Mother of God

Transcript of a conversation with my mom today.

Mom: How are things going? Everything good with the apartment?

Me: No. I've got to get out of there...! It gets way too hot in the summers.

Mom: But it's got such a nice view.

Me: I know...

Mom: You're not gonna find another lake like that.

Me: But it's already getting uncomfortable and it's only May. Then comes June. Then July...!

Mom: I know.

Me: Then August!

Mom: But if you get a house and you try to keep it as cold as you like it, you're going to have a really big electric bill.

Me: It'll be worth it to have a cool place to live for once.

Mom: Our electric bill was $500 one time. We decided t wasn't worth it.

Me: At least you had a taste though. I'd like to have a cool place and then weight the costs myself. It's the only thing I care about. Just having a cool place to live.

Mom: Your last place wasn't cool?

Me: Nope. And neither was the one before that. You know me. I just don't like the heat.

Mom: Then you better make sure you go to heaven.

*silence*

Me: What?

Mom: Talk about heat! (laughs)

Me: That's a weird thing to say.

Mom: I know, but it's true. (laughs)

Me: I'm going to tell my friends that I told you I wanted a cool place to live and you told me I better not go to hell.

Mom: It's gonna be really hot down there! (laughs)

Me: Okay, well, I better get back to work.

Mom: Okay, love you.

Me: Love you too.

--F

GM: "Winner"

First, let me say that it’s not that I DON’T believe in the recession, but I do subscribe to the theory that believing in the recession perpetuates the recession. In the same way that wearing a t-shirt that says “loser” makes you a loser. Oddly enough, this phenomenon only seems to work in the one direction. Wearing a “winner” t-shirt also makes you a loser, though to a much lesser degree, since it’s possible you’re playing the irony angle. The problem there is, if you’re wearing the “winner shirt” ironically, that means you actually think you’re a loser which takes us back to square one.

There’s a tricky relationship that exists between proclamation and manifestation. It’s not direct causality, obviously, because wearing a “sex god” t-shirt significantly decreases one’s chance of having the sex; while wearing a “bi-curious” significantly increases your chance of having some gay sex.

Therefore, based on the complexity and uncertainty involved, one really has to be careful what kind of message one sends into the universe.

As you may have heard, GM announced that they’re closing the door on the Saturn brand in 2011. Obviously, in the face of oblivion, they expected sales might just take a dip, since buying a Saturn now somehow feels like investing in an HD-DVD collection.

To combat this perception, Saturn’s PR and marketing departments put their heads together and took a shot at an ad campaign aimed at setting the record straight. Something bold and grandiose that sets the doubtful at ease, energizes the car-buying public, but doesn’t quite don a proverbial “sex god” t-shirt.

But at the same time, they don’t seem to want to make any claims they can’t back up. The result…

“We’re still here.”

Well played, GM. Way to take a stand.

Unless, of course, you mean it ironically…

--F

Resignation

Dear fanboys,
I would first like to thank you for the opportunity you’ve given me over the last 20 years. I realize being accepted in a group such as yours doesn’t come quickly or easily and I would like to express my utmost appreciation for everything membership has afforded me over the years:

The smug attitude I’m allowed when involved in general discussions about pop culture.

The sense of superiority at knowing the origins of newly acquired Hollywood properties.

The righteous outrage afforded me at the slightest change in said properties in an attempt to appeal to the masses.

It’s been great and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Unfortunately, I feel the time has come for me to move on.

There are many reasons for my resignation and certainly too many to list, but in the interest of recreational courtesy, I will name a few:

We lost our exclusivity. For many years, our group had exclusive rights to countless unique stories and colorful characters that could be enjoyed only by having membership in our ranks. I was all in. There was a time when recalling the tragic events that led to Peter Parker’s life of crime fighting brought a tear to my eye.

Now, all I can see is that kid from “Pleasantville” staring down at the guy who played Hugh Hefner in “Star 80” on the backlot of a Hollywood set.

There was a time when reading Uncanny X-Men was a subversive act of quiet rebellion – when our parents assumed we were reading clean, comic code-approved, campy super hero fare probably like the adventures of Adam West and Burt Ward; but in actuality, thanks to the likes of Claremont, Byrne and Miller, we were reading about characters that felt like real people with real emotions who lived flawed lives, loved foolishly, fought against and sometimes alongside cold-blooded killers, died heroically, tragically and often, and all the while wearing exotic outfits or next to nothing.

Now Wolverine is on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, there’s a Mutant Berry flavor of Slurpee and my mom knows who Kurt Wagner is – she thinks he’s cute.

Even our own fanboy-who-made-good Kevin Smith no longer has a gimmick, since everyone’s writing from the same source material now. There’s even a movie called “Fanboys” that’s SO Kevin Smith, they got Kevin Smith to endorse it – effectively placing Mr. Smith in the ranks of Ron Jeremy, Stan Lee, Robert Englund, Tom Savini and William Shatner – the guys who haven’t really been relevant in years, but you call anyway, not to MAKE your product, but to lend their name to it for street cred.

It’s like when AOLTimeWarner realized they were losing customers left and right to free, web-based email programs and offered AOL subscribers the option of either continuing to pay $14.95 a month for email OR the supposedly less appealing option of free use of the service, but with limited access to all kinds of “exclusive” entertainment news and anti-virus software that were really just a Google search away. Why buy the bandwidth when you can get the inbox for free? Most people join clubs to interact with like-minded people of similar interests. But when your average 45 year old woman knows what Tony Stark does in his free time, your club may not be as exclusive as you think and you may want to reconsider those monthly dues.

We lost our relevance. There was a time when TV and movie executives went out of their way to please us fanboys because they were told that should anyone dare to disrespect the sacred source material, the fan outcry would be so great as shake the very heavens and loosen the bowels of all its angels. And cry out we did.

We complained about bat-nipples, Optimus flames, TINO, Galactus-as-a-cloud, blonde Jessica Alba, X-Men in biker jackets and the missing giant squid. We lamented about organic webshooters, midichlorians, Han shooting first, nuking the fridge and swinging monkeys. We said it was too late for a Simpsons movie and Wolverine was too tall.

And in the end, everyone made money but us.

We learned all too painfully that we can neither float a Hollywood movie, nor can we crash one. If we could, Snakes on a Plane III would be in theatres right now. The decision-makers in Hollywood are slowly coming to realize that displeasing us isn’t going to affect a thing. That in the end, only quality matters. Which brings me to my final point:

We’ve become too myopic. Like the coffee connoisseur who can’t enjoy a 49 cent cup of joe, we’ve become completely out of touch with the people’s sensibilities and therefore, useless. The very fact that many of us thought a 3 hour period piece about superheroes no one’s ever heard of attempting to solve the mystery behind the murder of a tights-wearing, attempted rapist would be box office gold – compounded by the fact that most of our major complaints were about the lack of a climax involving a gigantic squid genetically bred from the brains of psychics that explodes when teleported – tells me that our organization isn’t quite ready for primetime. Except maybe on the Sci Fi Channel – whoops, I mean the Syfy Channel.

In conclusion, I don’t believe the organization continues to accurately represent my sensibilities, and I’m sure, vice versa. So it’s with utmost respect that I must tender my resignation.

As for me, I’m returning to civilian status. I feel that I can do more good for the geek community as one of the masses. I’ve decided that for the time being, I’d find more pleasure in being the common movie-goer/book-reader/comic collector with slightly more insight than you’d expect – than that guy from downstairs with the “Starfleet Academy” sticker on his car who keeps trying to tell me how absolutely anything on “Heroes” can possibly constitute good storytelling.

Fanboys, I have been and always will be your friend. But for right now, I think we should see other people.

Sincerely,

Fantasticles.

LoveBeans

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

I'm sitting down across the dining room table from Inga, trying to type up this week's blog when I realize that I'm in too good a mood to convey accurately how Biblically out of sorts I was at the time of the story I'm attempting to tell. Then, outta nowhere, Inga pipes up with this little nugget:

I'm a little acorn brown
Lying on the cold, cold ground
Everyone walks over me
That why I'm cracked, you see
I'm a nut in a rut. I'm a nut in a rut
--no author listed

No, she's not a mental patient. She's a K teacher and that's the poem the book says the kids will be talking about this week. (PS Keep the kids away from sharp objects till about Friday or so.)

Sidenote - Don't you wish you job was like that? Not Inga's. The kids. How friggin great would it be to amble into work Monday morning, seat yourself down at the big table in the conference room and hear the boss say, "okay, gang... as you all know the economy's in bad shape and no one's immune. We just gotta do our best to make it through this thing and hopefully we'll all get out of this in one piece. At any rate, let's talk about this week's poem: Little Acorn Brown. Jones, any thoughts? And hand me the paste while you're at it."

But I digress.

I bring this up only because it's given a vocabulary to the vibe I had goin' on this weekend. You see, a project I've been working extremely hard to help birth for the past year or so has recently been put on life support by the very people who were supposed to be paying for its post-natal care. What's more, it looks very much like they may be pulling the plug very soon. This would be the latest artistic abortion in the string of creative failures and near misses that litter my resume. Sure, many of my projects have made money and I've carved out a nice life for myself based on that fact. But by and large, most of what I do ends up lost by the time the project hits the shelves. (I dare you to care about THAT).

Anywhom, cut back to Saturday: It's midnight and I'm moping around the house, mumbling, scowling and generally being a shallow douche of a man when Inga tells me to open the pantry. I tell her I'm not hungry, but she insists. She tells me there's s surprise there for me that I was supposed to find on my own but she says it looks like I need it now. I can't blame her after all, considering the sheer amount of douchery I was wallowing in.

I do as she asks/commands and open the pantry. Nothing.

She tells me to dig. I do.

After a few seconds of upending Spaghettios, I find a small can of baked beans with a piece of paper pinned under the lid tab (yes, I like the easy-open cans - lay off). I unfold the paper to find a handwritten note - a list - scribed on one of Inga's many, many, many personalized stationary.

It's a list of things she likes about me. She didn't make it cuz she knew I was in a bad mood. It was already there, just waiting for me to need it.

Sometimes life throws you a bone.

But sometimes, it's lovebeans.

--F

"Little Brother" Theory

In 1949, British author George Orwell published the novel "1984" which is perhaps most famous for its portrayal of government as an ever-present eye, watching and surveying the populace, surreptitiously encroaching on the rights of the people while under the guise of a helpful entity who's always got its sights set on the greater good.

In doing so, the novel also gave us a term we have since popularized as the fear of a government SO over-involved in We The People's affairs that it crushes the privacy of We The People. This term is, of course, BIG BROTHER. The implication is that whatever you do and wherever you go, BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.

Some people see this as cautionary tale; a sharp, satirical warning that We The People must safeguard our right to privacy, lest the powers-that-be take it away. Others have argued that this dark, Orwellian prophecy has actually come to pass under such policies as the Patriot Act etc etc.

But you know what? The old man was wrong.

I live in Florida, the source of 95% of everything that has embarrassed America over the past decade or so, and I can tell you this... when We The People get busted doing something illegal, short-sighted, stupid, unethical, immoral, evil or embarrassing... it wasn't government surveillance that put us on the news...

It was US.

The onset of the digital age has made it easier to record, publish and distribute media than it has ever been in the course of human history. Consider the fact that nearly every cell phone has the capability to record video and nearly every American has access to the Internet. Combine that with our growing national obsession with celebrity of any kind, and you've got a world that even George Orwell never saw coming. A world NOT where Big Brother is always looking over you, but where LITTLE BROTHER is always telling on you.

When Kramer got busted for using the N-word, it was Little Brother that told on him. When a Disney princess gets busted for sexting, it's Little Brother that tells on her. When Michael Phelps gets caught snorkeling in a very non-traditional sense, it was Little Brother that told on him. When a 22 year old decides not to wear undies to the club, it's Little Brother that tells on her. When an American Idol contestant has semi-nude "modelling" photos, has a profile on a gay matchmaking site or gets caught in drag makin' out with another dude in drag, it was Little Brother that told on them too.

TMZ is Little Brother. The Paparazzi is Little Brother. And guess what? Myspace? Facebook? And any other social networking site du jour? Everyone there may not be Little Brother, but that's sure as hell where he hangs out.

Big Brother doesn't NEED to keep an eye on We The People. All he has to do is wait. Sooner or later, Little Brother will have something to report.

So here we are, 60 years after the publishing of "1984" and the future has revealed itself - and talk about your twist endings. The ever present eye encroaching on our privacy wasn't some spooky, shadow cabinet, government entity after all.

It was We The People. And what's more, we've got video to prove it.

--F

"Brain Abs"? Really? THAT's what you came up with?

I'm saying it because I'm guessing that's what YOU'RE thinking. Why would you be thinking that? Because that's what I'D be thinking. And I consider myself a man of the people. And you people? You're my people.

I'm gonna give you a quick rundown about who I am and what I'm about. Why is this important? Well first of all, as we've already covered, I think it's important to you because it'd be important to me, and again, we're peeps, you and me. Besides, I'll be voicing a lot of opinions about a lot of subjects of varying stupidity here and it helps you decide how much weight to lend a thing when you consider the source. So, here's a rundown on your source - code named: Fantasticles.

Firstly, I'm a writer by trade, but first and foremost, I'm an observer; a student of human nature. Knowing and understanding human nature is the fastest shortcut to predicting the future with any degree of accuracy. I watch you people (by which I mean US people) from the sidelines. I try not to pass judgement to the extent that it's humanly possible, but at the end of the day, I calls 'em likes I sees 'em. Sometimes what I see is pretty, sometimes it's not. Sometimes it's important; many times, it's not. But most of the time, it's just amusing - to me at least (by which I mean you).

I study punctuation and grammar religiously, which is to say, I grew up with it, have a basic understanding and affection for it, but think about it seriously only about once a week and usually only when I'm in trouble. Besides, I have an assistant who usually helps me with that kinda thing. She won't be touching Brain Abs, though, so propare yoyrself fo rsome fabluous spellong.

I'm the kind of guy who gives credit where credit is due, even if I think the credit is due to a total douche. By the way, Kanye West has some great songs.

I've been told I'm a fan of the word douche, so chances are good that Brain Abs will feature it often. I am currently looking into sponsorship possibilities with Summer's Eve.

And lastly, I'm a guy who's spent too much time writing one kind of thing lately and just needed to brush up on my chops. Doing what I do for a living for too long will turn your brains to mush unless you can break the pattern every once in a while. So, like a muscle on the verge of atrophy, I've decided to give my brain a much-needed workout. My goal is to post something once a week at first and slowly work my way to posting something once a day. Hopefully, along the way, I'll manage to sculpt my spaghetti-like mind muscles into something that won't be embarrassed to go shirtless at the community organ pool. With any luck, by the end of this world wide net blog, my brain will be totally ripped, by which I mean YOUR brain, because again, we're peeps, you and me.

How do I know we're peeps? Easy. If you're still reading this, we're peeps. If not, we're not peeps after all. And you may just be a douche.

But don't fret, I'll still give you credit when it's due.

-- F