WTF

Didn’t You See Me?

~ lobablanca

So in all my excitement over “the most wonderful time of the year” for me, I forgot to mention my traffic altercation.

Friday afternoon, my boss came in around 3 and said, “Why don’t you go home early?” Seriously? Early Halloween treat!! Score! So I packed up my junk and happily headed out to Sammy for the commute. I had dinner plans later in the evening, but I decided that I would just burn up some time perusing the books at a Barnes and Noble near where I was heading rather than trudge all the way home. Any excuse to look at books, right?

Traffic wasn’t too bad on the Beltway, but I reached the exit to the main thoroughfare I needed to get where I was going and things started looking grim. Apparently, I’m not the only one who got to bail on work early that day, fo’ sho’.

So traffic is snooching along at a sluggish pace with spurts of total traffic light stoppage. At one particularly long red light, I kind of zone out a bit, staring out the front window while listening to a podcast. Then I feel Sammy lurch forward. I immediately think that I’ve somehow become so distracted that I’ve let my foot slip from the brake a bit. I strengthen my pressure on the brake, but I happen to glance into my rearview mirror as I’m doing so.

Behind me, there’s a woman sitting in her car, gesturing at me with a “homeless crazy” kind of frenetic energy. She then gets out of her car and starts marching over to my driver’s side window. That’s when I realize that the lurch was not my error; apparently, Sammy just got bumper-kissed.

I roll down my window, prepared to say something like, “I don’t think you hit me hard enough to get that worked up,” but before I can say a word, she starts yelling at me!

“Didn’t you see me?”

Um. Didn’t I see you what? Hit me?

So I put Sammy in park and turn on his hazards. The light is still red, but I want to be cautious. “Homeless Crazy” is still yelling, “Didn’t you see me?” in a huff that indicates she truly believes that I was somehow at fault for being one of the four cars ahead of her, stupidly stopped at a red light.

So I turn to look her in the eyes and state as clearly and obviously as possible, “You. Hit. Me.”

She suddenly just stops talking to me and turns to go look at her car. Not mine. Hers. I follow, look at her bumper and then mine. Nothing. No dents. No scratches. Not even rubber marks from her bumper caps. Nothing. I didn’t expect there to be anything. It really was the most incidental of taps. Definitely nothing worth the hassle of having to deal with her.

I look up, prepared to hear her ask her ridiculous question again, and I see that she’s gotten back into her car! I decide that this is probably for the best since I don’t really feel like dealing with her anymore and having her kill my Halloween buzz, so I do the same.

Only, as I’m putting Sammy back into drive and getting ready to go, I glance again into my rearview mirror. “Homeless Crazy” woman is snapping a photo of the back of my car before zipping into the next lane and passing me!

WHATHAFU?

Now, believe it or not, I’m actually quite used to seeing people snap photos of Sammy’s derriere. I have two items on his bumper and trunk that people find particularly amusing. In fact, the other day I nearly backed over a teenager who thought that it would be a good idea to squat down to snap a photo right before I started to back out of a parking spot. Don’t they even pretend to teach common sense in schools anymore?

I don’t think “Homeless Crazy” was at all interested in Sammy’s baubles, though. I’m not sure exactly what she was up to, but you can bet that I immediately called my insurance company. I refuse to have some nutter try to scam me or Sammy. As I explained the altercation, my insurance agent actually started to laugh. Good sign, right? So she made a note in my file and promised that if anyone contacted them regarding an “accident” involving my car, they would let me know.

So, there you go. I continued on to Barnes and Noble, where I roamed about longer than I anticipated (surprising, I’m sure) and bought a book of favorite scary stories as listed by famous modern-day scary story authors. Not a bad ending to this tale, no?

And hopefully, this really is the end of it. I’ll be sure to let you know if it’s not…

Dead Guy in a Little Coat

~ lobablanca

It’s not a new thing for companies to resurrect deceased actors to plug their merchandise. Fred Astaire came back for one more dance…with Dirt Devil cleaners. His Funny Face co-star Audrey Hepburn was reanimated for some dancing as well, to advertise skinny black pants for GAP. And, as if their beer wasn’t reason enough to stay away from them, Coors did the ultimate in tacky by bringing back The Duke to hawk Coors Light. Really, guys? Do you think Marion Morrison would drink your skunky light beer?

But this latest one? It made my soul shrink a little bit from the sheer misery of it all.

What. The. Hell.

It’s one level of tacky to bring back long-gone actors for some forced product shilling. But Chris Farley has barely been gone more than a decade. Never mind too tacky…isn’t this simply WAY too soon? And David Spade? We all know that you pretty much lost your meal ticket when Chris died, but this really nailed that fact home in a huge, ugly way. You’re still riding his gravy train, man, and now it’s not just sad…it’s sick.

I love Tommy Boy. I think it’s one of the greatest movies to come from a former SNL cast member. Chris Farley was a brilliant physical comedian with demons far larger than even he could tackle. But what he left behind still makes me laugh (and occasionally cry out “Holy Schnike!”). To see his work reduced to nothing more than background noise to Spade’s Direct TV spiel? To quote Tommy Boy, “Richard, what’s happening?!”

Bouncy Sunday

~ lobablanca

No real explanation or reason for this one, denizens. October has been a pretty Trek-less month so far, and so I thought a little Janeway bounce would do the trick. I also wouldn’t mind some of that coffee she’s bogarting…

Dis-temper

~ lobablanca

Know what makes me tired? How so many recent events have proven that we are a society trapped in a downward spiral of uncontrolled rudeness and stupidity. What am I talking about? Why, what everyone else is talking about, of course: Joe, Kanye, and Serena, oh my!

We start out with Rep. Joe Wilson’s outburst during Obama’s address to Congress. It was disrespectful, yes. Then again, so were the Democrats who booed George W. Bush during his State of the Union address in, I believe, 2005. Wilson, however, is also being labeled racist. (Those booing Democrats, in case you’re wondering, were never labeled moronists.)

I’ve gone over this one before, but apparently I’m screaming into the wind yet again. Now even former presidents are getting in on the racism tagging. To Obama’s credit, he refuses to take this tired, stale bait. Perhaps because he realizes that this is simply another smokescreen to detract our attention away from an honest debate about important issues. Kind of on the same level as death panels and tea baggers (yes, please giggle if you must at that one).

That’s what Republicans are guilty of at this juncture: not being blatantly racist. No, their specialty is fearmongering as a smokescreen to deflect attention from real issues. How do you think they convinced half the country to re-elect Dubya even though he didn’t have enough qualifications to be elected school crossing guard? Fear. “If you don’t vote for George W. Bush, the gay terrorists will invade and turn all your children into gym teachers and nancy boys! And they’ll do a FABULOUS job of it!”

Same difference now. “Obama’s health plan will mean Great Aunt Myrtle will have to be put to sleep because she’s too old! Obama’s going to personally euthanize her! Then he’s going to turn her into Soylent Green and serve her to the unemployed!”

Okay, that last part was a bit over the top…but so are the death panels. What purpose does this kind of panic serve beyond the obvious of detracting from intelligent discourse? Yeah, like we’re capable of such a thing in this country.

Actually, though, I’m derailing myself. I’m not here to talk more about the universal health care issue or all the other political piffle that’s been irritating me. It’s too early in the day to get my blood pressure that high. No, because now we move from Joe Wilson to Kanye West. I don’t want to say much about him, because he’s really not worth a lot of commentary. I’m simply acknowledging that he was a big douchewanger…yet again. But then there’s Serena Williams threatening to cram a “fucking ball” down someone’s “fucking throat.”

All righty then. Women, we still don’t make the same pay for doing the same work as a guy, but we’re now able to throw tantrums in the sports world, like the big boys do! Just like Mary Tyler Moore, looks like we’ve made it after all!

Now, of course, all three of these hotheads have apologized. It took Serena a little longer, but she finally came around (after much pushing from her agent and others within her financial inner circle, I’m sure; we mustn’t tarnish ourselves too much or the money won’t keep rolling in). And now all will be forgiven (well, at least for Kanye and Serena; Joe’s going to keep getting dragged through the racist ringer a bit longer).

But why should we accept their apologies? Better yet, why should we tolerate this kind of behavior at all? Why shouldn’t Joe Wilson be censured? Hell, why weren’t the booing Jackasses..er, Democrats from 2005 censured? It’s the State of the Union, not a pep rally! Why shouldn’t Serena Williams be told she’s out the rest of the tennis season? Yeah, she was fined. $10,000. Wow. That’s pretty much the equivalent of fining one of us mere mortals a dime.

(Why am I not trying to punish Kanye? I think he’s punishment enough, both to himself and to anyone who listens to his music.)

Why am I bothering to rant about this, as if what I say here is going to make any difference? Will Serena read this and realize the error of her ways? Will Kanye tweet me his apology for being a wanker yet again on national television? Will Joe Wilson care that a Democrat outside his jurisdiction is commenting on him? Why should he? He’s raised more than a million dollars thanks to his outburst. And Kanye got me to talk about him (because Lord knows I sure wasn’t talking about his music). And Serena? Hell, she earned $350,000 just for getting to that match where she had her little meltdown. She’s a winner no matter what the score, if you ask me.

Which, of course, no one did. But I shared anyway, because that’s the kind of wolf I am. Now it’s back to work. I promise I won’t try to shove my mouse down anyone’s throat, although if you’d like to pay me $350,000, I’ll see what I can do. I do have that infamous red-haired temper working in my favor…

Remake Me Sick

~ lobablanca

NO!!! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!

I just checked my tracking info and saw a highly disturbing keyword search, spawned by one of my recent Flashback Friday entries: “Poltergeist remake.”

NO!!!!!!!!!!!

Dammit, no. This is my perfection. This is the movie that placed me on my horror movie journey. This is my first. Now Hollywood is going to muck it up, like they did Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, and now Freddy Krueger. The Poltergeist remake hasn’t been cast yet, but MGM has announced that they’re hoping for a Thanksgiving 2010 release date.

Who do I have to contact in Hollywood to make them stop this? Some things shouldn’t be tampered with. This movie is one of them. What next from my childhood? Jaws? Gremlins? Adventures in Babysitting? “Don’t fuck with the babysitter” is more than just a line from the movie, guys.

All I have to say is this: If I hear even the tiniest rumbling of a rumor about Blade Runner being remade, something horrifying will happen. I’m not saying what, but it will involve cutlery and Tabasco sauce.

Is That Really What I Think It Is?

~ lobablanca

You might as well settle in for more geekery. I’m in that kind of mood right now.

So I’m finally watching my Voyager discs that I showed off here a while ago. Actually, I’ve skipped the first three seasons and gone straight for the Borg jugular. Season 4 was around about the time that I stopped watching the show the first time around. I’m slowly learning that this decision was definitely my loss. As off-putting as I originally found the character of Seven of Nine to be, I’m discovering that Jeri Ryan indeed brought more to the show than a catsuit with heels and a padded bra. I’ve seen quite a few of her episodes throughout the remainder of the series, thanks to SpikeTV, but now I’m filling in all the remaining gaps. So far, so good.

However, as I was watching an episode yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice something very familiar being used in a very…different way. I know that in the past, set designers have used various everyday objects as futuristic devices. Several of Dr. McCoy’s instruments were in fact re-dressed salt and pepper shakers from Roddenberry’s personal collection. And the TNG first season episode “Arsenal of Freedom”? Those targeting weapons that attack the away team are nothing more than plastic tubing and shampoo bottles.

Nothing wrong with either instance. It’s just set designers and props people getting their creative juices flowing a bit. But then there’s the vegetable peeler that Tom Paris used to repair Seven of Nine’s damaged hand in the episode “Revulsion.” Don’t believe me? Take a look:

Seven, we're going to have to peel away this damage...
Seven, we're going to have to peel away this damage...

Now tell me that doesn’t look like a stainless steel vegetable peeler with a pinkish glow added in post-production! Need another look?

This is how we cure tuber-culosis. Get it? Tuber...potato...cuz this is a peeler. No? Damn humorless Borg...
This is how we cure tuber-culosis. Get it? Tuber...potato...cuz this is a peeler. No? Damn humorless Borg...

That, my friends, is a potato peeler if I ever saw one. A futuristic-looking peeler, true…but come on, guys. Dress it up a little bit more! At least make me work to figure out what kitchen utensil is being used in sickbay!

GenX-cessive: Ghost Adventures

~ lobablanca
Never fear! My crotch flare and ripped physique will protect us from ghosts!
Never fear! My crotch flare and ripped physique will protect us from ghosts!

It’s been a while since I visited this particular topic…and since this is only the second entry and it’s about another Travel Channel show, it must seem like I’m focusing all my ire on one of the few channels that I still watch with any frequency. Don’t worry. There’s enough anger within this wolf’s warp core to break the Travel Channel barrier soon enough.

Right now, though, this is the show in my line of fire. First, let me point out that I love scary things. Scary books, scary movies, scary music, scary coworkers…love it all (well, maybe not the coworker part). I always have. Even before I was assimilated into the Star Trek Collective, I was a horror hound.

Additionally, within recent years I have become addicted to many of the “reality” ghost shows out there, starting with another Travel Channel offering, the British BS of Most Haunted, right down through Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State, The Scariest Places on Earth…hell, my obsession probably started with the scary episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. I know that most, if not all, of what is seen on these shows is either faked or edited to be more than what it really was, but I still find them fascinating.

As for what I believe in regard to the paranormal, supernatural, otherworldly, or whatever…I’m not really sure. I’ve experienced things that, I’m sure if I thought about them long enough, I could come up with a logical explanation for them. But would that be me just trying to rationalize something that really was irrational? Or me getting a grip on reality rather than letting myself be swept away by the fantastical? I’m not really sure.

I do know this, though: If the afterlife is real and I was somehow stuck in that netherworld and forced to walk this earth as a spirit, the last thing I would want is to have my sanctuary disturbed by these douchewangers from Ghost Adventures.

These three are the most insipid, ridiculous, posturing assclowns ever to enter the paranormal reality show genre (and that’s a huge feat since they share this genre with the likes of Derek Acorah). I suspected as much when I heard them being marketed as “Extreme Paranormal Investigators.” The word “extreme” makes me want to vomit. Why does everything for my generation have to be “extreme”? No, I’m sorry… EXTREME!!!!1!!1!!!

Whatever. I’ve actually watched several episodes of Ghost Adventures. Yes, I secretly am masochistic. The premise itself is quite intriguing: Three investigators are locked inside a location that is presumed to be haunted, with no camera crew, no additional staff, no nothing. Just them, their equipment, and the possibility of paranormal activity that they must find before sunrise. What could have been an amazing premise in the hands of actors able to inspire a sense of competency and intelligence is instead a clusterfuck of testosterone-induced strutting and screaming strung together by the ever-present bleat of curse words being censored out. It’s boring. It’s tedious. It’s predictable. It sucks.

Final analysis: If you like paranormal things like I do but have no patience for predictable Gen-X drivel, definitely skip Ghost Adventures. The Mystery Inc. gang is more professional in their ghost hunting than these piles of smegma. Check out A&E’s Paranormal State or Syfy’s Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. Sure, they’ve all been edited down to meet viewer expectations, but at least these shows offer something a bit more intelligent than “Holy shit! Oh my god! I am fucking out of here, dude!”

Indeed.

If You Look Hard Enough…

~ lobablanca

You know the old adage, “anyone can be offended if they’re looking hard enough”? So there’s this poster floating around out in Los Angeles of Barack Obama as The Joker. In case you’ve missed it, here you go:

obamasocialism

Not a bad piece of PhotoShop work, no? Seems, though, that there are those out there who want to turn this into something racist. The Washington Post even dedicated an entire article to an attempt to make this into a valid argument.

Really? Way to help hammer in those final nails into journalism’s coffin, guys.

We get it. President Obama is half-Black. Why does this have to mean that every comment or criticism directed toward his presidency must stem from racism? Is this how we’re going to spend the next 4-8 years? Having to listen to droning, dimwitted pundits and witless op-ed dolts who want to ignore the chance at greater political commentary because obviously every criticism has to really be because he’s half-Black?

You know, back in my Angry BloggerTM days, I turned Bush into the Joker, too. Don’t believe me? Check it out:

I also turned Condoleeza Rice into Catwoman. Wait a minute! Obviously, this is a racist comment about her being Black…you know, because black cats are unlucky, so obviously I was implying that she’s unlucky because she’s Black. Gott in Himmel! My eyes are opened and I see that I, too, am a blatant racist! Where must I go to confess my sins?

Yeah.