I'm Considering Changing the Name of This Blog

What's the new domain name and theme going to be?
Ralph Fiennes is a Robot. (dot com.)

Seriously guys, think about it. Have you ever seen a movie with Ralph Fiennes in it?
You don't think so? Well actually, YOU HAVE. If you've ever seen The English Patient, Maid in Manhattan, Schindler's List or, um...ANY of the Harry Potter movies (he is Lord Voldemort) then you've seen him. The only thing is, he can definitely be elusive. He's easy to overlook because he's incapable of successfully conveying feelings. He's really more of a moving prop than an actor in many films.
I would make the same argument about someone like Keanu Reeves, except Reeves just strikes me as a really dumb stoner, not so much someone who is so cold, so unfeeling, that he would be capable of tearing somebody limb from limb without so much as an utterance. (If you saw Red Dragon, you will know exactly what I mean in the Fiennes department.) It's not so much that he is great at being evil--it's that he is great at acting with that special brand of non-emotive neutrality that chills REAL humans to their souls. It is the kind of acting that only a MACHINE could consistently perform. Because that's what machines are designed to do--consistently perform.

Let's take "Maid in Manhattan," for example. A horrific movie, I don't debate that. He is the romantic lead, though, and I ask you this: How fucking hard is it to be more convincing than J. Lo in "Maid in Manhattan?" This guy didn't have a difficult task. He just had to act happy, and pretend to be in love with a hot chick packing a shapely arse.
He failed at both of these quests...MISERABLY.
This just comes back to the core reason...Ralph Fiennes is--I shit you not--a robot.
Robots = entirely incapable of conveying human emotion or even emulating the idea of it. He cannot act happy. He does not know what "love" is, what it means or even what it seems like. Not even for 4.5 million dollars, or whatever ridiculous sum he was paid to exist in that movie. But why would he even care? Money doesn't mean shit to robots.

Let's examine another movie. If any of you have ever seen "The Chumscrubber," well...I am really sorry about that. I had this same misfortune tonight myself, but I can't say it was a total waste of my time. This is due to the fact that Ralph Fiennes was more robotic than EVER BEFORE in this film. Never have I seen him act with such recklessly terrifying machine-esque  control. I couldn't find any clips on Youtube of the scene that I crave in order to hammer my point home, so I will just describe it:
At one point, Fiennes steps out onto a patio in the home of a perfect stranger and walks slowly into her pool, fully clothed. He does this while looking straight ahead, without even the twitch of a smile, frown, or frankly, any hint that there is mortal breath contained in his "body." It's grotesque.
And what the hell is with this strange accent he exhibits in his entire canon of films? I thought he was from Austria or something, a la Governator Arnie, but upon further investigation, I found out that he is....English?! I don't fuckin' buy it, Fiennes. The pseudo-royal pedigree is just another construct of your creator's robot-obsessed imagination.

Oh, and while we're at it, did anybody read about his little real life tussle with Qantas Airlines? Apparently, he had sexual relations with a flight attendant in the plane bathroom, while flying to Africa for a UNICEF AIDS dealie. First of all, UNICEF, Ralph? Pretty cliche and overly respectable charity choice. Secondly, sex on airplane with a stewardess? Sounds like just the kind of played out bullshit a robot would invent to make people think it is human. I imagine it went something like this:

ROBOT FIENNES *Thinking*:
This will stump them. I will act as if I need sex. Because I am a silly human. Sex is a human need, therefore I will be perceived as indisputably human. MUAHAHA, they will never find me out!

The bottom line is that Ralph Fiennes is not just a robot, but also unintentionally hilarious. Here, we have a super-famous actor who has played lots of heady roles,  whom many people are severely sexually attracted to, and he is actually a machine; entirely incapable of exhibiting human emotion in any convincing manner.

If you still can't see what I mean, check out this clip. You will really need to fast forward to about 48 seconds in, which he descends from the stairs to the stage. Take a look at his stance and his walk. Totally electronic, right? That's not even the best part. Once he takes a seat at about 55 seconds in, check out the fuckin' WEIRD shit he does with his neck. He turns his head WAY too quickly--two times--and you can practically hear the gears turning as he operates. At this magic moment, he is a rock 'em sock 'em robot with a mechanical malfunction.

Unholy Matrimony

Yeah, I went ahead and posted twice today. Why would I do such a thing after spending 8 hours writing articles? Why on EARTH would I spend even another minute on this blog, or watching retarded videos on YouTube? Because I'm sick in the head, I guess.

I really have no excuse or logical reason for posting this, except that I just love it. It's wacky, hilarious, and more than a little bit disturbing. Oh, and...is that fucking A.C. Slater marrying Pee Wee to the fruit salad? No? OK, just checking.



Enjoy.

Photographic Interlude

I adore this.

Some of these images are beautiful, others, terrifying.

Human history is an amazing thing, and I particularly love the invention of photography. Sometimes I feel that photos are the only way to prove to myself that things actually DID happen--once enough time has passed that a distant memory almost feels like it could have been a dream. It's comforting at times, but it can also be a reminder of the horrible aspects of history that humanity should never repeat.
 Check out the link if you are into that sort of thing.

More posts to come, but I have been bogged down with PAYING work (yay!) so it's been hard to conjure up hilarious, long-ass posts when my eyes are dry as a bone, and I am quivering from staring at the computer all day long.

Tell-Tale Signs of Spring

Ah, Spring.

It's more than simply a breath of "fresh" air. It's the beautiful breath that doesn't catch in my lungs, unlike the frigid dagger of an icicle mother nature attempts to pawn off as laborious "breathing" in January temps.
There is so much more to love about Spring than just the temperature, though. It's all of the fun and hilarious hijinks that result from people coming out of hibernation.
Hence, the list:

Tell-Tale Signs of Spring:

1. Motorists Pumping Shamefully Horrible Music.

Is it just me, or do 50 degree temperatures practically DICTATE that everyone has to roll their car windows down and BLAST the shit out of horrible hip hop music the instant their car slows to a near stop? I noticed this while walking to Stewart's to cash a scratch-off today (I know, who's really the white trash here? No car, walking to Stewart's, lottery ticket...I'm basically scum.) Every single man, woman and child that drove by me, regardless as to whether they were driving a GMC pickup or a Mercedes S Class, seemed to be listening to fucking DMX at the traffic light!

"Y'all gon' make me lose my mind, up in HERE, up in here!
Y'all gon' make me act a FOOL up in HERE, up in here!" 

Seriously, dude...You drive a Benz, and you can't afford to purchase (or for that matter, download) some music that is...Perhaps a little bit more up to date?! Or, maybe you guys just like listening to a depressingly irritating guy with three initials instead of a name, who feels he has to scream at the top of his fucking lungs instead of, I don't know--rapping, or god forbid--SINGING?

I'm gon' act a motherfreakin' fool up in here if I have to hear that one more time.

The best part of this was that it wasn't even sunny out today for 45 seconds. I can understanding losing your shit for a little while when the sun's out, when it dawns on you that our 6 month run of winter could be finally be crawling to a halt. That would make many a sane human break out the Ja Rule/DMX. But for REAL? It was a whopping 50 degrees out, and cloudy with a chance of bullshit. At least the weathermen were right about something for a change. The bullshit.

2.  Sandals, shorts and...tube tops?!

What the hell. I have been made to face the fact that some SUNY Albany students just can't bear to replace their cargo shorts with some reasonable pants during the Nor'Easter months, but sandals AND shorts on March 12? That's pushing it. Sorry dude, I know you're already drunk in anticipation of tomorrow's St. Patrick's Day parade, but you're not in Daytona for break quite yet. Oh, and ladies? The terrycloth skirts with tube tops? I know you were looking to get taken advantage of this weekend, but it's no fun spending Saturday festivities dead in a ditch with your skirt pulled over your shoulders since Friday night. Not so hot.

3. Cadbury Creme Eggs; All Easter Candy For That Matter.

Yeah, I'm not being sarcastic about this one. There's nothing snarky to say here, I just love the yum-yums. And once they appear on the scene at CVS or the supermarket, you know Spring is waiting for you around the corner--snuggled into a cute purple basket with some plastic-y green "grass." Tasty and adorable.
I'm a Jew, so I don't really do the Jesus-related Easter stuff. However, I've gotta admit, Cadbury Creme Eggs beat the crap out of Gifilte fish, which just doesn't look cute (floating around in glass jars like the turds of terminally ill men.) There's nothing cute and festive about Gifilte fish. Or the feces of the dying.

4. PLANTS!

I'm a super-nerd when it comes to gardening and plants of all sorts. The other day, my dog sat on a pile of what I assumed to be dead leaves and other organic rubbish. Then, I spotted a tender green shoot poking out of the dirt, directly to the side of said dog's hiney.
 Removing dog from detritus, I rushed like an EMT in order to revive the fragile seedling. Of course, there was nothing wrong with it. Except, well...Let me just dig out around this area to give it a little bit more space, and ah--yeahhh, we've really got to get that pile of dead roots out of here...
 Twenty minutes later, my nails are caked with dirt, hands sliced to ribbons; I am awakened from my vegetation-induced trance to the sound of Tommy clearing his throat behind me.
"Uh....Are you ready to go yet?"
"Oh, um...Yep." [Thinking:  Jesus! I wonder how long he's been standing there.]

5.  Twitterpated.

Well, is it just me, or do people always seem...Well, hornier, when it starts to get warm out? Just checking.

6. Ice Cream Sales.

For months, Stewart's/Ben and Jerry's were seemingly barren waste lands, devoid of any dairy-sweets seeking customers for months. I could have sworn I even saw a sprinkles-covered tumbleweed roll through B&J's a while ago while riding the bus.
However, the temperature tops 45 and...BINGO! Huge line at Ben and Jerry's, Stewart's picnic tables suddenly chock full of retarded teenagers, slurping Peanut Butter Pandemonium and talking to each other about drivel in decibels that imply they're all hard of hearing. Good times.

7. Sandal and Bathing Suit Sales.

Yeah, I love sandals as much as the next (gay) guy. But bathing suits already?! WTF. Definitely not prepared for that shit yet. Give me until June to work off any potentially unsightly cottage cheese-butt, people. Not all of us are freakin' Gisele Budchen-esque in MARCH. Gawd!

Do you have a special tell-tale herald of Spring that you'd like to share? Please comment!

Meaningless Bullcrap You Will Thoroughly Enjoy

This next bit is....Well, it's simply retarded, and I love it!

We all know how much I hate hipsters. Perhaps some people would (dare) try to classify me as one. (But then again, do hipsters swear too much, emote with hyper-frequently (or at all?) or throw around mega-un-P.C. phrases such as "retarded" as if they were ticker tape at a Yankee's World Series parade? Nope, I think not. Not cool enough!

So, let's all point/laugh at hipsters and dogs, and have ourselves a grand ole' time. Thanks to Becky Nielsen for posting this on her Facebook page, so I could shamelessly steal it and re-post here, acting as if I exhumed the diamond in the rough all by myself.

WARNING: Some of the dogs you are about to see are ugly enough to cause moderate puke-in-mouth syndrome. Enjoy.

The Joy of Neighbors

Neighbors.

You either Love them or Hate them. Unfortunately, I have historically hated them. Maybe you've also had your fair share of living next to, behind, or beneath Chicken McScumbags. Let's look through a figurative album, if you will, containing mental snapshots of some cream of the crop winners I have had the grave misfortune to live in close proximity to.

1.  Crazy Old White Trash Lady.

I used to live near Albany's notorious South End, and honestly, I didn't mind living there. Most people were friendly, and on my block it was mostly just families. However, there was Crazy Old White Trash Lady. Who just so happened to live next door to myself, my boyfriend at the time, and his big brother (who's still a good friend of mine.) COWL--as we will call her from here on out--enjoyed screaming out her window to ours while upstairs, screaming up at us while she was outdoors, and waiting for social security check.  She found it necessary to constantly badger us about this particular issue, poking her head out the window and bellowing from her upstairs bedroom into our dining room, "DID YOU SEE THE MAIL COME YET?!" COWL seemed to have no fewer than fifteen "grandchildren" (who the fuck knows if they were even all related to her) living at her address. She explained to me that this was because her daughter's an incarcerated crackhead. (Paraphrasing, here....) If you bump into COWL on the street, she will never let you leave. She will fill and maintain her five square feet of lawn with plastic Santas and shit tons of jingle balls in the six months surrounding Christmas. Beware.

2. Crazy White Trash Alcoholic Dude.

It's possible that this guy was the worse of the bunch, but it's honestly hard to say. Crazy White Trash Alcoholic Dude lived below me in the ever-charming town of Cohoes, NY. He was a short, squirrly guy wearing a baseball cap, with the alcoholic tell-tale rosacea and a vendetta against for the world who-the-fuck-knows-why. CWTAD worked 10 hour days at a hard labor job, then he would come home, crank that annoying Kid Rock version of "Sweet Home Alabama" (which he would put on endless repeat) and proceed to get as wasted as humanly possible. And when I say wasted, I mean it. Wasted in the way that I could not see him and knew he was fucked beyond belief. He would start with the incessant foot tapping. Then, he would move on to the foot and hand-on-the-table combo. Which would get louder by the minute. Next, he would phone his only friend to come over. They watch football over the Kid Rock, and scream racist obscenities at the players on television. Later, if my boyfriend and I were lucky, his baby mama would come over and scream up at him from the street:

"Oh, don't give me that fucking BULLSHIT, you lying sack of shit. Don't tell me you're not fuckin that fat bitch down by the bowling alley, FUCK YOU. I see how she looks at me at the motherfucking grocery store! You fuckin' piece of shit bastard, FUCK you. I know what you're doing...Go fuck that fat piece of trash, see if I give a shit."

CWTAD would scream back at her, hanging out the window. He would say it was sad how she couldn't get over him. How it was none of her "goddamn business" if he fucked the fat chick. Often, his buddy would join in from the next window, telling the baby mama to get a life. This exchange would usually go on for about 20 minutes until someone (sometimes us) would call the cops. Shortly thereafter, Crazy White Trash Alcoholic Dude would pass out with the Kid Rock blaring all night.
On those extra special nights, I have never felt closer to committing suicide.

3. Insane Jewish Mummy Yuppie.


Holy shit. This woman was so out of hand that I would have NIGHTMARES about her regularly. Of course, I should have known I would have to share a driveway with some batty psycho from "The City" living in Woodstock. The majority of the town consists of crazy Jewish people from Manhattan. This lady was above and beyond, though. First of all, she closely resembled a mummy--bone thin (as a result of daily African and ballet dance classes.) Her skin was the color and texture of  tissue paper, peppered with liver spots. Her cheekbones could chop firewood. Insane Jewish Mummy Yuppie lived behind us, and we had to park as far to the side of the driveway as possible so she could get by. She used the shared driveway as an excuse to knock on my door and barge into my house without permission just about every single day. IJMY loved to gossip about other city transplanted Woodstockers that I didn't know at all. Frankly, I didn't fucking know anyone in that town, which turned out to be fine with me. IJMY would gesticulate wildly and holler at the top of her lungs about everything: her much-hated high school art teaching years, our surrounding neighbors, and individuals in her dance classes. At night, I would turn off the lights in my kitchen and spy on her as she painted for hours on end with a kerchief wrapped around her head. She bore a terrifyingly striking resemblance to a vampire in both mannerisms and appearance.


4. Teenage White Trash Couple with Angry Pitbull.

These inconsiderate douchemongers have been living next door to me since October or November. Before they came, living in this house was like frolicking in the garden of Eden. The neighbors were quiet, mature and chill individuals with which I could imagine myself kickin' it. Then, these 18 year olds moved and and shattered those dreams. It all started with the loud talking on their land line phone (seriously, who the fuck has a landline anymore?!) and then it progressed to beating the shit out of one another and storming out of the house dramatically. Sometimes if things get particularly heated, I like to go into the closet to hear what's going on word for word. "Don't fucking kick me!" Teenage White Trash Girl will exclaim to her male counterpart. "I fucking hate you, don't touch me!" she shrieks, slamming the door to the apartment.
Later on, white trash guy will take angry pitbull out to pee. Upon reentering, aforementioned beast will puke all over the carpet, directly in front of...My door.
Oh, and did I mention that neither one of them has a car? The dwelling has been transformed into Grand Central Station, with random cars screeching up to retrieve/drop off Teenage White Trash Couple with Angry Pitbull. Also of note: It seems that at least two or three random children show up weekly to tear shit up and bellow at the top of their lungs within the apartment of TWTCWAPB.

The icing on the cake? It appears that current TWTCWAPB neighbors have recruited another young trashy male to live in the apartment directly below us. How do I know this? Well, the first night young trashy male spent here, he got into a domestic dispute with his significant other, outside in the parking lot. Speaking of parking lot, a favorite past time of YTM includes drinking Keystone out in the shed and throwing the cans into the parking area after he imbides. He enjoys leaving signature stomp marks on the flattened receptacle after consumption.

Upon finding evidential litter of his garage boozing, I ask myself yet again: Where am I, the homeless shelter/fucking high school parking lot, OTB or a Boca Raton retirement community?
Try this on for size: "Home Sweet Home."

Nothing to Say

...But it's OK!

I am working on a clever little ditty on a theme I think everyone will be able to relate to. As this has been an on-going saga of bullshit over the course of about seven years, it's going to take quite a bit of cataloging and organizing in my brain to write a truly kick ass post. You'll see what I mean when I'm done. :o)

In the mean time, you should check out this NPR photo slide show of international breakfasts by photographer Oliver Schwarzwald. It just makes me happy. NPR always has the best photography galleries!