Saturday, March 21, 2015

I believe it was around the middle of June, Salt Lake City, was in a brutal heat wave, everyday seemed to clear triple digits. My car at the time was a 1998 Oldsmobile, 88, named "Dolly" she had some work done cosmetically and internally, she was an aging, national treasure that represented everything that makes 'Merca, the greatest country in the world. 

The stop and go traffic, mixed with intervals of air conditioning, one-hundred plus degree weather and the 295,000 miles underneath her hood left her a little hot and rattly at times. I began to consume podcasts in my longer commutes; I needed something to keep my mind off the miserable heat and constant fear of being inside Dolly when she finally croaked for good, oddly enough this is not innuendo. On this particular day I was listening to Adam Carolla, as he was going on and on with a repetitive rant about sports; not the instant Huey Lewis classic; that Patrick Bateman so brilliantly lectures Paul Allen about in "American Psycho", but just your run of the mill four major sports: football, basketball, baseball and hockey? You know, jock shit, brah.

The summations of Carolla’s rant was that the reason people [he] love[s] sports, is that the only thing that matters is who can play. Race doesn't matter. We saw Linsanity take over a sport with a hugely black and urban majority of players and fan base. Think about how crazy that is for a second, you have an Asian player who went to Harvard take over the NBA. It is literally the exact opposite of the plot to the film "Trading Places". (This would make Landry Fields Dan Akroyd/Jamie Lee Curtis?)

Age doesn't matter. Peyton Manning is having the greatest season a QB has ever had in the history of the NFL and he is 37. At 37 he is on pace to star in more Papa John's commercials than any other season and win the MVP, it's the equivalent of when another GOP enthusiast, Clint Eastwood, won the Oscar for Unforgiven at the ripe old age of 114. As long as you can play that's all that matters.

Racism doesn't matter. There are countless athletes that have spewed so much hateful garbage that you would think they completely forgot about the Civil War and the Civil Rights Movement; this is excusable if you hail from Texas, where history text books have been “tweaked”. Alas even racism is forgiven. Just a few months ago a video of Riley Cooper or "Coop" as no fans call him, went viral with him dropping the "N" word. Not the "N" word that ends with an "a" and Jay-Z rhymes with jigga but the "er" kind that was repetitively used in "12 Years a Slave".  Philly fans for the most part as well as the Eagles, led by Don Henley, I mean Michael Vick, have forgiven Coop, and now Coop is catching touchdowns. AGAIN, as long as you can play that's all that matters.

I play sports regularly but it is not my profession, I have amassed my gargantuan fortune [sarcasm] as a lineman, not as a football lineman but a man who cooks food on a line. I have done everything from sushi to sauté. Either you’re selling crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot, or neither and you have to work at a restaurant. For the majority of us working in a restaurant is “Friendville” with someone you want to be more than a friend. You take a step back and wonder, what wrong turns did I take to wind up in Friendville? The restaurant is our Friendville; what series of wrong choices did we make to find ourselves in this beyond beleaguered, nefariously underpaid profession where the terrible hours are nothing compared to our lack of health care. Working a line is like going to war, and with that being said…

I have and would go to war with anyone who can hold his or her own. If they had my back, I had theirs. I have gone to war with: old men, old women, lesbians, (lipstick and butch) gays, (top and bottom) people of all races, people of all income brackets, republicans, racists, democrats, people with tonsils and people without tonsils. Whether it is front of the house or back of the house, it is more diverse than even the most calculated ad for the Gap. You could have a hostess working nights in high school take you to your table, be waited on by a gay waiter with multi-colored hair, have your order made by a 58 year old illegal immigrant named Consuela, and the supplies were delivered to the restaurant by a driver who just got back from a tour in Iraq. 

My old Chef, Brett, was a culinary genius. His litmus of food was only challenged by his knowledge of music, with an emphasis on classic rock. Brett, was a above average height, slender man, with a long pony tail that reached his lower back and shaved sides which he referred to as his “hillbilly white walls”. Brett, had a coarse voice, naturally full of base only amplified by 40 years of smoking, Brett was 47 by the way. His labyrinthine lines of facial hair was constantly being stroked by his thumb and index finger while he tried to make sense of the tickets as they poured in at an unimaginable pace during a lunch rush. Brett, as brilliant as he was, followed suit with the rest of the cliché chef traits, mainly he was a fucking asshole and suffered from crippling alcoholism. For everything that Brett lacked in coping mechanisms and emotional stability he made up for in his love for his sons. Three boys ranging in age from 13-19, all of them different and excelling in everything from sports to music. He knew he never had a chance but if he played his cards right his children would erase him and become his new litmus.

A few years ago Brett, learned he fathered a son he never knew. I don’t recall his name so I will give him a Hunger Games name, that seems to be popular at the moment, how about… Cobblestone Habberdash… We’ll call him Dash for short. Dash, had all the shortcomings your typical life growing up with out a father would so generously provide you with. Dash, needed a job and luckily his father ran a restaurant. In no time Dash, was behind the line with his old man; only culinary brilliance and gastro passion did not appear to be hereditary. Dash, struggled mightily in nearly every measurable category and wasn’t strong in the intangibles and instincts you look for in someone so green. Brett, had no choice, Dash, was let go. Brett knew if his line fell, prep would have to be pulled from the back to help the line, if prep fell behind, the menu would be stripped, with no menu, no customers and no customers=no jobs. 

It doesn't matter if you are the child of the late and great Dr. Jerry Buss, if you can't ball you don't play, you're not starting over: Shaq, Kobe, Kareem, Magic, hell you're not starting over Smush Parker. It's as simple as that. These rules are borderline laws because we are talking about multi-billion dollar industries, with championships, fan bases, jobs, not just their jobs but front office jobs as well, general managers and coaches botch draft picks and the developments of players all the time and pay with their jobs. We are not talking about little league here. The New York Knicks have made headlines this season due to under performance and nepotism. Stand out 6th man, J.R. Smith, allegedly finagled his highly under qualified little brother a roster spot, in the off season the Knicks lost Chris Copeland, a big man that had a team friendly salary and would have helped fill the void left by the injuries and limited minutes of big men Amare Stoudemire and Tyson Chandler. This nepotism has cost the team any shot of a future this season. The entire season for a fan base and organization gone because they ignored the unwritten rule of sports.

There are a lot of parallels in the sports and the service industry. The most glaring of all being that the majority of the people in these industries, couldn't succeed doing anything else and they wouldn't feel comfortable in any other profession. It is an industry for those who don't really fit in to the corporate norm, maybe we want neck tattoos, maybe we hate waking up before noon, maybe we swear like roughnecks, maybe we keep it too real, and maybe we’re gay? Wait-what?

So why if in sports and the restaurant industry where so many people start at the very bottom of society as outcasts and misfits, we are kindred spirits in so many ways. Why no gays in sports? If Michael Jordan were gay would he have been any less skilled? If Peyton Manning were gay would he not hit his receiver as dee--- actually let's use a different analogy. If Mesi had a boyfriend would he be any less skilled with the ball? The NFL has rapid declining little league numbers, this dwindles their talent pool, with already declining numbers do they NEED to be the progressive sport to survive another generation? Will children growing up want to risk concussions for a bigoted sport?

When you exclude any from participating are you slowing the growth. If Stern wanted to cement his legacy and globalize his sport, if Goodell wanted to go down as a saint as opposed to a villain in the annals of history, if Selig wanted to be relevant for generations, if whoever the hockey commissioner is wanted an up and coming part time writer to learn his name; simply find a gay superstar, be the trailblazer, heck make them a Portland Trailblazer, they have a liberal community. There are only so many Jackie Robinsons and Jackie Robinson moments left in history, jump on board and write your name in the stars.

The younger fan bases and players become the closer we get, the more of the buying power we will possess, the older perhaps more close minded higher income earners will eventually cease to exist. I personally feel like everyone I know, even if they use to oppose the gay rights movement has started to come around. Even my catholic, Mexican mother, has come around I don't know anyone under the age of thirty that has any serious issue with the equalization of gay rights and I live in UTAH!!! The more we make it the “norm” and logically and pragmatically talk about these things, the more footing we gain. The advancement of gay equality in sports and in life go hand in hand, they feed one another. We strive towards human equality, and if we are so close, a gay sports superstar may be the straw that breaks the camels back. We have gay: heads of state, actors, musicians, scientists, doctors, entrepreneurs, philanthropists and even clergymen. A sports super star is the final frontier; it can knock the door down to equality across the board. We are all waiting for you. Be the hero you are destined to be.

The average age of the Utah Jazz is 24.9. The top 3 picks in the upcoming NBA draft are presumably in some order: Jabari Parker, Andrew Wiggins and Marcus Smart their average age is 18 and 10 months. Stephen Curry, is the face of a franchise for a team that’s about to move the gayest city in the world. These aren’t the players your grandpa grew up watching, this isn’t George Mikan, these players are listening to Macklemore & Lewis, they are on Twitter, they wear hipster glasses, care about their brand perception, are VERY fashion savvy and if I were to make a Seinfeld reference to them, they probably wouldn’t get it. I am 28 years old and have a 5-year-old daughter; which means in that the draft class of 2016 will be closer to my daughter’s age than to me. They will roll their eyes at us when we try to explain to them the brilliance of a Simpson’s joke, Nirvana will be playing on the oldies station, entire meals will come in pill form and  will not be close minded bigots.

The Sports Guy and soon to be Sports Czar, Bill Simmons, believes we are right around the corner from a gay superstar. Although looking at his football picks, he should be trying to jinx it. I for one will be proud to call myself a sports fan, knowing that I support the most progressive industry in the world; an industry that welcomes the underdog and the outcast with no way out, and gives them a means to create opportunity for others who by nearly any other means would not have one.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Jack Donaghy, is Never Wrong

The latter years of my life are no longer spent naming the ripples on my triceps; let the record show that the large one was, Alvin and the smaller ones were the "chipmunks." This is a reference based on the fact that, Alvin was the ringleader, Theodore clearly has the most mass. However, this isn't a blog about chipmunks, this is a blog on how I have come to realize the wisdom that an, Alec Baldwin played character has taught me. There is a certain time in the lifespan of a couple when you and your partner decide to get old and begin staying up late during the week and sleeping on the weekends. If I had been writing this blog 15 years ago, it would more than likely have had a title relating to "Mad About You," and that would've made it a gay blog (gay fag not gay homo) and my girlfriend and I, Mormon.

 You look so hot in those, let's populate!

Well we are not Mormon and I'm certainly not a closet gay with a fetish for interracial, same-sex cream-pie porn, in which, misbehaved, green-eyed Latinos are taught harsh/lubeless lessons. Nope. This blog will be about 30 Rock. (kinda)

I say kinda because this entry is not really about 30 Rock and because "kind of," is for fucking squares. Mad About You, may have been stupid but without it we wouldn't have the lifeblood of domicile relationships, Netflix. You see couples in the mid 90's stayed up and watched MAY. It was a show about a white couple, that was rare in the fact that it didn't have a brilliant ensemble case, i.e. Friends, Frasier and came about in a time where you could make it being a mediocre show about two whites, i.e. Dharma and Greg and we had yet to reap the luxuries/consequences of being a society with countless options at our fingertips. All those couples watched MAY because they didn't have a choice. When you're younger and you start dating; every experience with that person is an audition in winning his or her heart. You don't sit around watching MAY, you go to dinners, movies, scavenger hunts (Amazing Race, training), you get away on the weekends, concerts, etc. Unless you are the heir of a railroad baron or something of the sort, you can't keep this up forever. Depending on how liquid you are, you got 6-12 months. Tops.


Fucking Really?

Once the fruits of your labor have paid off and both of you are in a place of agreement about your futures, you bunker down and you start working towards your joint aspirations. Why drop $100 on a fancy dinner when you can use that loot towards: insurance, rent, saving for a house, etc. (clearly events that call for ABC sex are an exception*.) Now that you have switched to a future mode of life that doesn't involved being frozen in carbonite;

 You may laugh Jaba, but his home is gaining equity like crazy!

you will have plenty of time to dwell on your couch: doing homework, getting fat and watching Netflix. The true Netflix gem, with the exception of, Breaking Bad is 30 Rock. In Season 5, Episode 6: Gentleman's Intermission, Jack tells, Liz Lemon that it is wired in men by evolution to cheat. Scientists have proven this to be true; it optimizes the chance for the survival of our species. However, there is another evolutionary mechanism that isn't inherent, it is earned, it is Love.

Through love we stay with our mate even if a better suitor decides to sunbathe in our cross hairs.

 Sorry Palin, you're sexy on the real, but I'm in love.

It helps us stay even when it doesn't make the most sense. It can at times outweigh the other evolutionary mechanisms, even the need to self preserve. (you know that things that keeps us from igniting a dynamite tiara and ending it all?) When you are an alpha and baptized in hubris, you lack those feelings. You have evolved beyond the feelings and thoughts of the ignorant(s) who are merely there for your beleaguering. At least that's what you think. Until one day you meet the person who will undo all your macho mechanisms and make you as weak as the simpleton you once despised.

This happened to me, two years ago, on a cold night, in a Dee's. (Freaky) I knew from the moment I first sat down and fell victim to the siren song of two large doe eyes that I might as well be in a fuckin' Bryan Adams video. You hear your entire life about the "look" that women give when they have reached honey badger status;

the look has been around since the days of Greek mythology and countless men since have fallen victim and turned to stone.

 Greek men can be so silly sometimes.

I was the unstoppable, Perseus, little did I know I was just being rendered helpless by a different kind of look.

 A doe eyed look without all the murder that a deer possesses

Coping with grief, primarily death, comes in five steps: denial, bargaining, anger, depression and then acceptance. I can't really say for certain that I would act this way in coping with a death, I have never had to. I can for certain tell you the steps of how I fell for Lauren, there are three: pessimism, denial and then surrender. I'm talking about serious surrender, like a puppy laying on his back and exposing his genitals and ever so penetrable abdomen to a rival.

So has been the story for the past two years, a vulnerable life requiring absolute trust to live in. Sharing a home, or to those astrologers out there, a shell. I am a Cancer, born on July 17th. I am a secluded homebody, a social leper. I view people in my personal space in much the same way minorities love paying their bills**, I fucking hate it. But through the same visionary direction and goal, a goal of minimizing the nights not sleeping side by side and saving countless hours of driving time (for Lauren) we moved in together. I now know that socks go in pairs and that litter boxes should be cleaned out, even more importantly so I have learned that trivial things such as a shower is better crowded and arguing over the water temperature can be both endearing and enraging. That golden showers are better when the pee is free and not from an 64 year old Cambodian man you paid three ham sandwiches to.



What is truly so special about my bond with Lauren, is that it is truly unexplainable within a context that is comprehensible to our feeble minds. We are our the astrological ying and yang to one another. Caner/Leo and Leo/Cancer; in a way that is simultaneously very and not very Jerry Maguire**, we complete one another. I could literally go on forever about all the minute things that Lauren, does to make my existence a much more pleasant one; barring the fact that the gaps of time in between these actions are micro. Not that I don't appreciate her, I do. I would even trade my consistent 2x a day shitter status for her. Hell, I would shit like a girl with an eating disorder for her; pooping out half a celery stick and an apple core every three days. In turn I will write about a hand full of big things that I truly appreciate...

1) She speaks Olivia how I speak Chris [Gallegos].
I have a little angle****, just like all manipulative/destructive little monsters, Olive speaks her own hybrid language of little human and gibber-gabber. Lauren, has developed an impressive and equally endearing understanding of this language. What is so remarkable about it, is that to understand what Liv, is saying you have to understand what she is feeling. Whorin' Lorin', has dedicated the past year of her life building a bond with Olivia that rivals any bond I have ever seen. She knows the lyrics to: Yo Gabba Gabba, Backyardigans, Wonder Pets, Dora, Diego and "Let the Bodies hit the Floor" because she's hella extreme; and when you're a father who has sacrificed so much to be there for your daughter, meeting someone who is willing to sacrifice just as much for someone who she isn't even related to is the equivalent of a pizza guy teleporting to an alternate dimension in which he lives in a porno movie.

Aaaahhhhh!!!! Wrong Porno Movie!!!!

2) She's fuckin' funny but not the "funny" one.
Lauren, let's me have the funny title but all other titles: pretty, sexy, sweet, smart, humble, bootylicious, mermaid hair, singing voice, freak dancing (she can shake it like a girl in Mystikal, video), football picks, drawing, painting, closet shitting and countless more.

 So Mystikal

3) Am I truly in love?
We spoke about evolution earlier and one of the fascinating theories of it is that love was developed by humans to help ensure the progression of our species. Through love even when we find a more logical mate, we will stay through thick and thin with our irrational coitus partner. With Lauren, as mentioned earlier; we make sense on paper and even more so, from the unexplainable intangibles. Using the logic in the previous sentences true love would be defined as somehow avoiding blatant temptation when you see your theoretical soul-mate sitting on a bus stop outside of a planned parenthood and somehow not offering to share your malt liquor with her. Depending on how your outlook, I have perhaps not experienced true love from a scientific standpoint because she is perfect. Not just for me. Just Perfect. Perfect. When you view someone as perfect, is that true love, or is it nullified due to the fact that the theory of true love is never put to the test?

Perhaps we will never know. What I do know is that human beings through 6,000 years of life***** have come to learn and understand a wide spectrum on multitudes of subjects. However, what makes my relationship one that makes it the only one I ever want, is that even through trillions of minds all through out time we have still yet to understand why we work so well. There is no doubt that one day we will be able to look at our relationship and understand why it makes sense; but, until then it is undeniably mystical.

    I Think I Have to Learn to Differentiate my Mystical/Mystikals.

Oh shit; post script:

I almost forgot... For the first time in as long as I can remember, I live in a home, not a house but a fucking HOME! Because, Lauren does shit like this:

pictures go in frames and things called thumbtacks; that aren't even made of thumbs, are used to place them on the wall!!!!

I'm the only Mexi that doesn't use powdered detergent thanks to her!

Animals are suppose to eat food. Daily!

Cat's aren't suppose to live in fear!

When babies don't play under the sink, they can paint and talk!

And even if she didn't have all this, she's still fine as fuck!

 And she can't leave me because I've blown in her face!
(the grown-ups get it...)


Unlike letters, or pie charts that are made of physical materials, this blog will hopefully stand the test of time, or at least until a raptor and shark terrorist team take out the internet via underwater attacks...

Underwater internet lines map, which is public effing record!

Fuck the rapture; ya'll need to fear the raptor!

I love you, Lauren.

*ABC Sex: Anniversary, birthday and Christmas. (This does not apply to the super good looking; we get the dirty dirty wherever we want, whenever we want)


*** She completes me but I'm tall and she is lacking in the bitter-beer face department.

(It's a play on common misspellings.)


Thursday, November 3, 2011

I heard Isaac Brock's heartbeat before you were even born: A traveler's guide into the mind of a music snob.

Modest Mouse, is an American band formed in no one gives a fuck. They have released two cassettes, six studio albums and six EPs to go along with one compilation album and one live album. That's as many releases as the legal age of sexual consent in most southern states. However, I'm not a Modest Mouse connoisseur or a music snob, do I think my music taste is better than yours? Most certainly, have you seen me? But does that mean that I am better than you? Of course not. (I am better than you for other reasons, reasons pertaining handsomeness, that someone like you could not comprehend.) I simply looked up the information on Wikipedia. Based on what I have learned from youtube's Introduction to Writing; I have established a sense of my elitist feelings, so why on Earth wouldn't I use my knowledge of Modest Mouse to 1up you? To belittle you? To make you feel like a shit bag of cocks?

This blog is cock free

When it comes to differentiating the quality of something, I like to use the term(s): rich man, poor man, homeless man. For example: Jennifer Aniston is a homeless man's Sandra Bullock who in turn is a poor man's Julia Roberts. Does Jen give you the acting chops and loveability that a Julia would get you while still seeming like a catch and attainable? Of course not, but Julia Roberts sure as fuck wouldn't star in "Along Came Polly," next to a big eared Jew. When I think of the word snob with whatever subject it may be attached to: film snob, TV snob, art snob, masturbatory snob, music snob, etc. I think of it as a homeless man's version of the word: expert. At best a poor man's version of the word: buff. What sounds better, I'm a Civil War Buff or a Civil War Snob?

Robert E. Lee, biggest Civil War snob EVER!

Being a snob merely takes access to internet, not even high speed; I looked that shit up on dial up. (I still have AOL because I'm a 56k buff.) If a fellow snob was to ask me what piece of Modest Mouse work is my favorite I could simply pick an obscure track on one of those EPs and say "Float On, is shit and just catchy, pumped out so the masses could feel Indie." (snobby) The plaid shirt wearing snob would simply nod his head and grab me a PBR. Now if I was bullshitting a buff they could ask me if I like the version with the band's original demo or the digitally released version? I would be grabbing my ankles in shame in no time. When you are an expert you can speak publicly to buffs and snobs on your expert subject. Neil deGrasse Tyson, is a rocket scientist who hosts and gives commentary for a bountiful amount of television programs and he can spew out information, theories and facts to just about anyone in the scientific community and it goes accepted.

Rocket man not to be confused with rocket scientist

Why is it that we have so many snobs? If we look back at our teenage years generally 14-19, we feel awkward, like we don't belong and generally misunderstood. With the exception of the superjock and the slutty drill team girl, who are celebrated and revered by the majority of the beleaguered high schoolers. But you thought so what if that jock has slept with every girl you masturbate to? So what if that cheerleader has nice clothes and an ass that don't say no? They don't know what, Robert Smith's voice sounds like on your copy of some fucking live, Cure song that you found on some blog or youtube or maybe, secretly, Maxim Blender.
That cheerleader doesn't know what it's like to be so mature high school guys don't understand her; causing her to fuck dudes she meets at Coffee Break who are in their mid 30's, like you have.

Girl, I live right around the corner from Coffee Break

I get it. That music was your savior in a time of strife, when you felt lost and alienated by everyone around you. Now that most of that shallow high school life has become a part of the past and thanks to advancements in technology and the invention of youtube; people who were genuine buffs and actually had to scour mass distances by horse and buggy perhaps or be somewhere to get rare footage of live performances or special intimate gigs, have spawned the life of millions of snobs. When people who have no power are suddenly given even the slightest amount they can go bananas, to quote, Gwen Stefani, "b-a-n-a-n-a-s". Now the music snobs have made the music that spoke to them as the outsiders as a tool to make others feel like the outsiders. They have taken everything that music was supposed to be a catalyst for and turn it into the polar opposite.

With the jock and the cheerleader, it took countless, tiresome hours and probably some fiscal risk to reach their level. The masturbatory buff had to sneak into a shady video store to spend money, risk career and marriage and get a copy of Harry Twatter: The Prisoner of Asskaban and watch an underage girl get creampied 37 times, now that is what I call a buff! Now the masturbatory snob can just jump on pornhub or xvideos. It was blood, sweat and tears. Neil went to Harvard and then received a master's and a doctorate from Colombia. It takes levels of dedication to which a snob can't even comprehend. The icing on the cake is that music snobs don't boast about their own accomplishments the way an expert would boast about their education and credentials. They are boasting about other people's accomplishments.

Two to three years ago we gawked in awe of the guitar hero player, even more so than the actual guitarist/song writer. Reaching it's pinnacle in the South Park episode, Guitar Queero. The fact remains the same, the only one who thinks your youtubing and blogging is worthy of merit is you, 14 year olds and no one else. You can only reach a certain status from the hard work of others and that status is dogshit tampon. Unless you're Thomas Edison.

Polish my pole, Tesla

Besides, snobbing is fucking lame. Think about it if you told me you were into, Ryan Gosling before he was big and on the Mickey Mouse club it wouldn't make you cool; it would make you a fucking douche bag or a fucking pedophile. But go ahead boast away, I say. But just pay heed to my script and remember that as the blogosphere grows and that 6,000 hours of video is uploaded to youtube every second* that snobs are going to keep growing in number and pretty soon you will drop even lower in the annals of culture.

*citation needed

Friday, March 11, 2011

Sex and the City: Lost Episode


Kerry is shopping for: milk, bread, etc. She has a small grocery basket partially filled. Kerry proceeds to the checkout as she eyes the smokes behind the counter and begins to contemplate purchasing them. She begins speaking to herself in the narrative.

There are somethings that can calm a gal's nerves at the end of a long work day. A tall glass of wine. A massage from the butt-chinned/green eyed stud that randomly shows up to my yoga class. Online shopping. But, all of these can fail in comparison to a long, phallic cancer stick. I know I'm trying to quit and I know it's expensive and pointless but a girl has to take care of herself from time to time.

Miss... MISS! Will that be everything?

Sorry, I'll take a pack of the generic brand that paid HBO, please.


(Kerry notices guy from yoga walking across the street and chases him down.)

Hey! Kerry, from yoga, the woman who falls over and makes odd sounds.

How could I forget. If it makes you feel better, I'm intoxicated at every yoga class as well. Do you live near by? I'm just in the area dropping off soup to the elderly couple that lives here, they have no one else, ya know?

That's so sweet of you to do that. You know I hear $28 dry martinis really help you recover from yoga and I make about 45k a year as a staff writer; which really enables me to live whatever lifestyle I want, in one of the most expensive cities in the world.


I'd love to but.... I don't date smokers.

Well I suffer from PTS: PART TIME SMOKING.

I really got to get going Kerry, nice seeing you.

(shouting as he walks away)



I don't know if I like how this bandanna makes me look.


It's not a bandanna and it's very important women wear it where I come from.

Whatever it's called, it is not flattering. I don't want to wear it.

Maybe you should just go home while I pray... I'll call you later.






Darling, I'm telling you he doesn't want you, he's going to have all those virgins in heaven. Trust me. Everything is about sex and I fuck anyone and everyone I want. I'm empowered.

Honey, just play it cool after 3 or 4 of those virgins he will want a real woman with experience.

Well you're all having better luck than me. I miss Aidan, it seemed like he was the only guy in this city who didn't care when a dame wanted to feel sexy and light up. I guess the smokes are a lot like men, (!metaphor alert!) they can be hazardous to your health but you still love them to death.

You poor thing. I'm going to a premier party for a slasher film a client of mine that I slept with 4 years ago. I'm sure it will be wall to wall with men. (!metaphor alert!) We'll be able to get whatever kind we want, probably even by the carton. 


Carrie, how lovely seeing you here.

I thought you don't smoke?

Oh, this is an E-Smoke. It only has nicotine and no chemicals AND it only emits vapor so you can smoke inside.


Looks like it emits smug! You are so full of it. At least when I smoke I get the buzz of all the cancer causing chemicals. I'm not just trying to look cool.

You also get stinky clothes.

Well sometimes things stink..... Except your shit, I guess!!! ZING!




There's an old saying, "birds of a feather, flock together." At the end of the day, Iktar got his bandanna wearer. Charlotte wound up like Charlotte, alone. Antonio, despite his lack of smoking is trying to blow smoke up people's asses. And I'm still looking for a guy who cal love a gal who suffers from PTS. When we lay down and look over at that person next to us in bed, will the love you have for one another be enough to outweigh a cancer stick to unwind, or not wanting to wear a bandanna? Are these little things blocking the bigger picture for New Yorkers? 


 I'm going to step out for a smoke. Anybody got a light?


Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Andy Dufresne and Derek Vinyard: Hollywood's impact on gender bias rape

"Prison is no fairy-tale world," that is what Red says in the film, The Shawshank Redemption, you know the movie where Tim Robbins eats all those hard boiled eggs? The context of the quote is referring to "the sisters" repeatedly raping our protagonist, Andy, Andy is a likable guy falsely imprisoned for the murder of his wife and over the span of his time in prison chisels his way out to freedom, gives the warden what's coming to him and ends up in Mexico, presumably as a day laborer restoring a boat belonging to his employer.

or a space ship sucked him into space by his chest

What you don't see is the sleepless nights where Andy is screaming because in his dreams he relives all the gruesome gang rapes that went down in prison and ultimately loses his mind, starts an underground dog fighting ring to regain the control and winds up in prison again. (only to be raped some more) Why would the filmmakers leave such a vital part of Stephen King's original story and Andy's character development out of the film? (citation needed)  

See the thing with standard film making is that they need to fulfill gender roles, especially with our heroes and heroines to really move the story along. Therefore nothing can seriously break our male lead: months in solitary, unwanted games of pass the butthole, love of your life being murdered, etc. Crying? FUCK NO! Poetry? FUCK NO! Bleeding out of our vaginas? FUCK NO! Vulnerability? TRIPLE FUCK NO!

When a man's parents are murdered he don't get sad, he gets serious.

Men statistically commit suicide on a much higher rate than women over things like: job loss, loss of spouse, heartache, being outed on FB and shit like that. Being that we don't grow up really expressing our emotions the way women do, we have no healthy coping mechanisms. Now imagine trying to make the Shawshank Redemption and 3 months into his sentence, Andy marries one of the sisters, contracts AIDS and gives it to Red. (interracial is so in right now) All of a sudden we don't have such a feel good story, however, we probably have a better film and maybe even get to see more rape scenes but this time around they will be warm and romantic, just like....

Forrest fucking Gump...

What? The movie about that guy who didn't go full retard?

 Where was there a rape in that movie?

Forrest, happens to suffer from a little medical symptom known as MENTAL RETARDATION. However, Forrest grew up in a place and time far different from ours known as the "durty south" and to make things worse, it was the '50s. Now the durty south wasn't all champagne bottles in the VIP rooms of strip clubs as some rappers would have you believe. It was a place in which there was no middle class, segregation ran fierce and most doctors told you mental retardation could be cured through prayer and tobacco.
Your son's condition may also be caused from lack of participating in lynches.

Forrest grows up with a bee eff eff, Jenny, now her and Forrest have their differences but they end up together and even have a child. It seems cute and romantic, two soul-mates finally end up together and she spends her days with a man who finally loves her for who she is, you go girl! What really went down is that Jenny fucked a retard and settled due to her pathetic life and the insecurities that stemmed from being a shitbag for her whole shitty, hippy life. Jenny never landed that activist, who treated her just like her daddy did and had the facial hair to go along with the stickiest of the icky herb; so she landed the guy with a career and as a bonus he's easily manipulated because he has the IQ of a child.

 Feather goes mooooo!

Maybe no one made a fuss about this because Forrest could play ping pong and football and we all know all football players get degrees in molecular studies and play pro ball to fund their research.

Forrest, in all of his Skynet self awareness, asks Jenny if their kid is mentally handicap in the same way he is. So Forrest knows he has a mental ailment that may be hereditary but as long as he can still lay the pipe, who cares?

More like Forrest Hump

We never want to view men as being weak or victims. Think about it, male strippers make their fair share of money from tips, however, they never have regulars who just come in and talk to them. This is because the power has been taken from them, making them unappealing as anything more than a novelty for a bachelorette party. Who the fuck cares about what a weak/objectified man has to say? On the other hand, female strippers constantly have stalkers/senators and regulars that come in to "talk". Women have been pushed into that role in society and we feel comfortable with them being there for our viewing pleasure.

Jenny and Forrest go back to gender roles. Louis CK said when guys wanna hurt you they: kick your ass or burn your house down. Measurable pain that's tangible. When women hurt you it's from the inside. Can you really measure the level of shitheadness Jenny has ascended to? Before the practice of diagnosing mental retardation came into effect, could even the great delegator, Atticus Finch, prove Jenny's guilt? Women have tact and think things through more than men. Stereotypically women are irrational but men act more on impulse. Could you imagine if the roles were reversed and Forrest raped a handicap Jenny, with no tact?

Also, now the film has a love story and appeals to the female demographic with a relatable story. They might has well thrown, "how many times have you settled for an idiot with a good job?" on the cover.

Forrest: (in deep southern accent) Spread 'em, Jenny.
Jenny: (in handicap stutter) D-d-d-o you love me, Forrest?
Forrest: STFU and be still, Jenny.

It just sounds so much better with tact.

That doesn't sound like an academy award winner. As a matter of fact I bet he raped Wilson on the set of Castaway and is totally team Jacob...

Raped him with sticks.

Speaking of Team Jacob

Their are some pros and cons of choosing to be with a werewolf. For starters, once transformed, they can only get down in one position, doggystyle, they shed and there's that whole they can lick themselves thing, making them orally independent and who wants to be with someone who doesn't need you?

However, in human form their bodies look like this!

WTF? Did Zeus carve that guy out of stone? He is a fine specimen. Underage. But still fine. Taylor Lautner, as cut up and developed as his body may be was only 17 when this film came out and managed to become an international sex symbol, spawn countless fan clubs and left millions of women wanting to go paws to Jesus with a werewolf. I remember a while back when a certain young pop princess was on the cover of Rolling Stone baring a not so licentious amount of skin, a mid drift, to be exact.

It wasn't the amount of skin that caused all the hullabaloo. It was the fact that an underage girl was being viewed as an object of sexual rapture. How can one picture showing a girl less scantly dressed than a Mormon at Raging Waters cause every feminist, on every community college campus to simultaneously ignite all their bras? Even more so, how can all of those feminists, with all their disgust for men want to engage in coitus with a teen-wolf not named Michael J. Fox?

For you, Brit.
I said all your bras, bitches.

It's just hard wired into us to lust over the Britneys and the Taylors even without the media force-feeding them to us. Jacob would surely supply ample sperm for me and could easily father 25 strong offspring. Thanks to the 1-2 punch of evolution and food that's been hormone treated, the Britneys and Taylors will get younger and younger. There's no fighting it, the only thing we as a society can do is to tackle the difficult task of navigating gender roles and hypocrisy before it's too late and we have to go through a remake of Full House, in which, Michelle Tanner is played by an Asian boy in a wheelchair (Maddox Jolie Pitt) who has an oddly endearing relationship with Uncle Jesse and the producers have weekly power meetings in which they discuss ways to make him more sexy.