Peace out, 2011!

Happy Holidays!  (shhhhhh!  Don't tell Fox News that I'm continuing my assault on Christmas!)

It's been an interesting year, kids.  I celebrated my one year wedding anniversary with my gorgeous wife--who can totally do better, by the way--and last week we finally sent out our thank you cards from our wedding 19 months ago.  Look for yours in the mail today!

Sadly, my Mom died, which sucked immensely.  She continues to be missed.

Speaking of suck, I went to the Bears came last week and took my Brother-in-Law, Jamie.  Born and raised in the heart of Georgia, he is a true good ol' boy.  To properly prep him for his first heinous winter, I took him to his first Bears game last week, against the Seattle Seahawks.  Too bad the Bears forgot to show up.  I think the final score was 188-7 although I might be wrong about that...we couldn't have possibly scored a touchdown, right? 

We had the worlds worst seats--the only seats in the stadium, it seemed, where the sun didn't shine--up beneath the spaceship, 3 rows from the top, where ice from the exterior of the building kept falling on us.  It was damn cold.  However, we had been drinking since 10am and were quite insulated from the elements.  Our brave southerner?  Don't worry about that...the cold didn't seem to bother him:

"Fuck YOU, Seattle!!!"  --Jamie

Anyhow, I wanted to say goodbye to not only 2011, but to my fearless readership of 9.  I'm not permanently going away, of course.  But I'm taking tomorrow off, then it's Christmas, then I have a week off and won't return to work until January 2nd.  Why is this important?  Well, I pretty much only blog at work these days.

You see, the neighbor from whom we were stealing wireless internet had the audacity to move away at the end of October so we now find ourselves without the interwebs.   Combine that with the fact that Krishni's family is coming in town for the next 9 days and I fear I will not find the time to slip away and pound out a decent entry on my iPhone.  Perhaps, if we're all lucky, I'll get liquored up on Christmas day and blog something like "Blargh shompum WINE!  Bby Jesuss?  Snata!  WINE!".

However, if I do not get that opportunity, I just wanted to thank you for reading my other drunken comments this year.  It's been fun and when I finish my "Evil Jesus" screenplay, you all will be the first to know.  After Krishni, of course.  And my Dad.  And probably whomever Krishni tells.  So, you'll be, like, the 16th through 24th people to know.

May Santa leave you coal in your stocking.  Because, you know, we'll need that to keep warm once the economy collapses.  It never hurts to plan ahead.

Merry Christmas, all!  With or without the "Christ".

A Very Calvin and Hobbes Christmas

Growing up I loved exactly two comics:  Gary Larson's The Far Side and Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes.  This in itself is not unique but because I had older sisters who also loved these comics, I was indoctrinated into them at a very, very early age. 

I loved the dark, dark art involved even before I really understood the dark, dark jokes.  In retrospect, maybe a dead Puff the Magic Dragon, washed up on shore after an oil spill in that one Far Side or that blind, peg-legged leprechaun hung upside down in that other panel really launched my love for black comedy.  It makes an awful lot of sense when you think about it.

Over the years, Gary Larson really, really whored himself out.  In a similar situation, I would have likely done the same.  Even today, nearly 17 years after Larson's retirement, you can find all sorts of Far Side swag on sale at Amazon: t-shirts, mugs, calendars, posters, bumper stickers, etc.  Obviously, you can also buy his books, including the "Complete Collection" which weighs an astounding 19.8 pounds.  Dude must have made a lot of money.

Conversely, Bill Watterson went in the opposite direction.  He went out of his way to make sure Calvin and Hobbes were not destined to end up on greeting cards, birthday cakes and all of the other swag listed above.  He battled his publisher about his artistic integrity and in his books, he comes off as kind of a dick about it.  He thought that the endless commercialization of C&H would cheapen the characters.  He's probably right but it didn't cheapen my love for the world Gary Larson had created.  However, I know that I have formed very distinct voices for both Calvin and Hobbes in my head and I would hate, say, a television program to destroy those voices. After reading Jim Davis' series throughout my childhood, I know that the TV version of Garfield certainly sounded weird to me.

When he (rather abruptly) retired back in 1995, Watterson just sort of disappeared.  He will pop up occasionally, writing a forward for a book here and there but he seems quite content with his decision to retire.  Good for him.  But that doesn't mean I don't miss Calvin and his good ol' friend Hobbes.  With no new material from Watterson, we were left with badly-drawn Calvins pissing on Ford and Chevy logos or horribly depressing knock-off versions of the comic:

Thankfully, not all the tributes and knock-offs make me want to slit my wrists.  Calvin and Hobbes resonated in a tremendous fashion with it's audience.  Calvin's earnest zest for life and imagination hit home with a lot of kids like me.  Hobbes' sage, sardonic and loyal--and yet very cat-like and playful--personality always struck me as the best friend any kid could hope to have.  These characters stuck with millions of readers like me, long after Watterson stopped drawing the strip.

I truly believe this:  the last Calvin and Hobbes collection--It's a Magical World--has more wisdom within it's pages than any other book ever written.  More wisdom, yes, than even the bible.  In fact, upon entering our home you may notice that my amazing wife has framed the final comic from the series in our front hall.

(click to enlarge)

Obviously, I am not alone in this love of Calvin, his friend and his world.  Because of this passion, fans far more artistic than I have been doing all sorts of fantastic projects over the years, many involving Calvin's iconic snowmen:

Clearly, the world of C&H fandom was just waiting for the right mix of music, snowmen and death to cheer up the holidays.  At long last, I believe that need has been met:

Merry Christmas!

This only makes me want Taco Bell that much more

As if we needed a counter-point to my previous post:

The Super Fantastic MJ Excellent Weight Loss Challenge Bonanza!

I joined a gym.

As the calender continues to flip and I get older by the minute, I'm starting to notice funny changes in my body.  You tend to notice these changes when you find yourself heavily wheezing on the bus because you had to run 40 yards at a full sprint to catch the damn thing.  Also, I've found myself saying things like, "Huh.  You didn't have that 3rd chin yesterday". 

So, I joined a gym.  Many moons ago, when I was gainfully employed at Steppenwolf Theatre Company, I was relatively healthy.  There was a YMCA down the street from the 'Wolf that was everything I looked for in a gym:  it had two basketball courts.  About 3 or 4 times a week, I would drive the half mile to the Y--in retrospect, this might have been part of the problem--and I would lace up my hoops shoes and run around for an hour.  Since they had two courts, I would let all the kids from Cabrini Green dunk on one and I would shoot hoops with the older white guys on the other.  Occasionally, they kids would need a 10th for their game I would run over and try to keep my guy in front of me.  Usually by fouling as hard as I could.  Sure, I never scored much but they respected me because they liked my hustle!  They must have; they only pants-ed me once.

Sadly, they tore the place down and I think there is a retirement home on the land now.  On that day, back in 2006, I stopped exercising.

Since then, there have been an awful lot of Kraft dinners, whiskey, pizza and couch.  And since then, I've gained an awful lot of weight.

So, in a continuing effort to please my wife sexually, I decided it was time to shed those unsightly pounds.  I found a gym a half-block from my house and, really, if it was any farther, I would just give up and climb the escalator of weight gain to 300 pounds or so.  But since it is directly across the street from where my bus lets me off each night, there really is no excuse.  I have a choice each night:  White Castle or B&W Gym.  I appreciate my intestines too much to be a patron of White Castle. 

The Gym itself is hilarious.  It is a gym for "serious" weightlifters and has dozens of pictures up of dudes with vein-busting muscles.  The first night I walked in, I was immediately taken back to high school:  the gym, in a basement beneath a discount furniture store, smells exactly like the weight room in the basement beneath the old gym at Benet Academy.  I've never been there when there were more than 5 or 6 people walking around, lifting weights, flexing into the mirrors, etc.

What did I do?  I rode the exercise bike.  Manly, I know, but remember, I haven't exercised in 5 years.  At all.  Seriously, the most exercise I've gotten was walking around the French Quarter for 3 days while I drank heavily.  Feel the burn!

Last night, in my first trip to B&W Gym to actually sweat a bit, I rode the exer-cycle for two miles, got winded and quit.

This might take a while.

This should clear things up.

(Click for a larger image)

One final note on Home Alone while I wait to be fired

Did you know that Elvis Presley was in Home Alone?  It's true!  You know, if we're to believe the bat-shit crazy fringe of society (speaking of which...I'm going to miss Herman Cain and Rick Perry and Michelle Bachmann and Rick Santorum.  They brought so much light to my life).

Seriously.  They were the best.

Anyhow, back to the subject at hand.  Yes!  Elvis Presley--despite the normally-severe disadvantage of having died in 1977--appeared in the greatest Christmas movie of all time.  If you take the time to Google "Elvis Presley Home Alone"--and why wouldn't you?--you come upon all sorts of websites dedicated to the long held belief that ol' Elvis is still alive and kicking and appearing in Christmas movies.

At the time of Home Alone's release in 1990, The King would have been 55 years old.  In the scene where Kevin's Mother is arguing with Steppenwolf Ensemble Member Alan Wilder at the Scranton Airport (just before she meets John Candy and the rest of the Kenosha Kickers), there is an extra standing in the background that is, apparently, Elvis Presley.  A not-dead Elvis Presley.  Don't believe me?  As they say, the proof is in the pudding:

See him?  Over her left shoulder?

Not buying it yet?  Well, let's compare Elvis and this fellow, shall we?

Prooooooooooooof!

Further prooooooooooooooof! 

I did a cursory check around the interwebs for further, photographic evidence that Elvis is alive and well, surviving in a new career as an extra in movies shot exclusively in the midwest, but could not find any such proof.  Well, actually, I just got bored with the search and quit altogether to re-review the Lindsay Lohan pictures at i.playboy.com.

I've reluctantly come to the conclusion that Elvis is, in fact, dead.  The interwebs overwhelmingly told me so.  I have nothing further to say on the subject other than this is a pretty funny picture: 

There's a "Hunka Hunka Burnin' Cross" joke there somewhere. 

Explaining Home Alone

Here's a fact for you:  Home Alone is the greatest Christmas movie ever made.  There, I said it.  Wanna fight about it?

I strongly believe this.  Perhaps growing up in the 80's disillusioned me enough to not truly believe in the cheesy sentiment of It's a Wonderful Life.  Having never seen Miracle on 34th Street, I can't say if it is the best but since it is in black and white, I strongly suspect it is not.  Since I didn't grow up in the 50's, maybe this means I can never truly appreciate the gun-demanding obsession from A Christmas Story.  (Fun fact!  The kid that played Flick in A Christmas Story--the one that got his tongue stuck to the flagpole--later went on to appear in a decidedly different movie that featured tongues on poles):

True story

Maybe it's because Home Alone was right in my age-appropriate wheel-house when it came out in 1990 but it's been a little tradition of mine since then that whenever I set up the Christmas tree in my house,  it has to be on my TV.  I vividly remember my Godfather taking me to see the movie upon it's release in 1990.  I loved it so much that I came home and performed every scene for my Dad while he was raking leaves and then strong-armed him into taking me to see it again the next day.

Now, when I talk about greatness in this movie, I'm not even talking about the slap-stick, near-homicides of the burglars at the end.  I'm talking about the delirious joy of a kid doing all the things over Christmas I would have done had I been abandoned, a down-right beyond-his-years performance from Mac, a great score from John Williams, some surprisingly subtle direction from Chris Columbus and the best scene in the movie:  Kevin and Marley coming to terms with what Christmas means in the church.

I love this scene.  Krishni even stopped talking in the middle of a story the other night because she knew I wouldn't be listening to her.  From the "I had a friend who got nailed because there was a rumor he wore dinosaur pajamas" sequence, to the Christ, is this kid still talking? "Yeah" that Marley mumbles out, to the chorus singing throughout the scene, to the band-aid hand shake at the end...just awesome.

Krishni pointed out to me that this guy died in July.  Rest in Peace, South Side Shovel Slayer

If you don't already feel this way about Home Alone, you never will.  I feel that there is nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise.  However, that hasn't stopped other people from doing so.

Ever been to www.imdb.com?  It stands for the "Internet Movie Database" and it is your one-stop shop for everything you will ever need to know about any movie.  Within, you will find the full cast and crew, sound track listings, running times, trailers, reviews and all sorts of fun trivia for any given movie.  Under the "Fun Stuff" section for Home Alone, there is a section called "Goofs".  Normally, this is where incredibly anal nerds who have scoured movies for continuity errors or anachronisms try to kill the fun of movie magic.  But I noticed something the other night that bothered me...not because of the previously mentioned anal nerds but because of anal nerds that had to explain jokes. 

For instance, there is a very funny scene where Kevin goes grocery shopping to buy milk, fabric softener and--because he's 8--a bag of army guys.  When the bagger swipes said bag, she gives him a knowing look and he justifies the purchase by saying "It's for the kids".  A normal person would say, "Ha!  That's a funny bit!"  However, someone at imdb.com felt the need to break the joke down for the reader (emphasis mine):

"When Kevin is at the counter of the grocery store, the clerk scans a bag of toy soldiers and looks at Kevin. He says 'It's for the kids'. But when the clerk asks, 'What about your brothers and sisters?' Kevin replies, 'I'm an only child.' While this seems that Kevin is stumbling over his lies, he is not. He is at the grocery store alone, buying 'grown up' things such as orange juice, milk, bread, toilet paper and laundry detergent. He is also reading a tabloid and discussing the quality of microwave dinners just as an adult does. When the cashier scans the toy soldiers she looks at him questioningly. Kevin makes a joke saying they are 'for the kids' referring to his own children. Obviously he doesn't have children, but his purchases and actions make him seem grown up."

WTF?  Did someone really feel the need to explain to the internet that 8 year-old Kevin McAllister didn't have kids?  Did this person feel like they were doing the internet a service?  Here's more internet nerd dickery:

"On the phone with the French operator, Frank yells 'I am looking for my son! Do you know where he is?' However, Peter knows his son is at the house, he just cannot reach him."

Really?  This internet dick pulled out one totally innocuous-to-the-script "error" (Is Kevin's Dad omniscient?  He knows Kevin is still at home?) and goes on the internet to bitch about it?  Also, let's ignore the fact that this internet nerd felt the need to fire up his laptop to type out this little inaccuracy while at the same time misnaming the character in the quote...it was Kevin's Dad, Peter, on the phone with the French operator; Uncle Frank couldn't give two shits about Kevin and was busy angering his sister-in-law by passing out her shrimp cocktail.

Wait...did I just do the internet nerd thing?

One last one, from Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.  The family is going to Florida for the holidays and Kevin complains at the very beginning of the film that "There are no Christmas trees in Florida."  This, of course, sets up Kevin's obsession with Christmas trees and allows his Mother to locate him at 30 Rockafeller Center at the end of the movie.  To any rational person, this line is called "foreshadowing".  To this nerd, it was something to complain about  (feel free to do so but don't bother reading the whole thing; emphasis mine):

"There actually are Christmas trees in South Florida. The Norfolk Island Pine is a tropical pine that is originally from Norfolk Island, east of Australia. It grows pretty much all over south Florida and has even been seen growing as far north as Tampa and even near Orlando, though it does much better farther south, especially from the latitude of the north shores of Lake Okechobee southward. Fully grown, it has a slightly narrower than normal pyramid shape with nearly fern like branches that grow in an evenly tiered pattern, and will generally make a very nice Christmas tree. Farther north, it is usually grown indoors as a potted plant. Usually, outside of the tropics, you will see this pine grown in most offices, especially next to a south facing window. However, Kevin, having never been to Florida, probably didn't know this and assumed there were no Christmas trees there."

Well, good thing you cleared that up, internet!

Sigh.  Sometimes, the internet makes me sad.