That Is One Tiny Dugout

Two things: a) I love the Minnesota Twins, even when they suck and 4th) As I have mentioned in pervious posts, I rediscovered my love of reading since I moved to San Francisco. I guess it's the culture and the sophistication...yeah that's stupid; but it sounds like something someone here would say. I mostly got back into it because it is cheap and most of my stuff hadn't arrived yet. That being said anytime two things I love merge, that's awesome. For me at least. Only in this particular case it's a bit underwhelming.
The inspiration for this post was from the season finale of Curb Your Enthusiasm when they did the Seinfeld reunion. In the episode Larry David pisses Jason Alexander of by commenting on how his book is so thin it looks more like a pamphlet. That got me thinking, have I ever read a book so thin, that it was really nothing more than a glorified pamphlet? The answer was yes. Yes I have.
There are actually two books that fit this category. One is The Great Gatsby, but that book is so fucking killer you kinda let that slide. The second was Tales From the Minnesota Twins Dugout by Twins legend and resident round belly Kent Hrbek. Now I love reading, the Minnesota Twins, and also Kent Hrbek; but for as good of a book as it was, I was shocked at how thin it is.
How thin is this literary masterpiece? Great question. 300 pages? No. 400 pages? No. Surely it can't possibly be 500 pages? Nope. It's a whopping 186 pages. Yep. that much. Incredible huh? He manages to cram in all of his pre baseball life, baseball life, and post baseball life up until it's release which was just before Target Field opened. Think about that for a minute. He crammed his father dying, making the Twins, becoming an All Star, the nucleus of the Twins championship teams coming together, said teams struggles, finally winning a World Series, his relationship with Kirby Puckett, his relationship with the fans, winning a second World Series, retiring, and doing his T.V. shows. All of this covered in a blistering 186 pages, and that's counting the appendix!
So yeah, there are those types of books out there, and I'm not knocking this one for quality. It might be even more amazing how much he got in here quality wise, but it's just shocking that a well known player who accomplished so much had so little to say. Still though, it's not a bad way to spend like an hour or so.

I've Come To Suck Your Blood

So vampires and werewolves are immortal right? And that means they can never die right? Or at least not very easily. Depending on the author at hand they have any number of weaknesses, but generally they are immortal. So why is it that in the Underworld movies (which I do like, though #1 is the best), these bastards die so god damn easily? More so the vampires than the werewolves. Seriously these guys get a paper cut and they die. I mean in Interview With the Vampire, Lestat has his throat slit and he comes back and is still as much of a bad ass as before. But these guys? I mean they have all sorts of gadgets and vests and stuff, but they can't dispose of a werewolf or you know, stay undead. What.The.Fuck.
Another thing is the character of Marcus. He seems ruthless and bad ass, like Victor, but he gets killed by a helicopter? Did I type that right? Yes. Yes I did. Granted he had a wing shoved through his skull, but the helicopter finished the job. Also why is he the only one who can fly and turn into a bat thing? Speaking of Victor, his death is bizarre. In the first one he dies by getting his head sliced off, kinda makes sense kinda doesn't. Then in the third one which is a prequel he gets stabbed through the mouth...and dies. Then moments later is on a boat...alive.
I know I just spent the last 976 pages ranting about how these immortals really aren't immortal, and also pointing out plot holes, but I do really like those movies. I enjoy how they really aren't the pussy vampires that exist in the world of Twilight, but they seriously get a cold and die. I think the only other vampire character who was weaker in the end was Vlad Dracula in The Historian. Blah!

Neighbors: Part 3: The Return

So when we last left off in this god damn epic story, our neighbors were assholes and also douches. We spoke to management and wouldn't you know it, they got kicked out. And we laughed and we laughed. All was well in the land of #220, the enemies in the far away land of  #221 had been vanquished. It was all good, and then we got some new neighbors. We thought: how will this play out? Because we really don't like being the people who have to be calling in noise complaints 5 out of 7 nights a week but if we can hear you partying clear as a bell through 1-3 concrete walls, and then bring it out on the street; you need to go.
As I said, we got new neighbors and wouldn't you know it, they party as well, and they are international students. It hasn't really been a problem so far. I would say that the biggest thing has been their little dog. I wouldn't say it's the dogs fault, because its owners lock him a closet. Yep. They put him in a god damn closet when they leave. That's nice, lock a tiny dog who wants attention in a closet when you are tired of him. Any who, them partying hasn't been a problem aside from we can hear their bizarro rave music a few nights a week. Seriously, how much Ecstasy do these people have? And do they have enough glow sticks and knee pads for everyone?
I guess aside from those things, they are infinitely better than our previous neighbors. Although it doesn't take much to do that. I apologize that this installment wasn't as thrilling as previous installments, but just you wait Part 4 could be coming down the pipe soon. Also if for some reason you stumbled upon this, go check the previous installments, they have been optioned by a big Hollywood studio and are going to be made into a movie staring Jeremy Irons, Brad Pitt, Jean Claude Van Damme, and Billy Bob Thornton.

Cracker Ass White Bread Honkies

I'm not going to lie. I'm as white as the day is long, always have been. What does that have to do with anything? Well, I started to read an excellent book called Whiter Shades of Pale by Christian Lander (I know it's the second book, I have the first one coming) and in it he points out the "finer" points of us crackers. I always thought that white people were some of the dumbest people and this book reaffirms it. I would have to say that since I moved to San Francisco, every type of white person, trait, and interest I have spotted. From the obscene love of Trader Joes, camping, Whole Foods, trivia,  the World Cup, etc... it's here. I certainly have seen it in every teacher I had in Graphic Design along with almost everyone I knew from that department, and it has definitely carried over to Printmaking. It's not as bad where I come from but it's there. I think that white people as a whole are douches and we love to be smug, elitist, or ironic. Need proof? How many people do you see wearing v neck shirts, skinny jeans, or listening to shitty music?
So if anyone I know reads this, it's not that I think you're a tool, it's just that you are a caricature of a person. You live to be hip and "cutting edge" instead of an individual. And no by listening to an album by some shitty band who recorded it in their basement using a $50 keyboard doesn't make you an individual, or buying clothes at the thrift store, or wearing douchey Italian leather shoes. It just makes a fake person and one who is described to a T in Christian Landers books. So CHEERS! (that folks is intended irony)

Seriously...

Not to be insensitive or anything of that nature, because when someone dies no matter if you knew them, loved them, liked them, or hated them it's sad. But with that said; now that it has been firmly established that Ryan Dunn was extremely irresponsible in his actions that ultimately took his and his friends life, can we stop portraying him as some sort of martyr? Seriously. He was a drunk driver. A drunk driver that has affected who knows how many lives because of his actions. I mean seriously, his fans and friends need to realize and accept that fact. I mean lets just say it was reversed. He was driving home and he was hit by a drunk driver, how much do you want to bet that his fans and friends would call for swift justice on the guy who hit him?
Also while I'm at it, why is that whenever a famous person of any nature dies of some irresponsible self inflicted accident, that they all of a sudden become a saint? Maybe it's being a prisoner of the moment or just seeing this person with blinders on, but people can never seem them as someone who threw their life away. Sure there are always going to be redeeming qualities from other portions of their lives, but they threw it away by not being smarter. As I said earlier, if it was say, your neighbor who died of a heroin overdose, would you view him the same way as someone like Keith Moon? He was a great drummer, but also an incredible fucktard.
So as hard as it maybe, something like this needs to be taken with a grain of salt. He was funny, probably a nice guy, BUT he was drunk driver who killed himself and his friend. People need to see that as well as him being what he meant to those around him.

You Know What You Should Do...

I guess that it might just be in our nature as people, but one thing that seems to bother me is when someone tries to should you to death. What do I mean by that? It's something that everyone has experienced in one form or another. Either you are predominately someone who is doing the shoulding or you are the one getting shoulded. To be honest, everyone falls into both categories at one point or another, but we are usually in one most of the time.
So what does it mean? Well, say you are in any situation, it doesn't matter, really. What happens is you relay it to a friend, a family member, coworker, group of people, or the local hobo. This person again, doesn't matter and is interchangeable. You tell them of your woes and then their reply goes something like this ..."You know what you should do? You should do this (insert some dumb ass thing that is very easy for them to suggest since they are not in the situation at hand)"...
How many times has this happened to you? How many times have you done it? I would say a lot in both counts.  I'm not really sure how or why this happens, but it is rather lame since this person who plays a member of The View in your life usually just spots off simple here say answers and when you explain by saying something like this "Yeah but, it's not that easy." They just stare at you like you are a deaf mute. I'm not sure why this happens but, it does and it gets rather annoying rather quickly. If anything it just adds to your problems. God damn people.

Brains, Brains, Brains!!!!!

This post is more of a me thinking out loud (on a blog, otherwise this would sound crazy) so just go with me on this one. So...I love zombies. Movies, books, whatever; I find them fascinating. I like the various takes that authors can have with it. You can focus on the survival aspects of it or the overwhelming numbers you'd face, and the list just goes on and on. There is one thing that puzzles me though: how the fuck are they alive if they are dead? I mean seriously. Can someone explain that to me. Because the thought is that a virus or whatever element the author chooses, brings them back to "life"; that's fine, I get it. But without trying to get to sciencey here and breaking out my internet PHD (coughs), from what I gather is that your brain controls everything in your body. It tells you when to breathe, move the joint in your pinky, or when to fart. So you die and everything is shutdown never to come back. But a zombie is able to reanimate and do everything a living person can do. How the hell does that work? If the central piece of equipment needed to live is turned off, how can you eat, stumble, or move your hands? I mean yeah it's fiction, and just like vampires every author has their own interpretation (which is good), but that little piece has always made me think.


P.S. Sunlight was never fatal to vampires until Nosferatu; again they took creative liberties, since it was an illegal version of Bram Stoker's Dracula. In that book it, just annoyed him.