Stupid Thing of the Week

I saw a bus stop poster for the 3-D re-release of STAR WARS: THE PHANTOM MENACE the other day. They've been pushing it quite a bit around here, hoping to make the kind of money LION KING's reissue did (or better yet, the 1997 reissue of STAR WARS).

Everybody's seen that flick, and I've made it more than clear what I think about the frickin' Prequels, and yet, seeing that poster, the first thing that went through my head was: "Wow, I think I'll go see that. I really liked that movie."

Sigh.

Stupid Thing of the Week

Yesterday, I made a little business transaction with a stranger in a parking lot (no, not THAT kind of business transaction, but one much lamer), and I had to pay in cash (ditto). So, I scraped together all my money and had to borrow the rest, and met the guy in the designated area. I handed him the money, and took my purchase to my car.

When I turned around, he was standing next to me. "Hey," he said, "there's something wrong with a couple of the bills."

Immediately, I knew what he was talking about and sort of laughed it off, "Yeah, I've had those for a long time."

But he wouldn't laugh along. "Look at these twenties," he said, showing me the three pre-2000 bills with the smaller circles and less color. "The backs don't match either."

True enough, he turned them over and they didn't have the same art on the back that the new bills do. America has been changing the design on their currency little by little, making them more complicated and harder to counterfeit, and when the new twenties first hit, I remember people saying they looked like Monopoly money. I guess it's been long enough this guy got used to the new ones, but I'd never heard somebody think the old ones looked fake before.

For a minute there, I actually thought the guy was going to refuse to take them, which would've been a headache. But then, maybe I deserve a headache, for trying to use currency from the bloody 20th Century. Sad old man.

Rish "Monkeybags" Outfield

American Horror Story

A few years ago, my Irish friend John said something that has stuck with me ever since. He said, "I would probably kill myself, except I really want to see what happens next."

It was an odd thing to say, and I never really knew if he was joking around when he said it (I suspect not), but it came to mind again and again. During dark moments, I have thought of his words, and wondered about what I'd miss out on if I wasn't around. And thusfar, dammit, I'm still here.

One thing I would've missed out on was 2011's "American Horror Story," an honest-to-Hitchcock Horror series on cable's FX Network. Created by the men behind FOX's equally horrific "Glee," it was a haunted house series about a dysfunctional, nearly-broken family, and what happens when the two mix. And it was, honest-to-Punky-Brewster, unlike any show I've ever seen.

And I bloody loved it. I watched it with my friend Jeff, lagging behind the actual airdates, and while I know I enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than he did (sometimes I got the impression he flat-out loathed it), he kept on watching it with me until we reached the end just this week.

I guess he felt he owed me after THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX.

But regardless, I really dug the show, and admired the skillful way they kept the family members from realizing the house was haunted, and introduced some really surprising twists, and some truly wonderful black humor.

Oh, and the show was legitimately scary. Something I quite appreciated.

I'm glad I didn't miss it, even if my friend feels differently.

Rish "You're All Gonna Die In There" Outfield

Stupid Thing of the Week

The other day, I took my niece to the library to check out a couple books. While we were there, I spied a five dollar bill on the floor by the DVDs and Books On Tape. "Hey, free money," I said to her, "Looks like we can go ice skating for free."

She just looked at the money, then said, "I'd better not."

"Why not?" I asked, trying to figure out her reluctance.

"It's not mine," she said.

"It is now, congratulations," said I.

Still, she did not move. "I don't want to get in trouble."

"You won't," I said, then, "Pick up the money."

She finally did, and said, "Well, shouldn't we turn it in? In case someone is looking for it?"

"If it was a wallet, or car keys, or a kidney or something, sure," I said, "but not for cash. There's no way to identify it, and nobody's going to ask if somebody turned in a five dollar bill."

She pocketed the money, but I could tell she still had reservations about it. We tried to go ice skating, but they close early on Thursdays, apparently (either that or it's a conspiracy to keep me from exercising).

I forgot all about it until the other night, where my sister mentioned that she had chastised her daughter for picking up the money. She has an Adrian Monk-like obsession with germs, so I assumed that was her reasoning. "What, because it had been on the floor? Or just because money is dirty?"

"For taking money that didn't belong to her," my sister said.

"It didn't belong to anyone," I said, "it was dropped on the floor."

"Well, she should have turned it in, or left it there."

I argued with her for a moment about the unlikelihood that someone would even consider going to the Lost and Found for cash, and probably didn't even know it was gone, but in her mind, it was dishonest of me to tell her kid the money was hers if she found it.

I guess she never heard that ancient teaching of the Buddha, the one that ends with "losers weepers."

Rish "You Owe Me Five Dollars" Outfield

Tradition, actually

My buddy Jeff has two traditions he follows every Christmas. One is that he and his wife go somewhere on Christmas Eve (or Christmas Eve-Eve) and buy each other a little gift. His other tradition is, after the presents have been wrapped and placed under the tree for the next morning, to watch LOVE, ACTUALLY with his wife together.

They do it every year, and I envy the hell out of it. There's only a handful of movies I love as much as I do LOVE, ACTUALLY, but not having a wife (or anything remotely close to one), my viewings of the movie are always solo.*

Jeff just emailed me to mention that they finished the flick--it was as good as ever--and he's now on to bed. So I figured I ought to at least TRY to watch it, now that I've wrapped my own presents for tomorrow.

I love something new about the flick every time I watch it, and laugh at a new line I never noticed the other times through ("He now spends all his time up in his room." "There's nothing unusual about that. My horrid son Bernard stays in his room all the time. Thank goodness."). I'm a pretty tough sell when it comes to movies (at least more so than everybody except my dad and Big Anklevich), but they've really got me with this one.

It would be nice to develop a couple new traditions--preferably non-solo ones--but this is one I don't mind repeating from last year.

Happy holiday.

Rish Billy Mack Outfield

*Which might be a good thing; after all, how attractive can a man be to a woman when he consistantly bawls throughout what is universally-recognized as a Romantic-Comedy? I believe they even address it in the flick, when Emma Thompson says, "No one's ever going to shag you if you cry all the time."

Santa Baby Jesus

The local Eighties radio station keeps playing this promo that sort of creeps me out. It goes, "Ho, ho, ho, kids! This is Santa Claus here, reminding you in this holiday season to remember the Baby Jesus. The Baby Jesus taught us to love one another as we love ourselves, and thinking of him will help us all to have a merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho!"

I find this radio ad both vexing and extremely annoying. Look, I know that Christmas is a religious holiday, and that religious folks get upset that it has been secularized. But isn't Santa kind of the anti-Jesus? The representation of all the commercial and non-denominational aspects of the holiday? Isn't Santa Claus Jesus's Lex Luthor or Doctor Octopus? Or at least the equivalent of Toyman or the Shocker.

It may not be Israel and Palestine (as I have previously asserted), but that one holiday icon should be used to invoke the name of another holiday icon just seemed wrong to me. Despite whole church and state thing, it would be one thing if the station's general manager got on the air and told people to keep in mind that it's Jesus's birthday, and He's the reason behind all the hoopla. But to have Santa do it (or, more accurately, somebody pretending to be Santa) and telling KIDS to keep in mind that the season is about the Baby Jesus . . . well, I just have a problem with that.

Years ago, I knew a woman who would constantly pray to the Baby Jesus. And that just plain bothered me. Maybe it's all nonsense, or maybe it's just the thought that counts, but if Jesus was really the Son of God and lived like the stories say, then He sure as hell isn't a baby anymore. Right?

Or is Baby Jesus a different entity altogether, like Superboy and Superman are (at least according to the lawyers DC Comics employs so they don't have to pay royalties on "Smallville")?

Regardless, Fake Santa telling us what Baby Jesus taught is just false all-around. The Baby Jesus didn't teach us anything. He was a baby. Oh, going by all the carols and pop songs, He was an extraordinarily well-behaved baby . . . but He wasn't giving devotionals, self-help seminars, and lecturing at community colleges. Not even on carpentry.

I know it's a little thing, and wouldn't have merited being mentioned (still doesn't), but I heard the promo again and again on the radio, and figured I should say something, just to get it off my chest.

We can just move on now.

Rish

P.S. "Hey kids, this is Artoo Deetoo. I know you're all excited about THE PHANTOM MENACE getting re-released in cinemas in a few weeks, but let me remind you that Spider-man turns fifty years old in 2012, so this really should be his year. And remember that Spider-man taught us, 'You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.' Have a happy new year."

R.I.P. Joe Simon

Captain America co-creator Joe Simon died today. He made it to ninety-eight, and lived to see a really solid film made from his most famous creation. In recent years, I've really grown to love Cap, and I hope Joe got to interact with some of the millions of people like me over the years.
Thanks, Joe.

Rish "Bucky" Outfield

Water Torture

I don't know if you have a Del Taco where you live (probably not in the UK or Australia, right?), but we have 'em all over around here. It's delicious, cheap food, and my cousin and I eat there pretty much every Tuesday night. Also, the restaurant in L.A. I probably went to the most was the Del Taco on Washington and Motor (technically Culver City, I suppose). Like most fast food franchises, their drinks are unforgivably overpriced, but you can always get a complimentary water, to save a couple bucks.

Of course, those restaurants make a killing on soda, and some Del Tacos have an ingenious way to get you to buy drinks anyway. For example, the aforementioned L.A. location had water that tasted like it came right out of the septic tank, and that worked well for them.

Today, I took my nephew to our local Del Taco, and they had an even cleverer way of getting us to buy drinks. I got a drink for me and a water for him, but then found that no water was coming out of the dispenser. I asked the girl behind the counter, and she said, "Oh yeah, that's broken."

Touche, Del Taco. Touche.

Rish "Del Chalupa" Outfield

The World's Most Helpful Employee

I went to Target today, and they had their yearly $7.99 sale on DC Universe Classics figures (normally they are $15.99). Unfortunately, the local store hasn't gotten a single new figure in in months, perhaps not since last year's holidays. What they have on the shelf are figures I've returned (or others have returned), and not a single one that's worth $7.99, let alone $15.99. But I'd discussed this so many times with my cousin that I'd planned on stripping the shelves if they ever went on sale again, in hopes that the store would order some new ones.

Unfortunately, they had three of probably the most worthless figure in their entire series, Cyclotron (it's probably more worthless than the much more-prominent Captain Cold, since he at least comes with a Build-A-Figure piece), and I was torn between buying ALL the figures, and buying all of them except for him. And an employee of the toy department just happened to come by, so I asked him.

"These are on sale," I said. "Should I buy all of them, or is leaving only three enough so that the store will order more?"

"It doesn't work that way," he said, smugly . . . then didn't explain how it did work.

"Okay, how does it work?" I asked.

"The warehouse sends us more when they have more. It doesn't matter if we have them on the shelf or not."

"Oh. But this store hasn't gotten a new figure since 2010. Since they're on sale, will you be getting some new ones in?"

"There's no way of knowing that," he said.

"Can't the manager or somebody order another box?" I asked.

"Nope. The computer keeps track of those things."

This frustrated me, since I was now getting visions of the HAL-9000, and that shitty Michael Bay TRANSFORMERS movie. "Alright, isn't there anything I can do to ensure your store gets some more in?"

"Well, you could buy all the ones on the shelf, if you want," he said.

Sigh.

short story unsale

I got an acceptance letter about one of my stories a few weeks (months?) ago, and was excited that a) someone other than me liked it and b) I'd get to hear somebody produce it for audio. It's a tale I'm quite proud of, and might have been the first story I wrote with a pair of girl protagonists (rather than my typical male ones).

But life is what happens when you're . . . a loser, I guess. So I got an email from the editor who, sadly, can no longer do the story (or any story, it would seem), due to matters beyond her control. That was disappointing to me, mostly because I now won't get to hear how someone interprets and performs the story, but also because it's a rejection in a way.

It ain't world-ending or anything, but it's a bit of a bummer. Of course, a real writer would have already sent it out there to another publisher, in the time it's taken me to write this. Sigh.

Parenting