Entertainment... Weakly.

[Resnik]

Hi. My name is Jed. And this is my journal.

Here is a list of TV shows that you really ought to be watching (in no particular order):

The Shield
House
Wonder Showzen
The Simpsons (fuck you, it's still funny)
Family Guy
Deadwood
Real Time with Bill Maher (you can skip the extremely painful opening comedy "bits" and his monologue)
Penn & Teller: Bullshit! (although this season has started to go a lil' stale- the circumcision episode was disturbingly awesome, though)

Nertz. I just got busy. I guess that's all for now, kids.

Check back for more delicious pop culture suggestions! And nude photos of Mr. Kwako!

[Resnik]

I never got a reply from Circuit City, despite my incindiary letter to customer service.

Le sigh.

Next on my hit parade is Wendy's. Here, then is my Wendy's horror story.

Somewhere in Midtown (47th and 6th-ish... I think...) there exists an underground Wendy's. I know this because, on my way to a rehearsal, I had 15 minutes to grab food and, seeing a big Wendy's sign with an arrow pointing down, I figured 'why not?'

I approached the counter to find 2 ladies "chatting". One of them (the actual cashier) was coughing harshly into her arm between phrases.

"Well, you know what I just (braying hacking cough into arm) found out? When you pregnant (wheezy breezy cough into arm), yo immune system is all fucked up (throaty nasty cough into arm)! I wish somebody toll me (phlegmy nauseating cough into arm)! Thass why I'm sick alla time (thunderous off-putting cough into arm)!"

She turns and faces me, the guy who had been there for at least a minute.

"Can I take yo order (climate-changing burp-like cough into arm)?"

"Yeah... a number 2 with lettuce and ketchup only. And with a Diet Coke, please."

"Just lettuce and ketchup?!?!" she asks incredulously.

"And cheese."

"Right. Just lettuce and ketchup. OK. (projectile chunky cough into arm)"

"Thanks."

"You wanna Biggie-Size it for a little bit more (reverberating otherworldly cough into arm)?"

"Uh... sure."

She takes my money, places it into the register, coughs into her closed fist, then opens said fist and hands me my change.

Then she starts talking to her co-"worker" who has been wandering around the counter as though she was a daughter brought to work on the nationally alloted day and was eagerly waiting for Dad to take her home.

A nice gentleman hands me my soda.

"It'll be a minute."

"Oh. OK. Thanks."

Seeing that I had a brief wait ahead of me, I venture off to do my favorite thing at Wendy's. I'm gonna make me some ketchup cups. I went from pump to pump. All four of them were empty. Huh. Never seen that before. OK. Don't panic. Coughy McShouldhavestayedhome will have some for me.

I return to the counter in time to watch a fat man drop the burger spatula on the ground with a clank. He picks it up, tosses it on the counter and leaves. "Gee," I thought to myself, "I wonder of anyone else noticed that that spatula hit the floor. Hmmmm."

Then I got my order. Which had been prepared by Madame Coughsalot.

"Can I get some ketchup?"

"How many?"

This is an asinine question. And yet, every fast food flunky asks it. I don't know how much ketchup I want, dummy. How about you give me a handful and, if I don't use them all, I promise I'll throw away the leftovers?

"Um... 5?"

She hands me 3 and walks away.

I sit at the table and open my burger. Oh, it has cheese. But no lettuce. And no ketchup. It does, however, have a thick piece of drippy tomato. Awesome.

I place the tomato on the table next to me. And bite into my burger.

Meh. Nothing fancy.

Halfway through I bite an onion.

But, upon closer inspection, it wasn't an onion. It was a mildly elastic piece of plastic.

Now, I know it wasn't a condom, because I've eaten many condoms in my day. This was something else. I figured, using every issue of Detective Comics living in my brain, that it was whatever they pack the cheese in and Mr. $3.62/hour forget to take it off the cheese before assembling (incorrectly) my burger.

I looked at my watch. I had 3 minutes to get to rehearsal. Otherwise, I might have said something to someone there.

No... on second thought I wouldn't. Why risk getting (more) sick than I already was.

Fuck you, Wendy's.

Fuck you in your dead founder.



Also, Coffee and Cigarettes is an awful movie.

Love,
Jed

[Resnik]

P.S.- For those of you keeping track, tonight's 9:00pm and 9:30pm episodes of Blue Collar TV will tackle "Stupidity" and "Halloween" respectively.

[Resnik]

There are people in this country who truly and honestly believe that evolution is a theory. An unproveable nonsense theory. Something that Godless scientists came up with to distract the flock from their One True Lord.

And that scares me shitless.

These aren't bad people. They aren't malicious. They aren't evil. But man oh man, they are fucking stupid. And their ignorance is what blows up abortion clinics (Thou Shalt Not Kill... Except...), what tries to re-define the word 'science,' and what tries to remove evolution from textbooks in Kansas and elsewhere. And, to a college-educated New Yorker, that is petrifying.

But how do you convert a religious person from their world of faith to our world of facts? How can you try to explain to someone who believes that Jesus will come back and bring them up to the kingdom of Heaven that, actually, the world wasn't built in 6 days. And Heaven is the unproveable theory. That there is more evidence to support evolution than there is to support an afterlife, a God, a Jesus?

I wish I had more patience. If I did, I'd try to have a calm detailed discussion with these people. But I don't. So I won't.

And to all of you that believe that evolution is nonsense... you need to evolve.





On a lighter note, Luke Perry will appear on Jennie Garth's hilarious WB sitcom, What I Like About You, as a "hunky plumber" tonight at 8:00pm. Can Jason Priestley be far behind?

[Resnik]

According to today's Post, Motley Crue is teaming up with America's Most Wanted to hunt for one of the band's missing fans.

Insert joke..... here.

[Resnik]

Thanks for the positive feedback, fellow IRCers. Glad to know that you're gettin' the giggles from my ramblings.

Here's a bit of unsolicited advice to parents everywhere.

If you give your child an eronmous sucking candy and they choke to death on said candy, please do not try to get the candy banned. If your child sees something on TV that you didn't want them to see, do not boycott the channel. Instead, TAKE SOME FUCKING RESPONSIBILITY.

For those of you that aren't having a torrid love affair with the New York Post (which I have been for over 3 1/2 years), two little girls recently choked to death on sucking candies. Now, their parents are trying to get the candy banned from the US. Fucking unbelievable. This reminds me of the brain trust that brought their 3-year-old to see Alien vs. Predator and let him choke to death on popcorn during the film (I have a hard time believing that anything Paul Anderson directs is worth seeing, let alone worth ignoring your choking baby). In a perfect world, Child Services would charge these dimwits for feeding popcorn to a 3-year-old. And the movie theater would ban them for bringing a 3-year-old into an R-rated movie.

Why must everyone in this country deflect responsibility for everything they do (or don't do). Some worthless cunt (who was driving very very drunk and killed someone in an a car accident) tried to get his charges lessened because he was an alcoholic and therefore, not responsible.

Thankfully, the judge dismissed his inane request. But there's no ruling yet on Morons v. Sucking Candies.


Also, you want to know the worst movie Robert DeNiro ever made? It's Godsend. Hands down. Unfuckingbelievably awful. I dare you to sit through the whole thing.

[Resnik]

So, I'm up for a job that would mean more money, more fun and I'd finally be doing something that takes advantage of my creativity. Which, if history is any indicator, I won't get. But, it took me years to muster up the strength to submit to that Late Night show that everybody likes (it's been 5 or 6 months, still no reply), so just the fact that I took the test makes me happy. And if this job doesn't happen, I'll try for others.

I think every performer, whether they be improvator, actor, stand-up, one-man band or something else, comes to a point where they need to know, truly know, that they are valid. That there is good reason to continue what they are doing and pursue it passionately. I can look at myself and know that I am talented. I'm not a genius, there are many who are funnier than I will ever be, but I know that I'm funny. And it's comforting to be able to say (and mean) that.

Unfortunately, the sword cuts both ways. Just as I am convinced that I am justified in pursuing a job in the field of comedy, there are others who are every bit as confident and nowhere near as qualified. Wow. I sound pretty full of myself. Hmmm. Please to explain.

I have met many people (in Chicago and New York) who really have ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS doing what they're doing, whether they be improvator, actor, stand-up, one-man band or something else. And it killed me to watch teachers at IO say "good job!" to these folks. It makes me sad to see people that are completely devoid of talent struggle to accomplish that which they are incapable of accomplishing.

That's actually why I stopped coaching for years. I am incapable of blowing smoke up someone's ass (if it isn't warranted). Oh, I'm all too happy to tell someone that they had a great show, on the condition that they actually did have a great show. I have limited patience with bad improv. It's a character flaw, one of many I have, but I have too many bad memories of teachers sitting through PAINFULLY bad scenes and saying:

TEACHER: And scene. How did that feel?
AWFUL IMPROVISOR #1: It felt alright.
AWFUL IMPROVISOR #2: Yeah. It was fun.
TEACHER: Great. Two more.

And I don't ever want to be that coach. I don't ever want to be so uncaring that I just sit there and count my money and avoid the elephant in the room. The elephant who just doesn't get it. It's like the terrible therapist that you say something to and they say "and how does that make you feel?" and then you continue to talk and the only thing they counter with is "and how does that make you feel?" It makes me feel like I could be having this conversation with a spoon and it wouldn't charge me $75 for 45 minutes. Or that I could be improvising in front of a mirror.

But I have started coaching again and the team I'm coaching makes me happy. Good kids, lots of talent, lots of energy... I was nervous before our first rehearsal (what if they suuuuuck?), but it only took a few minutes before my fears vanished completely. Solid group. I look forward to our next rehearsal.

So, how can you know if your confidence is warranted? Short answer: you can't. Long answer: you can not. Unless you join the cast of a TV show or publish a book that actually gets read by people or star in a movie, there's no real way of knowing for certain whether you're worth it or not (and even then, you may still be deluding yourself, but at least you're getting paid to pull the wool over your eyes). You have to ask yourself that question. And if your answer is "absolutely yes" then you're halfway there. If your answer is "well, gee, I don't know..." then maybe it's not that you don't know, it's that you don't want to admit to yourself that you don't belong.

Reading this over, I sound like a pompous douche. I apologize- I am not an authority on improv or, really, on anything. I'm just a guy with experience and an opinion. You can agree or disagree with me. Think me a jag or find some value in what I done wrote.

Why the fuck am I even bringing this up? Oh, right. I'm up for a job.

(crosses fingers)



I am so angry that Kung Fu Hustle isn't making much dough in the theaters. Granted, everyone I know owns the DVD, but I've seen it 3 times and I still want to see it on the big screen! If you haven't seen it yet, please do. Right now. I'll wait.

[Resnik]

THIS JUST IN!!!!

Comedian David Brenner (born on February 4, 1936) is getting married to Olympic figure skater, Tai Babilonia (born on September 9, 1959).

No word yet on how Corey Feldman ties into all this (but you know he does).

[Resnik]

ADDENDUM TO THE SUCKING CANDY STORY:

The parents are not as ridiculously stupid as I had originally accused them of being. As a compromise to their demand that the candies be banned from the US, they are ALSO offering to have the company put a warning on the candy wrappers.

What would that warning say? I mean, there are loads of things that little kids can choke on. Does everything of a similar size require said warning? Must they label those little radishes? And what of Whoppers (the malted milk balls, not the Burger King sammich)? Must each Whopper be tattooed with a warning? Where would this insanity end?

Why can't people just accept that accidents happen and most can be avoided if you PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR OFFSPRING.

Taking Head David Byrne once said, "Violence on television only affects children whose parents act like television personalities."

Hey, America, start making sense.

[Resnik]

An apology to Daniel Rutherford Dunford.

Dear Daniel,

A few weeks ago, I posted a picture of actor Pruitt Taylor Vince and said that you look alike. This hurt you. I never meant to hurt you.

You are a flower, forever blossoming in my heart. You are one of the kindest folks I ever done met.

Therefore, I searched high and low and found someone else you look like to me. He's a local boy. Works for NY1.

Daniel, my friend, here is a picture of your REAL doppleganger, Dominic Carter.



I hope that made you smile.

If not, hit one of your students.

Love,
Fatter than you.

[Resnik]

You know what I love more than anything? Maury.

Not Maury Povich, the man, rather his eponymous show. But not all episodes of Maury.

Just the ones where the women return to try to find their babydaddies. Again.

I was recently treated to an episode wherein a woman was back to give DNA testing to man #12.

She had tested 11 other men, each time facing horrendous disappointment as Maury read aloud, "Shoo-twon, you are NOT the father." But here she was again. Just as condescending and cocksure (no pun intended) as she was during each of her 11 earlier appearances. And, yet again, she falls to the floor, weeping loudly, as Maury reveals, "Chartreuse, you are NOT the father."

But, lest you think me evil, it isn't the fact that these women are clueless ho-bags that gets my heart a-pumpin'. It's something else. Something subtle.

Almost every single one of these women (and their prospective babydaddies) refer to Maury as "Murray."

And they are NEVER corrected.

"Murray, Murray, Murray.... I keep tellin' that bitch... the kid ain't mine!"

And then he'll run over to the big screen that has a picture of the baby and himself and say "we 'on't look nuffin' alike!"

And then the 875-pound skeezuh runs over and points at the "similarities" (hint: there are never any similarities).

Then, the reading of the DNA results.

But the super-mega greatest part? That Maury makes no attempt to corral his studio audience. And they... are... evil.

Imagine this. A woman, weeping comes out on stage. The audience 'oooohs' and 'aaaaahs' to show sympathy. She talks about how badly her man treats her, they sympathize. He comes out, they boo him. The results are in... he ain't the babydaddy. And the audience turns into a mob that would make Jerry Springer cry.

People literally stand up and start laughing at this woman. This woman whose child will probably never know who his/her father is. This woman who needs to support said child alone. This woman who has admitted to the nation that she fucked over 12 guys in the window of time that she got preggers during and she STILL hasn't found the one.

They heckle. They scream "whore" and "skank" at her. The man gets up and dances and hovers over her crying obesity and says "I toll you, you filthy slut!" and Murray does NOTHING.

Daytime television is a barren wasteland of awful. But Maury is the worst (and therefore best) of the bunch.

[Resnik]

Also, as requested, excerpts from the old thread that chronicled the two-week cruise I won through the New York Post.

This will be Part One. The other four parts can be found in journal entries #20, 21, and 22. Enjoy!


#1
So.

The ship had 364 passengers.

And 362 crew members.

Swimming pool, casino, gym, an absurd amount of buffets, meals, snacks, backgammon... lots to do.

There was a honeymooning couple from New Joisey that was approximately my age. Other than them and my companion, every other passenger was over 50. VERY over 50.

In addition, most of these fossils were one of 3 evils: French, German or Canadian.

The Canadiens I met loved to criticize American politics. It was only my friend's pleading eyes that prevented me from grabbing the lapels on their Members Only jackets and asking "Besides making my pancakes go down smoother, what has your bullshit country done for the world?"

The German language is like angry Yiddish. So guttural. So ugly. But the TV in our room shows movies in French and German, so I saw "Daddy Day Care" in German. "Das kinder!" was yelled on a few occasions.

But French, I have decided, is nothing more than baby talk. Listen to 2 fluent Frenchpeople (or, if they're in the U.S., Franco-Americans) have a discourse. It sounds like they are addressing a baby in a crib and speaking gibberish.

And it sounds even worse coming out a withered 97-year-old.

But the places we docked were insanely beautiful. My fave was San Andres, Colombia. So beautiful, so understated. It's a totally self-sufficient community. They hate the Colombians (who, apparently treat them as second-class citizens and occasionally beat them) but are so warm and kind. And the beer! I hate beer, but I drank Aguila like it was water. I've seen it in NYC. Find it, y'all. It's lovely.

Costa Rica was also sweet. We docked in Puntarenas and ate pulpo by the sea (that's octopus). We walked through the marketplace, met a goat, sunned on the beach, haggled with merchants, drank, drank, drank...

That's something that surprised me. Neither me nor my companion drank at all on the boat. Partially because that was the one thing not included in our prize package, but primarily because we didn't want/need to. It was nice to just relax lucidly. But once we hit land... hic...

Puerto Vallarta is ass. Avoid. The highlight of the "town" was their WalMart.

Acapulco is so pretty it hurt my eyes. Got my moms a prezzie (jewelry is cheap and beautiful and plentiful). But it feels like every native there depends on tourists to make a living. In the 7 hours we spent there, I was approached by at least 100 different "vendors" selling everything from hair-braiding sessions to silver to tequila to camisetas. It was dizzying. Especially since it was all crap.

Now, back to the food. Ridiculous. Every morning, you had a choice of a buffet (with all sorts of good stuff) or a sit-down meal (with the same choices, but someone brings your meal to you). Same with lunch. The downside of the sit-down meals is that you are at the mercy of the maitre'd. He will seat you at a table with other (ancient foreign) people. Dinner is a big sit-down to-do. But, as Carol and I were the first passengers to arrive, we got to choose one of the only 2 tables for 2 in the dining room. We got to relax by ourselves and talk and laugh without having to listen to tablemates complain that their potato is too hot. Or that the table salt isn't fine enough. Yick.

But that was dinner. Anytime we decided to have the sit-down breakfast or lunch, we got to meet freakish passengers. Like Patricia and Lucinda. Patty and Lou are lesbians. Old old lesbians. I like old lesbians because there is nothing sexual about them. They don't talk about private things. You just sort of have to figure out that they're gay. But Lucinda HAD to have born a man. Her voice was deeper than mine and she had the face of my old elementary school gym teacher (who is the proud owner of my all-time favorite name), Butch Chemka. Lucinda didn't have an Adam's apple or particularly big hands, but she was a man, baby. No doubt in m'mind.

So, the waiter brings P 'n' L their breakfast. He placed the dish in front of Patricia and says "For madame" and places Lucinda's omelette in front of "her" and says "And for the other one."

I almost peed myself.

There are many other anecdotes to be shared, but I need to get back to the daily grind. I'll rap 'atcha later, dogs.

:P-

[Resnik]

I like to think I'm somewhat intelligent. I also like ice cream. But, for the life of me, I can't wrap my noodle around this (from today's Post): http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/46802.htm

CHOKE 'LABELS'
Food-warning bill comes amid kids' deaths

May 18, 2005 -- A bill that requires warning labels on foods that pose a "high choking risk to children" has been introduced in the state Legislature.

If "J.T.'s Law" — named after a 3-year-old Long Island boy who choked to death on a hot dog two years ago — is passed, New York would become the first state in the nation to require choking-related safety labels on food.

OK. I get the concept, but think about this: the law is named after a 3-year-old that choked on a hot dog.

1) How many 3-year-olds do you know that are capable of preparing/eating a hot dog on their own? Right. So, someone (let's assume for argument's sake that this person is older than 3) GAVE this kid a hot dog. I'm not even sure a 3-year-old could eat a hot dog... unless... it was cut up into pieces! Ah-HA! So we now need to label hot dogs IF we cut them up? Or was someone really that dumb that they thought J.T. could eat a foot-long by himself. How about instead of labelling hot dog packages, we label J.T.'s parents with big stickers reading "DO NOT ALLOW FURTHER REPRODUCTION"?

There were no warning labels on the jumbo peppermint balls that killed two youngsters in the city last week — 5-year-old Jocelys Santiago and 4-year-old Ashley Morrison, who was buried yesterday.

The bill, which was introduced before the twin tragedies, would set up an Office of Choking Hazard Evaluation in the state Health Department to come up with criteria "for determining which foods and food products pose a significant and unacceptable choking hazard."


Once a high-risk food item is identified, the bill would prohibit its being sold in the state unless it is labeled "with a statement that it poses a demonstrably high choking risk to children." "I'm praying," said "J.T.'s" aunt, Joan Hugues, who has been urging legislators to pass the bill. "There's already labeling on toys. Why shouldn't there be labeling on foods?"

2) Let me ask a silly question. If there WERE warning labels on those sucking candies, a) would a 4 or 5-year-old give it a second thought? b) would a 4 or 5-year-old even be able to read it? And just what is an "unacceptable choking hazard"? Are we really this close to banning foods of a certain size and shape?

3) And to answer J.T.'s aunt, we label toys because children putting toys in their mouths might not be the first thing parents consider when purchasing toys for their kids. They may not realize that the toy on the box can come apart into little pieces. Therefore, it is necessary for parents to get a heads up so that they DO consider it when buying toys. Food, on the other hand, is SUPPOSED to go in children's mouths. Who the fuck needs a heads up about being careful what food you put in your kids' mouths? You mean, you understand that a LEGO piece can choke your kid, but a JUMBO MINT requires its own label? Oh, J.T.'s aunt...


For the love of fuck, people, this is what Darwin was talking about.

OK. I'm done with these suckers.

But I can't wait to see what candy shelves look like at this time next year.

[Resnik]

The New York Post LOOOOOOOOOVES me.

They just called me at work- I won 2 tickets to see Star Wars III: A Cinematic Apology tonight.

Normally, I wouldn't subject myself to being in a theater filled with people who cheer every time a character they recognize appears on screen ("Whooooo! It's Chewbacca! I know him! Yay!"), but it's free and it's sure to give me rivers of anecdotal info for this here journal.

I will report back tomorrow.

May the Force be with me.

[Resnik]

STAR WARS III: NERD CLOSURE (SPOILERS THERE SURELY ARE)

Well, first and foremost, yes. This is the best of the three prequels. Which, as Ethan would say, is tantamount to being the prettiest acid burn victim in the ward. But there were definitely moments of brilliance. They were just mired in horrible horrible acting and miserable terrible writing.

The movie starts with an epic space battle. Beautiful. Terrific. Yay. 'splosions a-plenty. It turns out, Count Dooku and his second-in-command, General Grievous, have kidnapped Palpatine and Anakin and Obi-Wan are trying to get him back. But... who is General Grievous? He's a robot. With asthma. Who has been trained in the Jedi arts. Whoever built him decided, "this guy would look great hunched over with a wheezing cough." Does it make any sense? Of course not. Is it retarded? Yes. Very much so. But there are things like that sprinkled throughout the flick. It's nice to see Christpher Lee do backflips and fight with a lightsaber, though.

The real hero of this part of the film? R2D2. Seriously. This is his movie. Hands down. And it's magical. If only the movie ended 20 minutes into it...

Natalie Portman is unbelievably awful. Like comically awful. And Hayden Whatshisface is equally bad. Their scenes are written like a bad high school play. And he keeps talking about how much he loves her, but you never ever see it. At all. Crappity crap crap.

So. By show of hands, is there anyone out there that didn't figure out that Darth Sidious is Palpatine? Anyone? Didn't think so. So obvious for everyone... except the Jedis who are alternately omniscient and stupid. So. Palpatine turns Anakin to the Dark Side. And nobody around him notices. GAY!

Now, the CONCEPT that Anakin turned evil because he feared for the life of Amidala and was convinced by Palpatine that he needed to go to the Dark Side to gain the power to save her... OK. That's not terrible. It's a decent peg to hang some scenes on. EXCEPT WE NEVER SEE ANAKIN EMOTE AT ALL IN ANY FUCKING WAY EVER EVER EVER EVER. So, it isn't earned. So much of this movie is TOLD, not SHOWN. And as a result, there are no stakes. I mean, Anakin watches Amidala comb her hair. That's how we're supposed to know that he loves her. LAAAAAAME!

Anyhoo, Anakin helps Palpatine kill all the Jedis (he even slaughters the younglings! Not the younglings!!!) and, despite looking like a Sith Lord, Palpatine still steers the Senate towards the creation of... THE EMPIRE!

I don't like George W. Bush. I really don't. I enjoy criticism of him. However, Geporge Lucas' script is so ham-fisted, I wouldn't be surprised if the movie was produced by MoveOn.org.

"So this is how liberty dies," says Princess Amidala, "to thunderous applause."

Bollocks.

The only Jedis to survive (and, if you've seen Episodes 4-6, you already know this) are Yoda and Obi-Wan. Yoda also shines throughout the movie. Frank Oz is in top form. Chewbacca appears for 8 seconds and all of those Wookiees you've been hearing about? 4 minutes. Maybe.

Obi-Wan defeats Grievous. Yay. But Palpatine has followed OCP's lead (Robocop) and added 'order 66' to all them Hawaiian-looking clones and that makes them kill all the Jedis. So, when he tells them to execute order 66, they all turn evil.

And none of the Jedis sensed this. Bollocks.

The rest of the movie is OK. The Obi-Wan/Anakin fight is enjoyable. When Obi-Wan cuts off Anakin's legs and arm and watches him burn... awesome. When Palpatine collects the still alive body, cool. When they build the Vader suit, great. When they put on the helmet and he takes that first deep breath, magic. Then, upon finding out that his wife is dead, Vader stumbles off of the operating table in an homage to Frankenstein (it is so incredibly lame, the audience was in hysterics) and then he raises his arms in the air and, in an homage to the end of Jungle Fever, screams "nooooooooooooooooooooo!" which made the audience slightly angry.

George Lucas has officially dropped the ball. For him to say that Episode I and II were 80% filler because THIS was the story he was itching to tell all along... fuck you. You could have made a 3-hour prequel and lopped off the 80% that alienated a big chunk of your fanbase. And it would have been more enjoyable than an 8-hour parade of suck. Which is what these movies are.

If nothing else, I am relieved. I have finished my homework. I don't have to see any more Star Wars movies. I ate all my vegetables.

On a scale of 1-10, I give this movie a 4.

The Force has left the building.

http://shop.starwars.com/catalog/pro...2;pcid1=;pcid2=

[Resnik]

Will today's Post get this man fired? God, I hope so.

In an article on video piracy (and how the new Star Wars movie is already being downloaded from bit torrent sites), there's a bit about how people called in sick today to see the movie.

"I called work at 5 a.m. and told them I had a medical appointment. I told them I had to see a psychiatrist," said cabby Daryl Williams, 44, of Brooklyn, outside the Ziegfeld on West 54th Street. "I hope I don't get in trouble."

Hey, Daryl? Next time, maybe you shouldn't tell the reporter your name and occupation.

Star Wars fans are fucking stupid.

[Resnik]

I have loved the show House from the beginning. I mean, I've been a big Hugh Laurie fan since I first saw Black Adder (and later, when I saw and read the scripts for A Bit of Fry and Laurie and watched Jeeves and Wooster, etc) and when I heard about this show, I was excited.

For those of you who arent watching it (and, thanks to the American Idol lead-in, there aren't many of you... House even beats 24 in the ratings every week), House is the story of Dr. Gregory House and his crack staff of assistants whose specialty is diagnostic medicine. When no one else knows what's wrong with a patient, they call these guys. They work in Princeton, NJ. In a truly weird-looking hospital. And House treats everyone poorly because he has tenure and is a generally cranky guy.

Here's why- due to an injury in his leg, he walks with a cane, is in constant pain and pops painkillers like Tic-Tacs. Since day one, we've known this, but this past week's episode fleshed out the backstory to the point where I can honestly say that this is one of the best TV dramas... ever.

A major problem people had in the beginning was that the show had the same plot every week. A patient comes in and needs help, House doesn't want to help, he wants to watch his soap operas in the break room. He gets tricked (or bribed) into helping. At the last minute, the patient is saved.

No argument here, that IS what many of the episodes were. But is Law & Order that different? I mean, you know what you're getting when you turn it on... where's the harm? Jack Nicholson and Dennis Hopper have made careers of playing themselves. But audiences like them, so where's the harm?

I figure if you watch the show, you know why this last episode was so amazing and if you don't I don't want to ruin your enjoyment when you DO start watching (re-runs or DVDs... take your pick).

So I'll just say that EVERY nit-picky problem I had with the show has been resolved in the best possible way. Intelligently.

I always had a problem with the way House's boss lets him speak to her, but now I understand.

And if you aren't watching this show, well, you're almost too late. Next week is the season finale. The good news is that season 2 is a go and he'll be back in the fall. The bad news is that the show's return prevented Hugh from being Perry White in the new Superman movie. Oh, well.

This is truly an amazing show and, until someone delivers the line "Is there a doctor in House?" I will watch it forever.



Also, I watched the season finale of CSI. The one Tarantino directed. Ladies and gentlemen, it's official. Quentin Tarantino is a parody of himself. Here's some evidence:

The SINGLE 2-hour episode was titled Grave Danger Volumes 1 and 2. Get it? Like the Kill Bills? LOL.

The episode starts with 2 guys playing the Dukes of Hazzard board game and one explaining the rules (ALL of them) to the other. Riveting television.

Various cineaste snark is peppered throughout (Hey! He's wearing a Lucio Fulci t-shirt! Outrageous! Hey! That guy's singing that song from that show! Too much!).

Look. The man has made some exceptional movies. But he needs to rise above just being the guy who added a brief dialogue about the Silver Surfer to Crimson Tide, which is what his CSI stint reminded me of more than Pulp Fiction.

I miss the guy whose movies I liked.

And Arrested Devlopment WAS renewed for a third season. America, fucking watch this show. If you don't, and it's cancelled, I will be most nonplussed.

[Resnik]

I can't say for sure, but I'm fairly certain that the guy in the WellPatch commercial is gay.



Yeah. Pretty sure.



And, really, this is the worst fucking jingle in television history.

"WellPatch brings you back to well... patch."

http://www.wellpatch.com/OffBroadway15.avi

Just... awful.

More to come...

[Resnik]

You would think that adding chocolate and banana flavoring to a cup of espresso and coffee would taste bad, but, after trying Dunkin Donuts' new concoction, let me assure you, you're right.

Monkeys would vomit.

And this morning I saw a commercial for their new "Blueberry Iced Coffee."

Where does it end, Dunkin Donuts?

More to follow...

[Resnik]

More re-posted New York Post grand prize cruise anecdotes! YEAH!

(Part One can be found in journal entry #12)

#2

When I left for the trip, I had a bad cold. Thankfully, it was gone by the time we set sail. I was in good health (and maddeningly good spirits) for the entire length of the trip... until we started heading to Los Angeles. The cold returned with a vengeance.

It hit me on Saturday night. Carol (my woman Friday) ordered room service for dinner (rather than watch me repeatedly blow my nose at our table for 2) and watched Daddy Day Care in German with me.

I had run out of Contac early in the voyage, so I was medicineless. A trip to the gift shop was fruitless- they had enemas, but no cold medicine. They also had Polygrip- know your audience, as they say. But nothing to stop the flood of boogies dripping from my Jewsnout.

As I tried to finish the Total Film crossword (which I did for the first time ever- take THAT, England!), Carol went to the hospital (the place on the boat that has medicine). They were closed. We decided we would go there after breakfast on Sunday, as they opened at 9:15am.

The next morning, I had a delicious mushroom and cheese omelette, honeydew, pineapple and wheat toast with Lurpak (the butter was imported from some Dutch company called Lurpak. My fascination with its smooth and rich flavor caused Carol to give me the nickname "Lurpak". I countered with "Piggy", as she was a vegetarian with a violent love of desserts. Salad for lunch followed by 4 fruit tarts. To paraphrase Nick Broomfield, we were Piggie and Lurpak).

After we had a post-meal cigarette, we went to the hospital. We entered and found no one there. We stood at the nurse's station exchanging casual lines of dialogue.

"Where is everyone?"
"I don't know."
"Is there a bell we ring?"
"Nah. Some old lady is probably vomiting. Someone will come out soon."
"OK. I guess we just wait here."
"OK."

That's when I turned around and looked into the dark room behind me. Sitting in the darkness, with only a small computer screen to light him, was a grumpy looking man in his 40's, wearing a lab coat. It was obvious that he had been watching us, but had said nothing. This made both of us fairly uncomfortable.

"Uh... hi. I just need some decongestants for my runny nose."

"Pliz! Come in! You say only dicongistent, but that is not so small thing. There are minny dicongistent, but the best one, we don't hiv on the ship. Pliz. Sit down."

We both entered the dark room and the Russian (?) gentleman stopped Carol.

"You hiv to wit outside."

Carol seemed thrown, but acquiesced. The man did not close the door behind her. Also weird.

"Now. The dicongistent is not free. It wheel cost you some mahney."

I expected it to, not to mention the fact that I had no choice.

"OK."

The man took out a penlight and looked in my throat.

"Ah. The throat is a gateway for infection. It is too bad that you still have your tonsils, becoz that would hilp you to fight infection."

Two things made me scared. I was always under the impression that tonsils FOUGHT infection, not the other way around. Also, I had my tonsils removed over 20 years ago.

Upon hearing this, Carol peeked into the office and I looked over at her with scared eyes. I waited a few seconds, until the tall foreigner had stopped using the stethoscope on me to say, "Um... doctor? I had my tonsils removed a long time ago."

"Thit is a shim. Becoz now you can't git into Heaven. Only pipple with their tonsils still."

With that he rose and approached a medicine cabinet. He started pulling boxes out in a seemingly random fashion. Now I wasn't confused or curious. I was legitimately frightened. Where was everyone else? Were the nurses all dead and in a broom closet somewhere? Before I could scream or run away, he sat back down at his desk.

"Here is Zirtek. You know Zirtek?"
"Um. No."
"Is like Benadryl. You know Benadryl?"
"Yes."
"Everyone knows Benadryl. Nobody know Zirtek."

I was afraid I had made him angry. Maybe his name was Zirtek...?

"Is good. Also, here is nasal spray for sinuses. How is your throat?"
"Actually, it's fine. I just need to stop my nose from running."
"I also give lozenjizz."

Was he coming on to me?

"Well, if it's all the same, I'd rather not pay for the lozenges. I have throat drops in my room."
"Yezz, but I not charge you for lozenjizz. I give from my hairt."
"Oh. Well... thanks."

He WAS coming on to me.

"The Zirtek you take one every 12 whores. The nasal spray every 12 whores. Lozenj every 6 whores. It doesn't mitter whether you eat, not eat. Drink, not drink."
"OK."
"Now, I need your room card for the beil."

I reached into my pocket and reluctantly prepared to let this man know what room I was staying in. But before he took the keycard, he started fumbling around his desk.

"You ir in lack. My norse has tickin the thing that I charge weeth, so I give you for free."

He handed the pile of medicine to me.

"Wow. Thank you. That's very generous."
"Pliz. It iz from my hairt. Bot you must drink lowts of hoht tih."
"No problem. I'll start right now."
"OK. You fill better."
"Thanks again!"

I exited the still dark room and grabbed Carol. We hurriedly exited the hospital.

"That man is not a doctor. He is a cook having a laugh. He is a busboy. Or he is a patient and the real doctor was thrown overboard last night."
"He didn't notice that your tonsils are gone?"
"Pliz."
"I saw his name on the phone list. You know what his name is?"
"Patient Zero?"
"Igor."

It took 24 hours for the meds to kick in, but I was fine by the time we docked.

As we walked off the boat on Monday morning, I was sure we would see Dr. Igor waving to us, wearing a chef's hat and laughing maniacally. But we didn't.

I like to think he was a stowaway. And that he was coming on to me.