To the Hughes Avenue Slasher…A poem:

What was it
That made you slash my tire?
Was it just a good time
Or some misplaced ire?

Were you picked on and put upon
And pummeled and troubled
By bleak nightmare visions
Of offenses redoubled?

Has the world left you crying
So strikingly alone
Wondering where your friends
And self-respect have flown?

Are you missing the love
Of your pitiful dad?
Is that what has made you
Destructive and sad?

Was your mom’s breast milk tainted?
Was it curdled and bitter?
Were you touched on your no-nos
By a bad baby-sitter?

Is that why you snuck
Into my vehicle’s home
To shiv its rear tire
So the air would be gone?

Or could the answer be much more easy to see?
Something as simple as mere jealousy?



When you looked into my carport
Your choler, it grew
‘Cause my tire’s more handsome
And smarter than you.

Fun Fact: I hate vandalism. Yes, some jerk-ass slashed my car’s tire. They also got my neighbor’s. However, they didn’t actually slash my neighbor’s tire; the chicken-shit vandal just let the air out of it. See, my neighbor actually spent money on his tires, it would have been hard to slash it. Almost impossible. They’re huge freaking tires.

But, damnit, I’m not going to let some fucktard with a pen knife make me spend more that $35 on a freaking tire! This is America! I should be able to buy cheap tires without fear of attack. If they come apart while driving on the freeway, then hey, that’s my problem because I bought cheap tires. But vandalism shouldn’t be a concern.

And why would someone want to slash my tires anyway? Have they seen my dirty, rusty car?

Did they really need to add insult to injury?

News Grab Bag

Aw, Poor Harriet

Yes, just days after they publicly executed her political career, Republicans everywhere are singing a lament for Harriet Meirs. Poor, poor Harriet. She didn’t deserve such a shameful lambasting did she?

Well, no, she didn’t. It’s not as if she discussed pubic hairs and Long Dong Silver with co-workers. If she had, we’d have put her on the bench faster than…something that’s really fast. She was just under-qualified – and a woman.

Far-right Republicans don’t like chicks on the bench. It doesn’t matter how many assault rifles Harriet keeps in the hands of “sportsmen” or how many uteruses she controls, she’s still a chick. And “justicing” is a man’s business.

But now, for some reason, we’re all supposed to feel bad for Harriet Meirs. Not because she pronounces her own last name completely wrong, but because “she deserves a chance.”

What?! Really?

Hey, I think she was treated shoddily, sure. But that’s the way this stuff goes. Republicans talk a good game about giving nominees their day in committee, but they’re really only talking about people they like.

This is politics. It’ll be a sad day when we start allowing people on the Supreme Court just because we feel bad for them. We already chose a president because he seems like “a real kind of guy” (which is because he’s completely stupid), we can’t start letting pity pick our Justices.


Hot For Teacher…

But not in the good “an underage boy who had sex with his older hot teacher was the coolest kid on campus in the 80s” sort of way.

Here in California, Governor Schwarzenegger has declared war on teachers. He’s backing Prop. 74, a proposal that would make it more difficult for teachers to get tenure and a “job for life.”

A new pro-74 ad is running in TV that tells the “story” of a teacher who “verbally abused” her students and showed “rated R movies in class.”

What did they do with this horrible teacher? Well because she (he?) was tenured, she only “resigned” with a fat $25,000 paycheck (an entire year’s salary no doubt!).

See, they couldn’t fire her because she had tenure. The benevolent school administrators could do nothing but throw money at her, their capable and pristine hands were tied ever so tightly. All they wanted was to make the school a better place. All they wanted was to be able to fire this bad teacher without any kind of hearing. After all, if you work at McDonalds and drop you coworker in the fry cooker, chances are you’re going to get fired and quick. And that job actually required dedication and skill! But noooo. Not teachers. Freaking tenure!

For those of you who don’t know, “tenure” is an impervious invisible shield which protects shiftless teachers from responsibility. Not even Superman could make a tenured teacher give a rat’s ass. Tenured teachers are lame duck fat-cats, just sitting back in their gilded teacher’s lounges, sucking down cocktails and raking in huge paychecks.

And as we know, teachers are what’s really wrong with the education system these days. Let’s not pretend that modern “parents” have anything to do with the slipping GPAs in this country. After all, if it were the parent’s responsibility to educate their children, we wouldn’t send kids to school, right?

And schools everywhere are filled with teachers like our “abusive/R-rated movie-watching” walking horror named in the “yes on 74 ad.” I men, we all had that one teacher who would swear in class. And in health class they made me watch a film of a woman giving birth (sure it had the desired effect, I’m still terrified of fathering little, bloody alien babies, but it had vaginas in it!).

In fact, the pro-74 people needed hardly to look for a horrible teacher to make an example of. All they had to do was find a case that took place…in 1999.

But hey, I’m sure these kinds of teachers are rampant even today.

Bad teachers. Why don’t you all just die already?!


Coolio or a Foolio?

Should you use slang like “bling” and “don’t go there?” That was the question on the minds of NBC’s “Today Show” this morning.

Really, there’s a freaking war going on. Can we find no better questions to posit than whether or not octogenarians in the heartland should tell people to “talk to the hand?”

The oil companies are gouging the hell out of us (and don’t give me that crap about the “markets” driving the price of oil, the companies don’t create the demand but they do guide the markets), the polar ice caps are disappearing at an alarming rate and hurricanes are pointing out severe shortcoming in our nation's leadership!

Why do I know more about Angelina Jolie and her quest to adopt every child on the planet than I do about global warming?!

What the freakin’ dilly!?


Fun Fact: I’m wearing a new sweater today. Nothing special about it. It’s just a sweater. Sometimes these fun facts are difficult to come up with, you know.

Oh, the sweater is made out of Marino Wool. Huh? How about that! My sweater used to quarterback for the Miami Dolphins!

Yeah, I don’t really know what Marino wool is. But it sounds impressive. NBC should do a story on it.

Take a Seat

Goodbye Rosa Parks, you were one hell of a lady.

Fact is that I made my peace with Rosa’s passing years ago. All through school when I was learning about her, I had just assumed that she was dead (and I think that my history teachers did too because none of them ever gave any indication to the contrary). I mean practically everyone else in my history book was dead, so why not sweet old Rosa? She was already 42 at the time of her Montgomery, Alabama bus stand (or non-stand, whatever). When I was a kid, 42-year-olds had one foot in the grave already.

Imagine my surprise when I got older and learned that she was indeed very much alive. And still fighting for equality!

Sorry, Rosa, for thinking that you were gone when you weren’t. I’ll never make that mistake again. Because this time, sadly, it’s true.


Fun Fact: It’s a funny thing about history. We put it in books in order to preserve a record for future generations. But there’s something about putting things in a book that lessens them. I don’t really think that future generations can really quite grasp the full nuance of history. I know that I didn’t.

Like Rosa Parks. The woman passed away yesterday at the tender age of 92. Like I said, she was 42 when she was arrested in Montgomery. It really hit it home to me that this event took place only 50 years ago (I was always aware of this, but for some reason Rosa’s passing pointed it up). That’s not a long time, but for most of us it might as well have taken place in the middle ages. It seems like ancient history.

But it is amazing to realize how far we’ve come in such a short time (I know that some people would disagree…they would be wrong). I mean think about this. I’m 32 years old. When I was born, there were people running around whose parents owned slaves.

I hate these little pedestrian epiphanies. They make me feel like I’ve been wandering around my entire life in a self-centered haze. And maybe I have.

But I doubt it. I’m pretty sure that I am the center of the universe.

A wonderful, hazy universe.


Oh and the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Hazy-licious!

Call CPS

On numerous occasions in the past I’ve taken issue with kid’s shows. Not on this blog, mind you, but I have. Just trust me on this.

For the most part, my grief with kid’s programming is the way that it paints the parents. They’re almost always morons. Sure, they often throw their inane two-cents in, “Don’t leave the house without a sweater,” “We’ve all had our heart broken at one time or another, it’s called growing up,” or “A real friend wouldn’t shiv you with a screwdriver and leave you for dead in a ditch on your birthday…” Just stupid crap. And at the end of the episode the kid usually learns their lesson which is “I should have listened to mom and/or dad.”

But really, should we expect them to listen to mom and/or dad? Mom and/or dad is usually caught up in their own juvenile escapade…if they’re present at all. I mean Kim Possible’s lucky if here parents even make her a meal. And she’s out risking her life everyday, sometimes way past bedtime. What kind of parent allows their high-school aged child do that?

A bad one.

And don’t get me started on Ron Stoppable. That kid’s inept and his parents don’t care that he almost dies once a week. There’s clear neglect going on there.

The ones that really get me are the tween “sitcoms.” Especially shows like “The Suite Life of Zach and Cody,” and “Lizzie McGuire” (thank god this one’s gone). The adults on these shows are absolute idiots. No wonder their kids are so self-centered and idiotic.

I’ve ranted and railed against these shows citing that they don’t stack up to the shows that I used to enjoy. Sure, the adults on “You Can’t Do That on Television” were absolute nincompoops, but it didn’t stop us from learning valuable lessons. Lessons like don’t say “water” and “I don’t know.” Don’t eat at Barth’s because people puke in the burgers. You can always talk your way out of being executed by a firing squad… Important lessons.

But this past weekend my eyes were opened. Because Halloween is around the corner, I popped one of my favorite holiday classics into the ol’ DVD player, and I was hit with a startling epiphany.

The “worst adults in a children’s show” award goes to the grown-ups in “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown.”

Sure, the adults in the peanuts cartoons don’t really exist. They don’t even have voices, they all sound like trombones being played with a plunger. But at least there’s no pretense of parental supervision. I can forgive this fact. I can even forgive the fact the Lucy has to retrieve Linus from the freezing cold pumpkin patch at 4 in the morning when she realizes that he never came in the house for bed. Sure, his parents probably should have noticed, but in their “defense” they were probably pretty hungover from some kind of Halloween party. I’m sure that Mr. Van Pelt had a little too much egg nog and Mrs. Van Pelt spent the entire night explaining to the other women at the party that her husband is just a “really friendly drunk.” And I’m positive that by the time Mrs. Van Pelt finally figured out which of the women at the party now had the Mr’s house keys and got him out of there and into bed, the last thing on her mind was her delusional child freezing his butt of in a pumpkin patch.

But there is one thing that I can’t forgive.

It’s trick-or-treat time in Peanuts land. All the kids are wearing lame outfits. Poor Charlie Brown had some trouble with the scissors. He made a ghost costume with about 20 eye holes. But hey, it’s a ghost costume. A stupid ghost costume. Half the neighborhood is wearing one. Shouldn’t Charlie Brown get some points for being original?!

He’s the ghost of a potato!

But no. He gets no points for originality. He gets teased. I can understand this coming from the kids…

But what kind of sick, twisted adult gives the poor mentally challenged kid a freaking rock for tricks-or-treats?!

And not just one adult did this. The entire neighborhood did. They had to have planned it, right? I don’t know about you but I don’t keep rocks next to my Halloween candy. The adults had to have organized this before hand.

It’s obvious that Charlie Brown was targeted. He was the victim of some heartless neighborhood campaign to humiliate the unpopular kid.

It’s sick. And it’s wrong. And the wawa adults of Peanutsland should be ashamed of themselves.


Fun Fact: the “meanest parent in a Christmas special” award goes to Donner the Reindeer, Rudolph’s father in the Rankin Bass classic “Rudolph the Red Nosed Raindeer.”

Never has parental shame been so clearly manifested in such an abusive manner.

Well done Donner. Congratulations.

My Guidance Counselor Warned Me About This

No, not being a hopeless, unemployed burden on society. That’s swell. I like that. It’s enjoyable. But before I mortgaged my future for the good life had a lot of crappy jobs. The worst of which was cleaning a movie complex at 3 am before I went to clean a Payless Drug at 6.

I can’t tell you how many complaints I got from my boss. Seems that nothing I did was ever good enough. I could never scrape all the gum off the seats. I could never pick up every little piece of popcorn. Even when I recruited help, it was hopeless. I quit after three days.

But even that horrible job isn’t the absolute worst out there. Armpit sniffer, medical guinea pig, non-lethal weapons test subject and high school teacher are all much worse. But I think I found one that tops them all.

This last week it rained here in LA. And it turned the newly dug foundation hole in the lot next door into a Mississippi swimming pond. Work was brought to a halt for a couple days while the water sat there, taunting the contractor and breeding super-mosquitoes.

What to do? What if your work-hole is filled with West Nile infected sludge?

Call this dude. And tell him to bring his bucket and his cup.

Seriously, this guy spend all day yesterday emptying the water with a 5-gallon bucket and a fast-food “collectors” cup. Just walking back and forth. Filling the bucket, walking up the mud ramp and dumping the sludge in the street, then back to the muck. All day. It had to suck.

It had to super-suck.

And to add insult to injury, there is still a lot of water in the hole next door. His job sucks and he’s ineffectual.

Take that, ego.


Fun Fact: I just touched someone else’s laundry. They left it in the washing machine all night. It had to be moved so that we could do our laundry this morning. I hate doing that. I mean, it was clean laundry (albeit wet)…

But somehow I still feel really dirty.

Other people’s laundry…ewwwww.

Unsolicited Plug

Shop at Target. I mean it. Go. Now. Just look for the concentric red circles. It’s easy. And hey, you’ll also be giving a big “screw you” to the Salvation Army. If you’re into giving a big “screw you” to the Salvation Army, that is. Personally, I’m not interested in that. I shop at the Salvation Army. But I’m not here to talk about the Salvation Army or whether or not the Salvation Army should be allowed to solicit for charity outside of Target stores. Just let me say the words “Salvation Army” one more time though before I get to my point.

Salvation Army.

There. That was a hoot. Thanks for that.

Anyway, you should shop at Target. There are many reasons. They aren’t Wal-Mart, for one. That’s a huge plus. And they have quality merchandise for low prices, but not so low that you get the distinct impression that there’s a 5-year-old Chinese kid sitting under a portrait of Chairman Mao earning 5 cents a day while his little fingers bleed and he silently curses your name.

Not that low. But low enough to still allow you to feel superior to third-world nationals.

But as if low, low prices aren’t enough, Target goes one better with a little installment called “The Dollar Spot.” It’s a group of colorful displays near the front entrance. They’ll be easy to “spot,” it’s the part of the store that, after typically considerate bargain shoppers have gotten to it, looks as if a small atomic device has detonated there. It’s a mess, sure, but smart shoppers know that the best deals can be found in the messiest places. I worked retail, I know. I’ve had to “recover” my fair share of women’s clearance racks. (Why is it that all my life women have been yelling at me to pick up my clothes from the floor? I’ve seen the way they shop. They should be ashamed of themselves. Hypocrites. At least I leave my clothes on the floor because I’m actually going to wear them again. The floor is my “wardrobe staging area.” What’s their excuse?)

Usually the Dollar Spot is filled with knick-knacky-type stuff. Mostly party supplies and yarn. Which leads me to believe that knitters love a good dry martini served with a plastic swizzle stick shaped like a pink cowboy head.

But who doesn’t really?

However, just in time for Halloween, Target has seriously stepped up the Dollar Spot’s substance. They have DVDs for a buck at Target! No frills DVDs, okay, but DVDs nonetheless. And not just your average DVDs. No. Not crappy titles like Navy Seals or Legends of the Fall. Good movies. And every DVD is a double feature of true horror-genre cinematic masterpieces!

That brings the value to 50 cents a flick. And if you factor in the fact that every disc also includes a classic cartoon short, that makes it even better!

Here’s what I got.

“Tales of the Undead” which includes:
Atom Age Vampire
Casper the friendly Ghost in “A-Haunting We Will Go”
Revolt of the Zombies

“Chills” which features:
Dead Men Walk
A mislabeled cartoon (not what’s on the box)
The Monster Maker

“Nightmares” which includes:
Bloodlust (Starring Robert Reed, I already have this one incidentally because of MST3K)
The Magic Mummy (cartoon)
Sweeny Todd the Demon Barber of Fleet Street (the original, not the musical. Both are excellent)

“Threshold of Terror,” which is probably the best in the collection and includes:
Bluebeard (Starring John Carradine)
Superman in “Mechanical Monsters” (great cartoon)
The House on Haunted Hill (the one with Vincent Price and Richard Long of “Nanny and the Professor” fame. The only old movie of this kind that actually, genuinely creeps me out. It’s awesome. It’s good. Mostly because of its complete lack of Taye Diggs, Famke Janssen and Jeffrey Combs.)

Go to Target and get these films. You won’t be disappointed. There are others too. The Brain that Wouldn’t Die (already have it), the Beast of Yucca Flats…

There are no special features or anything. No subtitling. No nothing. Not even chapters. But they’re really cheap and since they don’t come with a case, you get to make your own! Crafty!

Salvation Army.


Fun Fact: The latest (Halloween themed) TAM Cartoon is up! Johncarradinewasinredzonecuba-sational!

Flame On

I actually had some heartfelt criticism of my blog post earlier today. I wasn't just ignored or written off as intellectually deficient like usual. I feel all grown up now.

Adam didn’t like what I had to say about Pastor Greg. Normally, I wouldn’t respond to him. I usually don’t really care. But today I’m feeling slightly defensive. Mostly because I felt like I was being a little harsh on ol’ Greg Robbins’ show Pastor Greg.

But the more I thought about it…

Well, Here’s what Adam had to say to me in the comments section of the last post:

Those who can...do, those who can't...criticize. It took nine years to get this show on the air. He had a dream, he followed it, and by the Grace of God, he made it happen. Tell me, have you done the same?

By the way, you're making these smart-aleck remarks after watching 1 episode and 4 short clips of episodes. - Adam Graham


Yes, you're right. I'm being unfair. Greg Robbins did get his show on the air. He worked really hard on it. We should all give him the respect that's due him for just trying. The world is full of critics like myself who thrive on demeaning the hard work of others. We live to see them fail because it makes us feel better about ourselves. When I attack Pastor Greg, I don't do it because the show is an insult to the intellect and taste of the Christians and TV watchers of the world, I do it because I hate seeing someone gain the respect and admiration of others, respect that I could never hope to receive.

That’s one way of looking at it anyway.

Then there’s reality. I don’t dislike Greg Robbins, If anything, I really do admire the way that he brought his show to television and grabbed the attention of the nation with his ideas. Mostly because those ideas are just so…bad.

Hey, you’re right, Adam, I am getting down on the guy. I don’t want to. But I’m not being unfair. That’s television. That’s the business.

That’s art.

And even though art is highly subjective, there are still standards (yes, even in television…hell, even Paris Hilton finally lost her show thank god). It’s why we will probably never see my 2nd grade macaroni art hanging in the Louvre (although, they’re more than welcome to it).

Besides, the entire idea for Pastor Greg was born out of criticism. Criticism of the shows on mainstream television. So, yes, you’re right, maybe my response to Pastor Greg should be to make my own television show that is all the things Pastor Greg isn’t. I’m working on that. But until then I’ll be critical.

Because Pastor Greg, while it may be the best-intentioned labor of love ever to be put on the small screen, is just bad TV. And without genuine criticism art becomes complacent. It stagnates. Pastor Greg could run unchallenged for 15 years, never growing, never trying to be better, never evolving. And what would that be? Other than a supreme waste of time and money? Why not strive to be something more than just a “noble effort?”

That’s my opinion, Adam.

And the rest of you can check out Adam’s blog here.

Oh, and hey Adam, if you want, I can invite you to the premiere of the short film I’m directing next month. If you ever entertained any thoughts of payback, I’m sure it will give you more than enough ammunition.

I mean, if this blog doesn’t give you enough to make fun of already. And come on, man. We shouldn’t fight. We’re kindred spirits. You have a cable access show, a blog and a podcast! I find it hard to believe that you don’t understand what it’s like to be a self-important narcissist.

TAM

Amen

dment. Amendment.

Hey look, a rare Saturday post! I’m here to add to an earlier post. It’s not really an amendment. But “adden…dum” didn’t have the biblical ring I was looking for.

Thanks to Kevin, you now get to enjoy the spectacularly hyped Christian Sitcom Pastor Greg.

Go here for the opportunity to watch 5 streaming episodes. Although, I guarantee that you won’t make it past the pilot (Impressions).

But give it a look. Go see what passes for funny with certain Christians. The laugh track will help you spot the jokes (you’ll need it).

I have a few notes for the producers at Pastor Greg.

1) When installing the carpet on your set, don’t put the seam in the middle of the playing area.

2) When installing fake brick pillars, make sure that the corners match up. No gaps. Real bricks don’t have gaps at the corners.

3) I know that you’re building the spirit of community, but don’t just hand out “5-and-under” roles to any member of your parish that raises their hand that week.

4) Don’t end the show in the middle.

5) Sitcoms are supposed to be simple. They really shouldn’t have plot holes.

6) Utilizing the word “dude” doesn’t make Pastor Greg hip and cool.

7) Fire the writers.

8) Recast…everyone.

And a question: How come the kids in the church can get away with directly disobeying the pastor? They were escorted out of the room where they were drawing pictures, only to sneak back in sometime later (off camera) to continue drawing. While I respect their need for creative outlet, I can’t abide the blatant disrespect for the under-pastor’s wishes. And why do the “fuddy-duddy” parishioners become “hip and cool” before they meet their new hip and cool Pastor Greg?

Thanks for your time, producer-type-people.

Really, though. Go watch the show. And make a prayer request while you’re at it.

And just try to keep that theme song out of your head.

No really.


Fun Fact: There is nothing fun about Pastor Greg. That’s a fact.

Making Friends

And influencing them.

It was all over the news yesterday. I’m tardy. Michelle Duggar and her husband...Jim Bob...have given birth to their 16th child. Jim Bob is especially excited because it’s his first daughter in 8 years. Michelle is excited because she finally has another little girl to dress in truly nauseating outfits.

Why do we celebrate these people like they’re some kind of overachievers? It’s like going to the circus freak show with the pretense of learning hygiene secrets from the bearded lady.

Here they are. And they don’t just wear that crap on picture day at Sears. They wear it all the time. That’s dressing up to them. It’s dressing down too. I’m pretty sure that mom makes them for the girls out of the old sheets. Look closely at that photo and you may catch a glimpse of Holly Hobby.

The kids are Joshua, 17; John David, 15; Janna, 15; Jill, 14; Jessa, 12; Jinger, 11; Joseph, 10; Josiah, 9; Joy-Anna, 8; Jeremiah, 6; Jedidiah, 6; Jason, 5; James, 4; Justin, 2; Jackson Levi, 1; and now Johannah, newborn, purple and creepy.

All their names begin with the letter “J.” Just like Daddy. It’s cool of Daddy Jim Bob to give himself such an immense tribute. He sure deserves it. After all, he has to put up with that hormonal wife of his while she’s pregnant…constantly. In fact the only time she’s not been pregnant for any real duration was the first 4 years of their marriage. She was just 17 when they married. Which is strange that she wasn’t pregnant. I mean, isn’t that the only reason people marry 17-year-olds?

Oh, J also stands for Jesus.

I shouldn’t make fun. It’s not easy to raise 16 kids, I’m sure. Especially when you home-school them.

Of course, I’ll never know. I’ll never have to do it because…well…I’m not freaking crazy.

Yes, the Duggars are freaking crazy. Freaking crazy for Jesus. Religious weirdoes. The kind that think that Jesus wants you to give birth to babies until your cervix no longer has the strength to hold them in for the full gestational period.

This is what Jim Bob had to say:

We both just love children and we consider each a blessing from the Lord. I have asked Michelle if she wants more and she said yes, if the Lord wants to give us some she will accept them…or else I will beat Satan from her until she gives in to the Lord’s will.

Okay, I added that last part about Satan. I don’t think that the husband is forcing her to have babies. I think she likes it. I mean, after 10 kids, she pretty much has to keep having them. It’s either that or a hysterectomy, right? She sure as hell can’t go back to having a menstrual cycle. Let’s just say that Tampax hasn’t marketed a product equipped to handle a task of that….considerable size.

Personally, I don’t understand this conviction. I don’t understand why Jesus wants religious wack-jobs to have a million and a half kids. Is he living vicariously?

Whatever the reason, Jim Bob and Michelle are going to continue to pop out the chillun’. What does Jim Bob care if his wife’s vagina becomes the size of Madison Square Garden?

It’s procreation, not recreation, people.

And if all else fails, he can rent her crotch out for concerts and boxing events.


Fun Fact: The heaviest ever baby born was a boy weighing 22 lb 8 oz. He was born to Sig. Carmelina Fedele in Aversa, Italy in September 1955.

That would be a snap for ol’ Michelle Duggar. She could use the baby’s weight to her advantage. She wouldn’t have to go through those painful 5 seconds of pushing. All she’d have to do is stand up and let gravity do all the work.

What? Gross? Hey, the woman isn’t a human anymore, she’s a freaking factory. There are bunny rabbits out there rolling their eyes at her.

I Love Jesus

…Was filmed before a live studio audience.

Yes, the Christians, unhappy with just boring the hell out of everybody (literally) on Sundays, have taken to boring the hell out of everybody on primetime Television.

There’s a new sitcom on television these days. And this time it’s biblical.

It’s called Pastor Greg and airs on Thursday nights at 8 on the Cornerstone Television Network (call your cable provider to request Cornerstone Television, and while you’re at it, ask them to come over and paint your house so you can sit and watch it dry).

It’s being touted as the “first Christian sitcom.”

What exactly makes a sitcom “Christian?” Well, GMA this morning asked the very same question of the show’s creator and star Greg Robbins.

It’s a good question. I watch a lot of TV and was under the delusional assumption that just about every one of the characters in them is Christian. Sure, most of them don’t go to church or talk about God, per se, but some of them do. Especially those new “home spun,” “working class family” crappy ones that are polluting my screen these days.

And what about the Simpsons? They go to church just about every episode! A Christian church no less. There’s more religion on that show in one episode than there was the entire series of Highway to Heaven (which is not a sitcom. Neither is Touched by an Angel).

And was I the only one who ever watched the late, great Sherman Hemsley’s post-Jeffersons masterpiece Amen? I loved that show. I took place in a freaking church!

So I guess a “Christian Sitcom” is something completely different.

I hope it’s cool. I would love to see a sitcom with more Jesus in it. He is perhaps the greatest figure in literary history (don’t get upset, whether or not you believe that he actually lived, they still wrote a book about him which makes him a literary figure in my…uh…book). Why shouldn’t he have his own sitcom?

I’m not a Christian, but even I would tune in to watch Jesus try to weasel his way onto the stage at Club Babalu or hock Vitameatavegamin.

But I don’t think that’s what they had in mind. Too bad that it would be so sacrilegious, otherwise it might make for a fine Christian show premise.

Maybe a Christian sitcom is a lot like a regular sitcom? Except that at the end of every episode someone goes all “Linus Van Pelt” on everybody and reads from the bible?

No, turns out that to Greg Robbins, the idea of a Christian sitcom is something completely different. When GMA asked him what it meant to make a Christian sitcom, Robbins’ explanation was that all of the cast and crew “accept Christ as their savior.”

Finally! Christians in Hollywood! How about that, huh? Personally, I never thought that I’d live to see the day. Unprecedented.

Oh, and the main character is a pastor. And they pray and stuff.

I’m sorry if I seem to be getting down on this show. Personally, I could care less if a show’s Christian or not. You’re talking to a dude who watched Amen for Pete’s sake (and the entire series of Highway to Heaven, I truly loved that stupid show). But from the clips that they showed of this show on GMA this morning, and they showed a lot of clips, the show is really…really…awful.

Greg Robbins lamented the long hard road it took to get his show on TV. He bewailed the countless rejections from network suits. He even hinted that the constant dismissal was due to the shows Christian bend.

Maybe the suits saw that you actually scripted a freaking pie fight into the show?! Maybe that’s what killed it. Well, that and the complete lack of funny. Sitcom. Situation comedy.

I’m getting down on it again. But it’s because the show will probably actually do well. Christians are so starved for churchie things that they’ll buy anything that talks about Jesus being the lord and savior. Even the really bad stuff (any Jim Neighbors fans in the house?).

Why can’t they make something good?!

Christians, really, stop buying the crappy Christian stuff! Really. If you’re going to market your religion through merchandising, at least make a quality product. This stuff represents your faith! Have a little self-respect! Make good Christian TV shows. Don’t tell me you can’t find the cash. Pray for it or something. Do it for Jesus. Do it for God. Do it for yourselves.

And do it quick because if this country keeps going like it is, pretty soon we’ll all be living in a Puritan Commonwealth again and I’ll have no choice but to watch this garbage.


Fun Fact: The term “sitcom” was coined in 1951 and makes “I Love Lucy” the first television show to be called a sitcom.

I Got Plenty of Nothin’

…For you today. I was fighting with the TAM cartoon all morning. The damned thing didn’t want to scan right. So now all you get is…the latest TAM Cartoon!

And nothing else. TAM-a-lam-a-dingy-dingy…uh…something-tastic-sational!

Get over it.


Fun Fact: My Fun Fact was going to about how this TAM cartoon is the first TAM cartoon that doesn’t have TAM in it.

Then I discovered that it’s actually the fourth.

Man, even I don’t read these things.

Visit the TAM Cartoon archives!

There’s a Monster Outside My Window

This morning, this was the view from my kitchen window.

I can now put this at the top of the short list of extraordinary things I’ve seen while standing next to my dishwasher. (Sorry horde of dead termites, you’ve been bumped down a peg.)

They finally tore down the cute house next door. The only thing that’s good about it is that I got to meet the guy who owns the property. It was nice to discover that they are building this condo complex as an investment for themselves. It’s not going to be owned by a huge property company. At least not for a while anyway. And he’s a local. He lives right near here.

Here he is with his family, posing for a picture in front of the destruction.

He seems like a nice enough guy. His son was very excited about seeing a house being bit in half by a giant mechanical ogre.

Maybe a little too excited?

More than once, I was afraid that I’d witness a child get turned into a fine paste. But he made it out alive. No thanks to himself.

I also learned that the guy I met was the one who rented the house out to the dicks that used to live there. So I got to vent my spleen a little. He had no idea that the renters were such asses. One of them was supposedly a mortgage broker. They lived like frat-house rejects, so I guess that makes sense.

I told the owner all about his renters. About their “band,” about their late night porch concerts… He was surprised. I also told him that I was unhappy about the house being torn down. He said that they had bought it as a fixer-upper. His wife wanted to do that. But this guy’s in construction, he said he doesn’t do anything small.

Great.

Now we get condos. Now I get to live with the constant noise of construction going on 5 feet from my window. Why couldn’t he just do this one thing small? Is it too much to ask to have someone not take advantage of an opportunity? Come on. I do it all the time. It’s really easy.

So now it’s begun. Construction hell. The dust is already killing me. And even though the foreman is a very nice guy and was horribly concerned about bothering the neighbors every morning at 7am (more than one he said how happy he was that Tanya and I were early risers), it’ll probably put a serious cramp on the Christmas Album this year. So much so that there might not be one. Not even a small one. But, oh well. I should focus my energies on something that might actually pay the rent anyway, right?

But don’t despair. Let’s not get all down. Here, enjoy this picture I took of the front window being shattered into a thousand small pieces.

That’s pretty cool. It even got applause (the event, not the picture, although, feel free to clap for the photo too). And, I also learned that the owner’s wife is a literary agent for William Morris. And the owner told me that he’d put us at the top of the list to buy one of the new condos.

Okay, here is my plan. I get his wife to represent me, she sells many of my screenplays (100 or 150, I haven’t decided how many yet), we make a lot of money ($3 billion or so) and then we can afford to buy one of the new, and I’m sure overpriced, LA condos. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed. It’s a great plan, huh?

Yep. Great plan. Not one single hitch.

William Morris will look at partial screenplays, right? Oh, what am I saying…of course they will.

That new condo is as good as mine, baby.


Fun Fact: The modern bulldozer was invented by J. Earl McLeod and Jim Cummings around 1923.

Man, I’m glad I didn’t live next to them. The only thing more annoying than a noisy bulldozer is a noisy bulldozer being driven by a dude who is really excited about driving his noisy bulldozer.

Massage My Brain and Give Me the Happy Ending

Ah, dubious massage parlor humor. Gross? Sure. But what the hell, it’s Friday.

We’re all a little obsessed with the “happily ever after.” It’s been fed to us since we were just little tykes. But those were fairy tales. Not real life. Obviously, right?

Not so.

The world is becoming increasingly obsessed with creating happy endings these days. The news media being the most egregious offenders. There are two stories lately that really stick out in my mind.

The first is the story about Jacquelyn Sherman. After having her home destroyed in hurricane Katrina, she sought refuge from New Orleans on the floor of her sister’s house in Opelousas. While there, she decided to do a little shopping at the local Wal-Mart (of course). But first she took a little detour to the local casino. She put some cash in a slot machine and out popped 1.6 million dollars.

Ah. Doesn’t that just warm the heart? Here’s what she had to say about it:

Thank you, Lord.... I told my aunt that God works in mysterious ways and that I had prayed that something good would happen for the whole family to be happy.”

Indeed, the lord does work in mysterious ways. He rewards gambling now. Who knew? I always thought that God frowned on stuff like that? But what do I know? I’m an atheist after all. Maybe I should convert. Maybe then I’d finally hit it big at the blackjack tables.

And maybe I could get Him to clear up this horrible case of the clap while he’s at it? How does God feel about soliciting prostitutes these days?

I’m kidding. I don’t have Gonorrhea and I don’t solicit prostitutes(really. It was a joke…I’m serious).

The news reported on this story as if the clouds had parted and the hand of god pushed through with a wad of hundred dollar bills just for Jacquelyn Sherman. I mean, come on…

Perhaps the better question is why the hell was a woman who had lost everything in a tragic disaster at a freaking casino plopping her much-needed cash into a soul-sucking slot machine?!

Man, some people were just programmed to be poor. Don’t even get me started on the state lottery. Jacquelyn is just lucky that the Lord had a soft spot for hard-luck cases…and the one-armed bandit.

The other story that they played on the news also had to do with Hurricane Katrina. It was about a couple who had met during the aftermath. They both ended up in the same evacuation center. Then they both ended up on the same refugee plane to California.

Then they took the next most rational step and got married.

Now, I’m not here to bad-mouth their relationship. I sincerely hope that it all works out for them. I won’t mention the fact that they only knew each other for about two weeks before they tied the knot. I won’t mention that relationships spawned from traumatic events have little or no chance of surviving.

And I definitely won’t point out that Keanu Reeves makes that last point in the movie “Speed” because that would make me a supreme geek who watches Keanu Reeves movies (but what would you do? What…would you…do?! Now who’s the geek, huh? Oh…still me).

But I will take issue with the way that the local news station reported the story. They tagged the item with the line, “At least for two survivors of Hurricane Katrina there is a happy ending.”

A happy ending?!

I knew it! No matter how much certain ex-girlfriends might have tried to convince me of the contrary, I always knew this to be true…

Marriage really is the end of the world!

And now I have proof. The Los Angeles WB affiliate said so. Take that!

So, happy endings. Do they exist? I like to think so. Somewhere. Sometime. But where do things end? Do they actually end at all? Do we really want to get into a philosophical debate right now?

No.

Why? Because this is the end of this post, that’s why. Which is good because it started off on such a grotesque note. What with the massage parlor joke and all. I shouldn’t have been so blue. I know that cheesy news “human interest” stories about happy endings and massage parlor happy endings are two entirely different things.

But after both I can’t help but feel like I’d been jerked around a little.

And we all lived happily ever after.


Fun Fact: There’s a new link posted on the right. It’s to the Wren Forum. A happy place run by my friend Steve. Go there and check it out. If it’s as good as his mad improve comedy skillz and acting talent, you won’t be disappointed.

Plus it has something to do with Wrens. I don’t know what yet, but someday I’ll figure it out.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the word “ebullience” means “overflowing with enthusiasm.” I had to look it up. I though it was some kind of pierogi dish. Which made me think that the Wren forum might be some kind of Polish support group.

Which it still may well be.

Thanks for Nothing

I came home at 4:00pm yesterday to find a notice taped above the mailboxes here at the apartment complex that read:

“The water in the building will be shut off tomorrow from 11am to 5pm. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Which makes me wonder; how do I sign up to be uncooperative?

Really. I mean it. I understand that someone - somewhere - needs to have our water turned off (I’m pretty sure it’s the house next door that they’re tearing down in order to build a hideous condo complex that will block out the sun and obliterate the air-flow in our non-air-conditioned, overpriced apartment). But I don’t think that there was enough notice given. Plus, I don’t think that they should turn our water off. And, personally, I could give a flying rat’s rectum if they ever tear down the house next door and build their stupid condos.

But I don’t have a say in the matter. I’m a renter. Which means that no one cares what I think.

But they thanked me for my cooperation nonetheless.

An insult to injury actually. What am I supposed to do now? Say “you’re welcome,” smile and act like they’re doing me a favor by being polite? Should I tell them to go copulate with themselves? Would it matter?

No.

“You’re welcome” and “go screw yourself” are pretty much the same when it comes to this. The people who run things around here won’t hear either one. Their “thank you” is strictly rhetorical ornamentation. It’s put there to make us feel like we are a part of the process, as if we’ve given some kind of consent. Which we haven’t.

And we see this all the time now. It’s everywhere. Millions of “thank yous” placed here and there to make dictatorial rules seem less like regulations and more like give-and-take.

“Thank you for not smoking.”

My personal favorite. First of all, it starts with the “thank you.”

“Thank me? How nice! I wonder what selfless act I perpetrated to be thanked in such a public way. Thank me for what?”

“Oh, thank me for not smoking. I see. Well. I had actually planned on smoking, but evidently, on some past occasion, I agreed not to. Funny, that doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to. But if they’re thanking me, I must have.”

Look, I’m all for rules and regulations. If you don’t want someone to smoke in your establishment then simply put up a sign that says “No Smoking.” There’s no pretense. Sure, it’s little harsh, but hey, if you’re the type of person who’s worried about offending others with your rules, then you shouldn’t be going around putting up signs, I say.

I know that this seems like a stupid thing to get worked up about – and it is. Thank you for not pointing out my idiocy. But thanking people has become hollow. It’s an insincere gesture now. When we go around thanking people for compulsory behavior, then something that used to be polite becomes a mockery.

Let’s save “thank you!”

We’ve already destroyed “I’m sorry.”


Fun Fact: Just yesterday, just a little ways up the road here, Lindsay Lohan got into another car accident. She claims that the paparazzi were attacking her, which is probably true. But I got to tell you, I almost get into an accident every time I drive that strip of Robertson Blvd. There’s always some jerk-ass darting into traffic or backing up to get a parking spot (it’s a small street, only one lane at that point) or just tear-assing it down the road at 90 mph.

And now, it appears that Lindsay Lohan is just another one of those jerk-asses (although I suspect that the girl just can’t drive).

You know, Beverly Hills would be a nice place if it weren’t for all the rich people.

That’s a fact.

5766

Happy Rosh Hashanah!

I’m not Jewish. I don’t have great understanding of what Rosh Hashanah is all about. But I’m wishing a happy one anyway. I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do. And I always do what I’m supposed to do. I’m a sheep.

Also, for the others in the hizzy; happy beginning of Ramadan. I hope you have a quiet and reflective one. Don’t listen to the jerk-asses in Al-Qaida and bomb the hell out of crap like they want you to. Use your religious dedication to spread hope and proliferate a sense of understanding. Rebel against leaders who try to use your convictions for their personal gain. Question authority. Don’t do what others tell you to. Like me. I never do what I’m supposed to. I’m a loner, Dotty…a rebel.

And I’m confused.


Fun Fact: According to the bible, Camel meat is considered “unclean.”

I guess I’ll have to cancel that small business loan. My fast-food chain, TAM’s Camel Burgers Deluxe Dromedaria and Eatery, will just have to wait until Hinduism takes over the world.

Hurry up Hindus! How long must the world wait to sink their teeth into the mouth-watering “Double Humper…with Cheese?!”


Oh, and the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Cameltoeslaw-tastic!

Goodbye August

August Wilson has died. He was only 60. Liver cancer.

What a horrible loss. He was a great playwright. There are too few writers like him; with his depth and heart and ability to be provocative without being narrow and…with his talent. He will be missed.


Fun Fact: On a much different note: I left the gym this morning with the palms of my hands smelling like a strange woman’s perfume.

Don’t worry; I’m not grabbing strange women while I work out.

But why do people find it so difficult to wipe down the equipment after they get done using it? The gym forces us to bring towels, after all. And it’s not because the CEO of Bally Total Fitness is a huge fan of The Hitchhiker’s Guide. It’s because the rest of us don’t want to have to wallow in your sweat.

Or perfume.

My hands became scented after I used the crosstrainer. Now, the only parts of my body that even touch the crosstrainer are the bottoms of my feet and the palms of my hands. And yet I came home smelling like lavender or some damn thing.

Why do certain women feel that they need to apply perfume just to go to the gym? And not just any perfume. Industrial strength NASA perfume. Perfume that won’t dissipate even with soap and water.

And why the hell are they applying it to the palms of their hands?! What are they dong that the palms of their hands need to smell nice? Are they running some kind of murder-for-hire strip-mall smothering boutique and day spa? Are they constantly playing that stupid “guess who” game?

No. They’re just idiots with smelly hands who can’t figure out how to use their towels.

That’s a fact.

I wonder if the soles of my shoes also smell?

I don’t think I’ll check.

Demons Exorcising Demons

I went to the opening night of Knott’s Scary Farm last night.

We have been planning it for a while now. We even got tickets way in advance so that we couldn’t do what we usually do, which is to start dreading the lines and the people and the traffic right before the event, realize how tired we are and spend the evening watching bad television (although we did miss Alias last night). Plus we were going with our friend Steve who is a nut for the Halloween Haunt. He goes every year (more than once). So we had the perfect tour guide.

There was only one real problem with our grand plan: my childhood trauma.

When I was about six or seven my mom took me out to the boonies of Washington State to visit a haunted house. No, not a real one. A walkthrough “maze” consisting of portable buildings crammed together and filled with terrifying scenarios. Add to this, a menagerie of creatures in ill-fitting overalls covered in cow’s blood, brandishing knives.

And then you've got the monsters actually working in the maze.

Anyway, my little heart was already three-quarters yellow at that point. I hated being startled. To the point where I would get very anxious and mad whenever I saw a balloon (those things are just waiting to be popped, and my anxieties weren’t alleviated by the hordes of “friends” that I had who would threaten to pop balloons in my face at every opportunity). I hated fireworks too. Loud and surprising.

But as I was saying. There was nothing more terrifying to me in my early life as a dark walk-through haunted maze (maybe one filled with balloons…and syringes). People jumping out at you left and right. What’s so fun about that? There was many a Halloween where I had to sit outside waiting for my family to come out the other end of a hay-bail maze. And then I had to listen to them all try to explain to me for the rest of the night that the haunted maze “really wasn’t that scary…”

Even my younger sister would try to comfort me. That’s the worst. Being talked down by a 5-year-old.

Castrated. Before I really knew what they were for. So sad.

But that one time (when I was six or seven, you know, back to the story), my mom (maybe my aunt? I’m still repressing some of this) actually convinced me to go in. I was going to cowboy up for once, swallow my fear and face the gaggle of yokels wearing rubber masks.

So we go in. The first room is some kind of Dracula room (vampire room actually, but to the more “earthy people” living on farms in Washington, all vampires are “Draculas”). There was a Dracula in a coffin and another Dracula hissing words of warning at us from the corner.

I was terrified. But still generally okay. If we walked fast I could make it out of there without urinating on something…like myself.

We wound our way to the second room.

The evil doctor room.

Man, these people had my number. But good too. Here’s my list of childhood fears. In order from worst to not-so…uh…worst.

1. (Needles: not technically a “childhood fear” because they still terrify me)
2. Haunted Houses
3. Doctors
4. Dentists (a tie with Doctors. Both give shots)
5. Balloons
6. Fireworks
7. The “Kidnapper Van”
8. FD&C Red Dye No.2

So an evil doctor brandishing a butcher knife is just about the worst thing imaginable. But then to make matters worse, this was the carefree 70s, so the haunts and ghouls were free to grab little children, which one did. And then proceeded to threaten to cut off my ear!

My ear! My freaking ear! I need my ear! To hear stuff!

Needless to say, I flipped out. Like biblically flipped out. Wrath of god type stuff. I’m sure somewhere in some distant sea, the waters parted that night.

And that was it. Never again would I ever go into another haunted house as long as I lived.

I never expected to live to 32 I guess because last night I went through about 10 haunted mazes. Some of them twice. And they were all filled with yokels wearing rubber masks who pound on walls and jump at you.

And I had a great time. I had genuine anxiety about going too. But it was great. If you ever get a chance to visit Knott’s Scary Farm, I suggest you do so. And go on opening night. There was nobody there (if you don’t like getting scared, go anyway, go early and ride the roller coasters without having to wait in a line).

Thank you Knott’s for exorcising my demons.

But don’t expect me to show up for Knott’s Needle Farm.


Fun Fact: I giggle every time I see that commercial for the new osteoporosis medication.

The word Boniva is funny to me.

Behold the Awesome Power of God…and Methamphetamines

Ashley Smith’s new book is out. You may remember her as the woman who was taken hostage by an Atlanta murderer and then proceeded to convince him to turn himself in to the police by reading to him from a religious self-help book.

She was touted as a hero. A single mother whose faith in God and willingness to spread the good word put a dangerous madman behind bars. A quite uplifting story actually. It warmed the heart of the nation.

But she left out one small detail. God might have been a big part in ending the murderer’s rampage of terror. But more than likely it was the combination of that and the crystal meth that did the trick.

See, what we didn’t know at the time was that Miss Smith was a tweaker. Why didn’t we know this? Well, because she didn’t tell anyone about it.

The guy broke into her house, tied her up and asked for some pot. Ashley didn’t have any marijuana on her…but she had some ice. So she offered that to him instead. Which he took and then proceeded to become convinced that Ashley Smith was in reality, an angel.

So her book is called Unlikely Angel: The Untold Story of the Atlanta Hostage Hero.

She’s just lucky that his meth-riddled brain chose to envisage her as an angel. Otherwise things could have been much more awkward.

Who’s going to buy a book called Unlikely Santa Claus?

The police learned about this drug involvement months after the event took place. But the general population is just finding out about it now. Is it really that hard to figure these things out? Nobody questioned the suspect? Nobody smelled the meth in the apartment? None of her friends knew she was an addict? The cops didn’t leak it?

They probably did. We probably could have figured out the truth a long time ago. The reality is that no one wanted to. We want to believe what we want to believe. Does her drug addiction and the use of meth make her any less of a hero? No. She still got the dude to turn himself in. Who cares how she did it?

The Christians, that’s who.

They wanted it to be god and an appeal to basic human emotion and a sense of right and wrong. Hell, we all wanted it to be that. We all want to believe that you can reason with a murder. We want to believe that there’s an inherent moral truth that runs through all of us. It gives us a sense that we’re in control of things. That we can make the wrong right. But the harsh reality is that most of the time it’s just not the case. Sometimes reason needs a little psychotropic help.

The truth of the matter is that she used drugs to manipulate this man. Not spirituality. A chemical compound. She still accomplished something remarkable. But it’s tarnished her achievement. Especially since she lied about it at first. In our rush to create yet another heartwarming story, we’ve gotten it all wrong.

(Speaking of wrong stories, GMA did a story on the “Urban legends of Hurricane Katrina” this morning. People being raped and killed in the Super Dome, roving gangs… Mostly untrue. They had an expert on as they tried to discover just how these kinds of stories get started and spread so fast. Hmmm. It’s a real mystery isn’t it, GMA? I wonder…? Next, I suppose it’s off to help OJ find the real killer. I also like how they used the term “Urban Legend.” It connotes that the problem somehow lies with us, the “Urbanites,” the common folk. Last time I checked, only 50 people a day read this stupid blog. Back to the post.)

But this story (Ashley the Angel) had all the makings. Multiple murders, hostage taking, faith, hope, love and a happy ending. The formula for a network news human interest story.

In a way, I’m happy to learn that Ashley isn’t the angel that she was made out to be. Maybe it will make the media a little gun-shy (yeah, right). I’m getting tired of the heartwarming tripe on television. It’s too much. It’s not even real anymore.

My freaking heart is so warmed that I’m getting heartburn. But it’s so persistent that I’m thinking about consulting my doctor. I’m afraid that I might be suffering from a more serious condition.

Warm Fuzzy-Reflux Disease.


Fun Fact: The wait is over. I’m setting up my TAM Merchandise shop and more great items are being added every day! soon you’ll be able to buy all your favorite TAM merchandise! Won’t that be great?! Be the first on your block to have a TAM coffee mug! Or a TAM mouse pad! You’d be the envy of all your friends…if they had any idea what the hall all this TAM crap was anyway. But see, that’s why it’s so cool, it’s new! Get in on the ground floor of cool. Get in on what I’m sure will be the beginning of a national obsession.

And you can say that you were there the whole time. Man, you’ll be cool.

Did I mention cool?

Someone Needs to Replace the Filter

Is there anything more annoying than a “think tank?”

There is. A think tank filled with idiots. What is a think tank full of dummies? A non-think tank? An anti-tank? A moronaquarium?

The Discovery Institute.

A think tank based in Seattle. The same think tank that has been peddling the theory of “intelligent design.” A creation theory that states that mankind didn’t evolve a-la Darwin, but was rather engineered by a higher power. You know, like…God.

Okay, sure. Hey, I don’t believe in god, but who am I to say that we weren’t all just put here as a test for the afterlife. Like a high-stakes game of survivor for your soul. Believe it or not, I’m not here to argue the origins of man.

I’m here to talk about the idiotic staffers at the Discovery Institute.

They came to their conclusion that man was created by an overachieving deity because “man is too complex to have just evolved out of nothing.”

I hate this argument. I get it all the time. Usually from religious types. And oddly enough, it’s a big reason that a lot of people convert to religion. Thus, it’s often used as some kind of catalyst to get me to convert.

“This all can’t just be some cosmic accident, right?”

“The world and its beauty is just too…well…beautiful…and wondrous (don’t forget wondrous), right?”

“If we all just evolved from monkeys, how do you explain just how amazingly advanced and extraordinarily cool we humans are?!”

First of all, there are a lot of assumptions being made here. What’s amazing to me is that we all acknowledge just how immense, mysterious and complicated the universe is. Even Christians. Yet, most of us automatically jump to the conclusion that we are the be all and end all of creation.

Humans rule! We’re so complex!

Why? Because we’re having a hard time figuring ourselves out? If we perceive ourselves to be complex, we must be complex?

We’ve all seen that one guy at a club who thinks he can dance, right? In his mind, he’s ready for freaking Soul Train. But we all know better. We can see that he’s a lousy dancer. Why can we see it, but he can’t? Because we’re not him. We’re on the outside. Our circle of experience is broader than his. We know what good dancing is. We’ve really seen it. And that’s not it.

Plus, we have a better overall picture of what his horrible dancing actually looks like. While he’s focusing on his cool “Egyptian Hands” he’s not paying attention to the fact his walking is nothing like an Egyptian’s.

Same with humanity.

We assume that the world is complex. How the hell would we know? We’re comparing the earth to itself (or a couple, out of trillions, conveniently placed planet neighbors). We’re comparing different living creatures to each other, but all of those living creatures live on the same planet in conditions that, in the grand scheme of things, aren’t all that different from each other.

We assume that mankind is highly evolved. Why? What the hell do we know about it? Sure, we kick ass here on earth. We’re the dominant life form here. But we could be the most pathetic dominant life form in the entire universe for all we know. We could be the most simply assembled too. Our DNA could be the most rudimentary genetic blueprint in the universe.

There could be other planets pointing and sniggering at us behind our backs right now. And their mothers could be slapping them on the back of the head and telling them not to stare because it’s not our fault that we’re this way and that we’re “special” and all that.

Don’t pity us, extraterrestrial jerks! Never pity us!

Sorry, I was getting all worked up there. But my point is that the Discovery Institute made a severe leap of logic in its assumption that the human being is too complex, too remarkable and too advanced to have simply evolved from single-cell organisms. They chose not to think outside of their own narrow realm of being. And what the hell is a think tank for if not to broaden the scope of consciousness? To shift paradigms?

I’m not to say that they’re wrong. They may have stumbled on the answer to life itself…

But if they did, it was completely coincidental.

Morons.


Fun Fact: Thanks to some inspiration from Jared, I’m thinking about starting a CafePress store. Soon, you may be able to buy some really great TAM merchandise!

I know, I know, it’s a dream come true.

Oh, and the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Buythetee-shirtastic!

And, hey, an added bonus today! Go here (The Buddy Group) and wait for it to load. You can watch Kevin do his thing. And then find the horseshoe on the border of the page and click on it. You'll get to listen to some really jammin' music. Whoever wrote and recorded that song is a genius!

Perks of Old Age

Weakening bone structure, graying hair and an inability to sleep in past 6:30am. Sure, those things are really great. But there are some other advantages to being an adult.

When I was a kid, I’d beg and beg for things; Matchbox cars, Rubik’s cubes, Hungry Hungry Hippos… But I’d always get the same response, “we can’t afford that right now. I’m not made of money, you know.” And no matter how much I’d beg, my mom wouldn’t take my simple advice, go to the bank, get the money and buy me some cool crap.

Although, I always did appreciate that little “we” she’d throw in there. “We can’t afford that right now.” As if I was a productive member of the family. Like I was bringing a check home from kindergarten (it’s amazing how flaccid the finger-painting market is). Of course, she didn’t really mean we. She just wanted a 5-year-old to feel like he was fruitful.

Either that, or she was planning on selling me to a sweatshop and thought better of it when she realized that I possessed an inexhaustible supply of lazy.

As an adult, I still have to beg a woman for the cool crap that I’d like to buy. But now the woman holding the purse strings is my girlfriend. It’s a very similar scenario. But this time, when Tanya uses the word “we,” she means we. See, no matter how little I actually contribute, we live under the delusion that we’re somehow equals and that I have some kind of say when it comes to spending the money.

So now I have this.

A new keyboard. Sure, it’s not the best on the market, but it’s the best one I’ve ever had. It’s full-sized, weighted and touch sensitive. Besides, I can’t play the piano anyway. But I’m going to learn. Until then, I’ll just keep that piano music sitting on it (Chopin’s “Chanson de L’adieu” Song of the Farewell) so that when people come over, they’ll think that I can play. Why “Chanson de L’adieu?”

Because it has the most notes. Duh.

Now, I’ll be honest. Tanya has fought the piano for a while now. She just didn’t want to get it. Never mind that she actually knows how to play the damned thing. But my persistence paid off.

And now I can’t keep her away from it.

Tanya, stay away from the keyboard! It’s my turn! It’s always my turn! Always! Mine!

I love being an adult.


Fun Fact: The first electric piano ever made was the SuperPiano, first manufactured in 1927. Sound was produced by a hammer striking a metal bar which caused a vibration that was amplified and sent through speakers. It sounded more like chimes than a piano. Which begs the question; “why wasn’t it called the SuperChimes?”

Because nobody cool ever played the chimes, that’s why.