Funniness Negates Wrongness
Saturday, July 22, 2006
How Long Before Starbucks Sues?
Friday, July 21, 2006
As most of you know, I call the great(?) city of Dallas home. Actually, that's not true...I live in Valley Ranch, a semi-autonomous enclave of Irving, but it's just easier to say "Dallas" when asked where one lives. Everyone has heard of Dallas, thanks to a little show called Dallas. A show so fucking popular around the world that there is even a Dallas theme park of sorts in Romania. It portrayed the greed, the glamour and the glitz of an oil-rich city and the corruption of the power-elite, a perfect commentary on the Eighties.

And now, plans to film a Dallas movie have been announced. And here's where things start to go wrong. If you were the head of a Hollywood studio, who would you hire to direct a movie that is essentially a over-the-top look at the quintessential "American Experience"? A great American director, such as Martin Scorsese, John Sayles or even Robert Rodriguez (bonus with that one, as he is a real, live Texan). Instead, though, the studio has hired Gurinder Chadha, an Indian-English director whose biggest film so far is the funny Bend It Like Beckham. A great film, certainly, but nothing on the scale of Dallas. What kind of moron thought this would be a good idea? Maybe she can pull it off, but I'm really starting to have my doubts.

Next, if you were going to film a movie about people who call Dallas home that takes place in the city of Dallas and its immediate surroundings, where would you film it? Dallas, of course. For months, we've been hearing rumours that the movie would be filmed elsewhere. For instance, while 'Shank and I were chatting with one of the lovely bartendresses at the Imperial Pub in Toronto, she casually mentioned that she'd heard that the movie would be filmed there. My immediate thought was "heresy". And not that good kind that gets you excommuniated from the Holy Roman Catholic Church. No, I'm talking about the kind of heresy that insults me and my fellow Texans to our very souls. Toronto, while one of my favourite places in the world, is no Dallas. First of all, the cities are entirely different. Dallas is a spread out homage to the car culture, with great freeways and massive parking lots, with a lot room to grow outward, thanks to no real natural barriers. Toronto is New York, if the Swiss ran New York. Built up instead of out, but clean and modern. Vibrant downtown. Real history and culture, instead of conspicuous consumption. Definitely un-Dallas-like. The differences go on-and-on...Toronto definitely couldn't stand in for Dallas. Would the CN Tower double for Reunion Tower? The Air Canada Centre for the American Airlines Center? The Eaton Centre for the Galleria? Toronto Mayor David Miller for Dallas Mayor Laura Miller? Standard units for the metric system? Quebecois French for Mexican Spanish? I don't think so. Then, of course, there is the problem of Lake're not going to pass that off as White Rock Lake--it's not called a "Great" Lake for nothing.

Fortunately, the producers decided against Toronto. Unfortunately, they did settle on Baton Rouge, Louisiana, which, while similar to Dallas is an oil town, is much smaller and more white-trashy. But at least it's part of the United States...and somewhat adjacent to the Dallas area. Somewhat. If you squint and have a very active imagination.

And then there's the problem of the cast. John Travolta as J.R. Ewing? Jennifer Lopez as Sue Ellen? Goddamn this movie's going to be a disaster...First off, John Travolta can't help not sounding vaguely retarded, and J.R. wasn't retarded...he was a evil, manipulative, cold-hearted asshole. The only thing that Travolta has going for him in this area is that he's a Scientologist, and evil, manipulative and cold-hearted asshole describes most Scientologists rather nicely. Jennifer Lopez as Sue Ellen...hmmm...she's many Latinas have you ever known with the name "Sue Ellen"? None? Thought so. Besides, everyone knows that J.R. Ewing would never marry a Latina...employ them as maids, maybe, but never actually marry one.

So there you have it...Dallas is looking more-and-more like it's going to suck the big one. I'm just hoping that J.R. gets shot and dies really early in the film--maybe that'll make it worth seeing. Maybe. But probably not.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Just Being Helpful
As some of you know, occasional blogger Minotaur went and got some chick knocked up. By "some chick", I mean his wife and by "knocked up", I mean pregnant.

And, as some of you also know, Minotaur is my brother, which means, of course, that I'm going to be an uncle. Good ol' Uncle Rifleman. Or, as I was called by Minotaur and his wife a while back, Rich Uncle Moneybags.

You see, apparently Minotaur and wife (not to be confused with McMillan and Wife have this kee-razy notion that I am somewhat well-off. Sure, I do have a money bin that I'm constantly defending from the Beagle Boys and I'm always having to outwit Magica de Spell in her wily schemes to steel my Number One Dime, but this doesn't mean that I am a wealthy man.

But I digress. Watching your younger brother get married and have kids can be kind of depressing if you yourself haven't found that right person and settled down. Fortunately, I'm not ready for either (though I suppose I'm slowly getting there). The best part about Minotaur having a kid is the fact that I get to give my mother shit about being an old woman now. Yay!

Minotaur and wife are supposed to find out today if said child will be a boy or a girl. Personally, I'm kind of hoping it's a boy, so Minotaur will get some of that old-fashioned karmic payback for being such a hand-full for our parents back in the day. Our mother is hoping for a girl, but thinks it will be a boy. I told Minotaur they should meet our mother halfway and have a flamboyantly gay son. I couldn't tell if he thought that was funny or not. Probably not. Or maybe he did...he was the one, after all, that coined the phrase "funniness negates wrongness".

Either way, they're going to have to name it. To assist, I have compiled the following list of suggestions:

Potential Boy Names


Potential Girl Names

Penelope (long "o" so that it rhymes--sort of--with "cantaloupe")
Elizabeth Regina
Katrina Rita

Anyone else have any suggestions?
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Fucking Heat
It's hot. Or, as Dan Rather would say, "it's hotter than a junebug that's wandered onto a barbeque pit". Or something like that.

The poor air-conditioner in my apartment can barely keep up...getting up from the leather sofa requires a fact, I've just about taken to spraying Pam onto it before sitting down.

But this is mostly typical for Texas...we're somewhat used to it and we somehow survive. 104? No big fucking deal. What gets me are the people in places like New York, who are complaining because it's a mere 90 out. I'd fucking kill for 90.

Truth be known, however, I do like it cold. 'Shank and I spent a week in the great city of Toronto in March and, let me tell you, it was fucking awesome. The warmest it got the whole time we were there was about 35, though for some reason the Canadians insisted that this was actually only 3 (they claimed that they were using something called the "Metric System", with distances measured in "kilometres" and weight in "kilograms" and money in "dollars" and presidents in "prime ministers"--it sounds to me like the terrorists have already won in Canada).

I've always liked it cold. In college (or what the Canadians, using their "Metric System" would call "University"), during the time I lived on-campus and didn't have to pay the electric bill, my roommate and I would usually keep the thermostat pegged at about 55 (strange that it went this low). It was like a meat locker in our room. Frost would appear on anything that didn't move. We could see our breath as we exhaled. Inuit would show up for seal hunts. It was great.

After getting out into the "real world", I was forced, by monetary concerns, to keep the thermostat at a much more reasonable, and affordable, 72. Still cool, but not cold. But livable, nonetheless. Unfortunately, there are still about two months out of the year that it's just too damn hot, and the A/C runs constantly, struggling mightily to keep up, but never quite getting the place cool enough. There's only so much you can do to counteract it, too. You can try sleeping naked on top of the sheets, but that doesn't help much. Keep fans running, though they seem to just only blow around the hot air. Drink cold drinks. Have your local industrial coolant company pump liquid nitrogen into your house. And still, you sweat.

The good news is that it's almost August. Just a couple of more months until it's bearable again. And I can't fucking wait.

In the meantime, I was thinking of visiting Toronto again to cool off and maybe hang out at the Imperial Pub, drinking cold pints (or, according to the so-called "Metric System", cold 473 millilitre containers) of Sleeman's or Molson Canadian. Alas, a quick check of shows that it's currently 91 there (or 33 in the "Metric System"). So maybe I should consider heading a bit further north to Iqaluit, Nunavut to visit my old Inuit friends, where it's a nice-sounding 44 (7 in the fucking "Metric System").
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Fucking Jokes...

A man was walking one day, when he came to this big house
in a nice neighborhood. Suddenly he realized there was a
couple making love out on the lawn. Then he noticed another

couple over behind a tree. Then another couple behind some
bushes by the house. He walked up to the door of the house,
and knocked. A well dressed woman answered the door, and
the man asked what kind of a place this was. "This is a
brothel" replied the madam.

"Well, what's all this out on the lawn?" queried the man.

"Oh, we're having a yard sale today."
Monday, July 17, 2006
Guess Who's Back...
I couldn't do it.

I knew I couldn't.

All my life, I've been somewhat of a "just enough to get the job done" kind of guy. This manifested itself in college (yay, 2.3 GPA!, though I must admit that my GPA in my major was well over a point higher), at work (I've been out of school for six years and have yet to crack that magic six-figure barrier), and now it's manifested itself in the death of this website.

I couldn't let it stay dead. I couldn't stay away.

So, I'm coming back. I'm writing again.

Though I must warn you, updates will probably be somewhat sporadic for a bit as I get used to writing again.

At any rate, there are two people that I have to blame for my comeback: Holly and Michele. They practically talked me into the other night at Bennigan's. Evil. And brilliant. But mostly evil. Not that I fault them for either, because I myself am both evil and brilliant. But mostly brilliant.

At least I like to think so.

For the last month, I've missed this website. I missed writing for it. I missed posting stupid pictures and stupid links to YouTube videos. I missed moblogging. I missed wasting at least 15 minutes at work everyday updating the site.

And now that the sweet siren's song of blogging has entrapped me once again, all sorts of feelings have come rushing back. I finally, once again, have a public confessional. So yay!

Now if I can just get 'Shank to start posting Lame-Ass jokes again.

So what have I done with my Sabbatical? Not much, I'm afraid. I got caught up in a work-related project that I'd submitted a plan to management that said would take six weeks. Being a cocky fuck, I fucked around for three weeks, putting off actual progress, and falsified my time sheets that tracked project progress, thinking I still had three weeks to finish it. Until the Friday before last, when my boss said something like "well, since you're 71% done (actually about 30%), let's go ahead and aim to roll this out to production next Friday". So, yeah, I was forced to cram three weeks of work into one last week, giving me an ulcer and depriving me of much-needed sleep (which I made up for by rolling into work two hours late this morning).

What else has been going on, you ask? Playing disc golf (which, for some reason, my mother has decided is a gay man's sport, though I am most certainly not gay--I think somewhere along the line she got "anonymous anal sex" confused with "disc golf"--I guess Alzheimer's is starting to set in). Watching a lot of tv, such as The Office, Arrested Development and Scrubs. Figuring out how to pay for the new Riflemanmobile (I'm certain I mentioned before I left that I traded in the barely-a-year-old Riflemanmobile 2.0 for a new VW Mk.V GTI). Making up drinking games around watching my Roomba wander around the house vacuuming. Following the management of the Stars gut the team (though fucking Marty Turco is still on the roster). Downloading netporn. Drinking beer. Reading.

You know, the usual lame stuff.

But sometimes cool shit comes out of lameness. Like the Mentos/diet soft drink experiments that 'Shank and I did for July 4th (video to come!). Or the fact that 'Shank's mom is encouraging everyone to give him cash for his graduation to finance a trip to Vegas for us. The Israelis bombing the shit out of Lebanon.

So, I guess this is the first baby-step back from the grave. I wonder how long it'll last...