What Would Elvis Do?

I had to post this for everyone's enlightenment...

My father shipped a box of goodies to my kids for Christmas. The part of the package that stood out the most to me was what was given to my son, Malachi.

I should state here that Malachi waivers between atheism (when he's wanting to see who's goat he'll get) to reverent agnostic beliefs, but always filled with challenging questions that could rattle the Pope. My father, on the other hand, sits firmly on the side of evangelical, born-again Conservativism, don't-question-what-you're-told sheepdom. He sees Malachi as a "tester."

And for those curious onlookers, I named him Malachi not for the OLD TESTAMENT reference to the prophet Malachi who foretold the coming of Christ... and not for the evil red-headed kid who did Isaac's bidding in CHILDREN OF THE CORN... but for the simple fact that it had a bouncy ring to it everytime his father and I said it. And for further reference, Malachi's real life personality tends to waiver in between the prophet and the evil henchman mentioned above, oddly enough.

So I watched this year as Malachi unwrapped what turned out to be a metal Russel Stover's candies tin with an image of Elvis on the lid. Then I noticed as my son's face twisted into a puzzled frown when he opened the candy box and pulled out... no, not candy... but a book. A "WWJD" book, to be precise. (for clarity's sake, WWJD=What Would Jesus Do)

Shoved inside the book was a card. Malachi read the card quickly, then shrugged and simply tossed it on the table. I asked him what the card said and he replied, "Just some Jesus stuff again." He looked really disappoined. Although he did get 2 gift cards that he could use later on, I could tell he was really looking forward to the candy.

I never read the card until just today, as I have been sick with a 104 degree fever, a crouping cough that sounds like sea lions mating, and so much mucus that there simply aren't enough tissues in the world to contain it all... adding up to what I believe is some version of Bird Flu, because I had been visiting a couple of pet shops and I cooked chicken the other day and 2+2=4 ... I'm no dummy. I know this administration has been looking for it's opportunity to rub me out! Well, I'm still here, suckers! I'M! STILL! HERE!

So anyway, in my feverish fog, I never thought to read all the children's cards until today, when I was tidying up and about to throw all holiday reminders into the trash. That's when I noted that my card, as well as my other two children's card, had no other note but: "Have a Blessed Christmas!" from my father and step-mother. But Malachi's card... well, Malachi's card solves the mystery that has lingered with America for like a quarter of a century:

Why did Elvis die?

Read for yourself!





Of course! Now it all makes sense!
The King of the Jews ... The King of Rock 'N Roll.
One and the same! Jesus = Elvis
And Elvis died for our sins too!

Why hadn't I thought of that before? I'm sure someone else has a whole theory on this. Probably South Park. Or Mojo Nixon. I'm glad that I've finally been enlightened. Now I get to share this theory with Malachi when he gets back from his dad's house in a couple of days. I can't wait to tell him all about them both being "the King" and how dying on the cross is akin to dying on the toilet.

Amen.

Cowboys in the Mist

On Saturday night, I went to see BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN at the only place in town that it was playing: the Midtown Art Cinema. It was, of course, completely sold out for each and every showing, and we had to wait outside in the drizzly, frozen rain for about 30 minutes in line just to catch our 10:35 showing. All I have to say about the film itself is: any awards it gets, it totally deserves. If you go, bring tissues.

Being that the movie was preaching to the choir in this area of town, I'll be interested to see it again when it comes to Larryville in a week or so. If you haven't been reading my blog very long, I'll refer you to last year's entry, "Me thankful? F**k off!" once again for a review of local reactions to cinematic cornholing. I don't think I can do it justice, but I love to see those 'necks squirm.

As for the previous night's screening, I stumbled upon a new favorite audience-wide reaction: a multitude of gag sounds when seeing raw meat. My guess is that about half of the audience were vegetarians of some sort... I said VEGEtarians, not VAGItarians... yes, there were a handful of lesbians in attendance, but the overwhelming majority of the gag sounds were male.

My guess is those sounds came from the bird-chested indie rocker gay boys and not the muscular preppy jock types. There was also the awesome catty arguements overheard while waiting for the film to start. The best one came from the row in front of me, where about 7 khaki-clad "all-American" passers were seated next to 2 scrawny indie boys... all of them were gay, that wasn't in question... but was in question was if they were all together, which I soon discovered they weren't.

The 2 indie boys decided to drain the lizard before the movie began and thought they could save their seats (chairs, you perv) by draping their scarves over them. No sooner had they walked away, but another of the jock boys waiting for an open seat and watching the whole thing simply lifts the closest scarf off the seat and tosses it over onto the other scarfed seat with a kind of arrogant disdain.

That's when all of his friends started to berate him, telling him it was so "uncool" of him and that those other guys were just going to the bathroom and were trying to save their seats. They tried to get their own friend to move to a different seat and he simply refused, over and over, stating that you can't save seats with a scarf, blah blah blah. His own buddies were really upset and about to force him to move to save their own embarrassment, when the seat-stealer finally trumped the whole argument with, "Besides, it was a striped scarf." At that point, they all calmed down and agreed that he did the right thing then.

I don't get enough of this kind of fun banter in my daily life anymore.

Silverback Mountain

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

I feel like I've been on a great rollercoaster ride tonight! Yeah, I just came from seeing KING KONG... and as I predicted, it was indeed geek porn. My nipples got erect as soon as the fog hit the ship and didn't go back to normal until ...well... nope, still not yet.

I've read some shitnick reviews where the critic was too full of bile to like the ride, saying things like, "Our response to the ape's doom, once touched by authentic tragedy, is now marked by relief that this wretchedly excessive movie is finally over." Fuck you, Richard Corliss of Time. You people have been on my shit list ever since that piece you did for the 2000 election, using me as your lead in and making me look like a poverty stricken moron. Now, you're dead to me. Dead, I say!

First of all, did you ever actually see the original? There was no sympathy for the beast in that one. He was pure spectacle and sympathy was waaaaay down the list of what you would have felt for him at the time. And if you didn't feel sympathy this go-round, then I'm gonna guess someone wasn't breastfed as a babe. Aside from that, this pic is full of nuggets of goodness and if you were over-powered by all the "excessiveness," then maybe you're just not man enough for this film. Scratch that... you're not WOman enough for this film.

Jackson is a reader, plain and simple, and he will put homages to his favorite influences everywhere he can possibly put them. He also knows that his fans are readers and he hides these nuggets in the frame every chance he gets. Were you just paying attention to the obvious Joseph Conrad book that you missed all the Melville? Did you miss the subtle movie posters in the backgrounds that were actually tributes to the original writers, Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace, and director and cast? Hell, he even threw in references to his own silly movies... Sumatran Rat Monkey, anyone?

"Even if this were the first gorilla-in-love movie ever made, audiences would come away vaguely dissatisfied, suspecting there was an intriguing idea buried somewhere in here, but it didn't quite come off." What do you want, Mick LaSalle of the San Francisco Chronical? Perhaps you missed a key line in the movie and were watching the film as Ann had read Jack's script... "it's in the subtext," dork. Just because the CGI is a spectacle doesn't mean that Jackson thinks he has to hold your hand through the fucking epic. Think steel industry and next time count the number of uses you see. Ever hear of the "robber barons?" Andrew Carnegie ring a bell? How about J.P. Morgan? Cornelius Vanderbilt? John D. Rockefeller? They were industry monopolists AND bankers at the same time... a time that established the class system we have today: when ten percent of American businessmen controlled over 90 percent of US wealth. Who financed the first 2 world wars, do you think? Now, what context does that remind you of today.

Want to read more into the new context that he's created between "beauty and the beast?" I'll spare you the lengthy contrasting comparisons and let you make up your own mind, along with the whole "Schrodinger's Cat" principle, love and its consequences, and what he's trying to say about our relationship with nature. You all need to have something to discuss on your own after you see it, right? Or not. Whatever.

Regardless of my geek rant above, there is a part of me that was hoping for some luggage abuse. Or perhaps a giant crap fling... a la GHOSTBUSTERS when the Stay Puft Marshmellow man's melted remains falls on the bad guy from the rooftop way above. C'mon! Crap from the Empire State Building! You know you've all thought about that yourselves. Hell, he could have taken out several planes in one fecal curveball!

Anyway, to all you crap flinging critics out there, my guess is you're just posturing to Jackson's alpha male, chest-pounding movie skillz. To that I say: Go get a real job, poopieheads!

6 Days, 7 Hours, and some change...

No, not until KONG is released.

I'm talking about the time left until my 35th birthday, which is December 12th.

And this year, I'm expecting that pony, dammit!


"Probably the worst thing about having King Kong go rampid in your town would be the huge, monster genitalia." --Jack Handey

Misery Loves Lompany

I've been spending the last 4 months moping and depressed that every day I try to find a job in my field and every day I've faced some sort of rejection (no one returns my calls... no one acknowledges that I even submitted to their application process... etc.) I finished a Masters degree thinking there'd be jobs gallore just waiting for me and guess what... I get the old "over-qualified" cold shoulder instead.

In addition, my parents (and frankly, everyone I know who doesn't understand this phenomenon on a first person basis) have been bumming me on a daily basis by their attempts to tell me that this situation is all in my head and I'm just not trying to find anything. Yeah, right. YOU try getting in touch with potential employers who could give a rat's ass about you and don't even acknowledge your existence with a "thanks, but we've already found someone" response... let's see how many it takes before you're depressed as hell too.

Quite simply, Atlanta's job market sucks right now. All you people who keep moving here... GO THE FUCK BACK HOME! Turn around and just go back to where you came from... please. There's just not enough job expansion in this town for all of us.

To stave off the impending financial doom that I've found myself facing, I took a go-nowhere temp job the day that I walked out of the bank while sobbing (see Tina Fey story). It's a filing job. That's it. Not answering phones. Not entering data into a computer. Just filing. For the same pay that I was making when I temped back in 90-91 before I ever went to any college... and it's equal to what teenagers are getting at McDonalds (that ain't a joke). The first temp job I ever had was went I was 19 and it was also a miserable filing gig... I quit after the first week... like I was tempted to do this time. It's a group temp project (16 total) and none of us are allowed to talk the whole time. I was reprimanded the other day when three of us were told to, "Save the talking for your breaks." And there's no headphones allowed either. Just the silent shuffling of papers and the quiet deadening of our souls.

So we sit all day, day after day, sorting, alphabetizing, and filing the payroll records and job reviews (but we're not allowed to read them) for the local school system (the largest in the state of GA) and there's about 3 years worth of unfiled material for some reason. It seems unending. No one smiles... occasionally we forget our own names... on breaks, we all sit zombified and looking like we've come from the pit of despair... in the mornings, we each dread returning. Several have just simply not shown up again, but were immediately replaced by unwitting fresh faces ready for the soul-sucking operation.

I'd worked there for several shifts before it occurred to me that I should probably try to at least be part of some sort of conversations on those 15 minutes of breakroom bliss. The funny thing turned out to be that I'm not the only over-qualified, over-educated, under-used smarypants in the bunch. One of the guys in the group who has seemed like a kindered spirit from day one turns out to have his whole Juris Doctor degree complete... just waiting to pass the bar and can't get any law firm to hire him until then, and can't get a university to hire him without Ph.D. instead.

And then there's the girl who is filing along side me in a narrow little tomb turns out to be a fucking rocket scientist. Last summer she interned at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Cali. No shit. And apparently she was in the process of finishing her degree in Louisianna when Katrina interrupted. Now she has to wait until the next semester to get into a school here to finish up... and in the meantime, she's over-qualified for some jobs, and under-qualified on the degree side. So here the 3 of us sit in existential limbo... purgatory... too smart for our own good... too good for the only kind of job who'll have us: temping.

On the bright side, the job is only temporary. It's got to end sometime. And it's only a 3 minute drive from my house, so I don't have to face any of the shittiest traffic on record and I can come home for lunch to check my email. So there's that. And it's still not as bad as as the Del Taco job I had when I was 16. Still, the daily intimacy that I've had with papercuts and their sheer variety has led me to fantasize in those mute hours about the multitude of ways that I could kill my supervisor with merely the thin edge of a page and perhaps a well-crafted and well-placed paperclip shiv.

It also reminds me of the brilliance of Cindy Sherman.