this post be the JJ Abrams movie that saves the franchise. Either way- Happy Fucking Hanukkah!

For the record, Chanukah is one of my favorite holidays. Nothing beats the combination of lighting candles, opening presents and making Christians feel like dirt when they accidentally wish me a Merry Christmas (“Merry CHRIST-mas to me. Oh, how nice. You have yourself a very Merry I’m-a-Ignoramus-Who-Assumes-Everybody-Believes Exactly-the-Same-Stuff-I-Do and a truly Happy Funny-You-Don’t-Look-Jewish-Because You-Don’t-Have-Horns, too. Maybe you should ask Santa for a Diversity seminar- that is, if he can fit in under the tree between the burning cross and copy of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. And stop ringing that bell at me, I’m sure as hell not giving you a quarter now. I only support one army, and it’s the one that accepts gays (That’s right. KISS Army).

I know it sounds like I’m not feeling the holiday spirit — but remember, my holiday isn’t about wussy crap like “Peace on Earth” and “Goodwill to Men” – it’s about eating fried food and jelly doughnuts, getting presents for EIGHT WHOLE NIGHTS and, most importantly, celebrating the crazy-ass bunch of Jewish rebels who kicked the ancient Greeks out of Israel and stretched one day of oil for more than a week. That’s right, ass-kicking, thrift, cholesterol and shopping — throw in the guilt over not calling my mother, and you have all the pillars that the Jewish faith is based on. The only thing more awesome would be a holiday celebrating Israeli Airport Security and dishonest contractors. Seriously, I should have known better than to hire Israeli contractors- there’s just something unnatural about Jews who can build stuff. The last thing we built were the pyramids- and you should see how much we overcharged the Egyptians for those. “You want pyramids? Not problem. I charge you ten plagues only. Usually, for job like this, I charge 15, 20, 25 plagues- but for you, I make special price- 10 plagues, because we are friends.” If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, you can learn about it in Ridley Scott’s new film Exodus: Gods and Shit or whatever it’s called. That is, of course, if you’re not too busy being outraged about the casting because you’re run out of police shootings to be mad about. I mean, come on Ridley, I don’t mind you casting a non-Jew as Moses- but did he have to be named Christian? What, was no one named “Jesus” available? Or wait, no- there was but you wouldn’t cast a non-white actor. Listen, I get it, you can’t win here- you don’t cast Middle Easterners as Egyptians- they call you a bigot. You do cast them- they say they’re typecast as villains. Hey guys- don’t blame Hollywood you keep playing terrorists- BLAME THE FUCKING TERRORISTS. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that all Middle Easterners are terrorists- that’s absolutely not true- I’m just saying, we don’t have time for narrative complexity in our lives. We just need to know which accent makes it OK for use to cheer when stuff goes boom. Used to be German, then it was Russian, now it’s you guys. Hey, could be worse- you could be British. Meanwhile, if you want to work, you’re gonna be bad guys. I’m sorry there’s no version of Exodus where the Israelite slaves are the bad guys and the poor, slave driving, Egyptians are the victims (though I hear UC Berkley is hard at work on this) – you want to get in the game- strap on the headdress, get your Colin Kaepernick chin beard on, and start whipping some Hebrews. That is, assuming Ridley the Racist would condescend to casting you- which, of course, he won’t.

Anyhow, the point I was trying to make before I got totally sidetracked is that, despite the pervasive stereotype that Jews are wimpy, neurotic, intellectual and un-athletic — a stereotype which, I might add, is continually reinforced by the insidious forces of television, film and reality, Judaism is actually way more hardcore than Christianity. There are many more examples of this, as you can see below:

New Child Rituals

Christianity: Baby is dressed in adorable white gown. Genial red-cheeked priest sprinkles tiny droplets of water on its precious forehead as adoring parents look on beaming with pride and joy. Both families come together to celebrate the miracle of new life and the grace of God’s blessing.

Judaism: Baby is strapped to a board and given a wine-soaked sponge to suck on. Freelancing urologist with an inappropriate sense of humor chops off a hunk of its penis while terrified parents look on with horror, trying not to pass out. Both families come together to eat whitefish, crack jokes and argue about Obama.

Biblical Heroes

Christianity: Long-haired hippie leader who wandered the dessert with tight core of followers preaching peace and love. Cross between David Crosby and Ghandi. Ultimately killed for his beliefs.

Judaism: Rock-star warrior King David who slew the Philistines with his sword by day and the ladies with his lute by night. Cross between Ariel Sharon and Slash. Ultimately sent a guy to his death so he could bone the dude’s wife.

Dietary Laws

Judaism: Rigorous code which includes the total separation of dairy and meat products and prohibitions on eating pork and shellfish, as well as numerous other laws. Animals killed by specially trained butchers in ritual fashion under strict rabbinic supervision.

Christianity: Gluten free brownies. Sugar free sugar. Cruelty free meat. Guilt free delusion.

Spring Holidays

Judaism: Remember the liberation of our ancestors from slavery by the forceful hand of a vengeful god who slew the first born sons of the Egyptians and generally took no crap.

Christianity: The son of God gave his life so that all may be forgiven from sin and that’s why they eat chocolate bunnies. Also- marshmallow Peeps to remember the suffering of Christ.

New Year

Judaism: Ten days of serious contemplation and repentance culminating in 24-hour fast in which we plead with God for our very lives.

Christianity: Get drunk. Watch ball drop. Seriously contemplate the size of your ass.

13th Birthday

Christianity: Pizza party in basement. Sneak in beer. Feel up middle-school crush.

Judaism: Stand on stage in front of every single person you’ve ever met and, oh yeah, GOD HIMSELF in bold defiance of acne, growth spurt, crushing insecurity and changing voice. Chant long passages of ancient text in foreign language to punishing tune. Celebrate ascent to manhood by drinking 20 tiny cups of wine at luncheon in synagogue reception hall and feeling up middle school crush in coat room. Feel like a man til you puke in the temple synagogue toilet, aka The Throne of God.

So, light your Channuka candles and say your blessings with pride, my fellow tribe members. Forget the outer nebbish and embrace the bad-ass desert warrior within. Surely, if we can put up with slavery, public circumcision, Kosher food and Manischewitz, we are tough enough to put up with Christmas trees, ugly sweaters, animated specials and all the other goyisha nonsense on parade this time of year – just look how tough Christian Bale is as Moses! Doesn’t that fill you with pride? I’m glad Ridley picked him to represent the Jews. It’s like casting Channing Tatum as Tevye- FUCKING AWESOME.

And, we don’t need y’all to put out a pity Menorah with your big ole’ tree in the town square. We know you don’t really want it there, so just skip it. Tell the ACLU I said it was cool. You just go on and enjoy your silly little pagan tree-worshipping birthday party. Just don’t expect me to be gracious if you wish me a Merry Christmas — remember, I’m feeling MY holiday spirit.

Happy Hanukkah. Or Channukkah. Or Hanuka. However you spell it, it kicks the crap out of Christmas.

[California Seething] No Fun League vs Snow Fun League

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Posted by :Eric Sims On : December 1, 2014

Category: California Seething

Tags:Bills, House Hunters, hunger games, Jets, NFL, No Fun League, Patriots, Roger Goodell, snow, Vince Lombardi

Hey- you know what’s better than watching football on TV? Yup, that’s right- watching football on TV in Los Angeles! There’s nothing better than kicking back in shorts and flip flops on a Sunday morning, turning on the TV and watching the players and fans freeze their balls off. Mmmm mmm. You want a game time snack? I’ve got nachos and schaedenfreude coming right up! And you can wash it down with a glass of Why the Fuck do you Live There. Oh oh oh- that doesn’t seem very nice to you? Well, just think about the last time you were watching House Hunters and there was some pair of cornfed rubes out there in Buttfuckia shopping for a 10 bed 27 bath castle with a large kitchen, man cave and a moat for $150k or less. And just think back to all the nitpicky things they said while they were picking out their Forever Dream Castle- stuff like “I was really hoping for an open plan kitchen” or “I’m just not sure the man cave is big enough for a ping pong table and a home theatre system” or “we’re going to have to put in a much taller fence around the moat so that little Dakota doesn’t fall in and get eaten by sea monsters- and that’s going to add to the renovation costs.” And now think about the fact that while you were watching this episode you second guessed every single life choice you ever made that led you to Los Angeles with its unbreathable air, undrivable traffic, unaffordable housing and unbearable douchebags- and now tell me, TELL ME that it it’s not just awesome to see those apple cheeked All American assholes freezing their padded asses off in 10 degree weather with the snow falling down while they’re wearing styrofoam cheese on their heads – or whatever they wear on their heads in Buffalo- (what’s the appropriate headgear to signify decades of futility and defeat? Foam chicken wings? Oversize novelty Jim Kelly head- with hair? Patriots hat?) while you’re lounging about barely dressed with the windows wide open laughing your ass off in a rat infested studio you can barely afford. And- here’s the best part- it’s not like we have to worry about Bad Weather Karma coming to get us if we mock the rest of the country. I mean- they get the Polar Vortex and the Snowpocalypse- what’s the worst we’re gonna get? Marine Layer Vortex? Drizzlepocalypse? Ocean Breezemageddon? Out of control raging wildfires that engulf huge chunks of land in flame and threaten to destroy us all? Wait. Crap. That’s a thing. Sorry Weather Karma Gods. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.

So, yes, I was really psyched to watch the Bills / Jets game a couple of weeks ago because of the huge storm that filled the stadium in Buffalo with snow earlier that week. I mean, don’t get me wrong- it was very important game- Buffalo has an excellent chance of just barely missing the playoffs this year and the Jets were rocketing upwards from disgrace to embarrassment- but I was most excited to watch those miserable fucks wallow around in the snow. But then, Roger WUSSell and the National WUSSball League decided there was just too much snow to be able to play the game safely in Buffalo, especially cause many of the wittle baby pwayers were twapped in their homes and couldn’t even get to the stadium cause of all the snow, so he moved the game to the balmier climes of Detroit’s indoor stadium. What is this crap? Is this FOOTBALL or futbol? When did we get so soft?? I warned them about this- I warned them this would happen if they wore pink uniforms- but NOBODY LISTENED Hell, football was made to be played in cold weather. Vince Lombardi wouldn’t have let a storm keep his team from playing. Hell no! If the players were snowed in, Vince Lombardi would have harnessed his offensive lineman to a sleigh and had them carry the team to the game- and one of the lineman dropped dead because his weak little heart didn’t believe in America enough to go any further- Lombardi would have tossed his worthless carcass aside, strapped himself to the sleigh and pulled his team to the stadium all while giving a stern lecture to the players about the perils of Communism, masturbation and sideburns and the importance of WINNING AT ALL COSTS. Now that’s some goddamn MAN FOOTBALL.

But that’s not how things are in Roger Goodell’s No Fun League. Somehow, he’s managed to take America’s greatest Red State passtime and turn it into an overregulated nanny league that would make Teddy Kennedy plotz. So now the players can’t even lay a finger on each other without being called for some kind of bullshit girly-girl ticky-tack violation like Pussy Interference or Roughing the Passer’s Feelings. Used to be, if the bone wasn’t poking out through the skin, the refs would just tell ’em to suck it up and keep playing- but now it’s all “show me on the doll where the defender touched you.” What a bunch of shit. Listen, I may be a a Bernie Sanders “Tax and Spend” Liberal when it comes to politics, I’m a Rand Paul “Let ’em Play” Libertarian when it comes to sports. Hell, if we could just get the Kochs to sell everything and buy an NFL team, we could save football AND America at the same time.

But I doubt even the great and powerful Kochs could have any impact on Kim Jung Goodell- the Pol Pot of Pigskin, the President Snow of Sporting Leagues (eh? Eh? President Snow? Who’s got 2 thumbs and just made a desperate and pathetic grab for relevance with a Hunger Games reference? THIS GUY! And who just undermined his grab for relevance by using the hackneyed and overplayed. “2 thumbs” bit? Well…uhm…that would also be THIS GUY!) I mean, we’re talking about a man who single-handedly doles out punishment to players based on totally arbitrary criteria. And, if they don’t like it, they can certainly appeal the ruling, and the person who hears those appeals…is Roger Goodell. WHAT THE FUCK? If this was a country, we’d send in Amnesty International. It’s the Glorious Democratic People’s Republic of Football. Are you ready for some football? I SAID ARE YOU??? No??? UP AGAINST THE WALL!

Now, Goodell’s been cracking down on all sorts of player behavior- but he is most interested in cracking down on perpetrators of domestic violence. Kidding! Kidding! He only punishes them when he’s publicly shamed – though, to be fair, he did recently launch a public service campaign to raise awareness about domestic violence entitled “No More” and a domestic violence prevention training program for players entitled “Those Cameras are EVERYWHERE, Son!” That ought to fix it! Nothing solves a complex, deep seeded, multifaceted social problem like a Public Service Announcement- just look how well it worked with drugs! The whole nation was headed for addiction and ruin, but then we found out that drugs fry our brains like an egg and no one ever got high again! If only Ray Rice would have known how disappointed Eli Manning would be in him, he never would have punched Janay. It’s brilliant! Maybe we can get the Women’s Soccer Team to tell cops to stop shooting black kids.

Congratulations to Ray Rice, BTW, on his reinstatement! Of course- now he’s gotta find a team that’ll pick him up. And honestly, what team is gonna be dumb to take on that kind of PR nightmare for a marginal player on the downward slope of his career. Oh, who are we kidding? Welcome to the Jets, Ray Rice! Dog Killer & Wife Beater – now THAT’S a backfield! I’m joking, of course, why would the Jets possibly pick up Ray Rice when Adrian Peterson’s available. Better get him now, though- he’s gonna get loads of offers in the offseason. Hell, he’ll be fighting them off with a ~~switch~~ stick.

Of course, the secret to Ray’s return to the game is Janay’s willingness to do the Talk Show Redemption Circuit with him. What a role model she is- with her grace, forgiveness and talent for putting her own safety and well-being aside to make sure that her man gets paid. Well done, Janay! Once Ray signs with a team, he’ll be able to keep you in designer sunglasses for years to come. Just be careful in that big mansion of his- plenty of “doors” to run into. Oopsie daisy!

Meaningless token gestures of opposition to domestic violence aside, Goodell’s real passion is for cracking down on Excessive Celebration. I know it’s tough for Goodell to understand human emotions because he’s a cyborg sent back by Skynet to crush our souls (isn’t the whole Skynet thing happening, like, next Tuesday?) but we puny humans have this thing we call joy- and we feel it when we do something awesome like scoring a touchdown. And when we do feel a large amount of joy- well, by golly we want to celebrate- and you know what- there’s not a GODDAMN THING WRONG WITH THAT. I want my players to be happy. I want to see them celebrating. I want dunking over the goal post, rocking the ball to sleep like a baby, the Lambeau Leap, the Icky Shuffle, the Mile High Salute, the Dirty Bird, Deion Sanders high stepping, Terrell Owens signing the football, Terrell Owens playing with pom-poms, Terrell Owens spiking on the Dallas star, pretty much the whole rest of Terrell Owens career, Gangham Style, Moonwalking, Tebowing, Tebowing in mockery of Tim Tebow (that’s the best)- whatever- you just made a huge play motherfucker- let your freak flag fly! (Just make sure you’re over the goal line first.) What are we so afraid of? That the other team won’t like it? That it’ll make them feel bad about themselves? GOOD. They should feel bad about themselves. They’re losers. And if they want to feel better about themselves, they don’t need daily affirmations or participation trophies- they need to score their own damn touchdown and rub it in the other team’s faces just like we did with the Ruskies. But what about the children you ask? Well what about the little fuckers?? I hope they’re watching! I hope they’re watching and thinking- “Hey- someday if I’m really good at something and I work my ass off, then maybe I’ll have a chance to act like a moron in public!”- and you know what? THAT’S AWESOME. That’s what they should think. And sure, we all know it’s complete horseshit- that inequality, discrimination, hatred and cruelty keep most kids from ever having all that much of a chance- but isn’t that exactly what we should be working towards? To create a world where every child has a chance to someday celebrate excessively. I think so. But then again I like being a public spectacle.

You can’t blame Goodell, though- he’s in a tough position. After all, his job is to protect the NFL brand, and those pesky players keep trying to mess it up. That’s the trouble with marketing institutionalized brutality as wholesome, family entertainment- it’s like trying to sell Vegas as a family vacation destination- no matter how many acrobats, dancing fountains, fitted pink jerseys or schmaltzy commercials you make- Vegas is still all just gambling and whores and the NFL is big dudes fucking each other up. See, we want to watch football, we just don’t like the consequences of playing football. So what do we do? Well- we’re Americans- what do you think we do? This is the land of hybrid SUV’s, gluten-free beer and drone warfare- nobody’s better at taking the “guilt” out of “guilty pleasure” than we are! Have our cake and eat it to? No problem! Just so long as the cake is gluten-free, sweetened with organic agave nectar, made with free-range eggs and includes an tiny donation to fight the cancer du jour. So, yeah- we get to enjoy football as long as we punish the players for being too human, act shocked when violent men behave violently, make a bunch of pointless rules, and worry about concussions in lieu of actually doing anything to prevent them. Why not? That’s our strategy for climate change and it’s working just fine. I know I feel like I’m making a difference when I Like an article about melting ice caps. Plus, it’s ok, those who can afford to shop at Whole Foods and keep fracking out of their communities can just keep their kids from playing football if they want to keep them safe. As for everyone else, well, they’re poor so they’re fucked anyway. Honestly, brain damage is the least of their problems- I mean, it’s not like they were gonna learn anything in school anyway. Might as well let them bash their brains in for our amusement- just as long as they don’t start acting all urban and “thug”-like and scary. After all, we have to think of the little white children.

So….yeah….right…what the hell was I talking about again? Oh, right, the Jets Bills game. Yeah. It sucked. The Bills won 38-3. Not much cause for celebration there, excessive or otherwise. The only one celebrating was my Patriot loving sister in Massachusetts. Whatever, I just had Thanksgiving dinner outside – suck it Massholes! And, yeah, I realize the Jets play in New Jersey and the weather is terrible there, too…but…SUCK IT MASSHOLES. You just got your ass kicked by the cheeseheads – what do you know? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take some selfies with palm trees and text them to her. Who wouldn’t want to live here? When it comes to man made, debilitating weather conditions with catastrophic consequences- I’ll take MegaDrought over Polar Vortex any day (remember when we could tell the difference between weather conditions and SyFy movie titles?) Or maybe I’ll take Punky for a walk. Hi Punky! Does Punky Wunky want to go for Walkie-Dalkies? Punky Wunky walkies? Punky Wunky Wunky walkies??? Who’s my wittle Punky Wunky? Who’s my wittle Punky Wunky? PUNKY!

Crap. Sorry about that. It just keeps getting worse over here. I’d better go so that Punky can get on with the business of licking me compulsively which is equal parts adorable and disturbing like Teddy Ruxpin, John Wayne Gacy and Micky Rourke’s love for chihuahuas. All I was trying to say is that playing football is dumb, watching football is awesome and watching cold weather football from LA is the best! Oh, and there’s no such thing as excessive celebration. And also Roger Goodell is a poop head who should be fired at the soonest opportunity. Hey- I hear David Stern is available!

Right. OK, Punky- proceed with the licking. Ahhhh, that’s the stuff. Time to kick back and watch the Jets lose to…who are they playing again? Oh right, Miami. That’s no fun- can’t even feel smug about the weather. And…wait- is that rain out there??? It’s not supposed to rain in LA! Sorry Weather Karma Gods- I knew I shouldn’t have pushed my luck. Oh well. It’s all gonna turn around for us when we get Rice and Peterson- and if we can get Hernandez out of jail- then we may finally something worth celebrating excessively over – whether Chairman Roger likes it or not.

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