Sunday, November 21, 2010

Epic Fail

I went to Chili's for dinner tonight before hitting the movies with Tommy and his friend Maureen. I ordered the crispy chicken tacos, with Texas cheese fries as an appetizer. My brother got the skillet queso, which is basically chips with a spicy beef and cheese dipping sauce. The waitress took a long time getting our food out, and when mine came, the order was wrong. It took them a few minutes and an argument between two waiters to get my order right. It also took a while for the waitress to get us our check, and though we had requested separate checks, it was combined.

The food was okay, but something didn't sit right with me (probably that skillet queso), and as I got home, I had a pretty disagreeable stomach, so I had to spend some time indisposed, if you catch my drift.

Sorry to paint that picture for you, but it's important for you to know exactly how uncomfortable that series of events was for me, so you will truly understand when I say that having my order messed up and getting the shits from it was a PLEASANT EXPERIENCE compared to sitting through the awful, awful mess known as SKYLINE.

This movie contained every sci-fi hackneyed cliche ever written. Lead actor who is a regular guy just trying to get by? Check. Lead actress who is a saint and is willing to stand by her man through thick and thin? Supporting actor with buddy comedy chemistry? Check. Supporting actress cast-iron bitch? Check. Unexplained Earth-shaking arrival of mysterious aliens? Check. Early death of leery, creepy comic relief? Check. Small dog used to gain sympathy of audience? Check. Frightened old man as comedy tool? Check. Creepy tentacled aliens with mind control abilities culling humanity like dust-busters? Check. Pre-requisite explosion shot, followed by pre-requisite smoked filled shot of alien ship surviving the blast? Check. Frantic chase scene with last minute escapes and dodges? Check. Shock death of supporting actor with missed-by-a-hair rescue attempt by main character, complete with slow motion close-up of dying supporting actor? Check. Timely arrival of older character with important information and or equipment? Check. Late arrival of military, which proceeds to fail in initial attempts to defeat aliens? Check. Gotcha scene of imminent rescue thwarted by last minute mishap? Check. Older character sacrificing self to save others with a witty one-liner? Check. Repeated last second saves by incoming attack? Check.

I hate that this movie was even made. Donald Faison should be ashamed of himself, and his agent should be fired. You were on Scrubs, for Christ's sake! This was like watching Michael Jordan play baseball. It felt like two kids were playing with their toys in their backyard. It was like playing a video game with no instruction manual and you can't control the character. The majority of the movie takes place in Donald Faison's living room, and in a movie with a limited location, it has to be character driven. I've met more lovable characters picking up trash for community service. The dialogue sounds like it was clipped from a dozen other sci-fi movies.

The alien design is a mish-mosh of other movie designs, and the plot was razor thin. The alien ships are vacuuming up anyone who stared at their human bug-light. If humans managed to stay out of the path of the Dyson Ball from outer space, there were alien helicopters that, although they could fly, eviscerate people in a flash, and couldn't be destroyed, could be thwarted by a set of blinds. The aliens themselves are indestructible, surviving being driven into by a speeding SUV and crushed, except for the part when our hero punches one to death. But why were the aliens here? Well, from what I could gather, they are here to eat our brains, which, for whatever reason glow when they are extracted from our heads.

This movie is like if Independence Day and Cloverfield were in an incestuous relationship and huffing paint and this movie is the bastard love child that they went ahead and bashed in the skull with a tack hammer. If presented with the option of having my balls gnawed off by a ravenous wolverine or having to sit through this movie again, well, it'd be a tough call, because frankly, I don't see much of a distinction between the two.

Someone get Donald Faison some work, PLEASE.

Friday, November 05, 2010

The Walking Dead

AMC captures my inner feelings about work

I was just treated to watching the pilot for AMC's The Walking Dead. Delightful! The only problem I have is that as a comic geek, I have heard things about the comic source material that is spoiling what promises to be some of the more shocking moments of the series. But the initial entry was very entertaining. It looks like Sunday is appointment TV once again!

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Almost Famous

Go to Google. Type in "Colonel's Original Recipe Revealed."

Smart Centipede's expose is the first link that appears. Now click images. Of the first three images, read from left to right, the main graphic for the story is the first graphic. My picture is third. The iconic Colonel Sanders graphic is 7th.


Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Waiting Room Blues

The Waiting Really is the Hardest Part
Hanging at Brown's in Patchogue. This is day 2 (non-consecutive) of the great Jeep saga of 2010. My girl Emily began groaning a few weeks ago. A little sound that seems to sound like a power steering issue, although the sound is emanating from the other side of the engine (I know my engines). It is definitely something that has to do with the belts, not necessarily the belt itself, but one of the pulleys driven by it, certainly.

I learned almost everything I know about engines from my Dad. He had converted our two-bay garage into an auto shop and used to work on people's cars. It's something I always wish I had helped him more with. It wasn't for lack of opportunity; he always asked me if I wanted to help him, and I did, sometimes. I know how to change my own oil, I've changed out power steering pumps, water pumps, belts, hoses, changed batteries, spark plugs, carburetors, and even changed out my brake lines with the help of my dad's brother, my uncle Bill.

So I'm not the average schmuck. I've had to, by economical necessity, had to do many of my own repairs on my vehicles. But Emily is the first vehicle I've ever had that was like new when I got her, and she's been good to me, so when it comes to noises like this, I'm gonna take her to the pros, even for just preventative maintenance.

The problem being, it's not always a guarantee that the service be fast (or even at all). I first brought this problem to Brown's on Friday. I had made an 8:30 appointment, and we were there at 8:20. I dropped my girl off and had my partner in crime Tommy drive us to the Super Deli Pot Belly Deli for breakfast. There was an early indication that the day would not meet expectations.

They messed up our breakfasts, which put him in a less than sunny mood. Late with the sausage, his English muffin was under done, my hash browns were practically raw. Sub-par effort at best.

We went home and I spent the larger part of my day off playing X-Box (I know, shocker). As the day wore on, I waited to hear from Brown's, and didn't. By about 2, I was getting a little annoyed. I gave them a call, and left a message (the fact that I couldn't even get customer service was not a happy thing). I received a call at 3:30 that Emily had not, in fact, even been looked at, that the technicians were all wrapped up with other vehicles.

I went and got my girl, along with a promise that I would be absolutely first in line when I brought her back on Tuesday (which is what I am doing here now). In the mean time, I had to drive her to my niece's soccer game (they lost) Party City for my niece and nephew's Halloween costume shopping (holy crowded, Batman!) Panera for dinner (crowded too) and then to my nephew's football game (they lost). What a day for disappointment.

I have the opposite expectations for today. The techs will be able to quickly diagnose Emily's ailment, fix it rapidly, and have me on my way in no time. I am sure of it.


Sunday, October 24, 2010

Open Letter To Fox

Dear Sirs,

Your greed disgusts me. I knew all along that you don't REALLY care about the little guy, you only care about the millions and billions in revenue that your advertisers pay you, so I know it will cause you to lose no sleep knowing that I am absolutely disgusted by your bullying tactics. Knowing that the tools at Cablevision will be hiking up our rates anyway (you greedy corporate types love to raise rates, don't you?) you've simply given them an excuse, a scapegoat for why they are wringing more from us. You don't care that they are getting more from us, you just want your share, like a maggot sucking bile from an infected wound.

It is my intention to begin a different type of boycott of FOX; a COMMERCIAL boycott. When you and Cablevision set aside your petty pissing contest and finally get FOX programming back on the air, I will have already contacted every one of my friends, family, co-workers, associates, and my readers, and ask that they join my commercial boycott. What those joining my boycott will do is this: we will enjoy your programming, because that's not really what you care about. We'll watch shows like Glee, and The Simpsons, Fringe, and the NFL on Fox. And then, just as you go to commercial, we will change the channel. We will intentionally and blatantly refuse to acknowledge any messages from your sponsors. Those with DVR capabilities will fast-forward through your advertiser's commercials. Those that don't will simply mute their television and look away. We'll hold great gatherings in the round, using a large projection TV and a homemade HDTV antenna, to watch Fox HD for free, and turn away to party during commercials. No one who spends money on Fox ad space will get their message heard by any of my followers. And the best part? I ask for no money, and people love things they can do for free, especially when it screws greedy corporate fat cats like yourself.

I invite you to visit my WEBSITE . It's bare bones right now, as I have just started. But I am eager to see how many followers I can attract. It may never reach the kind of resistance needed to get you to acre, It may fail miserably, who knows. But I am eager to try. Come and watch the faces of those you abuse gather and grow in number. Maybe I'll even be able to afford BOYCOTTFOXCOMMERCIALS.COM (EVERY iteration of boycottfoxcommercials is available, and for cheap, too!)

Maybe one day, when I get enough followers, and someone wants to donate enough money to the cause, I'll purchase some commercial time on Fox and do a commercial extolling your greed. And I'm betting if I pay enough, you'll air it, because your network is nothing but a soulless corporate whore.

Tired of being used as leverage,

Kenn Beck

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

R.I.P. Tom Bosley, 1927–2010

The Big Quiz Thing: Tom Bosley, 1927–2010

A fitting tribute to Tom Bosley, brought to you by the Guru of Pop Culture Trivia, Noah Tarnow of the Big Quiz Thing.

Noah said it better than I ever could have. Go easy, Poppa Cunningham.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Fox Vs. Cablevision

Get it worked out before the World Series, or I'm gonna fuck shit up.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

10 10 10

Today is 10/10/10 (as I'm sure has been crammed down your throat by media everywhere).

Two Years, two months, and two days from now, it will be 12/12/12, as I'm sure you can figure out (and yes, I KNOW that next year features 11/11/11, but that's not germane to the point I am making, so don't bother mentioning it). That will likely be the last time most of us will see that phenomenon. You'll need to wait until January 1st, 2101 to see it again. For perspective, any ten year olds reading this will be 101 when it happens.

Enjoy it while you can folks!

Friday, October 08, 2010



For the time being, some of the blog entries here at Smart Centipede may become unavailable for reading (specifically, those having to do with work). The exciting part of that news is that I will very soon be launching a new blog that will focus solely on the trials and tribulations of doing what I do for a living. In the meantime, I invite you to keep your eyes on this and a few other choice blogs that have kept me entertained:

Kimberly Spice's 100 Cups of Coffee: one woman's search for a Prince by dating a bevy of frogs...
Girlbomb's Girlbomb: Explode Your Mind!
Angry Grrl's The Thing Being: A fledgling blog that is gong to be huge, so get in on the ground floor and say you were there from the beginning!
My very own Smart Centipede: Sports Edition: If it's not there, then it's not sporting news... that I care about.
And brand new addition The Window Lean: Your source for music to contemplate (ritual suicide) by.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

What's A Soul Going For Now A Days, Anyway?

(images used without permission.)

I ask because I am currently selling mine for around $30K a year plus benefits, and I want to make sure I'm getting a good rate.

Is it wrong that whenever I get home from work that the only thing I want to do is strike people repeatedly in the face with a tack hammer until their cake hole stops moving? I feel like my entire day is spent wondering how I could possibly gone so wrong to end up in such a soul sucking position in life. The company I work for continually and repeatedly does the wrong thing on every level you could imagine. Every one I speak to tells me a different way to do my job, and many of them don't know how to do their job effectively. Whenever I feel like I am not qualified for my job, I am assured that I am doing well, yet every time I do feel like I've done my job well I get informed that it's not good enough.

I get told that whatever I thought I knew is apparently now wrong. When I complete my tasks quickly and efficiently, I get told that I'm not doing enough. When I take my time, I get told that I'm not doing my job right. I'm told that I need to curb myself, to suppress the thoughts and feelings that I have, while all around me, others complain freely and frequently. I get told I need to not care about my job so much, while all around me apathy and laziness run amok. I get told that I need to be more of a team player, while all around me, priorities are skewed. I get told to stop complaining, while all around me, discord and dissent hum like tracer bullets through the air. I get told I need to be cheerier, while all around me, threats of transfer, demotion, and termination waft like smoke, hanging over my shoulders like a shroud.

It's impossible to get straight answers, fast answers, or correct answers. I get ignored by our HR department when I have a good question, and answered when I ask what I perceive to be a silly question. When they DO contact me with answers to my silly questions, it's some of the dumbest illogic I've ever seen (like them telling me we are open on Christmas Day when clearly, we are not). I'm constantly told one thing, and then hit with another. I can not bring myself to trust anyone, because no matter what I'm told, it ends up being steamrolled under by a new truth the minute it's decided the old truth is no longer convenient. When I do decide to do something selfless, I don't complain about the pain it may cause, because I did it to myself for what I thought was a good cause. But when I DO complain about tasks that cause me pain, I get told I'm "selective" about what hurts.

Pain doesn't matter. Organization does not matter. Keeping a schedule does not matter. My opinion does not matter. My effort does not matter. My spirit does not matter. My complaints do not matter. My plans do not matter. My well being does not matter. My sanity does not matter. My comfort does not matter. All that matters is that I do what I'm told, when I'm told, and shut the hell up about it.

The only thing keeping me in the soul crushing vice of bitterness and hatred I am in right now is that I might not find another job. Not that I am unemployable; I feel like my employer would be foolish to get rid of me, and I hear it to be true from many sources. But people way more qualified than me are still looking for work. I have considered going back to being a custodian. Let me reiterate that; I hate my job SO much that I have considered, seriously and often, going back to a job where cleaning up puke with sawdust is a possible- and PROBABLE- task. If my back weren't in such a state of constant pain, I would likely have applied for that and any number of other physically demanding jobs already.

But I can't. My physical skills are hindered. My design skills are outdated. My phone skills are a matter for psychologists far wiser than anyone I work with to debate. And my people skills have been crushed to a fine talc by the oppressive weight of the hypocrisy of it all. So here I lie, trapped like a bug in sap.

I am waiting for a spark. For a thin glimmer of hope. I am one fat hypnotherapist away from being Peter Gibbons. I am one unscrupulous diagnosis from being Joe Banks.

With that, I leave you with Joe Banks as he leaves his own situation, in one of my favorite moments in movie history, and a moment I hope I can soon resonate with:

Joe quits

Friday, August 20, 2010

Know The Score

Life can be pretty tough. It’s difficult to know who you can trust. Ever since the first time someone told a lie (Psst! Hey, Eve, I bet you could eat this and the big guy wouldn’t even notice, and it’d probably be good in a pie) we’ve struggled with the balance between telling the truth and the fact that our taxes are just too high. Even those traditionally held in the highest moral esteem (the clergy) have been lying for generations (or paying altar boys in Snickers bars to lie for them). And the ones whom we count on to enforce the laws that keep us honest are held in the lowest moral esteem (politicians).

I propose the following: every person is to be fitted with a holographic projector attached to their forehead. Compact and light weight, constructed of the cutting edge in space-age composites, this holographic projector would be powered by a combination of green power sources, such as body heat, motion, and solar energy. It would be free to have installed and free to have repaired. This holographic projector would have one purpose and one purpose only; displaying your humanity score.

Your Humanity Score would be computed automatically, displaying how much of a saint or a prick you really are. Good deeds would increase your score, bad deeds would diminish it. Real time results would flash over the score, like in a video game; get a cat out of a tree, and a (+1) would float up from your projector, and be added to your score, accompanied by a pleasant little “DING!” Steal a lollipop from a baby? A glowing red (-5) would jump out along with a diabolical crash of piano keys.

Sort of like a karmic credit score. It would sure make things a lot easier.

Picture it: You wake up in the morning, and catch the subway to work. You’re standing in the middle when you see a guy nod a greeting to you. He seems pretty friendly, but his score shows a -450. He’s looking to take your wallet, so you move to a different part of the subway.

You get to work and your secretary hands you a report. The glowing +5 over her head means that the TPS Report you’ve been avoiding all week is finished.

You head to the bar after work and see a beautiful blonde smiling at you. She seems interested in you, but her -100 tells you she’s just interested in your bank account. You choose the girl next door with the glowing 300 over her noggin.

The score should dictate status in society. You can cut in line over people with a lower score, because you’re legitimately better than they are! Elections would be a snap. People with higher numbers would be rewarded for their good deeds.

There would have to be some sort of sliding system, though. People who donate things other people gave them to charity solely because they can use it as a tax write-off can’t get as many points as someone who works a double shift to put their kid through college. Likewise, I’d hate to see equal punishment for a serial rapist and a naughty lil’ minx who’s just thinking about what she’d like to do to you when she gets you between the sheets. Maybe the minor, good natured offenses can be in bright orange?

But I’m sure that someone somewhere would find a way to mess with it. I suppose the first people to hack it would figure a way to reverse the scoring system, and give themselves plusses for negative deeds. They’d then sell the hacking service to the wealthiest people, increasing their own scores along the way.

Man, evil pricks screw everything up. I give up. I’ll be at the bar, looking for a red-head with blinking bright orange -1’s over her head whenever she smiles and looks at me.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Note To Self

Write up a bunch of events that happened this year, except change the dates to make it look like I predicted them.

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

Hat Trick

O.K., so anyone who knows me well knows about my long standing love affair with my second home. Southampton College, by and large, is responsible for me being the man I am today (the good parts, not the bitter, broken man working for the bank has made me). During my coaching days, I was given a truckload of free clothes as part of the uniform, many items of which I still wear proudly to this day.

The one thing Southampton College Athletics ever failed to provide me with was a hat that didn't look like something made in the back room of a t-shirt shop by some minimum wage slug with cheetos dust permanently caked under his fingernails. The one hat they did give me was one of those adjustable ones with the buckle and strap. Not even a snap adjuster. This was more like the type of hat a weekend tourist might buy whilst shopping the better stores in town. It was not an athlete's hat.

Unacceptable. As my head is rather large, I have a hard time finding fitted caps that fit. I had long detested the adjustable snap caps, and I liked the buckle adjustables even less. I made it my mission to find a hat that was not only comfortable, but was something I could wear while coaching and not have it appear out of place.

Walking into Lids in Smithaven Mall was like climbing down into the Well of Souls to find the Ark of the Covenant. Or, more accurately, it was like going into that room with all the Holy Grails scattered about. There were hundreds of hats, but none of them looked fit, and none of them were proper for my team needs.

Then I found it.

Penn State's simple S logo could easily be a stand-in for the lack of a proper Southampton logo. The color was a PERFECT match for our school colors, Blue and White (it was missing the Yellow, but I wasn't complaining). It was a Flex-fit™, which, for the uninitiated, means it had an elastic band in the edge. It could STRETCH! Perfect for my oversized noggin. It was relatively cheap, although I would have paid a bundle for it.

That hat has been in my possession for the better part of a decade. It was stretched just right to fit. I wore it not only while coaching, but also while playing. I bought the hat washing frame to keep it in shape. I wore it everywhere it was appropriate, and a few places it wasn't. I even slept in it a couple of times (well, passed out, more appropriately). That hat accompanied me overseas! It has seen more countries than many of my relatives!

It is not in the best of shape. It is permanently stained from all the sweat it has strained through it over the years. It has a tiny frayed spot on the right side of the brim from me taking it off and putting it on so many times, as well as tugging on the brim to adjust it during games. It has a dark smear under the brim that for the life of me I have no idea what it is, it may be pine tar, it may be tobacco, it may be a beetle, and it won't ever come out. But GODS how I love that hat.

Did I mention I was fond of the hat?

It has been missing for weeks. I have been despondent. I have been forced to wear my not quite right fitting red MD hat (Mudd Devils, my former team). I have torn my entire room and jeep apart looking for it. I have searched the entire house. Nothing.

Until today.

It was sitting on the floor, next to the couch, between the couch and the fax machine desk, on top of an old glass chess board. It looked as if it had been sitting there in plain sight the whole time. Which isn't possible, considering that I have looked everywhere for it.

I think it is more likely that whomever took the hat (at this point, I've narrowed the suspects down to the President of BP, the North Koreans, or Benito Mussolini) crept in the house while I slept and slid it down along side the couch. Or a dimensional vortex had opened up and sucked my hat in, and the subsequent return vortex redeposited it weeks later once the alien scientists on the other end were done studying it. Or it became detached from the time stream, and reappeared just this morning.

All that matters is, I have my baby back.

Rejoice, world!

Friday, June 04, 2010

Keep Yer Fucking Kid Gloves

Why is it that no one can fathom the fact that just because I am an emotional guy doesn't mean I am fragile?

I am not a China fucking doll. I am 6'2" tall when my spine is adjusted, topping 250 lbs., and I can punch (and have punched) a hole through a wall if I need to. I am capable of deep, seething anger. I am also capable of deep, unconditional love. Emotions aren't a trip wire, they don't rule my life. I'm not a fucking Vulcan, I'm not a fucking robot. I don't need anti-depressants, I don't need counseling, I don't need fucking pity.

I need to feel, and I'm doing that just fine, thank you. I am a grown man. I know there are those who see me still as a confused kid. They see me get emotional, they see me on the verge of tears, they see me trembling with anger, and they think the emotions control me, that I am still a little boy. They have not the first fucking clue what is going on in my head.

People accuse me of enjoying being miserable. I denied that for a long time. But the truth of the matter is, I DO enjoy being miserable, if the alternative is sitting in a bland little box feeling nothing.

A person very special to me invited me over one night to watch Vanilla Sky. Weird fucking movie. But Jason Lee had it spot on.

"You can do whatever you want with your life, but one day you'll know what love truly is. It's the sour and the sweet. And I know sour, which allows me to appreciate the sweet. Because without the bitter, baby, the sweet ain't as sweet."

It's like Butters from South Park (of all fucking people) said:

"Well yeah, and I'm sad, but at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin' really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I'm feelin' is like a, beautiful sadness."

I just want to be happy for a while. Can't I be happy, and deal with sad when it's sad's turn at the podium?

Friday, May 28, 2010

Maybe We Can Date For A Bit First?

OK, so I am a firm believer that good deeds get rewarded. Maybe not right away, but somewhere down the line, it gets back to you, or as an intelligent co-worker who only occasionally says the silliest things once said, "it gets paid in reverse, you know, the opposite of paid forward?" Some may pronounce that "paid back," but I digress.

I pulled into work and emerged from my jeep, locking the doors and heading towards the building. A derelict looking dude walking in the opposite direction says "hey," to me, so I look over.

"You got a quarter?" he asked.

Now, I've heard this scam a thousand times if I've heard it once. 'I'm short on gas, and I don't get paid until tomorrow,' they say, or 'I haven't eaten in two days,' or 'I'm trying to get home to see my kid.' This guy was likely just seeing if he could get lucky by hitting random saps with a simple question.

I turned and went back to my jeep. Sensing my intentions, the man shifted gears. "I'm just trying to get seventy five cents, I've been up and down this street all morning, I just need a break." I reached into the large travel mug I keep in the cup holder and grabbed for whatever change my hand found. I came out with $1.25 in quarters and a few pennies. I'm not gonna miss it. If it makes someone else's day, might as well, right?

"Here you go," I say, handing him all the change. The pleasant surprise on his face was classic.

"Thanks," he said smiling.

"Have a good day," I say, locking my jeep again.

"You have a better one," he countered.

"Thanks," I answer, turning to walk back to the bank.

"Hey, are you married?" he asks.

"Nope," I reply.

His face loses some of it's glee. Clearly he was hoping for a yes. "Got a girlfriend?"

"Nope," I reply.

Again, you could see this man was confounded a bit. "Well," he finally said after a second or two of contemplation, "I hope you meet one tonight that blows the shit out of you."

So I got THAT going for me. The homeless grifter of Blue Point is praying for my (oral) sex life. What else could a man need to succeed in the world?

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Lost Without You

After six long years, the journey is over.

I remember the first time I saw Lost. I was living at Southampton College, working as an Administrator on Call while working in the Alumni office. As a rabid Alias fan, I would turn on ABC at 8:50 P.M. every Wednesday as I was finishing up what I was doing to be sure that I caught the very beginning of the episode. I had heard about Lost, but hadn't watched it. One night, while in my tiny concrete apartment, I actually sat down and watched the last 10 minutes of the show that had led into Alias. I saw a bunch of people settling down on the beach, resigning themselves to the fact that they were stuck on an island. The music was pretty good, which drew me in immediately. What happened next drew me in further.

The music began to falter. It skipped a few times and then went silent. And Jorge Garcia took off his headphones and set the down next to him. And it hit me how very isolated the writers were making the characters. Not even their SOUNDTRACK was safe.

I was hooked, though I didn't immediately begin watching. I knew it had to be done right.

My sister actually watched the first two seasons before I did via DVD. She told me that the show was great, and that was all the catalyst I needed. I rented the first two seasons and watched quickly enough to catch up in time for the premier of Season 3.

The rest was history. Even though Season 3 was not nearly as successful as the first two (in my mind) I still enjoyed it immensely. The show picked up steam again at the end of Season 3 with the revelation of the flash forwards. Even though season 5 had it's wandering moments, it still held me enthralled.

And now it's over. Season 6 answered a few questions, but left many more unanswered. I am a little melancholy at the moment. I know I'll see Matthew Fox again, but he won't be Jack. We will see Evangeline Lilly again, but Kate is gone. Locke is dead, and Terry O'Quinn just isn't the same. Hurley, Sawyer, Sun, Jin... these characters I have come to be emotionally invested in are gone now. It's as if they've boarded another flight, one that won't ever return. I feel like I've just ended a six year relationship with someone I care for very dearly.

I've been lucky enough to get a second chance with someone I cared for very deeply. It didn't end much better than the first time, but every moment with them was cherished. I know I will watch Lost again, from start to finish, and I will make sure I enjoy every moment of it. I thank the creators, even though I personally think they're a bit jerky, for creating this wonderful world that has so enthralled me.


Thursday, May 20, 2010


OK, so I am enjoying a lil' sun on my lunchbreak, down by my usual relaxation spot.

The guy in the jeep next to me is sleeping. And by sleeping, I don't mean reclined in his seat trying to catch a cat nap. I'm talking full on in the back seat, nasty feet hanging out the window, covered with a blanket, snoring, tossing and turning sleep.

Blanket? It's like 140 degrees out here!

Unfortunately, he woke up and took off before I could get a picture of said nasty feet for you fine folks to gawk at.

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

OK, so it lasted 17 days.

And by IT, I mean THIS.

Spring is upon us. It's beautiful, it's warm, and LOST is almost over. What the hell am I going to do with my life once it doesn't have LOST to kick it around?!?

I'm hoping we'll have nice weather for extended periods of time this spring. We need to get our roof fixed. I lost 9 years of school art work to a leaky ceiling. Devastating loss. As a temporary solution, we have a blue tarp over most of our house. Which is fine, except people keep mistaking us for an IHOP. No, we have no griddle cakes.

Attempting once again to get the blog running on a somewhat regular basis.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Smart Centipede Presents: Out Of Genre Sequels

There has, to my knowledge, been very few examples of a movie series that has switched genres successfully. Alien was a top notch horror movie, and anyone who tells you that Aliens was anything but an action film is deluding themselves. Star Trek: The Motion Picture was a heavily intellectual Sci-Fi movie, while Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan was much more action oriented. First Blood was a tense drama, while Rambo: First Blood Part II was another slam bang action movie. Halloween was a classic horror movie, while Halloween 3, Season of the Witch was a tragic (if unintentional) comedy.

Presented for your consideration, the following are trailer descriptions for the first big wave of genre crossing Hollywood movie sequels.


The year is 2018. The Earth is in trouble. Humanity finds itself on the brink of extinction, having turned their once green planet into a barren, desolate wasteland. The last remnants of civilization are scattered. Among the ruins and decaying survivors, one young girl rises in search of her destiny.

We see her sifting through some rubble of an old house for supplies when a group of ten scavengers surprise her. She looks around for a way out, but the only unattended door leads to the basement. She edges towards it.

"No way out there, girlie," one of her would be assailants chuckles.

"Who said I was looking for a way out?" she asks, smiling. She draws in a breath and lets out a scream, turning the knob. The door opens, and on the other side is complete darkness. From the blackness, we see a single giant eye glaring menacingly, unblinkingly. The screen cuts to black and there is a bloodcurtling roar, followed by the screams of the scavengers being torn apart.

Monsters, Inc. 2: The Path of Boo


We see the crowd at an NFL game. The New Orleans Saints hold a narrow lead against the Washington Redskins with only seconds left on the clock. "That wife you got owe us a lot of money when she die," a gravely cajun voice says off camera.

The screen cuts to a dark room, with a ring of several gangsters standing in a circle around a seated man wearing a Saints t-shirt. "We can't just let that debt go uncollected," the gravel voice gangster says as the camera orbits around the ring of thugs.

The screen cuts back to the game, with the Redskins breaking their offensive huddle and approaching the line of scrimmage. "The money got to come from somewhere."

Cut back to the dark room. "So you gonna help us out. You gonna make sure that your team don't win on Sunday."

Cut to the game, and the Redskins quarterback calls an audible at the line, pointing to the defensive formation. "We got a lot of money on the Saints to lose, son."

Cut to the dark room. "And they gonna lose. Because it would be a shame to see something happen to that lovely momma of yours."

Cut to the game, with the Redskins running back rushing to the right, and the Saints linebacker barreling towards him. "She old. She could be home one day, and hit her head in the tub and drown."

Cut back to the darkened room. "You wouldn't want your momma to drown, now, would you, Bobby?"

Cut to the game, as the linebacker and running back approach each other in slow motion at the goal line. Just before they collide the screen goes black. A wavering, elderly female voice mutters "you... you is de Devil..."

Waterboy II: Sudden Death


As the camera comes up, we see the back of an older man listening to a transcription over an earbud. Suddenly, a woman enters the office. "Dr. Laughlin," she says insistently, "there are some men here to see you."

As the man turns, we see military officers entering the room. "Dr. David Laughlin?" one of the officers asks.

"That's right," he says, removing the earbud from his ear. (played by Bob Balaban)

"We're going to need you to come with us."

Cut to a white room with the camera behind a man sitting at a table. He is bound, and has obviously been heavily sedated. Behind the mirrored glass, Dr. Laughlin is briefed by the officer in charge. "We found him in Wyoming. He insisted on seeing Dr. Claude Lacombe."

"Claude Lacombe is dead," Laughlin replies. "He died shortly after... my God..." he says, looking at the sedated man.

He rushes into the room, despite the cautions from the technicians around him, and grabs the man by the arms. "Roy? What happened to you? We never received contact after-"

"I escaped," the sedated man says, though we still don't see who it is. "I don't know how I got back here. But I need to warn you. Warn them."

"Who, Roy? Who do you have to warn?"

We see Richard Dreyfuss, as he looked 30 years ago. "Everybody."

Screen cuts to a small farm house. As the camera's depth of focus changes, we hear Laughlin's voice ask "Are they coming back, Roy?" The camera's focus finishes on a mailbox with the name Guiler on it. The house, now blurry in the background, lights up with a blinding white light, and the screen cuts to black as we hear Roy's voice say "They never left."

Close Encounters: The Invasion


There are infinite possibilities.

Joker (Matthew Modine) and Animal Mother (Adam Baldwin) in a 1980's Meatballs-style teen camp romp called "Full Metal Jacket Too!"

Cameron Poe (Nicholas Cage) is brought in by Marshall Vince Larkin (Jon Cusack) to track Garland Greene (Steve Buscemi) across a 21 state killing spree in "Con Air: The Greene Pasture."

Brian Johnson (Anthony Michael Hall) must track down who killed his former detention mate John Bender (Judd Nelson) in "Breakfast Club II: Deadly Reunion" (spoiler: it was Carl).

We need to get on this, people.

Saturday, January 02, 2010

Mirror Day

Happy Mirror Day!

Today is 01022010 (01/02/2010). A mirroring like this won't happen again until 11/02/2011, and then again on 12/02/2021. After that, we'd have to wait until 10/21/2101. The last mirroring took place on 10/02/2001.

And none of this matters. I'm just bored.

Friday, January 01, 2010

The New Year

In 2010, I am going to attempt to be more attentive to my creative side. This means more painting, more drawing, more writing, and yes, gentle reader, more blogging. We'll see how long THIS lasts.