C'mon Mel, Let's Get Spaceballs 2 Going Soon!

            Every once in a great while, my wife and I manage to get out of the house sans children.  Usually it comes in the form of one of us taking the garbage out whilst the other one gets the mail.  We treasure these moments of sheer unadulterated bliss.  But soft, the dawn comes in the form of the pups we have brought forth on the earth and our encounters like this must be extinguished quickly. 

            But in ever rarer circumstances, we actually get someone to watch the children for extended periods of time.  This is a task not for the faint of heart or even the heart of faint, but after throwing fistfuls of cash at the sitter and leaving plenty of goldfish snacks in our wake, we can go out!  My wife and I even decided to try something that I’ve heard is recently trending among the twittering young folk or “twits” for short: dinner and a movie.

            What should catch my wandering eye at the cinegoogleplex?  Well, I heard that there was a new film from a fledgling young filmmaker that might need my assistance at the box office.  After all, I want nothing but bonhomie for this struggling little cinematic enterprise and golly, I just want to help in any way that I can.  Oh, all right we went to see Star Wars: The Cash Register Awakens.  Take my money now, here just take it.

 

This is more of Mark Hamill than you'll ever see in the movie.

 

            No, we weren’t part of the herd of zealots that were camping out weeks in advance, dressed up in their 4-LOM outfits as sad looking jedis hide their paunches while staging lightsaber fights for the ever smirking local news cameras filming a fill-in for the night broadcast.  Instead we waited a couple of weeks later in the hopes that the crowds had dimmed somewhat…and there still was an almost sellout crowd.  Ye gods people, really?  Is there such a dearth of entertainment in your life that you’re still going to see this thing?  Actually, for us it almost came down to our seeing The Hateful Eight instead, but as Tarantino manages to fill approximately 3 hours with chatty cowboys, we took a pass to go see X-Wing fighters mindlessly shooting things in a shorter runtime instead.  Hey, babysitters with nerves of steel ain’t cheap!

 

Okay, here's 4-LOM, as if you didn't remember him from Empire.

 

            So what about this Star Wars: The Bottomless Sack Of Cash Awakens?  Well, let’s get the positives out of the way first and no, as I am not 8 years old, I don’t bother with spoiler alerts.  Suck it up buttercup, I’m going in full throttle and that ought to keep those whiners off my back.

            The two actors that were brought in to play our two new heroes aren’t bad and I actually grew to like them as the movie continued.  This says a lot in our day and age and the fact that I have a heart of granite when it comes to new faces on the screen.  But actually I wasn’t angered by them and am willing to give them a chance.  Of course I won’t bother to look up their names but British Girl and Black Ex-Stormtrooper Dude, you were both just fine!

            I’d pay just to see an hour of the Millennium Falcon fly in space and shoot things.  No, really, just have that ship fly all over the screen and the only complaint I’d have would be that the movie ended and there was no more Falcon footage.  I’m actually ticked off that there wasn’t any screen time devoted to that ship in the Captain America: Civil War trailer that preceded the movie.  C’mon you’re all Disney now, let’s get some damn parsecs run in the Marvel U! 

The single greatest toy in the history of the world.  Although I only had one Stormtrooper, which made invasions hard.

 

            Always willing to see more banter with Han Solo and Chewbacca too, so this was a welcome sight.  Why we never got a side movie just based on their adventures, I will never know.  A missed opportunity.  Wait, there is the Holiday Special, isn’t there?  Well, that’s fun too!  Yay!

            Also the new droid is cute, I get it.  Yet I wasn’t annoyed.  I should have been, truly.  But I wasn’t and I’m not sure if I like that aspect of my usually cynical hide crumbling like stale bread when confronted with an adorable basketball that beeps.

            Okay, that should just about wrap things up with the rainbows and puppies!  I have a feeling that this movie is just going to end up being another one of those “Hmmmm…on second viewing…this isn’t that great” movies.  Sure, people are just wetting themselves over seeing a new Star Wars in the theater, but the prequels and the special editions got the same reaction.  Let’s face it: we haven’t gotten a good Star Wars movie since 1983 and that is only because we rewrote history regarding our responses to Jedi because the prequels were far worse.  This means that we haven’t really had a great Star Wars movie since 1980.  Nineteen hundred and eighty.  Yeah, that’s a while.

            Now, is this movie great?  Nope.  Sure, I was entertained, but I was never pulled into this story like I was in the originals.  Yeah, I know that I was in single digits and there will always be a feeling of nostalgic magic with the original trilogy, but all I ask is to be drawn into these movies and I always had a feeling of disconnect with this latest one.

            Too many plot holes would be one big problem I had.  So this Rey character who has never even bothered with the force before going on this adventure, suddenly knows that she can mind control like the wizened Ben Kenobi and fully trained Luke Skywalker could?  Ahem, how exactly?  I can believe that perhaps she taps into the force in a moment of emotional chaos like when she was being attacked or something, but being able to nonchalantly control the weak-minded?  Uh, no.  Also she never picked up a lightsaber before and she can successfully fight someone who has received training?  Uh, no again.  I’m sure this was supposed to raise questions for later movies, but instead I’m just an angry theater patron at that point.  Just say she’s Luke daughter and be done with it, okay?

            The First Order never learned from the Empire did they?  Still making huge laser beams from places with known weaknesses.  Also they just made their Death Star a Death Planet and harnessed a sun’s energy to create a planet-destroying beam of energy.  This is exactly the power that was talked about in Plan Nine from Outer Space.  Yep, this means that Ed Wood’s plot points were stolen by J.J. Abrams.  Just plain awesome.  Oh, and thanks for tacking on the Episode 4 & 6 “do or die space mission to blow up the Death Star” ending here too.  I guess when you can’t think of a finale other than staring at Mark Hamill, this is the safest route to go.

Old Han Lego figure.  Nothing is more depressing.
 

            Also don’t think that I wasn’t going to notice there was no explanation as to how Poe Dameron got back to the Resistance forces after crashing that TIE fighter with Finn on Jakku.  Yeah, there was quite the hubbub to get off of that planet with Rey and Finn, but Poe just managed to hotshot his way out of there?  Somehow?  I cannot believe I’m remembering these characters names.

            Speaking of which, as they were heavily marketed with their toys and nonsense before Christmas, Captain Phasma and Kylo Ren, I’ve got a bone to pick.  Phasma apparently is all shiny, was featured heavily in promos, and is at least voiced by a woman.  Beyond that we know that she is shiny and gets a blaster pointed at the back of her head during her amazing 6 minutes of screen time.  Oh, and I guess she’s evil.  I think.

            As for the delinquent son of Han and Leia, yeah, you’re a brat, that’s all.  Then again with Anakin as your grandfather, I suppose whiny tantrums run in your family.  Do I believe for a second this little wanker killed Han?  No.  Do I believe a contract where Ford didn’t want to do more of these?  Yep.  So as contracts dictate plot, contracts for the win!  Also, your voice modulator thingy is amazingly grating.  Stop using it.  Please.

            Why are there the remains of Star Destroyers and the like on Jakku?  Is this ever explained?  Why is there so much to scavenge?  Was there a terrific battle that we never heard about?  I mean the trailers just hammered this footage home every single time, I had hoped that it was plot-related…but nope.  Is Jakku the planet that Endor was a moon for?  Did Kylo Ren slaughter ewoks to get his grandfather’s melted helmet?  Agh.

            You go the trouble of dragging Max Von Sydow into this movie and you kill him in the first ten minutes?!  Max Von Sydow played chess with death and this is what you do to him?  You also drag John Williams to score this thing and you don’t let him create anything memorable in it.  Also, Chewie wouldn’t walk with Rey up the stone steps to see his good friend Luke at the end of the movie?  I can understand R2 and 3PO not making the trek, but the Wookiee can’t make it?

            Okay, now I’m getting nitpicky.  But I should hope that after all the time and effort that the product would be better.  Is this worse than the prequels?  Oh, no, not at all.  But almost anything is better than the prequels.  Even Star Trek V is better, oh yes it is.  But perhaps the most glaring thing I noticed with Star Wars: My Empty Wallet Awakens, is that the movie seemed rushed and the ending was just tacked on.  It is almost like Abrams took so much time developing the new characters and then clocked the runtime, noticing that he had to get to blowing stuff up/Han dying plot moments.

            We left the theater realizing the sum didn’t add up from the parts and decided to go home.  Sure it was a Star Wars movie, but it wasn’t really that either.  I am hoping that a lot of Lawrence Kasdan’s ideas were thrown aside, because I expect better from him too.  But it could have been worse.  This movie could have been Spectre.  I don’t think I could have taken it, if it were.

            Oh and would it have killed you to get 20^th Century Fox’s fanfare for this one?  It would have been worth the money.  At least the Disney logo was nowhere to be found but their presence was felt, being the dark empire as it is.  Perhaps the next movie would have a bunch of X-Wings fighting Disneyland.  Now that’s a great plot idea!  Where’s J.J.?

Isn't this the most chilling image you've ever seen?

If All The World’s Indeed A Stage, Where Are The Dressing Rooms Again?

            Yes, dear sweet, voluminous, voluptuous reader, I have once again decided to peer into the murky depths of my factual inaccuracies and reveal even more of my downright illustriously fabricated stagebound past.  I am retreading the boards so to speak to use a phrase per se and together we shall all grow as people, as carbon based lifeforms, and as expert salesmen of vinyl all-weather siding.  Well, perhaps I have exaggerated.  We are definitely made up of more than just carbon.

             Given the figurative volumes that have attempted to compile my vast stage background, I have once again decided to take everyone on a Poseidon Adventure of sorts into the Towering Inferno of my past heights and down through on a Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea of my past depths so that the Swarm of memories can overtake each of us up until the moment When Time Ran Out.  Yes, through these memories we can all get Beyond the Poseidon Adventure of my past stage experiences.  Now if all of those Irwin Allen references aren’t enough of a clue that I don’t know what I’m talking about, then I don’t know anything about The Story of Mankind. 

            The year was 1988 and my parents, determined to scar my fragile emotional make-up decided to move from the “City of Brotherly Love” also known as Milwaukee, WI to the “Biggest Moderately-Apportioned City in the World of Washington County”, also known as Hartford, WI.  Hartford is of course known for three things: 1) W.B. Place, where you can tan your hides, 2) The Mineshaft restaurant and bar, where you can hide your tans, and 3) the ability to cruelly disprove the comedy rule of threes.

             My new school was Peace Lutheran School and upon entering 5^th grade there, the only thought I had was fixating on escaping back to my old life.  This was going to prove difficult as I didn’t know even rudimentary German.  My brother’s ability to make a fake passport for me proved to be a dead-end as he was more interested in beating Super Mario Brothers.  Lightbulbs for my tunnel proved to be difficult to smuggle out past my eagle-eyed father in mass quantities.  My parents, showering me with love and concern probably in an effort to distract me in my efforts, had shown themselves to be more than worthy opponents.  I was broken, dejected, and despondent.  In a word that I created through my distraughtness, I was disconsolable.

            Despite the world weighing my little ten year old shoulders down, I could take comfort in a tiny glimmer of hope.  One infinitesimal light in the gloomy darkness could lead me out of this doom and gloom.  Peace Lutheran happened to have some really cute girls in attendance.  Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Man, does this guy drone on in a shallow and sad way!”  However I would counter with the clever bon mot of “Oh, you think so?!  Well, you ain’t read nothing yet!”

             Now what in the name of all that is moderately sacred has any of this to do with relaying      my past stage experience?  I’m glad that someone like me had the nerve to ask myself this very question that I asked moi.  What draws people to the stage?  Is it the passion for acting? Maybe.  Is it the drive to portray wonderful well-written characters?  Eh, sure.  Is it the wanting to become rich and famous?  I think this is closer to the mark.  Is it to meet ladies?  Yes.  There I said it.  Yes, this is the reason to act.  “But wouldn’t being a football player be a better route to gaining the attention of toothsome lasses?” you might assuredly inquire.  Sure, if you have a modicum of athletic ability.  But the gridiron attracts the manliest of male men and the stage, well, doesn’t.  For someone like me, who is enchanted with the concept of being surrounded by ladies without any testosterone laden buffoons in shoulder pads to compete with, the stage is a perfect setting!  Sure in a locker room I wouldn’t get a second glance from the opposite sex.  But when I’m surrounded by other guys that can best be described as “noodly drama nerds”, I am a demigod by comparison.

            Now did this ever help me achieve a legendary reputation with the lovely ladies of the stage?  I can answer with a clever and resounding “Nope!”  Oh sure I gave some wonderful backrubs to some very lovely shoulders indeed, but most if not all of those ladies did in the end enjoy the company of those linebackers who ultimately thought that Shakespeare was something you drank and Molière was something you had a dermatologist examine.

            Ah but this bitterness was the result of future dramatic enterprises on the stage, not necessarily whilst in my remaining halcyon grade school years.  In fact from fifth through eighth grade I never was in a school production.  Oh sure there were many offers from all throughout the extensive Lutheran parochial grade school drama circuits for me to return, but I declined all offers, imagined or fictional.  Why this vacancy of my presence from the stage?  I like to think that as I was being mandatorily encouraged to take up a musical instrument by my parents, my dedication to being a mediocre at best saxophone player was my driving, albeit at slow to moderate speed, focus at the time.  However, upon some research I discovered that this was hopelessly inaccurate and in fact libelous to me, whom I didn’t want to sue in the first place.  Upon further review I believe that laziness combined with apathy made a wonderful cocktail that I downed liberally at the time and this was in fact the reason.

            Yet I was in two forensics competitions at the time of 7^th and 8^th grade however, so my instincts remained sharpened by that experience.  In 7^th grade, I handpicked a fellow student to give me straight lines as I delivered an Abbott and Costello routine that I had transcribed from a worn cassette tape.  This of course is shocking to most readers that will grudgingly admit that I am their acquaintance.  I of course have incredible disdain for Bud & Lou.  Sure, there are some funny moments in Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein and Who’s On First is a routine that if performed correctly shows that you have incredible comic timing.  But beyond that, I have always viewed them as lower rung Three Stooges mimics that appeal to the lowest common denominator, which is why their films made money as brighter talents such as W.C. Fields and the Marx Brothers withered and died, but not that I’m bitterly angry about that.

            I had heard this routine on tape many times and as it wasn’t Who’s On First and as I knew it more or less from memory already, I could dazzle the judges and blow away the competition at the Lutheran grade school forensics meet with my mad verbiage skills.  I handpicked my straight man Jeff from a literal crowd of 4 other guys in my class and after a smidgen of rehearsal and a practice run in front of the class, we went into the throng of competitors a few weeks later.

            I don’t know if you’ve ever had what some would call the agony of having to sit through a classroom filled with grade school forensics presentations, but allow me to dissuade your fears and apprehension and tell you the truth.  It is appalling in its badly applied mediocrity.  Ye gods.  Oh sure, the parents were gleaming with pride for their little moppets that were all most certainly going to be the next lighting stand-in for the next Haley Joel Osment, but for the rest of us it was a trial by badly memorized fire.

            However, I knew that we were going to amaze with our shocking maturity and comic timing.  So the moment had come and we proceeded to go through the routine, beat for beat, laugh for laugh.  We followed the same technique that Bud & Lou had and knew where the laughs were and it all fell into place.  I thought we had a lock for a first place blue ribbon of achievement and wonder.  And then the judges came back with their results and the red ribbon of a second place, the first place for failures, was handed to us.  I was stunned.  My ego is not that terrific to begin with but I thought we were a lock.  When I asked a judge what we could have done differently, she said “It was just great and funny but then you swore, so I had to dock you.”

            What?  I swore?!  When was that?  She said that it was when I said someone did something just for the “hell of it”.  I then reminded her that as the entire performed piece is a collection of bad fish puns and fish-related jokes, I actually and truthfully did say the person in question just did it for the halibut.  HALIBUT!  A bad fish pun.  Not a cuss, mild as it would have been IF I actually said it.  So we weren’t being graded on performance but on single misheard pun?  Alas, she couldn’t be swayed and as this was being held at a Lutheran grade school forensics competition at a Lutheran high school, the self-righteous nonsense from the religiously indignant cloth-eared buffoon judges held firm. 

           (Not that I’m still bitter, mind you.  I’ve come to realize that the level of humor needed to amuse most Lutherans hovers somewhere between an off-color joke from the late 1700s about Catholics and the mid-1990s masterworks of Sir Adam Sandler.  Sadly even Abbott and Costello must be Bollinger compared to the stale Bud Light of Mike & Molly they’re used to imbibing.)

Did this setback set me back?  Not at all!  For I knew I would be back that next year and perform yet again.  I most certainly would show them and go out in a blaze of glory that would rival anything that Jon Bon Jovi sang about Emilio Estevez playing a cowboy.  But that is another story that I need time to enhance with dramatic fiction.  You’re welcome as always and stay tuned for the thrilling penultimate conclusion!

Your Lion Eyes, Or A Horse Is A Corpse Of Course Of Course

This just in: Cecil the lion and Barbaro the non-lion horse just met in animal heaven and talked things over.  The meeting was amicable but short because lions and horses don’t share a common language, unlike dolphins and woodchucks of course.  After using the obvious choice of a swan as an interpreter, both Cecil and Barbaro realized that humanity is very strange indeed.

 

Then Cecil ate Barbaro.  Oh, cruel fate!  Fortunately the fake outrage in animal heaven is quite loud right now.

 

Why are you still reading this?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fifteen Years After Freedom

          Fifteen years ago this week, I was sitting in my bedroom upstairs reading a compendium of every Sherlock Holmes story that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had written.  I had picked up the volume from Barnes and Noble during one of my “Well, this is famous, guess I had better read it to find out why” moments that occur semi-frequently.  This would explain the eclectic library that I own which makes any sort of cataloguing a nightmare to anyone outside of my dented psyche. 
 

I was turned on to Holmes at a young age due to Gene Wilder’s comedic homage in The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother.  The Granada TV series that starred Jeremy Brett as Sherlock then turned out to be a revelation.  Quite a career-defining role for Brett and those series definitely set the bar quite high when it comes to any other Holmes adaptations.  Then my brother encouraged me to actually read the stories, which is what I was doing at that moment. 

 

            Nearing the end of the book, I knew I would finish it that night.  It truly had been quite a journey that I had taken with Mr. Holmes.  From a sign of four to demon hounds to a death by waterfall to a resurrection to a solitary cyclist, a drawing of dancing men, and Bruce Partington’s submersible plans, it had been quite a ride.  And soon it would be over with just another turn of the page.  As I reached the end of the story, I heard from downstairs that it finally happened: my mother had passed away.

 

            My mother had been fighting what started out as ovarian cancer for close to three years at that point.  She had been through the surgeries and the chemotherapy.  Everything seemed to work and in fact her count had showed remission.  However the cancer then came back.  Her count spiked up.  Another round of chemotherapy.  Her oncologist said that the chemo wasn’t working the second time through and this was just delaying the inevitable.  Then she made the decision to leave, have hospice care, and barring some miraculous event, pass away at home.

 

            I never viewed it as giving up the fight or some other such nonsense definition.  She and my father had been through so much already in battling this disease.  If nothing else, my mother had amazing willpower and had endured horrendous treatments in trying to beat back cancer.  I think she just reached a point of acceptance with her situation.  I also believe that it gave her two months to not focus on the disease, but rather to focus on her faith in and to demonstrate that faith to others.

 

            Leaving the hospital for the last time with her is burned in my memory.  It was just the two of us taking that short trip together.  My mother looked out the window of the car as we drove along.  I don’t remember us talking about anything.  I do remember just the look on her face as we passed familiar landmarks that she knew she would never see again.  The look she had was one of quiet peace with just a tinge of sadness.  Thinking back on it now, I’m just amazed that my 21 year-old self managed to keep it together as well as I did.  I’m more amazed at how my mother kept everything together.

 

            I don’t know how one without faith would handle knowing that you are going home to die.  What horrors those people must go through.  Even having faith, it must be quite the trial.  Yet I remember my mother showing not false bravery, but resignation and confidence.  I have often said in the past, that I pray that I have just a modicum of the faith that my mother displayed during that time.

 

            My mother never met my wife and never had a chance to treat her like the daughter she never had.  My mother never met my children and never had the experience of being a grandma.  They will only know of her via pictures and home movies, which isn’t much of a connection at all.  Even my memories have started to fade since so much time has passed since she died.  It is also hard to remember a time when she wasn’t sick.  But since writing this, certain thoughts pop into my mind.

 

            I will always have an affinity for movies thanks to my mother.  Some of her favorites are still my favorites.  The Bishop’s Wife is my favorite Christmas movie.  The Thing From Another World is still a great sci-fi film.  Her love of The Quiet Man prompted me to contact Maureen O’Hara and she graciously signed a photograph for me.  Thankfully my mom and my dad taped a lot of Marx Brothers films from the late shows on TV and that started a lifelong love of their work too.

            My mother had a sense of humor that could go towards the dark at times, which I love.  I remember she would be getting testosterone with her cancer treatment.  She wanted to have dad get her a fake moustache to put on for the oncologist so she could say, “Doc, you have to cut back on the treatment!”  Even at her funeral that sense of humor prevailed.  My father turned to me prior to the service and said, “Your mom isn’t here.”  To which I replied, “I know, she’s dead.”  My father elaborated, “No, I meant that the funeral home didn’t get her ashes ready in time, so the memorial box up front is empty.”  I said, “So mom is late to her own funeral?  That is great!”  And we both started laughing because she would have found that hilarious.

 

            She was a paranoid driver.  Ever since she got into an accident years ago, she would have white knuckles on the wheel just driving to the store for groceries.  As you might imagine, it was rather tense when she would go out with me to practice driving for my license.  We would just go out into a vacant parking lot and she would tense up like I was about to attempt some James Bondian car stunt of legendary proportions.

 

            My mother was a great cook.  I can still taste her homemade apple pie and nothing since comes close to it.  She also wasn’t afraid to experiment with dishes.  My brother and I still have nightmares about a quiche Lorraine she tried to make where the eggs never set.  Only a year ago did I attempt to make one on my own.  That it came out is a testament to her watching over me from afar.

 

            I hope that my loyal readership allows me this posting, as it is quite a left turn from my usual fare of nonsensical natterings and exquisite blather.  But all of a sudden 15 years just blinked by and I felt the need to reflect upon them.  The ultimate knowledge that my mother and I will be reunited in paradise someday is a comforting thought.  Without faith there is no such comfort.  One day my mother will meet her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren.  One day we will all be brought together.  What a day that will be! 

 

            If time permits, I’ll get my mom to watch the Sherlock Holmes shows with Jeremy Brett.  I think she’ll love it!

The Deck Is Always Stacked Against You

          After spending what I believe to be the appropriate amount of time to mourn the loss of the wonderful Christopher Lee, I have decided much to the appreciative chagrin of my semi-adoring public to return to write yet another irreverent and scattershot post.  Before I get started however, I just wanted to reiterate what a loss not having Christopher Lee around is to this world.  He was such a delight onscreen in any number of roles.  My only hope is that his passing is only temporary and that at some time in some vague European nation some weary travelers will make the mistake of staying at the wrong castle and a devoted servant will use them as the bloody means to resurrect Lee from the grave.  Of course then Peter Cushing will have to be resurrected to kill him all over again, but what a ride that would be!

 

          Thank you for indulging my initial digression and let me get to the meat of what I wanted to write about today.  At some point in your life, you may find yourself living in a house that you are attempting to own despite voluminous mortgage bills and property tax payments.  This house may be blessed with a deck somewhere on it.  The previous owner might have been just great and slathered on a layer of dirt cheap paint to make everything look good enough to sell but not to last beyond 2 days after the house sale closed.  This might be good enough for a time, but then if you’re extremely blessed, you might have a wife that continually says, “Wouldn’t it be great if the deck were repainted!”  You might even reply with an agreement as I did that went along these lines: “Yep, Honeybunch!  That sure would be nice if that deck were repainted!”  You then might be dealt a stare that would drive all the warmth from your body due to the day of reckoning atmosphere that accompanies it.  You then might think: “Oh, no.”

 

            Well, if you happen to be the poor sod that is stuck with such a dilemma, fear not!  For I am a survivor of such an ordeal and am living just long enough to give all of you some tips and tricks on how to get out of staining your deck.  Whoops!  Please replace “out of” in the previous sentence and replace it with “started on”.  I forgot my wife sometimes reads these posts and she’s probably reading this sentence right now.  Hi, dear!  Doesn’t the deck look great?  Whew, I think she’s gone now, so here we go!

 

·        When I asked a friend of mine who owns a painting company what would be the best way to attack repainting/staining a deck, his first response was “Get rid of the deck.”  He did have a point.  After all, I live in Wisconsin, which does get to experience the effects of a season known as winter some six months out of a year.  If we’re lucky, sometimes even more!  Why in the name of Cthulhu would one own a deck in the Dairyland?  However my wife wouldn’t buy my “accidentally” destroying the deck even with my vast technological ineptitudeness at my disposal.  The chances of a tornado just taking the deck out are slim and a fire would be hard to control with such precision, but never say die.  Perhaps if I hired some guys to dismantle it while my wife was out and when she asked about it, I would reply bravely, “What deck?  This house never had one!  Why do you think we got such a deal?!”  But that would never work as the kids would rat me out in a heartbeat, the little punks!

·        Realize that the people that suggest the deck needs repainting are never the ones eager to grab a brush or slosh a roller down.  Just understand that!  You’ll save yourself a lot of heartache and anger by avoiding the clever retort, “Oh yeah, well why don’t you do it!”  Not that I can speak from experience, but I bet my grandmother would have grabbed that brush and would have done a better job than me.  Hmmm…come to think of it, let me revise this thought.  Challenge anyone that you think could do a better job than you at painting a deck.  You’ve got a 50/50 shot of getting out of doing it yourself.

·        Speaking of not doing it yourself, don’t let yourself be talked out of hiring someone else to do this task.  Although I did find it odd that when I mentioned the deck painting to the painting company friend, he didn’t violently leap at the idea of getting paid to do it for me.  Quite the contrary in fact.  However, there’s nothing quite like the satisfaction that comes from a job well done…by someone you’ve hired.

·        If you dare your wife that you’ll paint the deck but only if she picks up the paint in the color she wants, you will have that brush in your hand quicker than you can say “Sherwin Williams”.  You won’t get to the “Williams”.  Even with having to drag 3 children under the age of 5 into a Home Depot, she’ll have 9 gallons of paint waiting for you when you get home from work that very day.  Again, this is purely hypothetical and has nothing per se to do with my individual set of circumstances of course.

·        Delay tactics are a must at this point.  Even if there is a hint of rain coming from two states over, bring it up and say something along the lines of “Oh, shoot!  Sweetie, I just don’t want to waste the paint and have it all wash away!”  This will work a surprising amount of times.  Unless of course your wife gets a smartphone, links up to three different weather sites, and calls up the local weatherman every 6 minutes to get her personal “Weather on the sixes, because the eights take too long” reports.  At this point, you are defeated.  The only available out is if you can come up with a plausible arm break.  Inevitably failing that train of thought, prepare for paint day!

·        You might think that you have supplies for the forthcoming day of painting and you probably do, but they won’t be enough.  Oh no.  The cost of the paint was cheap compared to the brushes, rollers, roller brushes, brusher rollers, stirring sticks, brush extension poles, brushes, paint trays, paint tray liners, knee pads, brushes, handheld paint cup, handheld paint cup liners, brushes, paint remover, and of course brushes you’ll need.  Also, be sure that your paint is far too thick to make the use of a sprayer effective in any way, shape, or form. 

·        Also if you think something would be great to be covered with a roller, grab the hand brush because the roller will work like garbage.  If you think something would be best covered with a brush, you’re right.  Who would have thought that after all this time, the paintbrush would be the best application for getting paint on things?  So why’d you buy all that other stuff?  You fool!  Take it back to the store and get a refun…oh, wait.  You say that everything’s covered in paint because you tried to use it?  Oh, well, that’s different.  You’re screwed.  Never mind.

·        Examine your deck.  Did the builder make simple railings that were easily accessible from all angles?  No, of course they didn’t.  Never in a bazillion years would they ever think to do that!  I happened to have some sort of double decker railing with little 2 X 2 supports in-between them that were not only impossible to effectively paint, but they were also impossible to paint effectively too.  I think if they had the option, they would have hired those carvers that make ornate sculptures out of elephant tusks to work on the wood as well. 

·        Given your concern over the weather being a factor in your painting experience, have you ensured that the day will be breathtakingly scorchingly hot?  Please do so.  If you start to feel sick while out there for hours on end, don’t worry.  You’re just experiencing the effects of heatstroke combined with inhaling paint fumes from 8 AM until 5:30 PM.  Other than that, you are fine!  Keep pushing that brush, slacker!

·        If your wife gives you a tasty sandwich and a nice cool beverage as a pit stop after your hours of painting and you then immediately hear a loud thunderclap, please be sure to laugh uncontrollably.  You’ve earned that release, partner!  If you are extremely fortunate, the rain will come down in drenching sheets and you will laugh even louder.  Let the laughter heal you.  Doing so will prevent you from strangling the first person that asks you, “Hey, how’s the painting going?”

·        Now if you’re like me and I know I am, you’ll want to make sure that you’ve covered all bits of the old paint job so that nothing shows through.  At this point, be assured that you’ll discover that you definitely have a form of OCD!  I never even knew I had it this badly despite my need to alphabetize and chronologicalize everything I own.  Even my children cannot be addressed out of order.  I never thought that I could get nightmares about having to touch up a deck, but I just kept on learning new things through this experience!  A good way to battle this problem is to have plenty of ice cold beer around!  Sure, the paint won’t be spread as evenly but you’ll start to care less and less.  Also alcohol is a scientifically proven thirst quencher.  Science: The Stuff You Think You Know!

·        After the end of the third day spent painting, when you’ve used the last bit of your current gallon after a rationing effort that mirrors how you’d dole out the remaining fresh water while stuck in a lifeboat, definitely take a moment to sit back now.  You’re done!  Take a well-deserved break.  Sit in the shade and just admire your handiwork.  I bet you never thought you had it in you!  I bet you never thought that it would never turn out looking that good!  Better yet, call your wife over to share in this moment.  Perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to have her bring up certain areas that still need touching up.  Take a well-deserved moment to cry.  Start blubbering like a toddler that was told that Thomas the Tank Engine was killed in a horrible derailment accident.  If you don’t have kids and/or that Thomas illustration won’t suffice, try crying like Howard Dean. 

·        I suggest using nothing short of an industrial belt sander to help you remove the paint that now covers 86.9% of your body.  Those cute antibacterial soaps that smell like woodland fairy flatulence are nice and all, but they cannot remove paint whatsoever.  If you cannot find a soap that works for you, simply shave the skin away.  At least the scar tissue will be clean of paint and you’ll have a physical memory of your deck painting adventure!

 

          Well, I do hope that these tips and tactics will assist you in making the right decision for your deck adventure.  Remember the best tip is to not have a deck in the first place.  However if you’ve been saddled with a deck that needs repainting and certain members of your household won’t stop bringing this up, do the responsible thing.  Get your supplies, starting with the beer, and go watch Sir Christopher Lee in something, anything.  Did you know he was a bad guy in a Chuck Norris movie?  It was called An Eye For An Eye and Chuck is great!  You might catch a little grief, but all the better to waste even more time in the hopes that a twister will take that deck right off the house.

Roll 'Em Up or The How-Not-To Survive Wild Animals Survival Guide

            Hello and welcome back to the most pleasant blog in the whole wonderful world wide webnet!  After taking the majority of May off to pursue other interests, such as getting caught up on reading the instruction manual to my car stereo and killing moles in my lawn with the ruthless efficiency of Stalin’s NKVD, there was a story that came up that was so compelling, I believe it needs addressing.

 

            This story was a feature during the broadcast of the most objective, reliable and thorough morning news show in the country, let alone the Milky Way: Good Morning America or GMA as their many tens of fans call it for short.  I mean how could there be any kind of conflict of interest whatsoever when George Stephanopoulos has to report on anything revolving around the Clinton family?  I’m sure he’s as unbiased as they come!  (Kids, check out Wikipedia or *shudder* an actual book regarding those wacky Clintons to see why my sarcasm is cascading over the top of the cup at this moment.)  Aside from bushel baskets full of money, I don’t see how ABC got Robin Roberts over to this AM dog and pony show.  I mean with the flimsy and sometimes laughable façade of journalistic integrity at ESPN, Roberts always was a head above the rest over there.  Why would she leave that?  Aside from being offered the boatloads of cash, I mean.

 

            Anyway, this titan among the morning broadcast journalism shows, which my wife can stand for some goshawful reason that I know I never saw coming when I married her, had reported about a woman from the U.S. who was killed by a lion at an animal park in South Africa.  While I in no way want to belittle this tragedy (even though I am with good reason going to do so before my post is over), it appears that the woman was killed because in order to take a better picture, she had rolled her car window down all the way and a lion lunged and attacked her.  Ahem.  Let that sink in for a moment: “she had rolled her car window down all the way and a lion lunged and attacked her.”  I think right there the moment has arrived where Darwin’s theories get the juice of proof from the fruit of actions like these.

 

Aside from blaming the lion, which is the obvious oblivious reaction to be sure, let us reconsider while I take the admittedly revolutionary tack of blaming the victim.  Oh sure, I can hear some of you saying now, “WHAT?!?  All victims are pure and blameless creatures of bad luck and horrible timing, right?  How dare you, you hater! #lionvictimsrightsnow (Insert Random Emoticon of Disapproval Here).”  Okay, I know none of you really said that, but I’ll play devil’s advocate anyways.  This was not an infant or a child or a mentally challenged individual, all of whom know nothing about lions aside from fuzzy cubs and cuddly toys, that was killed.  This was presumably a full grown adult female that went to South Africa, now that it is all nice and joyous there, in order to witness full grown wild animals in a park.  She had to have some idea that lions were dangerous no matter how many times she saw The Wizard of Oz, right?  Right?

 

Of course since this was a U.S. citizen, the question was immediately raised about the safety of the park.  Because no one cares if some random Belgian takes a header into a bear pit, but heaven forbid an apple pie eating American doesn’t know how car windows work.  The South African park officials said that their rules for visitors actually had to include the heretofore unneeded edict: “Don’t Roll Your Windows Down”.  Amazingly, this actually had to be told to tourists with a straight face conceivably along with the similar edicts of “Don’t Pet The Rhinos” and “Don’t Ride The Cheetahs”.

 

The bottom line is that nature is trying to kill human beings.  No matter how you slice it, nature wants to maul you and leave your carcass hanging in a tree, ripping your skull out to keep as a trophy while camouflaging itself in the jungle to hunt down Carl Weathers and Jesse Ventura.  Perhaps this isn’t how nature works at all now that I think about it.  At least it wouldn’t have that good of a soundtrack.  Hmm.  Mayhap I should rethink some of the ground rules when dealing with our soulless friends of nature.  And no, I don’t just mean PETA.  And as always, you are welcome!

 

1.     Don’t roll down your car window when near large cats that can kill you.  This includes lions, tigers, pumas, mountain lions, cheetahs, any cast member of the show Cats, leopards, panthers, Garfield, lynxes, Persian cats, saber-toothed tigers, bobcats, wildcats, any sports team that had to change from their Native American mascots over to a random cat icon instead, Snagglepuss, and rabid feral kittens.  I know what you’re going to say because I’m writing words into your fictional mouths, but as werewolves are canines, they do not apply to this rule. 

2.     Orcas are just plain old killer whales that got a better PR firm to handle them.  They are still killers no matter how they want to soften their image.  Now they want to say that they are just big dolphins?  Sure, sure.  Whatever you say.  I still remember that you’re the real reason Richard Harris died.

3.     As long as we’re in the ocean, don’t open your shark cage for any reason, unless of course you want to get a clearer picture.  What, too soon?

4.     Don’t flush your still living crocodile/alligator/caiman into the toilet.  I don’t want to get my wedding tackle bitten off one day by a sewer-bred goliath that is seeking revenge on little Billy who once went to Orlando on vacation.  Gently eliminate your reptile baby by seeking out a blender and going all Gremlins on its scaly rear.  Then flush it.

5.     How close exactly do you want to get to a bison in the wild?  Every year there seems to be some buffoon that is looking to get up close, seemingly trying to ride one of these things.  Did you notice the horns?  Did you ever see Dances With Wolves?  Oh, you did?  Sorry to hear that.  Well, enjoy the time you have left by not grabbing a tatonka selfie.

6.     Ah, bears.  Remember point number 1?  Okay, well then ibid the hell out of it because the same applies here.  Do yourself a favor and see the 1997 movie The Edge with Anthony Hopkins.  Realize these facts:

a.     Elle Macpherson was actually in a David Mamet-penned movie.

b.     No one would say dialogue like this when stuck in an actual bear attack or an actual bear attack movie.  I’ve seen Grizzly and no one is pontificating that much onscreen.

c.      Did you see fact #a?  It is true!  And she plays a supermodel!  No, really!

d.     If you happen to be the third wheel along with Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins in a disaster movie, regardless of skin color although it helps, you are a meal.  If the bear doesn’t eat you, the scenery will be too chewed up for you to have a meaningful life anyway.  Embrace your fate.

e.     Bart the Bear did not get an Academy Award for “Best Bear In A Bear Attack Movie” that year.  Oddly enough Alec Baldwin won but it was a close race in the voting.   

f.       I just can’t get over that first fact!

7.     When driving through an animal park that has baboons roaming wild, don’t take your demon-spawned child through there.  The screaming alone isn’t worth the trip.  Same goes for mysterious black dogs that show up unannounced at the house.  I know I’m going out on a limb, but it might be the child.  Gregory Peck realized this a bit too late, David Warner even later than that.

8.     Speaking of dogs, when a bunch of Norwegians are shooting at a husky from a helicopter whilst in the Polar Regions, let them go ahead and do it.  You’ll thank me later.  If you choose to stop Bjørn, I hope you’ve got plenty of flamethrowers lying around. 

 

There are of course many other points to consider when dealing with our friends of nature.  I know that I didn’t even touch on sasquatches and dinosaurs, but I should hope the ways to interact with those creatures would be rather obvious.  I mean would you roll your window down to get a better picture of a yeti?  I hope the abominable snowman park has good safety standards with signs available telling me to leave my windows up.  Oh, still too soon for this thought?  Well it is too late for at least one person that visited a South African park.