"In Search Of..."

In Search Of... was a creepy documentary series in the late 70s/early 80s. Repackaged on A&E with an updated intro/outro, here's how the eps originally began and ended...

Opening Credits
Closing Credits



Suffice it to say, this show scared the pee+poo out of me as a tyke...

Let's remember why we dislike Giuliani... WE WILL NEVER FORGET.

Show Me Everybody Naked and Disfigured

Entry # 911:
Let's fire up the Virginia Tech overreaction, why don't we...?

When I was a kid, I'd mess around with the family camcorder (which was a spend-spree purchase my dad had made and never used). I'd make these videos, using animation and footage from movies, cut against pop music. This was the "Timebomb" series, and the opening credits for each episode would feature footage of big explosions from different movies.

My uncle -- a psychiatrist -- saw the videos and had a talk with my mom. "Uncle Nelson says that the videos represent you, with all the explosions. So... do you think you're a timebomb, Malice?"

In high school, I used to write the most violent revenge-fantasy fiction. I was always writing this shit. Guns and blood and murder and suicide. I'd write bits and pieces in class, sometimes. This one time, a classmate was idly looking at something I was writing on a corner of looseleaf that said, "I'm going to rip out your vocal chords and strangle you with them!" He thought I was writing a note to pass to someone and he freaked; I had to explain to him that it was for a story I was writing.

These were genuine fantasies, though. I had some violent desires for revenge. May not have been bringing guns to school (though my dad had purchased a rifle from another spend-spree and I was keenly aware of it), but to make it through a school day was to negotiate those desires...

Another time, I shared some thoughts with a person I considered to be a friend. He got spooked, told his dad, who called the school, and I had to pay a visit to one of the deans...

The writing might be on the walls, but there's a fucklot of writing on the walls. I channeled my frustration into writing as best I could, but not everyone has an outlet. Was I one shove away from going ballistic? I doubt it. You could cherry-pick all the common signs, but I suspect it takes something extra special to cross the line between fantasy and reality.

There will always be people who slip through the cracks. That's what the cracks are for.

Egyptians versus Dinosaurs

It used to be sorta lovely and romantic and picturesque, but I've walked up and down Central Park West so often, it's grown rather tedious...

Just to switch it up, the other day I traversed the park and took a stroll down Central Park East...

Turns out the reports are true: the grass is indeed greener on the other side...

Maybe it's just coz I've walked past Tavern on the Green and the American Museum of Natural History so many times, they're completely dulled out...

But the sidewalks...

... the sidewalks seem to be wider along CPE...

At least around The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The East Side versus the West Side is THE MET versus the NATURAL HISTORY...

The Upper West Side has a big blue whale. And dino bones. And dated dioramas. What's most charming about the Museum of Natural History is that it feels frozen in time. The same lot of exhibits you remember from your 2nd Grade school trip.

Loads of laughs for the kid set. Kid-accessible. A choke of baby strollers.

The Upper East Side, by contrast, offers up the Temple of Dendur. And, you know, one of the world's largest and most important collections of art. (Read: Not quite as kid-friendly...)

But then, the East Side follows that up with the Central Park Zoo... hell, the Museum Mile... proximity to Serendipity, for the foodies... walk down CPE, you'll hit the Apple Store and The Plaza -- famously haunted by the ghost of a spoiled little girl who died in the 1950s. There is a lot of old money on the UES, which affects the landscape.

And I don't know if it's just because I've already SEEN everybody on the Upper West Side, but the women seem to be more attractive on the Upper East Side...

Maybe there's a quiet coffee shop on the Upper East Side I could start trolling...

Speaking bout DOs & DON'Ts, first Gavin does a round with Chloë Sevigny, then he does one with Sarah Silverman? How bout a round with WINONA RYDER next???
Hit all my celebrity crushes, why don't you, Gav?

+++ MISANTHROPY CENTRAL WEEKEND ROUNDUP +++

A follow-up to the entry I wrote about the Brazilian horror maestro a few days ago, here's an interview with José Mojica Marins, IN ENGLISH.

Prince humiliates Paris.

Tiny dog aims for big record.

Funny Tig(ger).

Hermonystra

Look at me -- I'm like a girl:

I should read that book at some point -- so I can carry on a conversation with all the other 12-year-old girls on my block. Doopy-doo!
~~~
HAAAY, TGIF'ers!

Take some advice from a Gay Horse! If you're a straight guy planning on going out with the boys this weekend, please read this cautionary guide... and experiment or refrain as you're so inclined... though let's play safely, folks! In all regards!

OBGRIGADO! Obrigado, motherfuckers!!!

You're welcome in advance.

Here's a Gay Horse Shuffled-5:
1. "Get it Together", Beastie Boys
2. "Ackrite", Dr. Dre
3. (Track 20), Brian Jonestown Massacre
4. "Jumpin Jack Flash" (Demo Cover), Guns N' Roses
5. "Satan Cries Again", Jason Forrest
PURSE BONUS:
"SABOTAGE", BEASTIE BOYS
~~~
My mom just got remarried. Changed her name, the whole magilla. They filled out the paperwork at their town hall, upstate. My sister was thinking of being present for it, but decided against it because of the travel expense.

I would have gone, if my sister had flown out for it. But I definitely wasn't going to go on my own. Coz I'm a jaded, cold-blooded bastard who avoids filial obligations at all costs. And have I mentioned that I dislike weddings? I'd have to retrace my steps to figure out WHY... maybe some of you might know why...

In any case, I did buy my mom a boombox as an impromptu wedding gift. It was great because I can never figure out what to get my mom, and she's so behind-the-times with technology. But she'd been talking about not having a CD-player. And I remember visiting their house a while ago, for the holidays, and there was no stereo to help fill the deafening awkward silences. So the boombox was perfect.

*I* don't even own a boombox/stereo. I've got a pair of old computer speakers that I hook up to my iPod. It's a poor excuse for a sound system. But the Fortress of Solitude is a poor excuse for a home.

Recently, I was thinking about this old bit of prose I wrote a while back, about visiting my mom for the holidays and returning some jewelry that she'd originally given to my EX...

Ain't life a bitch...?

Another Version of the Truth

Giuliani to America:

Elect me if you want to live!

Really, what the shit is this shit?

Obama responds...

Hillary responds...

How is this country better off after the second term of G.W.B.? The ceaseless pimping of 9/11 -- squeezing blood from the ruins -- is unconscionably absurd. It's like something out of "24"... an infantile, reductive parody of grinning, evil politics.

In unrelated news (or is it?), BLOGGER's seen fit to restore my poorly-kept foodie blog, so you can pore over my Iron Chef breakdown from December -- which predictably devolves into me drooling over girls who only exist in my television.

Obrigado!

At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul

A 1963 Brazilian horror movie, "À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma". Directed by and starring José Mojica Marins, aka "Coffin Joe". Recently aired on IFC and available on DVD.

There are far better breakdowns of this film than I could offer you, obrigado. But in a nutshell, Coffin Joe is a mortician who's got the devil in him! It grinds his gears that his wife can't bear him a child, so he goes out and starts acting like the biggest douchebag Brazil has ever seen.

In the end, he gets his comeuppance. Sort of. Weird ghostly karma shit happens, he suffers an existential crisis. Which leads into...

A 1967 Brazilian horror movie, "Esta Noite Encarnarei no Teu Cadáver". (This Night I Will Possess Your Corpse.) The sequel picks up right where the first film ended. Coffin Joe... erm... recovers from whatever the fuck happened to him at the end of the last movie. Does he correct his evil ways? Fuck no. He takes his misogyny and kicks it up a notich: BAM! Goes on a torture-kill rampage trying to find a woman who can give birth to his PERFECT CHILD.

At a certain point in this one, he gets sucked into Hell which -- like the Land of Oz -- has price breaks for color film. In Hell, everyone speaks Portuguese. And there are a lotta screaming, nekkid women.

The violence is telegraphed and filled with slow, operatic facial contortions. The women line up to be with Coffin Joe coz they like hooking up with assholes who put big spiders on them while they sleep. And all throughout, this film and the first film, Coffin Joe drops into extended, tortured soliloquies about the nature of life and death. Leading into...

A 1969 Brazilian horror movie, "Ritual dos Sádicos, O". (Awakening of the Beast.) The final of the initial trilogy of "Coffin Joe" films, concerning a psychiatrist's experiments with LSD's effect on 4 volunteers, to investigate Coffin Joe's influence over them. Suffice it to say, things get stranger. And nuder. And way more meta-.

I like that this series was inspired by a fever dream this guy wrote out one day. The movies ooze cult status. Not easy to sit through if you're not in the mood for this type of thing. A lot of it can be quite ponderous. But there are sparks of surreal beauty. And it's kinda cool/sad that this geezer's still trying to squeeze some mileage out of this character.

It's all about the Benjamins, baby!

"Man will only find truth when he searches for the truth..."

FIM

Dirty Dozen, 80 of us, shady brothers, ladies love us...

That time of the year again. Seasonal nose bleeds. It can hit me at any time. I've got a meeting for a potential new project tonight -- I just hope it doesn't turn into a scene from "Less Than Zero". Malice's nose begins to bleed in mid-conversation. Andrew McCarthy looks at him with disgust, drags him to the bathroom to clean him up.

Seriously, it's a hazard. I've gotten spontaneous nosebleeds in packed subway cars, in bars, on the street. Random, unprovoked nosebleeds. When you don't have some tissues on hand, it can get ugly...

Anybody going to the Valborg party on Saturday???

Get ready.

Jack the Bear

While all the other bloggers continue to heal America by blogging about the Virginia Tech massacre, what's Misanthropy Central covering today?

JACK THE BEAR!

Stay with me here, this is a strange movie -- one that most people have forgotten about if they even bothered to recognize it when it was out.

What was "Jack the Bear"? A dramedy? You won't find much -edy in it. On the easiest level, it's a coming-of-age story. Set in the early 70s. Danny DeVito is a late night TV horror show host. A widower raising two boys in a new town. The older boy, Jack, serves as the movie's protagonist. We go with him to his first day at a new school. We watch him squirm through his first crush/girlfriend (played by Reese Witherspoon, who doesn't look like she's aged in over 15 years). The film's got a curiously gentle quality about it...

Up through its midpoint...

Thereabouts, it takes a turn. And starts to flirt with the conventions of a horror movie.

Yes, the creepy man in town, played convincingly by Gary Sinise. The neighborhood kids think he's a monster and pin horrific backstories on him. We assume he's just misunderstood. And the film punishes us for that expectation.

The film was released in 1993 -- which doesn't seem like a long time ago, but in Internet years it represents the Dark Ages. Therefore, it's hard finding much information about the movie, especially because it was easily dismissed by both critics and audiences. Amazon.com informs us that it "sat on the shelf for a couple of years while (director Marshall) Herskovitz reworked it...", and I do recall this. It was one of those movies.

But the screenplay was by Steve Zaillian (adapted from the book by Dan McCall). Directed by one of the producers of "My So-Called Life" (who directed the Guns & Gossip episode). The cast featured Danny DeVito, Gary Sinise, Reese Witherspoon, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Andrea Marcovicci as the dead wife (she also played a character that flirted with Louie De Palma on TAXI) and who could EVER forget Robert J. Steinmiller Jr.??...?

Okay, I remember watching it in an empty theater back in the day, and I recently caught it on HD cable. It is a strange movie. It does harbor a To Kill A Mockingbird feel (thanks for the insight, EW), and no it may not be entirely successful. The first half is sort of sweet and melancholy. The second half gets strange and offers some really strange kid-performances. There are many aspects that are depressing as all get out.

But I kinda like its strangeness. I like that it tries to become a thriller and sort of fumbles. It's going to end up one of those movies that just slips through the cracks of time, which is a shame. People get sooo hung up on seeing "good movies". Movies that are reviewed well, movies that are highly recommended by friends...

Well, how about an OKAY movie tonight? How about...

... JACK THE BEAR!!!

((( This Just In )))
They just cast Robert Smith to play the JOKER in the next Batman! Cure fans, your time has come...

CHLOË

I didn't get her back in the day. In the orange colored "Kids" days, and her subsequent journey through the fringes of Hollywood. She always struck me as sort of Artforum pretty. An arty alternative to pretty. I didn't really get it...

Now... I get it.

And I'm not sure why I should get it now. Or what "it" is. That intangible quality in someone that transcends everything on the surface. Beyond looks or talent. That certain something that inspires stalkerish blog entries.

I already adore Vice's DOs and DON'Ts, and Gavin's "... & Friends" video version is a welcome supplement. Some guest spots are understandably more entertaining than others, but... for my money... hers is magical.

I could sit next to her at a bar and just watch her blather on in strange tongues for hours on end, completely enchanted by every quirky aspect of her.

She's got a girl-next-door quality about her, now. Which is strange, because I always saw her as anything BUT the girl next door. It goes back to the "Kids" stigma. A hardcore adolescence. She's lived. She's done "The Brown Bunny". It's intimidating.

But then you see her in the DOs-&-DON'Ts videos, and she just seems like a girl. Not too cool for anything. Self-conscious about her own flaws. The kind of girl that reminds you how cool smoking can be. The kind of girl you want to share your hopes and dreams with. The kind of girl you want to let your guard down with...

... just enough so she can sink a dagger in you...!

Zeros and Ones

Shame on us. Doomed from the start. God have mercy on our dirty little hearts.
Shame on us. For all we've ever done. And all we ever were. Just zeros and ones.

So ends two weeks of porn-art on Misanthropy Central. I'll miss the excuse to sneak flesh onto this blog, but it is a slippery slope toward becoming another Stile Project. (I admire what Biderman's doing, but it ain't my ambition.)

Technically, the above picture doesn't even fit with the series, as the source image isn't pornographic. And honestly, I'll probably keep revisiting the dark, crypto-erotic imagery here, when I feel like it. Keeps things interesting. Gives me a reason to dick around with Photoshop. Gives me something to look at as I reload my own blog 100 times in a day.

Can't express how much I wanted to go out tonight. Do something. Get bombed. Decimate the city. The weather's fucking incredible this weekend. The kind of weather that makes you feel like an asshole if you're NOT out there, climbing lamp posts, throwing monkey scat.

And yet... I've got writing to do.

Yeah, I know, I'm always going to have writing. I've always had writing. It's never going to be completely finished. But this one script is so important, I've gotta get it done, I've gotta get it done well, and it's really best if I get it done soon.

And I am close. That might be more of a motivating mantra for me than a matter of fact, but I can see the end. Like a series of chess moves. The juvenile machinations of a genre script, perhaps, but I don't have to rediscover fire.

When I finish this thing, when I get this thing properly cracked, I am going to get demolished. I may have to go on a demolition tour.

Check out "Anatomy of a Dry Spell"... hits a bit TOO close to home, for my money...

This is the Beginning of the End

Finally migrated the blogs over to The New Blogger system, after several false starts over the past year...

I ended up finding a bunch of comments on some of my other blogs that never got published because they needed to be approved by me. Done.

Christ, it's hard to be reminded of some of the shit I've written over the past year...

That old, semi-abandoned recipe blog of mine is a curious casualty of the migration, as it seems to have just... disappeared. (A nation mourns.)

I'm edging up on finishing the latest draft of my screenplay. I've been wrestling with this draft, but I think I've finally got a handle on it. It's a good feeling. Like a fever breaking. And suddenly, you can see clearly.

It's physical. I can feel it. This deep sense that I've broken through some wall.

A year ago, I'd go to work and google my own name, google my play's name -- every day, I could do that. Even going into it, through July, into the Autumn, I'd periodically check to see if I was on the virtual radar.

I'm so done with that. Sure it's pathetic, but it's also self-destructive. (For me.) If it's positive, it weirds me out coz it's coming from a stranger. And if it's negative, it just eats at me. You second-guess yourself to death.

The only thing that matters is the work. Press releases, what the other people are doing -- it's a waste of time.

I do get anxious, not being in the immediate game. I can't plug things that are largely speculative. I'm not interested in putting work out for the sake of putting work out, but I worry about "momentum". Building it, losing it.

My old dean would remind me, "It's a marathon, not a sprint."

Either way, though, you've gotta keep moving...

I'm ending my little picture series tomorrow. Light a candle.

For now, though, it's Friday, 9-5ers! I'll be burning the midnight oil this weekend, but you kids can just go buckwild, can'tchaz?

Vista Sucks, But TGIF Shuffled 5:
1. "Lost My Mind", Matthew Sweet
2. "track 02", Brian Jonestown Massacre
3. "Bang Bang", Dr. Dre
4. "Pierre", Carole King
5. "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", U2
Set of Steak Knives Bonus
"ETERNITY", Imperial Teen

That was an awkward lot.

Lost My Faith in Everything

Goddamn the Virginia Tech massacre.

I had all these other great blog entries I've been meaning to get to -- gleefully revisiting old movies nobody cares about("Jack the Bear" and "The Last Boy Scout"), discussing the replacement of Back to the Future: The Ride with a Simpsons-themed ride at Universal Orlando -- but I kind of have to discuss Virginia Tech because all the other bloggers are blogging about it! (And I've already failed to eulogize Kurt Vonnegut, which I'm liable to lose my blogging license over.)

So, I'm morbidly fascinated by this media package Cho sent to NBC News --- while in the middle of his spree-kill! I can't even get an application out to the fringe festival on time, this kid manages to send out a press-packet while in the heat of his lunatic mass-murder/suicide rampage.

I'm baffled by the "unspecified wrongs" Cho blathers on about. His melodramatic script sounds like he's chopped it up from bits of pop-corn culture. Terminator 2, Planet of the Apes, The Day After Tomorrow. End of the world damnations, stripped of context and meaning. This is not a portrait of a young man who "couldn't take it anymore". It's a portrait of a young man who was genuinely psychotic.

Hey, I've got anger in me. The name of the blog's MISANTHROPY. I'm bitter about specific things -- in my life, in the world.

If (when?) I were to write my "Goodbye Cruel World" valentine, I would be very specific about why I was driven to [INSERT AWESOME ACT OF VIOLENCE]. I may be fairly oblique on this blog at times, but if I were exiting the planet -- I'd be inclined toward bluntness. Clarity. I'd want the world to LEARN from *my* lessons. Leave nothing up to interpretation. That was Christ's biggest blooper. (HEY OH!!!) Nah, I wouldn't fuck it up like Jesus did...

Apparently, Cho had the name "Ismael Ax" tattooed on his arm. I've seen different reports on the spelling of it, so it's hard to say, but I popped it into the old ANAGRAM generator and came up with a few winners:

EX-SALAMI
MALE AXIS
A SEAL MIX

and, perhaps most revealing:

PAULO LIES

Who cooked up this kid? Weird thing is, I heard about this story a few days ago and I didn't think much of it. Just seemed like another freak thing that happened. I was going to let it float on by, but the story seemed to snowball.

And ultimately, it was just another freak thing. Yeah, there was writing on the walls, and we can trace back all the points where this kid could've been prevented from slipping through the cracks. It just seems to me that he wasn't troubled: he was out of his fucking skull. Crazier than a bag of squirrels, as they say. These things happen like natural disasters. I feel like sometimes these things just have to happen for no apparent reason. And for all our illusions of preparedness, that's that and there's nuttin that anybody could do. [Knock over phone booth.]

All right, lemme double-check to make sure this entry's got everything. Virginia Tech... Jack the Bear... Back to the Future: The Ride... Kurt Vonnegut... Goodfellas reference... subtle dig at LOST... cavalier blasphemy... did I mention anything about 90,000 starving baboons? Ahhh, it'll have to do for today...

Columbine 2: Virginia Tech Massacre

Seung-Hui Cho says, "You caused me to do this."

For those keeping track, 12 kids and a teacher were killed in The Columbine High School Massacre, before Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold killed themselves.

Cho killed a whopping 32 people -- before killing himself -- in the Virginia Tech massacre on April 16th. That's a new hi-score! And, need I point out, Cho was playing a solo game whereas Harris and Klebold were playing a 2-player team cooperative game. Big difference in difficulty.

I don't mean to be so glib. I mean, I do, for comic effect, but I'm not really this jaded. I mean, I am, I'm nearly incapable of human emotions, but what I mean to say is that I do feel bad about the lost lives. It's all just a bit numbing, though, isn't it? You hear the same stories over and over again, with these spree-kills. The writing is always on the walls. Columbine was shocking, but then it seemed to inspire all these other school shootings, and then things got weird.

Well, we finally got an Asian kid (well, Korean) on the frontline of this one, so I guess it's no surprise he was an overachiever. Somewhere in Hell, you just know he's doling out titty-twisters to Eric and Dylan, insisting,

"I beat Columbine!!!"

What I find most interesting about this kid was that he wrote some plays. I hesitate to call him a playwright coz I don't know if he took them to heart or if he was just doing homework.

Two of his plays, online:

Richard McBeef

Mr. Brownstone

Now I get up around whenever...
I used ta get up on time...
But that old man,
he's a real motherfucker,
gonna kick him on down the line...!

Why 24 Sucks

I'm so thankful other bloggers are out there, making arguments I don't have to make. Like why 24 sucks.

I think I blogged about this before. At least dropped a link to the Surnow New Yorker piece. These are all valid points for what's wrong with the show as a whole.

Thing is, I *liked* the show before the current season. The current season is just a complete mess, on so many levels. And a shit season like this just serves to highlight the overarching flaws of the series.

Long-form narratives on TV tend to run into problems when they try to keep surprising you. You do it too much, you pull the same scam too often, the audience loses faith.

In any case, no spoilers here. (Unless you didn't know that the current season of "24" was supposed to suck.) I've always had problems with the show, but this year it's just meaningless to me.

A Little Key-Hole for Looking Glass People

Musicals are strange enough on their own. Advancing story through song. Even the good ones are strange. Stylized. It'd be interesting to see a musical where the music rose up organically within the story. In a more realistic way. Like a song you can't get out of your head...

But I'm getting off track here. Musicals are strange enough. Pornographic musicals are an even rarer breed. Which brings us to 1976's Alice in Wonderland, a pornographic musical adaptation of Lewis Carroll's classic children's horror story.

Pornographic films of the 70s and early 80s are fascinating because they were real narratives. The films had scripts. Actors had to memorize lines. I caught a fascinating documentary called "Debbie Does Dallas Uncovered" (on IFC or Sundance) that includes interviews with a number of people involved with the production of the cult classic. Mob connections aside, porn of this era was essentially independent filmmaking.

"Alice in Wonderland" is popular for adapting because it's essentially an extended dream sequence where a lot of weird things happen that you don't have to explain. Here's the structure for an "Alice in Wonderland" movie:

Nothing makes much sense for about 70 minutes. And then she wakes up.

That said, the 1976 film goes a curioser route by making it a musical. In addition to having it be a film. In addition to having it feature genuine fuck scenes. They actually composed original songs for the damn thing. Even Roger Ebert found some merit in the film.

The film's rated X. There's something so refreshing about an X-rated film. Maybe it's Grindhouse nostalgia. Some scenes were shaved down for it to receive an R-rating later in its life, though you'd be hard-pressed to find any version of it now.

If any of my friends are interested in viddying this obscure little number, let me know. I might be able to help you out.

In the Shadow of Kilimanjaro

Has anybody seen a movie called "In the Shadow of Kilimanjaro"? I've never seen it myself, but I remember the trailer scared the goddamn snot out of me as a kid...

IMDB features the description: Based on actual events, the film tells the story of an incident in Kenya in 1984, when, because of a severe drought, 90,000 starving baboons went on a murderous rampage, killing humans and animals alike.

Our old friend Wikipedia lets us down without an entry for this 1986 movie. And no, Netflix doesn't have it. (That would be too easy.) Best I can do is this thoughtful review courtesy of Horror Express.

I got to thinking about this movie because of a documentary show I caught on the National Geographic Channel, called "Hunter Hunted". The episode was called Kidnapped and focused on the bizarre incident of a male baboon kidnapping a human baby.

April 15. It's April 15 already.

You never thought that Hip-Hop would take it this far...

Where to dump all these videogame links I've been saving up? You know, the ones no one gives two shits about. A Saturday entry? That'll work...

An intriguing development for the over-priced PS3, to compete with the Wii's rascally Miis...


That's what I need. A virtual world where I can simulate human interaction just enough to remember what being human is like.

Of course, the PS3 is being decimated by the irrepressible Wii -- your little sister's game console. And with good reason. Sony's got to take a look at what the XBOX 360 is doing right and at least bring the PS3 up to that level.

Out of touch with the latest trends in videogaming? Here's a valentine to 80's arcade royalty.

Not having any of this videogame hoobastank? Can I interest you in a heartwarming school sex tape scandal, then? If I could only offer you video to accompany it...

However Far it Seems

hello

HELLO

is this a story?

YES

what type?

FAIRYTALE FOR COMPUTERS

name?

ELECTRIC DREAMS:

2 of 12
3 of 12
4 of 12
5 of 12
6 of 12
7 of 12
8 of 12
9 of 12
10 of 12
11 of 12
12 of 12

Everybody Wants Some

This might be old news, but it's new for me, so humor me...

I was GOOGLING up articles on the TLC show "Honey We're Killing the Kids!". For those unfamiliar with it, it's a little turd-in-the-rough reality show that debuted sometime last year, bullying families with overweight children into living healthier lifestyles by Photoshop-extrapolating pictures of their kids to show how they'll probably look when they grow up. I'd love to see a behind-the-scenes doc on how they come up with these pics, coz they're absurdly offensive. Not only do they predict the kids will be obese adults, but they often become buck-toothed and acne-ridden, have horrible haircuts, swastikas tattooed on their foreheads, little stink-lines coming up from their heads.

They demand the families undergo an extreme lifestyle makeover that usually fails because it's so extreme. And they're given little guidance or even encouragement. "Tough love" or "Asshole TV"? The first season's host was such a frigid [CHINESE DENTIST] that they made the wise decision to replace her for the second season, with someone a bit more shaggable and warm.

Anyway, as it often happens, while I was looking up articles about this one subject, I stumbled on something else that I found more horrific/fascinating...

I don't normally post recipes on this blog, but I've got to make an exception here...

Take a glazed Krispy Kreme donut. Slice it in half. Lay in a 1/4 lb burger, cheese and two strips of crisp bacon. What do you get...?

The World's Most Disgusting Idea.

Turns out that the mass-murderers who brought you the "Krispy Kreme Burger" are still churning out the ideas.

Their new ad campaign: "Hey, Fatsos... eat this."

White trash get down on your knees! (Tastes good, don't it?)

A Cookie is a Sometime Food, Cookie-Monster. And don't you ever fuckin forget it, you shaggy blue retard!

Meat Beat Manifesto

It's Proofer/NewOp/Sleaze-On's last night-shift at the laugh-factory!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah, motherfuckers!!!

(I originally intended this to be a Thank-God-It's-Thursday entry, but Sleazy decided to follow in the steps of his pal Malice and leave on a Wednesday... so forgive me if this entry has more of a "Thursday" vibe to it.)

Before we get this party started, take a look at what Sean Connery got his bitch-slappin mitts on. Holy mackerel. I'd like to... meet her. Buy her a cup of coffee, get to know her.

In honor of Blippity-Bloppity's last night, here's a list of actresses I'd desperately like to... meet.












BALL BUSTING BONUS


[I lead an wholly rewarding life. Worth sharing.]

Jenna and Angela don't look terribly pleased to have made the list, do they?

And while we're listing, how about...

A FINAL MOTHAFUCKIN NIGHT-SHIFT SHUFFLED 5!!!
1. "Blaming the Baby", Imperial Teen
2. "Permanent Smile", Smog
3. "Hey You", Pink Floyd
4. "Plateau", Nirvana
5. "Long Gone Lonesome Blues", Red Molly
Take This Job & Shove It Bonus
"High Plains Drifter", Beastie Boys

Carmen Electra declares a naked revolution! You heard her, ladies, let's go!

I Got My Violence in Hi-Def Ultra-Realism

I got my fist!
I got my pain!
I got SURVIVALISM!

All hail the Year Zero!!!



Thankfully, the future of law enforcement has just arrived. Go gettum, Robo!

"... nothing speeds up the development of technology like war." That explains the Wii...

In other news, I may not have adored GRINDHOUSE as much as the hairy geek zealots, but I enjoyed it and I'm a little surprised at the apathetic box office. I have a feeling rereleasing the movies separately won't make it much better, unless the additional footage really pays off. I'll wait for the DVDs.

And while we're all watching videos, here's a little something by up'n'cominger Joe Gordon-Levitt.

UPDATE
Nicko's future mother-in-law, at the local grocery store this morning:

Malice: Hi, Mrs. W!
Mrs. W: Oh... oh, hi there, Malice...
Malice: Didja hear about Emma and Nick?
Mrs. W: Yes, they called us about it the other week.
Malice: Good, good...

(At least, that's what I imagine the conversation would have been if I'd said hi. -Ed.)

Tongue Lasher

Don't you all just adore the new look of Misanthropy? I'm really digging the Korova Milk Bar vibe. Sharpens things up real horrorshow like. A round of drencrum on me...! Keep going till everything's numb...

More entries on this thing lately. Keeps my hands on the keyboard. And though it's a diversion, it helps me accomplish my goals.

There's method here.

Through a rigorous matrix of procrastination, you can get everything done:

Need to clean the apartment? Go pay some bills. Need to call mom back? Clean the apartment. Need to finish writing a horror script? Write a blog entry. Need to write another blog entry? Write that script for Paramount. Inch an indirect path toward finishing all your tasks.

A person could argue it doesn't really take much discipline to update a blog. There's no pressure for any of it to be inordinately good, much less perfect. Hell, I can go weeks here without anything being too good at all. Stretches of it being personal, stretches of it being absurdly oblique, stretches of it being link-heavy and idiotic. But it's the raw, rambling experiment of it that keeps it interesting. Building on something that never has to end -- or that can end pretty abrup

I Know My First Name is Malice

Which one of you fucks bought up all the Cadbury Creme Eggs on the Upper West Side? I rarely buy candy, but once a year I like to indulge in a nice Cadbury Creme Egg -- and every year some greedy-ass motherfucker's gotta ruin the fun for EVERYONE...

2007... man, I can't believe it's coming on 10 years since I graduated from college. May 1997. If I could know then what I know now... I'd still probably fuck it all up.

The other day, I walked through Washington Square Park. Happened to be in the area and just thought, lemme walk through this. I walked the same path through WSP countless times as an undergrad. I never really left the city after college, so the nostalgia doesn't hit me too sharply unless I let it. And I let it hit me the other day.

The world will never be the same...

Slutgarden

I was intrigued by the concept of SHORTBUS. Real people screwing. A heartfelt meditation on the screw. I loved Hedwig, I thought this was a provocative choice for a follow-up film.

And having finally seen it... I guess it's a sweet enough film. Ultimately more interested in intimacy than real, you know, sex. The endless conversations about sex, and sexuality, and intimacy, get really fucking ponderous. It's part of the problem with these arty spins on pornography. They have to jump through hoops trying to justify making a fuck film. Some of the discussions feel downright teenage. College dorm navel-gazing.

How long is "The Brown Bunny"? 93 minutes? Because I've only seen 4 minutes of it. And I'm willing to bet that those 4 fucking minutes are the most watched minutes of that movie!

I admire what Tarantino and Rodriguez were trying to do with GRINDHOUSE, even though I was kinda disappointed by both of their films. But I like the idea of taking something you were fond of as a child and trying to elevate it a bit. Elevate, revere and revel in it. "Star Wars" and "Indiana Jones" both came from serialized cliffhanger movies Lucas and Spielberg loved as kids.

Me? One day, I'd like to make a real hardcore pornographic film. You know, for kids. None of this ponderous, pseudo-intellectual babel. A real classic, compelling, hardcore pornographic film.

Maybe I could write it as a play first. That seems to work.

This is Hardcore

"Shit, if it's gonna be THAT kinda party, I'm gon stick MY dick in the mashed potatoes...!"

Sex can be so empty and sad and heartless. Desperate. Soulless. We're talking good sex. Real hardcore, getting-your-rocks-off fucking. Base. Hateful. The most intense thing you can do to other people -- short of killing them -- is fucking them. That's why sex and violence go so well together. Like peanut butter and chocolate. (You get something sweet and then you get the nut!)

I'm a sucker for mainstream flirtations with "real" sex. "The Brown Bunny", "Baise-moi", "Shortbus", "Intimacy", "9 Songs", "Irréversible". What's the difference between pornography and a legitimate narrative film? The ratio of fucking to dialogue? What's fascinating about seeing real sex in film is knowing it's real. You might not be able to see someone get really killed on film (we hardly knew you, Ogrish), but you can most certainly see someone get really fucked. And it just changes the nature of what you're witnessing.

You grow up in an uptight house, it affects your worldview. You strike out against it. You succumb to it. Sometimes both.

I'm so numb by media. Desensitized by everything I've seen. Sometimes, you just want to feel something. Get provoked into feeling something.

It's what I have to remind myself when I write. When I carve my little mountain out of mashed potatoes. It's gotta turn me on. It's gotta make me feel something, if it's gonna make anyone feel something.

Give War a Chance

It's been too safe here. Fueled by my own uncertainty over who's lurking on this blog. People who know me, people who used to know me, people who think they knew me.

But there's a reason it's called Misanthropy Central. I should reclaim it more often. If I write something offensive, what did you really expect?

I wonder if my ex reads this. Grimly. For fodder. She needs the characters for her plays because she's so hard-up for anything original.

Even now -- trying -- I can't easily express the anger I live with. The engine of hate I harbor for someone that I once cared about completely. Does it go away at some point? Every so often, I seem to be reminded of it. She was writing plays about us/me while we were still together, I guess it's not a shocker she's still at it. Only -- our spheres are entirely separate now, you'd think she'd want to stick to writing about her own fucking life.

It's a grotesque little ghetto, the New York Asian-American theater community. So-called community. It's possible that someone from there might lurk here, and convey these idle thoughts to her. Out of maliciousness or concern or glee. But who really gives a fuck? I've got a right to be angry about a great range of things and that's never been a secret.

So, what's it going to be, then? A war of words?

Is it worth the wasted paper?

There's a life I left behind. I'd like to leave it there, in ashes. There's a new life I'm dedicated to building. Lessons learned.

I've still got a lot to prove, but whatever I've got, whatever molecular perception of success I've got at the moment, I've earned. I've had coming to me for a while. And I'm just going to keep going at it.

Misanthropy Blue

Don't you love these "Theme Picture" weeks at Misanthropy Central? (Focus groups say you do!)

Relax, I'll keep them work-safe. Using your imagination's the best part anyway, am I right, kids? Am I right or am I right? Those are your only options...

I'll dedicate the week (+?) of blue-imagery to the memory of filmmaker Bob Clark, the creator of Porky's and A Christmas Story. Iconic horror movies, sex comedies and family fare? Bob Clark. The range on this guy! Fucking despicable tragedy, to be killed by a drunk driver. Bob Clark and his son have a posse.

(Crimony -- it's so hard to transition from death notices...)

Uh... speaking of driving, my mom's a great driver...

It was her birthday on April 4th. She turned 57. (Let's give her a round of applesauce, ladies and germs...) As far as I know, she doesn't know about this blog. But my sister's got a big mouth, so who friggin knows...

ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW, MOM???

I found out somewhat recently that my mother's a really big fan of AMERICAN IDOL. She's been watching it since Season 2. Go figure! Anyhoo, here's an interesting behind-the-scenes exposé about their audition process.

Oh, Oh, OH! It's MAGIC! You know...!
Never believe it's not so...!

Not entirely work-safe, but interesting.

It's Shane's World!

I really should dust off the camera and make some movies.

[Oh, Shannon Hewitt, we hardly knew you.]

Note to the kids: if you're gonna make out with porn stars on video, there's a chance your grandparents may see it on CNN at their yacht club. And you DON'T want your reputation sullied at the yacht club. Heaven forfend!