Sunday, May 28, 2006

Netflix: Hot Pursuit (1987)

A 15-year-old-looking 21-year-old John Cusack stars in this odd movie that starts out like a less-funny version of The Sure Thing and ends resembling a less-funny version of Rambo. That makes it sound like the movie was not very good. Well, it wasn't.

Hot Pursuit lacked an overall direction, seeming like the stock-in-trade Cusack romantic comedy and then, unexpectedly, Ben Stiller kills the captain of a ship and all hell breaks loose. Yes, Ben and Jerry Stiller are also in this movie. Evil Ben Still is always good for a few laughs, but unfortunately he wasn't enough to carry this production.


Thursday, May 25, 2006

the cube whisperer

I work with a dude that's a big talker. On more than one occasion, I've seen the guy blow 5 or 6 hours of his day chatting. He'll stand in someone's cube and go on and on and on.

I have no idea what requires such exposition. You see, I have the fortunate happenstance of him being a little afraid of me. Now, for most of you, that assertion seems outlandish, especially when you consider I have yet to send him a throat-slash-roger email. I am a huge pushover and if he came to my cube and talked for 3 hours, I would sit there and take it. At the same time, I warm slowly to people. And he's a relatively new guy. Since I rarely work with him, I don't have to interact, therefore I'm not going to go over and share how tough the Cavs loss was on me. When he does have a legitimate need to talk to me, I'm usually pretty short with him, because it's awkward and always, in the back of my mind, lurks the specter of him never leaving my cube; following me to the parking lot, talking; yelling as he runs alongside my car on the highway; relaxing on my couch, jawing, while I Netflix - you get the idea. This fear keeps my quality time with Chatty Charlie at a minimum.

Others are not so lucky. Another co-worker of mine, nice guy, often falls victim to Chatty Charlie. Let's call him Bleeding Ears McJones. Old Bleeding Ears, try as he might, is unable to escape the conversational bonds that keep him locked to Chatty Charlie. How do I know? Well, he decided to hold B.E. hostage right behind my cube. This is annoying to no end. How can I work? How can I notWork? Normally, under the duress of such a distraction, I would put on my headphones and rock to some (currently) Michael Penn.

In this case, I can not do that. For with Chatty Charlie there is a catch. He whispers. Everything. The one way to ensure that I too am held captive by his conversations is for him to whisper everything he says (well that and stand behind me). What matters of intrigue is he discussing? What's the rumpus? Is there an office romance I'm unaware of? Is someone getting fired? From previous experience, I know he doesn't say anything really cool that I don't know about yet. It's indubitably something mundane. But, the mind sharpens and the ears focus (mine can). "Why haven't I ordered Whisper 2000 yet? Maybe there's a Whisper 2006 and I can hear his THOUGHTS. Would those be in whisper format?"

So, all morning I was left in such a bind - straining to hear what wisdom Chatty Charlie had to share. After their conversation ended, I had this email exchange with Bleeding Ears:

me: you can not escape! I saw you trying. What does he talk about for so long?

He was trying to do the "uh-huh," edge away thing, but Chatty will have none of that. His gums keep smacking.

BE: Start with a service call (for 5 minutes) and end with problems with highways and ODOT [Ohio Dept. of Transportation] and everything in between.

Looks like I didn't miss anything this time. There's two hours I'm never getting back.

Monday, May 22, 2006

thought . . .

If you have a mullet, you can't just cut it one day. People count on you - your hair, more specifically. It's very disconcerting when a mullet disappears. How could you be so selfish?

all your moonlight sonata beep beep beep questions answered

I'm not sure what "moonlight sonata beep beep beep" is. I'm getting a lot of search hits for it. Unfortunately, I reference the two items in separate posts and I know my inane writing is not what you're looking for. I think THIS is what you're looking for google traveler. But that could be wrong. Maybe you're just cheap and you don't want to buy the whole Beethoven's Wig album. Do you think great music grows on trees? It doesn't. Being creative costs money. That's why this blog is so low-quality, I have spent 0 dollars on it thus far. Well, maybe I'll work on an audio post of the Moonlight Sonata in beeps, but I can assure you it will be nothing like the original.

Friday, May 19, 2006


My office has one of those planning people. She wants to organize luncheons and little outtings for our group. My rule is if I'm getting pizza out of it during work hours, I'm on-board. Otherwise, not so much. Anyway, she's starting to get into celebrating people's birthdays. She puts a balloon in their cube. Then she started passing around birthday cards to sign. When I got the cards (the three people born this month) it really annoyed me. I mean, we are co-workers. We can go get drinks every once in awhile; we can share a deli tray. Giving each other birthday cards seems a little too cozy to me.

At any rate, here was what I wrote in the cards:
  • Happy Birtday - I knew you could do it!

  • Don't fear the reaper!

  • Tick-tock, tick-tock. Childless at 38? "Time" to start worrying!

Ok, if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know I didn't actually use any of those. Well, I used the first one, but that's it. This was an easy quiz people. Someone that gives 15% of his income to hoboes doesn't go around talking bad about lonely cat women. It's just not in his nature. If I were meaner, I'd be rich.

Since I can't seem to get through a post without talking about the Cavs, there is an evil woman here. She was talking to a couple of us this morning and she was saying she couldn't wait until LeBron leaves Cleveland so she could email all the TV stations and say (basically), "Nonny nonny boo hoo." Why do people say these things to me? As if I don't have enough to worry about and try to control with my mind. You know why you're about to comment? I'm controlling your mind. Ha! You don't even know if I'm devilishly handsome. At any rate, tonight's the night of game 6. I've burned in a few ulcers. Wish me luck. Even if you want the Pistons to win, you should not want me to die of a massive coronary. That wouldn't be nice.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

this blog is defunct

I can't post, yo. I can't explain WHY watching other grown men throw a basketball around has such an effect on me. I could probably better explain why multiple beers have an effect on me, but that's neither here nor there. Beer makes sense to me. This, on the other hand, does not. It tends to confuse and befuddle me. I don't have time to explain all of this to you, but let's just say that Cleveland people are not used to this. We're not used to having the best player in the NBA. We're not used to having a chance (please God) of going to the Eastern Conference Finals. All of this is new to us. I don't know what to tell you or how to explain why this is important to me. If you do not care for sports (sorry May-B) or understand our legacy of losing, this is all aimless rambling. But smile, even a little, at the girlish glee this is bringing to me. And if we can win only one more game . . . . Ooooh, I don't even want to think about it - yet. It's late. I love you all!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

thought . . .

Whenever I see someone in a neck brace, I assume they're faking for litigious reasons. Thank you Brady Bunch.

disconcerting outlook

Monday, May 15, 2006


This playoff basketball thing is making it hard for me to focus on other stuff, like my beloved blog. Let me tell you, I was there and luckily for us all this is a written medium and not a fancy audio blog, because the voice (normally of a sexy/musky timbre (ok, that's a lie)) is a little gone right now. And all my energy is focused on trying to hone my telekinetic skills so that I can control the basketball with my mind. But, as always I will persevere.

For now, enjoy my thumbs-up in front of the free Witness poster (NOT the t-shirt - dang!) I receieved, and if you're so inclined, gander at this other dumb Witness-related joke I made over at the other blog - and thus endeth this incredibly long link. You know, if you haven't been there already.

Hey, my thumb is curvy.

Friday, May 12, 2006

disappointment to follow

I have a nice watch. I spent way too much on it, but it was a symbolic item for me - symbolic of the time. But it was more than that. I bought it when I was going through a difficult period in my life and for me it came to represent my internal fortitude and love of always having the time at hand, err, wrist. At any rate, my watch suffered an injury. The clasp broke; even though it was supposedly made of titanium. Tibreakium they should call it - LOL ;)

I took the watch back to the jeweler where I purchased it. I got an estimate and agreed to have it repaired. I also had two other watches with me that had dead batteries. Watches I hadn't worn since I bought my super-cool-nearly-indestructible-emotionally-significant watch. The clerk lady takes the watches back to the master watchsmith and I stand around sweating my ass off (for whatever reason they keep the store at a comfy 94 degrees). After about five minutes, the clerk comes back out with the watches, "That's five dollars a piece." Ok. "AND he set the correct time," she says as she shows me the CORRECT TIME - gasp.

Is that the state of customer service these days? He set the correct time. And she looked at me like I should be applauding him or something. I guess he had other options: leave the watches set at whatever random time they stopped on or set the watches ten minutes slow so I was late to everything. But it would seem that setting the correct time would be the most logical choice.

I kind of giggled to myself and handed over the money. The clerk didn't pick up on the subtle-humor-but-not-that-funny vibe of the moment (she would totally hate on this blog). Here demeanor spoke loud and clear: you don't get that kind of service at the mall watch hut, my friends.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

i was born at night, but it wasn't last night. ok, i'm a total dumbass.

I'm parking my car and Don Cheadle starts yelling something at me. (Ok, not the REAL Don Cheadle, but the guy looked like him and it's easy to remember.)

"My family needs help! Look at the cop's lights!"

Indeed, I had seen a cop with a mini-van pulled over a minute before when I was exiting the highway. It puts the money in the pay box. Don is still yelling stuff about his wife and kid in the car.

Enough of my stupid narration. The story speaks for itself. My "thoughts" in italics.

Don: Sir.
Here's a man showing me some respect. Loved you in Traffic, by the way.

Don: Sir. Did you see the car broken down on the highway?
Me: Yes.
Damn! Admit nothing.

Don: That's my family in there!
Here's really yelling a lot. Do I look like I have a hearing problem?

Don: Sir, I'm not a bum.
Hmmm, relatively well-dressed, doesn't reek of booze. His story checks out.

Don: I'm here from Toledo with my family. My son is sick. We took him to . . .
Chuck E. Cheese? Where? Oooh, this is a good story. I should ask what his son's name is.

Don: Rainbow Babies and Chil- and Children's Hospital. I don't know if I'm saying it right.
Uh-huh. Real tongue twister you've got yourself there.

Don: He had kidney surgery and I ran out of gas and I don't have enough money to get home.
A 240-mile roundtrip and you had, what, 10 gallons of gas?
Me: Ok.
He senses my weakness. What if, just once, one of these people TRULY needed my help. It's possible, right? I'm 99% sure Don is lying his ass off, rather well, but it's not inconceivable that he needs my help - to get drunk, most likely.

Don: I work at Royal Chemicals as the night supervisor.
Royal Chemicals, eh? Sounds possible.

Don: I have a good job; I make 15 dollars an hour.
What? And you can't afford a tank of gas?

Don: But, my life is kind of messed-up right now and I'm going to get it turned around.
This guy is good. Appealing to my desire to root for the underdog while also explaining why he can't fill the gas tank, clever Mr. Cheadle, clever. Although, perhaps you should have said your son's "treatment" was very expensive and you spent all your money on his care.

It was then that I made the ultimate mistake of giving strangers money (beyond the part where I give them money). I took out my wallet without knowing what was inside. You see, much as a lawyer should never ask a question without knowing the answer, you never want to take out your wallet without knowing the denominations of the bills inside. Once the wallet is out and you don't produce money, you're open to the snatch and grab, the shiv in the kidney, the taser, vulcan death pinch, the whole pantheon of grifts and heists is now bearing down on you. I was thinking I'd give him a couple of bucks, Jesus gives me a high-five, and I'm good to go for a month or two. What do I see staring back at me? Four cold, judging eyes, all belonging to Andrew Jackson. Fuck. I mean, double fuck.

By now, the die was cast. Hoping agianst hope, I handed over 20 dollars.

Don: I have to go to Salvation Army and they'll take me over to the gas station and then my car.
He's going away from the gas station. Damn! The Salvation Army isn't a taxi service. Couldn't you have at least let me BELIEVED you weren't fleecing me? Just for five minutes? Just take the money and go, Don Cheadle, you brilliant bastard.

I get into the office, hoping, nay praying, that Don Cheadle was telling me the truth, even a little. Even though I knew he wasn't. Looking to restore my faith in humanity, I google Royal Chemicals. There's no Royal Chemicals in Toledo. There is a Royal Chemicals. Wow. That's quite a commute. I guess he did need the money.

Later, a co-worker says, "I'm coming into work and I got this guy yelling at me about his kid in the hospital and he's out of gas and he has to get back to Painesville." (Fyi, Painesville is east of Cleveland about 35 miles, Toledo is west about 120 miles.)

I'm convinced I give my money away to entertain you people. Here's the rundown:
Parking, one dollar.
Don Cheadle's Gas Money, twenty dollars.
Giving Don Cheadle 20 bucks to take his "sick kid" home to "Toledo" where he works for "Royal Chemicals" and then writing a blog post about what an idiot you are . . . 21 dollars, but in abstract terms, priceless.

A fool and his money are soon partying. Oh, parted. That makes more sense.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

so . . .

Did David Blaine die yesterday? Please? Ok, maybe not die but be rendered incapable of attempting any more acts of derring-do - at least for like 5 years. I was somewhat interested in seeing how they would stretch 9 minutes of breath holding into 2 hours of television, but instead I ate an orange. Making that last 2 hours really took some doing.

Monday, May 08, 2006

the revenge of casey blake

Comments to this blog are sent to my email account. When I receive the email, I know that it's a comment, but I don't know what post it's associated with. Usually the comments come soon after the posts, but not always. A couple of weeks ago, I found this bouquet of flowers in my email:

I bet you feel stupid now you moron. Go back to whatever it is you get paid minimum wage to do and leave the sports talk to people with iq's higher than their age. You are just jealous b/c you can't even get paid to follow the horses in the parade. Idiot.

For the record, I would NOT take minimum wage to follow horses. There has to be some kind of premium for that type of work. Regardless, the comment was left by someone named Rhonda. Now, RS2 (Roger's sister #2) is also known as Rhonda. (Although all legal documents bear "RS2".) I was like, "Wow. I pissed Rhonda off so much that she's forgotten her own name! And what is all this business about parades? Was the circus just in town?"

I clicked through on the link to see the source of RS2's discontent. The comment was attached to my long ago screed against Indians right-fielder Casey Blake. I wrote it in July 2005 after watching Casey hit ten for four months. But now, Casey is awesome, so Rhonda took the opportunity (almost a year later) to call me out on it.

It would really embarrass me if Casey Blake had read that post. I'm very sensitive about such things. In fact, as you can tell by my response, I felt bad that Rhonda was so pissed. I mean, she even created a blogger profile just so she could call me an idiot - twice. I may kid, but if someone were really upset because of me, I might cry.

So Casey and Rhonda (if you really are two different people), I'm sorry I hated you so much last year. I promise, if you keep your average about .270, I'll never say a bad word about you again.

we are all linkin' men

I have been messing with the sidebar. Not really, but kind of. And I came to a horrific realization. I had yet to link a mandolyn and ky. I will never forgive myself for this.

I discovered the blog while on a "Next Blog" adventure. It was kind of a funny exchange because they were apparently unaware of the WORLD part of the wide web. Just kidding. It was a random visit on my part. At any rate, since that day I've been enjoying their blog. I meant to link a long time ago. But, my problem is that (I'm lazy and) I think, "Oh, I should link to that blog" and it's usually six to eight months before I actually get around to writing the update post/updating the sidebar and by then I've forgotten three-quarters of what I was going to link to.

Ladies, I apologize for the oversight.

bringing you joy bringing you Cleveland bringing you New York

I took a stroll down Euclid last week, so I could revel in the glory that is Hollywood, on location. As I mentioned earlier the crew of Spider-Man 3 was in Cleveland in order to shoot some "precision driving scenes." "Precision driving" is Hollywood-speak for "cars smashing into each other."

There were a whole lot of cars parked on Euclid. Most of them were Ohio cars with paper New York license plates covering the Ohio plates. Then I came upon this armored truck:

(If you look closely in the reflection of most of the pictures, you can see me lurking, photoing, chronicling the deception. I can not be silenced Columbia Pictures! You were not really in New York.)

The armored truck apparently plays a big part in the action. That was of some interest to me because - golly gee - it said "Manhattan," but every time I went by, the truck was sitting on the road, engine running. In fact, most of the cars were always running with stunt drivers at the ready. Every once in a while someone would be told to turn one of the cars around. And then I'd get all excited, "Oh, look at it turn around!" Hey, it was a lot of action when you weren't used to seeing anything happen at all.

Then I saw a "NYC" cab:

The cab wasn't interesting per se, but the people standing behind it were. I was trying to determine who was an important player on the set. But trying to judge it on hearing these guys talk was futile. They all made themselves sound VERY important. Why no director spewing venom at everyone? I have no idea. It would have made it more interesting for us passers-by.

There were innumerable little touches that made me appreciate all the work that must go into making one place look like another. Including the Purple Lilac:
I'm not familiar with 276 W. 38th in New York, but apparently, it looks a lot like Cleveland's Euclid Avenue.

In fact, there were a number of fake store facades:

Here's a real Subway:
Just to prove that not all the storefronts were fake. Hey we might not have any businesses on Euclid, but we can get a Chicken Teriyaki sub whenever we want.

Here's Tobey stopping to chat with fans:
Looks like Tobes isn't hitting the weights as hard for this Spider-Man.

Here's my shoe. Notice it's brash, New York attitude:

Here's one of a levitating car:
Later on they spun the car 10,000 times. The kid in the foreground spent a week and a half keeping people from crossing the street at certain times. There were about 10 other guys with the same job.

And of course, the ubiquitous stuffed animal stands of NYC:
I could have easily stolen one of these bad boys, but my conscience foiled me again. My quest for stuffed animal supremecy may never be attained.

That's about it. If there's one thing I've learned from this whole experience, it's that investigative journalism is hard.

(Here are some pictures from the set when something was actually going on. And here's a whole blog about it.)

publicist wanted

I was at game 6 of the Wizards/Cavs. I think my dad killed a drifter who also happened to have awesome tickets for that game. We were right behind the Wizards bench. I didn't heckle the Wizards much because they are ugly. Ugly people are very aggressive and tall (in this case), so I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut lest they decide they could kill me and return to the bench before anyone knew what happened.

Anyway, I Tivo'ed the game. And lookie what I found:

The circle on Eric Snow's left is my dad being pensive. I'm on the right looking concerned. The arrow is pointing to a guy that had a toupee - or some freak genetic hair mutation. If you were watching the game and you were me, you would probably have noticed me there. But if you weren't me and you couldn't slow-mo the game, you probably wouldn't have even seen me there at all.

Not that it matters. I figure this continued exposure is sure to lead to incredible fame and fortune. Don't worry. I promise to keep the blog running.

Friday, May 05, 2006

i should think of the titles first

What's the human limit for caffeine intake in one day? I am looking to get JUST up to that point. I am tired something fierce. Tired like falling asleep at my desk tired. That is bad. Due to the configuration of my cube, I get a lot of foot traffic coming behind me AND facing my monitor. Everyone on his floor has caught me reading blogs, checking CBS sportsline, watching YouTube and being generally unproductive. Actually, I think the dead giveaway that I'm working is if I'm wearing headphones. If I'm not, I may be working, or I may be sitting in my cube listening for footsteps. Because of this predicament, I can distinguish almost everyone on the floor by how they walk. Maybe not perfectly, but I can usually narrow it down to 2 - 3 people. This, while exceedingly cool, is a completely worthless skill - so far as I have determined. Therefore I am grateful to possess it.

So, I am enjoying a bottle of Arizona Diet Green Tea with GINSENG. I made sure I got the bottle with ginseng in all caps because that means it's extra powerful. It is really in all caps and there's a couple of geishas on the bottle. One geisha is playing a shamisen (google is smart), the other looks like she just said, "You go girl!" There's a third geisha, not part of the aforementioned scene, who looks to be making a cellphone call. Oh shit. My phone's ringing.

Thursday, May 04, 2006


he: You have to wonder about a girl that has 69 in her user name.
me: Yah. It's kind of a red flag. It might as well be herpes123.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

i would guess after 20 . . .

she'd have this whole thing down pat.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Netflix: Grizzly Man (2005)

A few weeks ago, I decided to compile of montage of pictures depicting human psychosis. Conveniently, I found all the necesarry images during a single viewing of Grizzly Man.

Without holding you in suspense, here are the top ten signs you might be crazy:

Grizzly Man is about this dude that goes to Alaska every summer to "live" with grizzly bears. Said dude is like 75% crazy, 25% actor, maybe 10% into guys and 10% always giving 110%. Let me run that by you again: He goes to live with GRIZZLY bears. Not koala, teddy or Care Bears, in case you misread. But, real, live grizzly bears. They've got these huge fucking claws and they are frighteningly aware of what to do with them!

Grizzly Man takes a video camera out into the Alaskan wilderness and films himself in insanely close proximity to grizzly bears, many, many times. He also has a penchant for attributing human qualities to grizzly bears and psychic bear-controlling powers to himself. He thinks he can reason with the bears. Or so he tells the camera. Needless to say, he and his girlfriend get eaten by a bear. Shocker. You find this out about 5 minutes into the movie. Knowing this makes you view things differently than if he had not been eaten. He keeps talking about how a particular patch of forrest is dangerous because of the thick woods and that you could walk right into a bear with neither of you having an inkling the other was there. Ok, probably want to stay away. Then he says that it gets even worse late in the season because the healthy bears have migrated and only the sickly, old and desperate-for-food bears are left to roam this particular patch of wilderness. He talks over and over again about how dangerous what he is doing is. And then, for unspecified reasons, delays his pick-up (by boat plane) to extend his time in this dangerous spot. On some level he comprehends his stupidity. Couple the video evidence with the anecdotes of his unstable emotional condition throughout his life and I just couldn't help but get the feeling that Grizzly Man pre-meditated his mauling. Maybe he didn't know it was going to happen on that trip to Alaska, but I think he wanted to be killed by bears. He did very little to protect himself from the possibility (refusing to carry a weapon or in any way harm an animal of any kind, let alone a killer bear) and he continually put himself in situations where it could easily happen.

The juxtaposition of Grizzly Man's insistence that he had a special bond with these wild ferocious beasts and the footage of the bears considering him was haunting. The bears looked him over you might contemplate a Big Mac at McDonald's. Could be good - might enjoy it, but I'll try something else. Their cold, dead eyes seemed to say, "What the fuck is this guy doing? I'm not even going to bother mauling him."

Werner Herzog made and narrated the movie. I think after watching the 100+ hours of footage that was left behind, a little bit of the Grizzly Man crazies creeped in. Herzog keeps mentioning how Grizzly Man's girlfriend is afraid of grizzly bears, as if that's somehow unnatural. In case you don't know, be afraid of grizzly bears. Be very afraid.

Also be very afraid of the coroner that worked Grizzly Man's case. He was a little quirky too:

I have rambled for far too long. Put simply, if you haven't already, you HAVE to see this movie. For serious. Have you ever seen the brainwashing scenes in A Clockwork Orange? Well, that's what's in store for you if you don't rent this disturbing cinematic classic. Let's see if Ed agrees:

Not sure what happened there, but it looks like 5 stars to me!


just can't get enough

If you're like me, right now you're probably sitting at your desk wondering, "How do I get me some more Roger?" Well friends, your prayers have been answered. I will be contributing to Draft Day Suit over in the sports/humor corner of the blogosphere. Take a left at AV Geeks, just past political rants, behind myspace and boom, right there it is.

Sarah is the brainchick behind the whole deal and she invited me to post there. It was, honestly, like one of my top-5 moments of pride. (theMonica admitting to being my girlfriend will be pretty tough to unseat in the number 1 position.) I thought it was really cool that she asked me. So she and I and a bunch of people I don't know (not that Sarah and I have ever met, but she comments here and therefore is a friend of mine) will be posting about sports. Not to say I will never post about sports here again (I hear the collective sigh of relief), but most of my sports post here revolve around the personal anguish I often endure because of my unhealthy obsession. I wouldn't want to deprive you of that.

At any rate, check it out!

lazy sunday [through saturday]

I'm lazy. Lazy like a "big old dog," as my dad used to say. I'm not crazy-lazy. I have a job and all. I get out of bed. "I warsh myself with a rag on a stick." Launder my clothing, the whole civilized bit. But, beyond that, my production starts to tail off. I struggle to perform acts of cleanliness beyond the most immediate needs of personal hygeine. For this, shame. So, as you might guess, festering in my own filth as I do, sometimes the blog succumb to the