This is the second post in 5 minutes, so don't miss the first one.
I couldn't resist picking this: A message I received on myspace from one of my porn pushing spamspace friends.
"Feb 22, 2007 7:27 AM
I'm hittin up my myspace buddies with a cool deal I found online, a free frickin iphone lol! get it here Chow! xoxoxo "
I don't even know where to start here. Let's see...I already know you aren't a real person, and yet i've made my choice to add you as a friend. We're very far past the point where you have to call me your buddy to "help me" find a good deal online. But that doesn't actually bother me. What bothers me is that she thinks the whole deal finding thing is HILARIOUS. "a free frickin iphone lol!" That's not how people talk or act. That's like me coming up to you and saying, "I found a website that says it gives away free xbox 360's...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" and then when you ask me if I'm laughing because there's no way it's true I say, "Nono, I'm laughing because free stuff is soooo funny!" You wouldn't interract with me anymore.
Next up, we have "Chow!" meaning "food." I-- nevermind, I think that stands alone.
Finally, there is the shear amount of affection bestowed upon me by this girl I don't know, simply because SHE told ME about a good deal. "xoxoxo" she writes. Little hug. Little kiss. Little hug. Little kiss. Little hug. Little kiss. Ok, at this point, I'm pretty sure we're gonna bang. Or at least I'm gettin' under her bra. The hugkisshugkisshugkiss in physical actions usually suggests a clingy unwillingness to part with something. There is a need to be filled. A sexy sadness. As Will Farrell's character in The Wedding Crashers says (and I'm paraphrasing), "depression and bereavement is a crazy aphrodesiac." So I'm ready to go. But no. Chow. She's gone. I will have to wait until an ipod, or a razor phone, or a PS3 is advertised in a ridiculous deal before I will see where this relationship is going.
xoxoOOxOOx....OOO...XOOOOO...Y...Y...Y...o.....x.....
Witz
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Witz Pickz: Chest Hair in the Workplace
I've been shirkin' my duties recently, and for that I apologize. The reason for said shirking though has been my being busy at work recently and then feeling miserable afterwards. Fortunately, this has led to a revelation-- that I pick Chest Hair in the Workplace.
The week was long and terrible, but then something happened unexpectedly. I walked into the bathroom, let my comedy belt do the talking, and then stepped in front of the mirror to leave. It was then that I noticed plumes of my chest hair peaking out above the wrinkled collar of my undershirt. Just like that I felt better. Like I had one up on the world. I walked into the bathroom somber, and walked out like champion of the world. Maybe that's why dogs look so proud and happy after a walk-- they're just thinkin, "I'm ass-naked and just took a shit on your flowers, things are good..."
Anyway, I walked out sporting chest hair in the workplace. It was particularly prominent because I'm one of about 6 men who work in the office, and 5 of them have to wear ties everyday. So mine is the premier chest hair being sported in the office and it's great. I feel like I'm British and smarmy and the ruler of all things. How could anyone expect me to do some dumb project when I've got chest hair out and about. Clearly I am above such work.
Sporting the chest hair is a tiny victory. It says, "I fucking rule you" but in a more socially acceptable manner. Women have this with breasts, but it's not the same. Sportin' cleavage in the workplace says, "I rule you by demonstrating my subservience," and sometimes just, "I'm proud of my body and feel it is appropriate to express my freedom in the workplace," but that isn't a claiming of dominance so much as...what's the phrase...just freakin' awesome. Chest hair is not beautiful, nor is it attractive. It is a raw, ugly eff-you of power to not women, but the world. It breaks social folkways and weaves in the breeze. It is appalling and intriguing. Chest hair is tits with a handgun.
This is my tiny victory, but at least it is mine...and at least it's a victory. So go ahead and do it-- you'll be surprised at how great it feels.
Not Scorin' Any Points With the Ladies Today,
Witz
The week was long and terrible, but then something happened unexpectedly. I walked into the bathroom, let my comedy belt do the talking, and then stepped in front of the mirror to leave. It was then that I noticed plumes of my chest hair peaking out above the wrinkled collar of my undershirt. Just like that I felt better. Like I had one up on the world. I walked into the bathroom somber, and walked out like champion of the world. Maybe that's why dogs look so proud and happy after a walk-- they're just thinkin, "I'm ass-naked and just took a shit on your flowers, things are good..."
Anyway, I walked out sporting chest hair in the workplace. It was particularly prominent because I'm one of about 6 men who work in the office, and 5 of them have to wear ties everyday. So mine is the premier chest hair being sported in the office and it's great. I feel like I'm British and smarmy and the ruler of all things. How could anyone expect me to do some dumb project when I've got chest hair out and about. Clearly I am above such work.
Sporting the chest hair is a tiny victory. It says, "I fucking rule you" but in a more socially acceptable manner. Women have this with breasts, but it's not the same. Sportin' cleavage in the workplace says, "I rule you by demonstrating my subservience," and sometimes just, "I'm proud of my body and feel it is appropriate to express my freedom in the workplace," but that isn't a claiming of dominance so much as...what's the phrase...just freakin' awesome. Chest hair is not beautiful, nor is it attractive. It is a raw, ugly eff-you of power to not women, but the world. It breaks social folkways and weaves in the breeze. It is appalling and intriguing. Chest hair is tits with a handgun.
This is my tiny victory, but at least it is mine...and at least it's a victory. So go ahead and do it-- you'll be surprised at how great it feels.
Not Scorin' Any Points With the Ladies Today,
Witz
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Witz Pickz: Survivor: Fiji (and Shameless Self Promotion...Again)
I can't vouch for the show yet this season because it starts tonight at 8 on CBS, but I have been signed on by tvfodder.com to write their Survivor blog, and after checking out the cast this season I think it will be a fun one to watch. I encourage you all to watch and add one more blog to your workday routine (www.tvfodder.com/survivor). As always, thanks for readin' and supporting. For those interested, the magazine I am co-editor of The Wonder Boy Review, will be released March 3, 2007. There will be a release party in Seattle. Details to follow.
-Witz-
PS. Props to Sara in the comments section for making dual witzpickz references and saying that I should have the immunity of white bread. I'm unhealthily jealous of the bread now.
-Witz-
PS. Props to Sara in the comments section for making dual witzpickz references and saying that I should have the immunity of white bread. I'm unhealthily jealous of the bread now.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Witz DOESN'T Pick: The Unusual Longevity of White Bread
Ok, here's the deal-- there's a single slice of white bread lying in my garage and it's FREAKIN' ME OUT! Seriously. In the parking spot next to my car lies a single slice of perfectly white bread. Possibly Wonder. And it's been there a week, and it's perfectly white. It's rained, frosted, been warm. The slice remains surrounded by water darkened cement-- perfectly white. It freaks me out because this is something people have said to me my entire life. My Dad used to tell me how white bread was no good, my teachers said white bread was "empty calories", trainers and coaches told me the same thing, and my girlfriend told me time and again that white bread is terrible for you. Empty carbs and calories. And now, as this slice lays there, CONTENT, just....OBLIVIOUS to the elements...I'm beginning to think it might be worse than empty calories. I'm talkin' Twinkie level here. Is this the "wonder" in Wonder Bread? That it's freaking indestructible and can last through a nuclear blast? Is that why the bread is there? Did someone put it out to test it's strength and durability? And who was this person? Was it the white bread company? Are they entirely confused on what I want out of my bread? "They want it to last years. Through snow and hail and hurricanes. Monsoons should compliment this bread-- give it depth." Is this what they're thinking? Or was it just a person in my building? Did they place it or drop it and decide to leave it? Did they leave it for this reason or are they the laziest shits I've ever heard of-- a person who can't pickup the lone slice of white bread that they left IN THEIR OWN PARKING SPOT? Or was it an outsider-- someone not supposed to be there-- maybe just someone trespassing into another tenant's parking spot. Was it me? Did I get drunk, buy a bread I haven't eaten in years, remove one slice and drunkenly place it in my neighbor's spot? Did I mean it to be symbolic-- to counteract the SUV-ness of the vehicle parking there? "This white bread will last longer than our planet thanks to your vehicle purchase. See the whiteness of the bread? It is in perfect contrast to the blackness of your heart." Is this art? Should I take a picture-- charge admission-- make a papier mache cast of it? These are the thinks I wonder as I stare at the single slice of white bread. Surviving. Lying there. Contented to be. But I'm not going to be the one to pick it up. The white bread is there. It is a part of life now. And it remains. Always.
Witz
Witz
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Witz Pickz: Healthy Immune Systems
The grass might always be greener on the other side, but somehow I don't see myself lying dejected on the "Strong and Functional Immune System" side of the river and gazing jealously across to the "Witz's Useless Pathetic Immune System" pasture. It just doesn't seem like it would happen.
Because you see, my immune system is practically non-existent. They say that you can't get the same cold twice, which means that I am simply a stomping ground for every single individual cold strand that passes through a population. I am to the viral population what Chicago is to air travel. And just as everyone always gets delayed in Chicago-- so too do the germs in my body-- they just won't leave. Cold outside? Witz gets sick. Breezy in the summer? Witz gets sick. Stayed up past 8pm? Witz gets sick. Swam? Witz gets sick-- and an ear infection. It's effing unbelievable to me how easily my body succumbs to the millions of aggressive asshole bugs that are passed between humans on a casual basis.
So I take actions. I try to sleep early and often. Through the night even. I try to sleep in when possible. I try to stay bundled up. I drive the 3 blocks to work instead of walk. I turn the heat on. I sleep with clothes on. I air out the apartment, eat right, and drink fluids to the point when I am able to stand onstage with a bucket in front of me and Fruit Punch Powerade in hand and exhibit myself as a "color changing machine" as I drink the red Powerade and release the yellow urine. "It's amazing!" What happens in between? Oh, you know, mucus, fever, sore throat. All parts of the magic.
And I take vitamins. I take B, C, Zinc, Calcium, Q-10, Pau D'arco, Garlic, Echinacea-Phyto Caps, and something called Host Defense which has the picture of what has to be an alien growing on the label. Does this alien grow into a creature that hunts unwanted agents AKA the Predators of my body? If so, I approve. I take all these vitamins. My trick, you see, is that I take all of them sporadically and entirely haphazardly, so as not to allow the Evil Invader Cells to know what to expect, and create a routine out of my assaults. Unfortunately, this type of standoff is a war of attrition, and no matter who wins, I ultimately lose.
AND YET NONE OF THESE THINGS WORK! I sleep feverishly and with insane dreams where I have to do things like map the amazon river as I travel through dangerous territory or get shot repeatedly while I just try and buy fruit pies from my boss who in this dream works at the DMV. I'm buyin' fruit pies at the DMV? And getting shot for it? I try bundle up or turn up the heat, and my throat is even drier in the morning. My lungs ache. I smell dust where there is not dust. These types of things. I air out the apartment and then get sicker because it's cold and probably more germs were waiting to come on in. I drink fluids and my stomach just hurts. I take the vitamins, and nothing. NOTHING. I stay sick. Or I get better and get sick again. Or I'm healthy, and the only thing that I can think is, "I hope I don't get sick aga-- fuck. I'm sick again." Now my Dad tells me it's part mental. That if I think I'm going to get sick, I will. Which is great, except when I'm sick, and I think I'm gonna get healthy-- I DONT. And since I usually get sick, how can I not at least recognize the past when thinking, "Chances are high I might get sick" even while thinking, "I'm not going to get sick." It's a rough world out there and frankly, I'm not complaining. I like sick days. Nobody believes me that I'm sick all the time, but that doesn't mean I don't get the time off. I like sleeping. I like reading books and watching movies all day. And I like my magic trick.
But I still pick Strong Healthy Immune Systems. If I had one, I might never look back. But like the guy who's owned a Toyoto Corolla all these years, and is sold on it's consistency so he never buys a Porsche, I drive my crappy shit-eating immune system. I drive it right into the ground.
Witz Is Sick of Being Sick-- But Cannot Invent Airborne, Which Has Already Been Invented and No Longer Helps Witz Even Though It Used to Be His Godsend,
Witz
Because you see, my immune system is practically non-existent. They say that you can't get the same cold twice, which means that I am simply a stomping ground for every single individual cold strand that passes through a population. I am to the viral population what Chicago is to air travel. And just as everyone always gets delayed in Chicago-- so too do the germs in my body-- they just won't leave. Cold outside? Witz gets sick. Breezy in the summer? Witz gets sick. Stayed up past 8pm? Witz gets sick. Swam? Witz gets sick-- and an ear infection. It's effing unbelievable to me how easily my body succumbs to the millions of aggressive asshole bugs that are passed between humans on a casual basis.
So I take actions. I try to sleep early and often. Through the night even. I try to sleep in when possible. I try to stay bundled up. I drive the 3 blocks to work instead of walk. I turn the heat on. I sleep with clothes on. I air out the apartment, eat right, and drink fluids to the point when I am able to stand onstage with a bucket in front of me and Fruit Punch Powerade in hand and exhibit myself as a "color changing machine" as I drink the red Powerade and release the yellow urine. "It's amazing!" What happens in between? Oh, you know, mucus, fever, sore throat. All parts of the magic.
And I take vitamins. I take B, C, Zinc, Calcium, Q-10, Pau D'arco, Garlic, Echinacea-Phyto Caps, and something called Host Defense which has the picture of what has to be an alien growing on the label. Does this alien grow into a creature that hunts unwanted agents AKA the Predators of my body? If so, I approve. I take all these vitamins. My trick, you see, is that I take all of them sporadically and entirely haphazardly, so as not to allow the Evil Invader Cells to know what to expect, and create a routine out of my assaults. Unfortunately, this type of standoff is a war of attrition, and no matter who wins, I ultimately lose.
AND YET NONE OF THESE THINGS WORK! I sleep feverishly and with insane dreams where I have to do things like map the amazon river as I travel through dangerous territory or get shot repeatedly while I just try and buy fruit pies from my boss who in this dream works at the DMV. I'm buyin' fruit pies at the DMV? And getting shot for it? I try bundle up or turn up the heat, and my throat is even drier in the morning. My lungs ache. I smell dust where there is not dust. These types of things. I air out the apartment and then get sicker because it's cold and probably more germs were waiting to come on in. I drink fluids and my stomach just hurts. I take the vitamins, and nothing. NOTHING. I stay sick. Or I get better and get sick again. Or I'm healthy, and the only thing that I can think is, "I hope I don't get sick aga-- fuck. I'm sick again." Now my Dad tells me it's part mental. That if I think I'm going to get sick, I will. Which is great, except when I'm sick, and I think I'm gonna get healthy-- I DONT. And since I usually get sick, how can I not at least recognize the past when thinking, "Chances are high I might get sick" even while thinking, "I'm not going to get sick." It's a rough world out there and frankly, I'm not complaining. I like sick days. Nobody believes me that I'm sick all the time, but that doesn't mean I don't get the time off. I like sleeping. I like reading books and watching movies all day. And I like my magic trick.
But I still pick Strong Healthy Immune Systems. If I had one, I might never look back. But like the guy who's owned a Toyoto Corolla all these years, and is sold on it's consistency so he never buys a Porsche, I drive my crappy shit-eating immune system. I drive it right into the ground.
Witz Is Sick of Being Sick-- But Cannot Invent Airborne, Which Has Already Been Invented and No Longer Helps Witz Even Though It Used to Be His Godsend,
Witz
Friday, January 19, 2007
Witz Discusses: Weeds...again...By Request AND MORE
IrishGal wants to know what I think about Weeds since I enjoy Huff. A dialogue of sorts. So here we go:
WEEDS:
I just can't get 100% behind this show. The first season plodded along and while action took place, it just wasn't enticing. I watched it for no apparently reason other than the fact that Mary Louise-Parker has a kind of hypnotic acting style/expression, but even the regularity of that became monotonous after a while. I like the sons a lot and think they provide most of the humor and drive along with the Uncle. Sometimes they'll come up with a great setup situation, but they don't always capitalize on it. I feel like a lot of the situations based around their whole "tiny boxes/and they all look just the same" theme aren't very unique or interesting considering it is a show about SELLING WEED. This was somewhat remedied in season 2 as some more conflict arose (DEA boyfriend), but they still didn't go all in on anything until the season 2 finale. The season 2 finale (and I've heard many people share this sentiment) was the first time I actually GOT INTO the show. When conflict actually occurred on a dramatic scale where bad things that aren't reversible happened and where a little more reality leaked into the ticky-tacky world. It was the first time in the entire series that I've said, "Damn, now I want to watch the next episode." And unfortunately, it was the first time I couldn't. I am looking to season 3 to sway me one way or the other. It's not that it's a bad show, I just feel it hasn't lived up to its potential, and I'm not entirely sure the writers know what that potential is or if they want to live up to it.
The Gun Seller: House wrote a book. Did I tell you this? He wrote a book and it's really good. He wrote it in '96 and it was recently re-published because Hugh Laurie is now HOUSE MD. The book is interesting, fast paced, and laden with Hugh Laurie's lingual enjoyment. Jokes abound, rambling occurs, and puns are had. It is a mystery type novel, but more so it is a fun little adventure of "who's who" that you can tear through in a few days.
President's vs. Presidents' Day:
Is coming up in February. I had a conversation with my friend Matt that went like this:
Matt: Do you get President's Day off?"
Witz: I do.
Matt: Do you get one or two days off?
Witz:...You believe we should get two days off for President's Day?
Matt: My mom said when she was little they got two days off.
Witz: Did your Mom go to school in Ye Old Timey Schoolhouse?
Matt: One for Lincoln, one for Washington.
Witz: That's amazing.
Matt: Yeah.
THEY USED TO GET TWO DAYS OFF! So my question is: When did Presidents' Day turn into President's Day? Did the CIA snag the apostrophe one night and move it over? Did they have a tall guy walk past and swat it backwards as he passed? Did they sublet the job to the Liberians? How'd this go down?
Happy Belated Martin Luther King Juniors' Day,
Witz
WEEDS:
I just can't get 100% behind this show. The first season plodded along and while action took place, it just wasn't enticing. I watched it for no apparently reason other than the fact that Mary Louise-Parker has a kind of hypnotic acting style/expression, but even the regularity of that became monotonous after a while. I like the sons a lot and think they provide most of the humor and drive along with the Uncle. Sometimes they'll come up with a great setup situation, but they don't always capitalize on it. I feel like a lot of the situations based around their whole "tiny boxes/and they all look just the same" theme aren't very unique or interesting considering it is a show about SELLING WEED. This was somewhat remedied in season 2 as some more conflict arose (DEA boyfriend), but they still didn't go all in on anything until the season 2 finale. The season 2 finale (and I've heard many people share this sentiment) was the first time I actually GOT INTO the show. When conflict actually occurred on a dramatic scale where bad things that aren't reversible happened and where a little more reality leaked into the ticky-tacky world. It was the first time in the entire series that I've said, "Damn, now I want to watch the next episode." And unfortunately, it was the first time I couldn't. I am looking to season 3 to sway me one way or the other. It's not that it's a bad show, I just feel it hasn't lived up to its potential, and I'm not entirely sure the writers know what that potential is or if they want to live up to it.
The Gun Seller: House wrote a book. Did I tell you this? He wrote a book and it's really good. He wrote it in '96 and it was recently re-published because Hugh Laurie is now HOUSE MD. The book is interesting, fast paced, and laden with Hugh Laurie's lingual enjoyment. Jokes abound, rambling occurs, and puns are had. It is a mystery type novel, but more so it is a fun little adventure of "who's who" that you can tear through in a few days.
President's vs. Presidents' Day:
Is coming up in February. I had a conversation with my friend Matt that went like this:
Matt: Do you get President's Day off?"
Witz: I do.
Matt: Do you get one or two days off?
Witz:...You believe we should get two days off for President's Day?
Matt: My mom said when she was little they got two days off.
Witz: Did your Mom go to school in Ye Old Timey Schoolhouse?
Matt: One for Lincoln, one for Washington.
Witz: That's amazing.
Matt: Yeah.
THEY USED TO GET TWO DAYS OFF! So my question is: When did Presidents' Day turn into President's Day? Did the CIA snag the apostrophe one night and move it over? Did they have a tall guy walk past and swat it backwards as he passed? Did they sublet the job to the Liberians? How'd this go down?
Happy Belated Martin Luther King Juniors' Day,
Witz
Witz Pickz: Insanely Rude Yet Competent Sandwhich Maker
Grocery stores are not known for their sandwhiches (actually, maybe they are...crap).
Grocery stores might not be known for their sandwhiches (nice save, Witz), and I once laughed in my girlfriend's face when she suggested we get a sandwhich from Safeway because "they're sooo good", but now it is her laughing in my face as well as somewhat larger stomach (Last laugh = Me) because they really are "Soooo good!"
The thing is, at the particular Safeway that we go to, the sandwhich makers are the slowest people I have ever seen in my entire life. They slowly saunter from the counter to the bread basket to the counter again, each movement like the world is wearing them down (which I don't doubt it is-- I mean, you work the deli/chinese food/sandwhich counter at Safeway, but it's your job, so try and work with me here). When I order my fantabulous "California Dreamin'" sandwhich-- turkey, bacon, herbed cream cheese, guacamole, lettuce, and tomato on some soft but crispy tuscan bread-- it takes them minutes to simply find and cut the bread. Then there are minutes of searching for the turkey. Pondering over the bacon. Meandering hands to the lettuce and tomato, and I have never seen anyone spread anything, ANY-THING, slower than these people spread the cream cheese and guacamole. It is lobotomized service. There is a high turnover rate. I can understand not knowing how to make the sandwhich so that slows things down, but the turtilion (cool new word maybe?) speed of the actual individual functions has put the purchasing of these sandwhiches in question by the two of us. And then last Saturday happened.
I go it alone and walk over to the counter. It's about noon. I see one woman with a hat on finishing up a sandwhich and standing in the sandwhich section. I take a deep breath, preparing for the eternity, and walk up to the counter. The woman stares at me. "What," she offers annoyed.
"Hi, I need to get two sandwhiches actually."
"From over there?" she gestures towards the pre-made sandwhich section, every inch of her annoyed.
"Um, no, preferably from you," here...and the counter...where I have approached with intent to purchase...
"What do you want?"
"A 6 inch California Dreamin' and a 6 inch Classic Sandwhich with Salami on multi-grain."
"Classic Salami? What is that-- I don't know what that is." Total disgust.
"It's your "Classic Sandwhich" with salami..."
"Fine," she spews my way and turns back to the bread. "What kind of bread?"
"Multi-Grain." She zips to get it and gets back.
"Meat?"
"...Salami..."
She looks around and huffs. "We don't have salami I don't think. We have-- we have salami and ham." At this point she has truly defeated me.
"Isn't this a deli?"
"I have salami and ham."
"Ok?" Before I can put together how nuts this is, she is ready for me again.
"Cheese?"
"Cheddar."
"Do you want CHEESE??"
"I would enjoy cheddar?"
"Mayo and Mustard?"
"No thank you."
"No mayo and mustard?" Incredulous.
"Nope." Per my girlfriend's request.
"Fine. What else."
I tell her and she complies. Not only that, she complies faster than I have ever seen anyone comply. It's great.
"California Dreamin'?"
"Yep," I reply.
"Fine," and she whips it together like a freaking speed demon. Like a speed reader cruisin' through the dictionary. like one of those Rubix Cube solvers who do it in like 5 seconds. Like that kid who beat Super Mario in like 6 minutes. Actually, it was a LOT like that. I stare up at my sandwhiches.
"Here. Take them," she jeers at me and I do, because they are delicious. Even if one does have unwanted ham on it.
I stumble away from the counter having never felt so much confusingly directed disgust and anger in my life. And yet, through every second of the encounter, I have an objection on my tongue that was countered by the shear speed of her work. In a perfect world, I would expect a sandwhich made quickly enough without taking shit for it, but in this world, I'm just happy to get my California Dreamin'. I might even write in an Employee of the Month comment for that lady. The Insanely Rude Yet Competent Sandwhich Maker.
6 Inches Of Heaven,
Witz
Grocery stores might not be known for their sandwhiches (nice save, Witz), and I once laughed in my girlfriend's face when she suggested we get a sandwhich from Safeway because "they're sooo good", but now it is her laughing in my face as well as somewhat larger stomach (Last laugh = Me) because they really are "Soooo good!"
The thing is, at the particular Safeway that we go to, the sandwhich makers are the slowest people I have ever seen in my entire life. They slowly saunter from the counter to the bread basket to the counter again, each movement like the world is wearing them down (which I don't doubt it is-- I mean, you work the deli/chinese food/sandwhich counter at Safeway, but it's your job, so try and work with me here). When I order my fantabulous "California Dreamin'" sandwhich-- turkey, bacon, herbed cream cheese, guacamole, lettuce, and tomato on some soft but crispy tuscan bread-- it takes them minutes to simply find and cut the bread. Then there are minutes of searching for the turkey. Pondering over the bacon. Meandering hands to the lettuce and tomato, and I have never seen anyone spread anything, ANY-THING, slower than these people spread the cream cheese and guacamole. It is lobotomized service. There is a high turnover rate. I can understand not knowing how to make the sandwhich so that slows things down, but the turtilion (cool new word maybe?) speed of the actual individual functions has put the purchasing of these sandwhiches in question by the two of us. And then last Saturday happened.
I go it alone and walk over to the counter. It's about noon. I see one woman with a hat on finishing up a sandwhich and standing in the sandwhich section. I take a deep breath, preparing for the eternity, and walk up to the counter. The woman stares at me. "What," she offers annoyed.
"Hi, I need to get two sandwhiches actually."
"From over there?" she gestures towards the pre-made sandwhich section, every inch of her annoyed.
"Um, no, preferably from you," here...and the counter...where I have approached with intent to purchase...
"What do you want?"
"A 6 inch California Dreamin' and a 6 inch Classic Sandwhich with Salami on multi-grain."
"Classic Salami? What is that-- I don't know what that is." Total disgust.
"It's your "Classic Sandwhich" with salami..."
"Fine," she spews my way and turns back to the bread. "What kind of bread?"
"Multi-Grain." She zips to get it and gets back.
"Meat?"
"...Salami..."
She looks around and huffs. "We don't have salami I don't think. We have-- we have salami and ham." At this point she has truly defeated me.
"Isn't this a deli?"
"I have salami and ham."
"Ok?" Before I can put together how nuts this is, she is ready for me again.
"Cheese?"
"Cheddar."
"Do you want CHEESE??"
"I would enjoy cheddar?"
"Mayo and Mustard?"
"No thank you."
"No mayo and mustard?" Incredulous.
"Nope." Per my girlfriend's request.
"Fine. What else."
I tell her and she complies. Not only that, she complies faster than I have ever seen anyone comply. It's great.
"California Dreamin'?"
"Yep," I reply.
"Fine," and she whips it together like a freaking speed demon. Like a speed reader cruisin' through the dictionary. like one of those Rubix Cube solvers who do it in like 5 seconds. Like that kid who beat Super Mario in like 6 minutes. Actually, it was a LOT like that. I stare up at my sandwhiches.
"Here. Take them," she jeers at me and I do, because they are delicious. Even if one does have unwanted ham on it.
I stumble away from the counter having never felt so much confusingly directed disgust and anger in my life. And yet, through every second of the encounter, I have an objection on my tongue that was countered by the shear speed of her work. In a perfect world, I would expect a sandwhich made quickly enough without taking shit for it, but in this world, I'm just happy to get my California Dreamin'. I might even write in an Employee of the Month comment for that lady. The Insanely Rude Yet Competent Sandwhich Maker.
6 Inches Of Heaven,
Witz
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Witz Pickz: Crossword Puzzles, Huff, and More Things (You thought I was gonna say STUFF didn't you, you arrogant prick!)
Sorry, I went into a little "24" anger coma and wasn't able to write for a bit. But like that ass-rash that you just can't get enough of-- I'm back.
Wordplay:
The film about crossword puzzles and puzzle enthusiasts is far more enjoyable than anything discussed in the film. You get to see how world-class puzzlemakers come up with their crosswords (not by hand of god as previously assumed) and get to see the World Championship of Crosswords hosted by the New York Times' crossword puzzle editor Will Shortz. My girlfriend recently noted that Shortz spells his last name the way Witz would and for that I pick both Will Shortz for his clear declaration of Witz Pickz fan-dom and her for the insight that clearly shows I've taken over her brain. Anyway, it's really hard to not get into the crossword tournament and pick your favorites and you get to meet all kinds of uppity nerds. One of my favorite parts, however, was simply seeing people I know doing crossword puzzles and talking about why they love them. I imagine the producers knew that I would love this and the reason is most likely because I am an idiot, but still, I couldn't get enough of John Stewart solving his friday crossword with ease and yelling at the camera to step it up, or Bill Clinton doing the sunday puzzle, laughing and loving every minute of it. It reminds me why we need to elect Hillary Clinton. We went from a President who does the Sunday NYTimes puzzle for the SHEAR FUN OF IT, to a guy who is still stuck on his Clifford The Dog 16 piece Puzzle that he does because he's thrown out every other educational, mind-stimulating toy he owns. It is also impossible to see this film and not immediately want to do crossword puzzles. I watched it three weeks ago and have picked up the Ny Times puzzle every weekday since.
Huff:
Nobody gets Showtime. That's a problem. Not for me so much as Showtime and ultimately, good shows like Huff. A few months ago I was on the fence with this one, but after watching the rest of the first season via netflix, I was sold. This show combines insightful writing about life with absolutely hilarious comedy, ranging from intelligent quips to extended conversations between parents and son about the "blowjob party" he went to. The cast makes the writing work, with Hank Azaria as Dr. Craig Huffstodt, Oliver Platt as his lawyer friend, and the extremely precocious, yet fantastic son, played by Anton Yelchin who will very soon be kidnapped by Justin Timberlake in Alpha Dog. Blythe Danner plays Huff's live-in mother and gives the role a much more interesting depth than the normal television mother role. Unfortunately, the problem with nobody watching showtime is that the show has been cancelled after it's second season. I haven't watched it yet, but have been painstakingly acquiring it since Showtime has apparently cast off the show as ever existing. Checkout the first season of Huff, hope the second comes out on DVD soon, and hope that in the future, shows like this stick around (or are on HBO).
Salt In the Shower:
My mom's a bit into the whole "spiritual" and "energy" world and so when I'm sick she tells me to do things like focus on healing and cast out the bad energy. I've gone from entirely casting off these things to being completely open to trying them (in a "I'm streaming snot from my nose and fire is growing in my throat, so why the hell not" kinda way). One staple in her bag of tricks is to rub salt all over you in the shower and let it sit for two minutes before washing off. Something about ions or free radicals. It also makes your skin soft when you wash off because you rub the shit out of yourself (not like that) and all the dead skin comes off. In addition, after the hot water and the salt, you smell DELICIOUS. Who doesn't enjoy walking around for the rest of the day enjoying that fine, "Just escaped from the oven" smell? Anyway, the other day I was trying this and it actually worked-- but here's the thing-- I shave before I shower. So I got in the shower having just shaved, ignoring the knicks on my throat, and proceeded to salt up. "Salt on me legs, salt on me thigs, salt on my belly, but no salt in me eyes," is a song I sometimes sing while doing this to remind myself of the time I DID get salt in my eyes and was terrifically annoyed. "Salt on me chest, like a sailor on a boat, salt on my arms, and salt on me throat." Wait a minute. Salt on me-- OHHHHH FUUUUUUCK! OW OW OW! SONOFABITCH! FUCK! FUUCK! GODDAMN IT! Yeah, I put salt on my throat right after shaving it. I literally rubbed salt in my own wounds. Who the hell does that? Fortunately, I have a bathtub/shower, so I could sit down and enjoy the water crashing down on me until the wave of light-headedness that accompanies extreme pain passed. And when it did, do you know what? I wasn't feeling quite so crappy from my cold anymore. Homeopathic Remedies work.
"Scooters, vacation, fall":
as I write this, Blogger has given me a blank in the section below saying "Labels for this post:" the examples given are, "scooters, vacation, fall." I'm not sure quite what to make of this other than the fact that apparently blogger thinks that either I or most bloggers write about scooters, vacation, and fall-- these are common things to blog about. Not just one scooter. Numerous. Vacation I can understand. But fall? Yo, lemme drop some ill shit on....fall....because it's January bitches and it's time to remind yo' ass about photosynthesis and the fine foliage of New England. Perhaps there are people who blog about scooters and seasons, but I have yet to meet them. I thank you all yet again for sticking with me, who writes about suggestions of what blogger thinks I should write about. If nothing else, it's post-modern.
Butternut Squash Knows It's The Bomb,
Witz
PS. My magazine, The Wonder Boy Review is currently looking for submissions. The deadline is Jan 22, and we are accepting any short pieces-- prose, poetry, photography, art, comics, cartoons, essays (business, political, sports, music, film, society, culture), and anything else you might think of. Please email all submissions with your information to TheWonderBoyReview@gmail.com
Wordplay:
The film about crossword puzzles and puzzle enthusiasts is far more enjoyable than anything discussed in the film. You get to see how world-class puzzlemakers come up with their crosswords (not by hand of god as previously assumed) and get to see the World Championship of Crosswords hosted by the New York Times' crossword puzzle editor Will Shortz. My girlfriend recently noted that Shortz spells his last name the way Witz would and for that I pick both Will Shortz for his clear declaration of Witz Pickz fan-dom and her for the insight that clearly shows I've taken over her brain. Anyway, it's really hard to not get into the crossword tournament and pick your favorites and you get to meet all kinds of uppity nerds. One of my favorite parts, however, was simply seeing people I know doing crossword puzzles and talking about why they love them. I imagine the producers knew that I would love this and the reason is most likely because I am an idiot, but still, I couldn't get enough of John Stewart solving his friday crossword with ease and yelling at the camera to step it up, or Bill Clinton doing the sunday puzzle, laughing and loving every minute of it. It reminds me why we need to elect Hillary Clinton. We went from a President who does the Sunday NYTimes puzzle for the SHEAR FUN OF IT, to a guy who is still stuck on his Clifford The Dog 16 piece Puzzle that he does because he's thrown out every other educational, mind-stimulating toy he owns. It is also impossible to see this film and not immediately want to do crossword puzzles. I watched it three weeks ago and have picked up the Ny Times puzzle every weekday since.
Huff:
Nobody gets Showtime. That's a problem. Not for me so much as Showtime and ultimately, good shows like Huff. A few months ago I was on the fence with this one, but after watching the rest of the first season via netflix, I was sold. This show combines insightful writing about life with absolutely hilarious comedy, ranging from intelligent quips to extended conversations between parents and son about the "blowjob party" he went to. The cast makes the writing work, with Hank Azaria as Dr. Craig Huffstodt, Oliver Platt as his lawyer friend, and the extremely precocious, yet fantastic son, played by Anton Yelchin who will very soon be kidnapped by Justin Timberlake in Alpha Dog. Blythe Danner plays Huff's live-in mother and gives the role a much more interesting depth than the normal television mother role. Unfortunately, the problem with nobody watching showtime is that the show has been cancelled after it's second season. I haven't watched it yet, but have been painstakingly acquiring it since Showtime has apparently cast off the show as ever existing. Checkout the first season of Huff, hope the second comes out on DVD soon, and hope that in the future, shows like this stick around (or are on HBO).
Salt In the Shower:
My mom's a bit into the whole "spiritual" and "energy" world and so when I'm sick she tells me to do things like focus on healing and cast out the bad energy. I've gone from entirely casting off these things to being completely open to trying them (in a "I'm streaming snot from my nose and fire is growing in my throat, so why the hell not" kinda way). One staple in her bag of tricks is to rub salt all over you in the shower and let it sit for two minutes before washing off. Something about ions or free radicals. It also makes your skin soft when you wash off because you rub the shit out of yourself (not like that) and all the dead skin comes off. In addition, after the hot water and the salt, you smell DELICIOUS. Who doesn't enjoy walking around for the rest of the day enjoying that fine, "Just escaped from the oven" smell? Anyway, the other day I was trying this and it actually worked-- but here's the thing-- I shave before I shower. So I got in the shower having just shaved, ignoring the knicks on my throat, and proceeded to salt up. "Salt on me legs, salt on me thigs, salt on my belly, but no salt in me eyes," is a song I sometimes sing while doing this to remind myself of the time I DID get salt in my eyes and was terrifically annoyed. "Salt on me chest, like a sailor on a boat, salt on my arms, and salt on me throat." Wait a minute. Salt on me-- OHHHHH FUUUUUUCK! OW OW OW! SONOFABITCH! FUCK! FUUCK! GODDAMN IT! Yeah, I put salt on my throat right after shaving it. I literally rubbed salt in my own wounds. Who the hell does that? Fortunately, I have a bathtub/shower, so I could sit down and enjoy the water crashing down on me until the wave of light-headedness that accompanies extreme pain passed. And when it did, do you know what? I wasn't feeling quite so crappy from my cold anymore. Homeopathic Remedies work.
"Scooters, vacation, fall":
as I write this, Blogger has given me a blank in the section below saying "Labels for this post:" the examples given are, "scooters, vacation, fall." I'm not sure quite what to make of this other than the fact that apparently blogger thinks that either I or most bloggers write about scooters, vacation, and fall-- these are common things to blog about. Not just one scooter. Numerous. Vacation I can understand. But fall? Yo, lemme drop some ill shit on....fall....because it's January bitches and it's time to remind yo' ass about photosynthesis and the fine foliage of New England. Perhaps there are people who blog about scooters and seasons, but I have yet to meet them. I thank you all yet again for sticking with me, who writes about suggestions of what blogger thinks I should write about. If nothing else, it's post-modern.
Butternut Squash Knows It's The Bomb,
Witz
PS. My magazine, The Wonder Boy Review is currently looking for submissions. The deadline is Jan 22, and we are accepting any short pieces-- prose, poetry, photography, art, comics, cartoons, essays (business, political, sports, music, film, society, culture), and anything else you might think of. Please email all submissions with your information to TheWonderBoyReview@gmail.com
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Witz Pickz: They Don't Know Jack: the "24" Blog
"24" went bad. It did. But like Fox with "The War At Home", I seem to have gotten myself into a contract that I am unable to break. 24: The Post College Years (now known as They Don't Know Jack) was started two years ago for season five and blew up, gaining contributors from all over the place. Therefore, I am reluctantly returning to post on this blog and while I no longer enjoy the show, I have hope, and I will continue to enjoy the artist formerly known as Jack Bauer, the sporadic and underutilized asset of Curtis, and the void left by our beloved Edgah. If you are a fan of the show, or just want to keep tabs with what is going on while getting a severe dose of humor and analysis, check out They Don't Know Jack.
-Witz-
-Witz-
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Witz DOESN'T PICK: "Are You On The List?" ...More Heroes Frustration
The new "Heroes" slogan is "Are you on the list?". The chearleader has been saved, so that bit's out, and now a list has been discovered. But look-- "Save the chearleader, save the world" was bad enough, because it wasn't cryptic, it was just prevalent. ARE YOU ON THE LIST IS borderline ridiculous. What they mean is, "Are you gonna watch out show for christ's sake, I mean you've been into it this far right so why not keep going even though we can't act, speak, move the plot forward at a manageable pace or provide a shorter mid-season break." That must be what they mean, because I'm not a betting man (well, since the new laws prohibiting online gambling that is...and excluding the NFL Survivor Pool I was just a part of...), but I would be willing to wager everything I own that I am, in fact, NOT on the list. And here's why:
IT'S A FICTITIOUS ALTERNATE WORLD THAT I AM NOT A PART OF!
Simple, really, but apparently overlooked by the marketing department. The fact that I live here, watching said television program, should automatically limit my ability to be a character on the television. I'm pretty sure Stephen Hawking wrote about this. If I'm "on the list" I better damn well know about it via a phone call, contract, bank deposit, and probably days of grueling acting with Peter Petrelli or the Suggest-You-Do-Something chick who may or may not have helped the kid who stole baseball cards on Prison Break flee. That is, unless somebody rufees-ed me, brought me to the studio, got me to act (hopefully with my special power not being "takin' it in the butt") and then returned me to my home whispering gleefully (he's gonna love this surprise-- best birthday gift EVER!).
So no, I don't expect to be on the list. Heroes. But I still might watch your damn show.
Are You In the Group?
Witz
IT'S A FICTITIOUS ALTERNATE WORLD THAT I AM NOT A PART OF!
Simple, really, but apparently overlooked by the marketing department. The fact that I live here, watching said television program, should automatically limit my ability to be a character on the television. I'm pretty sure Stephen Hawking wrote about this. If I'm "on the list" I better damn well know about it via a phone call, contract, bank deposit, and probably days of grueling acting with Peter Petrelli or the Suggest-You-Do-Something chick who may or may not have helped the kid who stole baseball cards on Prison Break flee. That is, unless somebody rufees-ed me, brought me to the studio, got me to act (hopefully with my special power not being "takin' it in the butt") and then returned me to my home whispering gleefully (he's gonna love this surprise-- best birthday gift EVER!).
So no, I don't expect to be on the list. Heroes. But I still might watch your damn show.
Are You In the Group?
Witz
Monday, January 08, 2007
WitzPickz: YOU!
That's right! YOU! After reading Time Magazine's Person of the Year article, I decided that while I've picked all sorts of things in the last year, I haven't picked the one thing which according to some philosophers proves my own existence-- my readers. If you stare really hard at the image on the side here, you will see that you are actually what I picked*Now that i've picked you, leave some comments so I know that someone is actually reading my blog. This is called "feedback", but casually referred to as "shout outs," "props," or sometimes even, "blatant and unnecessary ego boosting." I want to know my readers, communicate with them, and then track them down individually and watch them while they sleep.
Leaving a comment is the first step towards this mutually awkward relationship.
ON TO THE PICKZ!
As I thank you for the last year, we move on to the next, and so I decided to pick my New Year's Resolution because if there's one thing nobody actually means, it's these. It is for this reason that my resolution this year is: To Do My Best To Stick To Future Resolutions. That's right, I'm resolving to resolve in the future. While this might sound like a total cop-out, it is actually quite brilliant. You see, every year I make a resolution and then say, "meh, nobody's holding me to that one..." you know these resolutions; when you don't feel like doing those situps, when you figure why not watch 6 hours of television tonight? When you say you're gonna eat better, but then at Thanksgiving gravy suddenly becomes soup. Hot Fudge Shortage strikes the East Coast-- Failed Resolution To Blame. That type of thing. Well now with this new resolution to try harder on future resolutions, I have two layers of defense. In the future, when I resolve to make it in professional arm wrestling, I can't just quit after my first defeat to an elderly yet suprisingly spry grandmother. "It's just this year's resolution" i'll think, but then will remember that it is also LAST year's resolution. That's two levels of legitimacy instead of one.
Think of it as laying a groundwork for the future. Perhaps next year I'll make another structural resolution to even more solidify this year's. If the Iraq War has taught us anything, it is that infrastructure is king (but not the kind of king that gasses his own people), and we must therefore lay a strong infrastructure for our own future. It is an "ally-oop" resolution-- This year I am simply throwing the ball in the air, but over the next year, three, years, ten years, I will be slamming down the resolutions-- food, tv, drinking, dual handguns, fear of Popples. There is no telling how much I might be able to improve my life simply due to this year's resolution Resolution.
What Else Ya Got Witz?
Trains:
I rode on a train to and from NYC over the last few weeks and man are those puppies useful. They drive it for you, you pay not all that much money, and you get to hear babies crying for free! Most car-rides i'm thinkin' "Yeah, sure the smooth tunes of David Tesh are groovin', but where the hell are the sounds of babies crying?" The answer it turns out is, "on the train!"
World Trade Center
The movie. I don't pick it so much as not not pick it. I had loads of problems with this movie being made, "it's too soon/why is this necessary/Oliver Stone" but I ended up renting it recently just to have done that and see what it was like and was actually fairly pleasantly surprised-- like when you think you shat in a trashcan in a dream with the whole office watching and then wakeup and realize that you didn't do that, but then think that you might have shat your bed instead only to realize (hope of all hopes) that you actually just have to go take a crap. Anyway, the movie was kinda like that-- it was alright, Nicholas Cage really can't hold an accent (I recently saw him in Captain Corelli's Mandolin and every word he said with an Italian accent sounded like, "It's a-ME, Maario!"), but I was taken in, liked the way it was shot, AND IT HAD A SLAMMIN SOUNDTRACK (not really). My favorite part, however, was the 24 connection. Mike "The Skeaze" Novick played one of the Port Authority Police Higher Ups by barely adjusting his face, and out of NOWHERE came Curtis "I swear I'm in this show" as a random guy who shows up and does stuff (yeah, i forgot most of the film already). Anyway, it's alright, and if you're bored, I guess go check it out.
World War Z:
Amazing book from the author of The Zombie Survival Guide. In World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, author Max Brooks describes the Zombie War (which just occurred) through a series of interviews and accounts. The book gets into every issue imaginable, from global commerce, to racism, to pop culture, while keeping the reader glued to the page to see how this all ended up happening. It is a parable with zombies and that's exactly what we need right now.
Coffee Coolattas:
Every time I return to the east coast and have a coolatta I remember how I could gain more weight in a hurry. Absolutely delicious.
Happy New Yearz,
Witz
*this is not at all the case-- while mirrors are entirely capable of reflecting images, PICTURES of mirrors do not have these properties. If you are actually staring at the mirror, in the hopes of seeing either yourself or some sort of Jesus/Che image if you stare hard enough and then look at a blank wall, I am sorry. It is only a picture.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Witz DOESN'T Pick: This Song Lyric
I couldn't help but make this brief post as I was listening to the new album by The Decemberists entitled "The Crane Wife" and was thoroughly enjoying it, when suddenly I came upon this lyric:
"When we arrive
Sons & daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now"
WHAAAT? They did NOT just say what I think they said! Then it came again,
When we arrive
Sons and daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
(Sons and daughters)
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon
(We'll make our homes on the water)
We'll make our homes on the water
(When we build our walls of aluminum)
(We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon)
I SCREAMED out at the stereo! NO!!! NOOOO!!!! DON'T!!! ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME???
It was like The Decemberists read Witz Pickz, perused it, and then spat in my face.
DO...
NOT...
EAT...
THE...
CINNAMON!!!!
Did I not stress that enough in my Cinnamon Implosion article?? Hooooly crap people.
"We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon?" Maybe I'm missing the point of the song, but unless they're saying, "We'll effing ruin our lives and traumatize our senses" DON'T FILL YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH WITH CINNAMON!
My cautionary tale was meant to spread the word of cinnamon trauma. If The Decemberists put this idea in people's minds, I might as well just give up now. Check out The Crane Wife because it is an enjoyable new album, but my god, please remember not to eat tablespoons of cinnamon.
Witz Is Sick (with worry),
Witz
"When we arrive
Sons & daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now"
WHAAAT? They did NOT just say what I think they said! Then it came again,
When we arrive
Sons and daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
(Sons and daughters)
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon
(We'll make our homes on the water)
We'll make our homes on the water
(When we build our walls of aluminum)
(We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon)
I SCREAMED out at the stereo! NO!!! NOOOO!!!! DON'T!!! ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME???
It was like The Decemberists read Witz Pickz, perused it, and then spat in my face.
DO...
NOT...
EAT...
THE...
CINNAMON!!!!
Did I not stress that enough in my Cinnamon Implosion article?? Hooooly crap people.
"We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon?" Maybe I'm missing the point of the song, but unless they're saying, "We'll effing ruin our lives and traumatize our senses" DON'T FILL YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH WITH CINNAMON!
My cautionary tale was meant to spread the word of cinnamon trauma. If The Decemberists put this idea in people's minds, I might as well just give up now. Check out The Crane Wife because it is an enjoyable new album, but my god, please remember not to eat tablespoons of cinnamon.
Witz Is Sick (with worry),
Witz
Thursday, December 14, 2006
WitzPickz (and you're not gonna effing believe this): Banding Together...Again.
That's right. Two out of Three Witz Posts involve banding together. And fight "GINGIVITIS!" This tale is a tale of a more subtle type of banding. The type of banding that usually does not result in banding, but in anger, insults, and sometimes, a furious or violent exit. This banding takes place in a restaurant.
The site: Buca di Beppo's. That's right, it was my first experience at the Italian chain and I was up for anything. I was therefore completely baffled when our party of six (My girlfriend's family and I) was led through the kitchen to the main dining room. Call me old fashioned, but it just seems like you shouldn't let people walk that close to the food you're cooking and setting out to serve. People are filthy, disgusting creatures. We cough, we sneeze, we have viruses we don't even know about, and then exhale them into the general vicinity. I don't need Patient Zero exhaling in the direction of my spaghetti and meatballs. But it was kinda cool going through the kitchen. You got to play the "which way ya goin'? This way? This way? Hahaha, OH Us!" game with the servers as they tried to enter at the other end. And that's always a joy. Also there was a table in there, which is either novelty cool or novelty health code violating. And what about the health codes? On the day of inspection before they opened, was the health inspector like,
"Ok, check, check, check...and you're good to go...unless you have anything else..?"
"Not unless it's a problem that we're going to lead every single guest through the kitchen on their way to their tables..."
"BWHAAAAAAAT?"
"Uhh...just...kidding?"
Anyway, I'm over it. We got to our table.
Once at our table, I discovered the always baffling "Table Menu." Like the menu is on the sheet on the table. It's like an enema in the dark-- you never see it coming, but it's always surprisingly effective in the end. Yeah, that's a pun-- it's gonna be like this today, so get used to it.
Our waiter comes over and takes our "family style" order. There are two things here that bother me: first, the waiter is one of those social enigmas that doesn't know where the correct pauses go in conversation. One minute he'll be pausing after asking a question, and the next minute he'll be pausing with the same expression on his face AFTER we've answered the question. Which makes you think you've gotten the answer wrong. But when the answer is Fettucini Alfredo...and the question was "What can I get you tonight?" I have to think we're in the right. My other problem with "family style" is that to me, "family style" means "Involving long discussions that ultimately devolve into arguments resulting in angry, hungry family members who aren't even getting what they want and certainly aren't sure if they're getting the correct portions for the group or spending far too much money on the whole." I like "Witz Style." Here's how it works. "What would you like Witz." "Whatever Witz orders, fully aware of the food and the price." I don't know what Italian families did growing up, but I can't recall a single time in my life where my mom and dad sat down for our family dinner and said, "It's family dinner. Here's the Fettucini Alfredo, Ravioli with Meat Sauce, Linguini with seafood, and Pizza!" That's too many pastas. You make one. There are other days in this life and if you don't die of a heart attack, you might live to have another one of the five main courses that you would like to eat. Just my opinion.
So we order, the waiter simply stares at the menu items we've circled, Cam Jansen's the whole thing, and leaves without even taking out a pen. It is then that we notice the table next to us. They are a super loud, rollercoaster ride of entertainment and annoyance, ranging from "BEER! WOOOOOO!" to "It's a mole! It's a COUNTRY MOLE!" when referring to one of the presents that they are passing around to each other. They've clearly already eaten, worked through about ten bottles of wine for the eight of them at the table, and are all large-ish middle-aged men. I think Hootin' n' Hollerin' is the best way to describe them. They are apparently on at least the third round of joke gifts and show no signs of stopping.
So we wait
And our salad comes. It is delicious.
Then we wait...
And the grandma's pizza comes...which we all eat ravenously. Sorry Grandma. And besides, food only weighs people down. The elderly need to be light on their toes--nimble. We were doing her a service.
And we wait...
And we wait...
Where the hell is the--
This is when a nice looking lady accompanies our conversationally impaired waiter to the table. Whenever your waiter needs assistance at your table, and you're not at a strip club, you can be pretty certain something bad has happened. In this case,
"Hi folks, how are we this evening? It looks like your ticket disappeared somehow, so your entree order never got placed! So what we're gonna do is, we replaced the order, it'll be ready in about 10 minutes, and Aaron's gonna treat you to your meal tonight!"
This is a) awesome-- our 100 dollar meal is suddenly free b) great-- their service doesn't suck, we just got screwed over and will get food in 10 minutes c) really crappy for Aaron, who I somehow think DIDN'T want to buy dinner for us tonight. Shit-- 100 dollars? How do you possibly lose a ticket in the-- d) AHA!!! OUR TICKET WENT MISSING IN THE KITCHEN, EH? Well how could that have happened? Certainly not the easy access by EVERY SINGLE CUSTOMER IN THE PLACE! Here's a note for you all: EVERYONE EATS FREE AT BEPPO'S! Just excuse yourself shortly after ordering, walk through the kitchen to the bathroom, snag your ticket on the way, wait an hour, and SHAZAM! free meal. Free 100 dollar meal? How bout that vindication, eh? Biblical in proportion!
Speaking of which, our food arrived ten minutes later and was Biblical in portions. The plates were huge and delicious, and we managed to smile politely at Aaron and nod thankfully when he set down our bowl of mashed potatoes, not Green Beans that we ordered in front of us. So much for photographic memory. That's ok though, for 100 bucks, Aaron can buy me whatever food he wants.
This is just about the precise moment when EVERYTHING GOES NUTS. The big party next to us suddenly starts passing out crapy gifts to everyone around them. CD Cases, Shrek Chia Pets, Hats, Halloween Costumes, Christmas Mugs all get handed out jollillilillilly to all the tables and booths around us. The birthday boy a table over gets a gift. The people next to us who arrived later but got their food first get a gift. We get candy canes and christmas mugs, and oh yes, that shrek chia pet. We give some candy canes to the next booth and they inexplicably trade us for the cd wallet which I actually need. The Gift Men are singing and drinking and throwing gifts around-- literally, and there is a mound of food in front of me and 5 more around the table and it suddenly becomes clear to me that our section of this restaurant has BANDED TOGETHER! Forget annoyance, anger, late food, segregating birthdays-- we are one! We talk to each other and shout to determine the worst gift of the bunch. The birthday posse gets the birthday boy's (and when I say boy, I mean 30 something 300 lb. Samoan dude) picture taken with the drunken Santas. We eat the rest of our meal as part of a group. A great big, drunken, birthday ridden, holiday group, with none of those adjectives overlapping each other. Separate entities banded as one.
As we leave, we thank the gifters and ask who they are. "We're all friends from high school. We make a pact to spend one day of the year for the rest of our lives just getting together and having fun, so that's why we're here." Now that is banding together. A thirty year pact fulfilled at a family style, kitchen accessible, waiter-impaired restaurant. I'm just glad we were there to be a part of it....well and for the free meal....and the cd wallet....
Happy Holidays,
Witz
The site: Buca di Beppo's. That's right, it was my first experience at the Italian chain and I was up for anything. I was therefore completely baffled when our party of six (My girlfriend's family and I) was led through the kitchen to the main dining room. Call me old fashioned, but it just seems like you shouldn't let people walk that close to the food you're cooking and setting out to serve. People are filthy, disgusting creatures. We cough, we sneeze, we have viruses we don't even know about, and then exhale them into the general vicinity. I don't need Patient Zero exhaling in the direction of my spaghetti and meatballs. But it was kinda cool going through the kitchen. You got to play the "which way ya goin'? This way? This way? Hahaha, OH Us!" game with the servers as they tried to enter at the other end. And that's always a joy. Also there was a table in there, which is either novelty cool or novelty health code violating. And what about the health codes? On the day of inspection before they opened, was the health inspector like,
"Ok, check, check, check...and you're good to go...unless you have anything else..?"
"Not unless it's a problem that we're going to lead every single guest through the kitchen on their way to their tables..."
"BWHAAAAAAAT?"
"Uhh...just...kidding?"
Anyway, I'm over it. We got to our table.
Once at our table, I discovered the always baffling "Table Menu." Like the menu is on the sheet on the table. It's like an enema in the dark-- you never see it coming, but it's always surprisingly effective in the end. Yeah, that's a pun-- it's gonna be like this today, so get used to it.
Our waiter comes over and takes our "family style" order. There are two things here that bother me: first, the waiter is one of those social enigmas that doesn't know where the correct pauses go in conversation. One minute he'll be pausing after asking a question, and the next minute he'll be pausing with the same expression on his face AFTER we've answered the question. Which makes you think you've gotten the answer wrong. But when the answer is Fettucini Alfredo...and the question was "What can I get you tonight?" I have to think we're in the right. My other problem with "family style" is that to me, "family style" means "Involving long discussions that ultimately devolve into arguments resulting in angry, hungry family members who aren't even getting what they want and certainly aren't sure if they're getting the correct portions for the group or spending far too much money on the whole." I like "Witz Style." Here's how it works. "What would you like Witz." "Whatever Witz orders, fully aware of the food and the price." I don't know what Italian families did growing up, but I can't recall a single time in my life where my mom and dad sat down for our family dinner and said, "It's family dinner. Here's the Fettucini Alfredo, Ravioli with Meat Sauce, Linguini with seafood, and Pizza!" That's too many pastas. You make one. There are other days in this life and if you don't die of a heart attack, you might live to have another one of the five main courses that you would like to eat. Just my opinion.
So we order, the waiter simply stares at the menu items we've circled, Cam Jansen's the whole thing, and leaves without even taking out a pen. It is then that we notice the table next to us. They are a super loud, rollercoaster ride of entertainment and annoyance, ranging from "BEER! WOOOOOO!" to "It's a mole! It's a COUNTRY MOLE!" when referring to one of the presents that they are passing around to each other. They've clearly already eaten, worked through about ten bottles of wine for the eight of them at the table, and are all large-ish middle-aged men. I think Hootin' n' Hollerin' is the best way to describe them. They are apparently on at least the third round of joke gifts and show no signs of stopping.
So we wait
And our salad comes. It is delicious.
Then we wait...
And the grandma's pizza comes...which we all eat ravenously. Sorry Grandma. And besides, food only weighs people down. The elderly need to be light on their toes--nimble. We were doing her a service.
And we wait...
And we wait...
Where the hell is the--
This is when a nice looking lady accompanies our conversationally impaired waiter to the table. Whenever your waiter needs assistance at your table, and you're not at a strip club, you can be pretty certain something bad has happened. In this case,
"Hi folks, how are we this evening? It looks like your ticket disappeared somehow, so your entree order never got placed! So what we're gonna do is, we replaced the order, it'll be ready in about 10 minutes, and Aaron's gonna treat you to your meal tonight!"
This is a) awesome-- our 100 dollar meal is suddenly free b) great-- their service doesn't suck, we just got screwed over and will get food in 10 minutes c) really crappy for Aaron, who I somehow think DIDN'T want to buy dinner for us tonight. Shit-- 100 dollars? How do you possibly lose a ticket in the-- d) AHA!!! OUR TICKET WENT MISSING IN THE KITCHEN, EH? Well how could that have happened? Certainly not the easy access by EVERY SINGLE CUSTOMER IN THE PLACE! Here's a note for you all: EVERYONE EATS FREE AT BEPPO'S! Just excuse yourself shortly after ordering, walk through the kitchen to the bathroom, snag your ticket on the way, wait an hour, and SHAZAM! free meal. Free 100 dollar meal? How bout that vindication, eh? Biblical in proportion!
Speaking of which, our food arrived ten minutes later and was Biblical in portions. The plates were huge and delicious, and we managed to smile politely at Aaron and nod thankfully when he set down our bowl of mashed potatoes, not Green Beans that we ordered in front of us. So much for photographic memory. That's ok though, for 100 bucks, Aaron can buy me whatever food he wants.
This is just about the precise moment when EVERYTHING GOES NUTS. The big party next to us suddenly starts passing out crapy gifts to everyone around them. CD Cases, Shrek Chia Pets, Hats, Halloween Costumes, Christmas Mugs all get handed out jollillilillilly to all the tables and booths around us. The birthday boy a table over gets a gift. The people next to us who arrived later but got their food first get a gift. We get candy canes and christmas mugs, and oh yes, that shrek chia pet. We give some candy canes to the next booth and they inexplicably trade us for the cd wallet which I actually need. The Gift Men are singing and drinking and throwing gifts around-- literally, and there is a mound of food in front of me and 5 more around the table and it suddenly becomes clear to me that our section of this restaurant has BANDED TOGETHER! Forget annoyance, anger, late food, segregating birthdays-- we are one! We talk to each other and shout to determine the worst gift of the bunch. The birthday posse gets the birthday boy's (and when I say boy, I mean 30 something 300 lb. Samoan dude) picture taken with the drunken Santas. We eat the rest of our meal as part of a group. A great big, drunken, birthday ridden, holiday group, with none of those adjectives overlapping each other. Separate entities banded as one.
As we leave, we thank the gifters and ask who they are. "We're all friends from high school. We make a pact to spend one day of the year for the rest of our lives just getting together and having fun, so that's why we're here." Now that is banding together. A thirty year pact fulfilled at a family style, kitchen accessible, waiter-impaired restaurant. I'm just glad we were there to be a part of it....well and for the free meal....and the cd wallet....
Happy Holidays,
Witz
Friday, December 08, 2006
Witz Pickz: Bookz
Tired of the "z"'s yet? Nope, me either. Here are some books worth reading:
Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem:
I'm like you readers-- I'm tired of not reading books that are about Tourrette's ridden mafia-detectives solving their boss's murder. So I read this book by Jonathan Lethem and loved it from start to finish-- like a fudgcicle or the song Informer by Snow. I had been plodding through The Fortress of Solitude by Lethem for around a year off and on and so was skeptical of this other book. After one page, however, I was hooked, and read it through in no time. Definitely worth checking out.
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hasseini:
The Kite Runner is one of those books EVERYONE was talking about and EVERYONE said was amazing. All I knew about it was that it was about children in Afghanistan, which somehow is not my go to genre. I ignored it for a few years and then found it on my friend's bookshelf. I read the first page and just like with Motherless Brooklyn was pleasantly surprised at how my expectations were entirely off-base. A week and 400 pages later, I was stunned with how good it was. The Kite Runner examines the lives of two children in Afghanistan, and while Afghanistan is alive and vivid on the page, it is not an "exploring afghanistan" novel. It is a human novel-- the story surrounding two boys and their families, guilt, life, and redemption. It is no more political that it needs/ought to be and focuses on people as people, not groups. One of my fears for all timely novels about other cultures/regions is that they are popular not because of their quality, but because of their subject-- that they are preachy and often times either describe an issue too simply, or in such a depth that the content is rendered useless. The Kite Runner avoided both of these potholes and stood out as one of the more vivid, meaningful novels I've read in years.
That's all for now. Two books, very few jokes. More to come.
-Witz-
Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Lethem:
I'm like you readers-- I'm tired of not reading books that are about Tourrette's ridden mafia-detectives solving their boss's murder. So I read this book by Jonathan Lethem and loved it from start to finish-- like a fudgcicle or the song Informer by Snow. I had been plodding through The Fortress of Solitude by Lethem for around a year off and on and so was skeptical of this other book. After one page, however, I was hooked, and read it through in no time. Definitely worth checking out.
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hasseini:
The Kite Runner is one of those books EVERYONE was talking about and EVERYONE said was amazing. All I knew about it was that it was about children in Afghanistan, which somehow is not my go to genre. I ignored it for a few years and then found it on my friend's bookshelf. I read the first page and just like with Motherless Brooklyn was pleasantly surprised at how my expectations were entirely off-base. A week and 400 pages later, I was stunned with how good it was. The Kite Runner examines the lives of two children in Afghanistan, and while Afghanistan is alive and vivid on the page, it is not an "exploring afghanistan" novel. It is a human novel-- the story surrounding two boys and their families, guilt, life, and redemption. It is no more political that it needs/ought to be and focuses on people as people, not groups. One of my fears for all timely novels about other cultures/regions is that they are popular not because of their quality, but because of their subject-- that they are preachy and often times either describe an issue too simply, or in such a depth that the content is rendered useless. The Kite Runner avoided both of these potholes and stood out as one of the more vivid, meaningful novels I've read in years.
That's all for now. Two books, very few jokes. More to come.
-Witz-
Friday, December 01, 2006
WitzPickz: Banding Together or "How I learned to stop trusting airplanes and learn to love the Mini-Van"
Man, that Witz character sure hasn't posted anything in a while-- he must be some kind of cocky sonofabitch to think anyone will stick around to see if he posts again! Correct on both accounts avid reader! It's been quite a while since my last mediocre post about a less than mediocre show with less than mediocre Heroes. And yet it is all I give you until now, so I will make up for it with a story of mass proportions, involving not only airplanes and luggage, but crossing international borders and possibly even some government intrigue. What say you now you doubting malcontent (who stuck around to see if I'd posted)? What say you to THAT!?
So here's the deal:
Never ever ever say, "I'll just fly through X instead of Y because X never has cancellations due to weather." Be it electrical storms, blizzards, earthquakes, typhoons (or typhoon lagoons), or even a diseased outbreak, something will always happen to X to make Y smile at you as if to say, "What's up now, dickhead? How you like dem apples (read: fires, tidal waves, smallpox)?
Having said that, I flew home from Paris (soon to be picked), through Montreal, to Vancouver planning on heading down to Seattle. I did this instead of through Chicago because Chicago is the Purgatory of airports, the only airport where all of the previous dangers could happen at once thus cancelling your flight to Phoenix or Los Angeles. They do make a good pizza though.
After flying for fourteen hours (a good round number), and watching both The Devil Wears Prada (first flick) and Pirates of the Carribean II (without sound-- proving that the dead last seat not only doesn't recline, smells like toilets, and gets service last, but also receives the brunt force of violent outbursts as well. I did, however, manage to accidentally elbow the male Flight Attendant squarely in the groin WITH force after he was a perpetual a-hole to me the entire flight. Also, I'm sorry, but there is such a thing as "too big" a flight attendant. The aisle is a tiny and valuable thing which must be kept safe and available. Plunking a deuce-seventy five flight attendant in there with a large cart and saying, "just walk up and down there for about 8 hours and try not to crush the fingers and knees of every single person along the way" just isn't a good idea. The fact that he was a complete douchebag didn't him anymore appealing-- thus it was extremely satisfying when coincidence struck (literally) and I evoked a high-pitched french "A-Whoops!! from the giant obstruction.) I was ready to make my connection for the final 50 minutes from Vancouver to Seattle. I got off the plane (did I tell you how much I love the last row?) in about half an hour while people stumbled over themselves to find their overhead bags (where'd I put the bag-- honey, ohmygod, where'd I put the bag?? We're in a confined space where nothing could get lost, but ohmygod WHERE'D MY-- Oh, there it is, directly above me, where I placed it, in its confined cubby). After deboarding I waited for my luggage, got it, went through customs, re-checked my luggage, went through customs, walked five miles to the gate where 30 of us were waiting to board our Balsa Wood Jet to Seattle when, "Flight 8097 from Vancouver to Seattle has been cancelled. There will not be any more flights tonight, and most likely tomorrow either as your flight is not a high priority. Also, since it is a weather problem, you will not be compensated for either the flight or accomodations for the night. You can try Amtrak, but they probably won't be running until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so our best advice is to band together and rent some cars to drive down to Seattle. The roads are pretty clear so it shouldn't be too bad a drive."
........................
........................
........................
ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?????
AIR CANADA! WHAT IS HAPPENING?
........................
We managed to find out through the grapevine that there was snow in Vancouver and Seattle and Vancouver was LOW ON DE-ICER. HOLY CRAP, HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? AND DOESN'T MORE EXIST?
We immediately look at each other like idiots and wondering what the hell to do when I see a guy with a Microsoft backpack hustling off in the direction of the rental cars.
"Excuse me, are you going to Seattle?"
"Yeah."
"Think I could split a rental car with you?"
"Well, uhhh, my company's kinda paying for my car--"
"--cool..."
"--So, uh, sorry guy." and he tears off down the hall.
What? So the car's free therefore I can't come with? Are you integrated with the car and I'm not compatible, what the fuck is going on here?
Just band together. Right.
This is when I meet the first member of what would become our epic group-- we'll call him Jacques. Jacques is from Montreal and works in Seattle at an internet company. Jacques heard what happened and wants to rent a car with me to Seattle. Jacques is over 25 and can rent said car. Jacques and I BAND TOGETHER.
Back through customs into Canada, back to the Air Canada desk, where are my bags, back down to pickup my bags and wait wait wait.
Jacques and I are standing waiting for my bag, me apologizing profusely so he doesn't leave (he somehow didn't recheck his bag) when Ryan comes up to us. "Hey, you guys goin to Seattle?" Yep. "Cool, I've been here for 24 hours, my flight was cancelled yesterday and I've been sitting at the bar all day-- can I come with?" Absolutely. Shit, why not, let's just band together and whatnot. 3 IN THE GROUP. Ryan had several things on his side-- he looked exactly like my friend Ryan (hence his pseudonym), he was going to Seattle (so were we!) and he was a person (rental car's is expensive!). He was in.
I get my bag, we move on. As we're crossing the street we meet Brian. "I'm takin Amtrak." Amtrak might be closed (i'm a wealth of knowledge), wanna come in our car to Seattle, there are 3 of us and you would be 4, perhaps a sedan is in order. "Yes, I will-- we are of similar age and appearance, let us band together." Good, then, we are banded-- "yes, banded." And we were.
"We have a car you can rent for 540 dollars."
"I think you misplaced the decimal point when you spoke."
"I think you need to rent a car and we have cars."
"I think your name is BUDGET and you overestimate my salary and living expenses."
"Others will rent the car in your place-- you are nothing to us."
"Are you aware we have banded? Do you see that? We will defeat you."
"We shall see."
Suddenly another Seattle-bound member appears in line and says the name of one of our traveller's. Brian. Brian recognizes the guy and within minutes, we figure might as well fit 5 in one car-- cut down on the price. When--
"$385" What? Who said that? Brian points over to two slim men in trench coats standing at the next counter over. They look similar and it's tough to tell whether that is because they are or because they've been around each other so long they just inadvertently give off the sense that they are one person. They're in their mid forties maybe and are the target of Brian's finger.
"Excuse me, did they tell you 385?"
"They did."
"Oh good, over here they wanna charge us 540"
"Well, we're getting a mini-van." There's ice on the roads, snow all around, there's two of them and they're getting a mini-van."
"Huh. How many's that hold, ya think?"
"Let me ask-- how many does that hold?"
"Seven." The rental clerk says.
"Seven." the two men alert us.
"Huh." Looking around. "You guys wanna have five strangers in the back of your mini-van?"
The two men look at each other and smile, not the type of smile that says, "fresh meat" but more the kind that says, "Are they suggesting we band together? We're two WILD and CR-AZY guys, let's do it!" and tell us,
"SURE!"
So there we are, five unrelated twenty-somethings and two older men. We head to the mini-van: Our Dodge Caravan to be exact. Introductions are exchanged, us already like a family introducing itself to these two men who tell us their names are Glenn and Gary and that they are paper salesmen from California. We all look at each other and pile in the car. Within minutes we're on our way, out of the garage and heading towards the border. The roads are less than clear. Fucking Air Canada.
"So you guys aren't really paper salesmen are you?"
"Of course we are."
"You're definitely CIA."
"Haha, why do you say that?"
"The trench coats, the looking alike. Glenn and Gary."
"How did you know my name was Gary?"
"You told us."
"I said my name is Andy."
"You said Gary."
"I go by Andy."
"Your name is Gary and you go by Andy?"
"No-- I mean Yes, but-- My middle name is Andy." These guys are definitely CIA. Suddenly his phone rings. Gary-Andy answers it and immediately busts into a string of Japanese. We all stare at him wordless. "Oh they are DEFINITELY CIA."
"Sorry about that."
"What was that?"
"Oh, I speak Japanese."
"Clearly. Why do you go by Andy?"
"Because when I was in Japan as a kid, I found out that Gary is Japanese for diarrhea."
"That...is a very good reason....and what does Andy m--"
"Andy doesn't mean anything in Japanese."
"But we're not in Japan anymore..."
"It just kinda stuck."
"Until you told me your name was Gary."
"I said Andy."
"Right."
And on we went along the road, just the world's worst winter season, most tippable vehicle careening dangerously along Canada's finest snow and ice laden concrete. Heading towards the border. Just us seven random strangers and about fourteen bags in the trunk. This got us thinking:
"The border is going to be terrible."
"Does anybody have anything that is going to get us strip-searched?"
"Don't make ANY jokes."
"We have 3 Americans and 4 Canadians."
"How do you guys know each other?"
"Oh, you know, drug dealers."
"Oh, you know, myspace."
"Oh my no-- I don't vouch for any of these people!"
"Well, officer, our flight from Vancouver to Seattle was cancelled and so we all banded together, rented a mini-van, and are heading home together...also, this kid has heroin up his ass."
The border is going to be a delicate affair.
Another delicate affair is the driving situation. It becomes clear about, oh, say, 30 seconds into the drive that Gary and Glenn have absolutely no idea how to drive on snow. They are two paper salesmen from California. They speed up on straightaways and accelerate just before hairpin on ramps that are covered in white packed snow. They RENTED A MINI-VAN and we failed to miss the clue. We all offer to switch driving but Glenn is ok in the driver's seat. He's, "gettin' the hang of it." Super. I lean towards the middle of the van so I can see, push my fingernails into my skin and stare terrified ahead for the entirety of the trip, occasionally mumbling things like, "you know just because it's black and clear looking, doesn't mean it's NOT black ice so maybe 70 mph isn't the--" and "Must slow down, must slow down, must slow down," and "Maybe the two cars are going 35 for a reason and the lane you are passing in is not a lay per se so much as a breakdown--" concluded mostly with, "AAAAHHG" but always without incident. This draws the question from Ryan,
"What kind of car do you usually drive. Porsche, Honda Civic." We hear no response. Oh. Right. Probably a Dodge Caravan, huh? I feel safer already.
When we reach the border, it is empty, but snow laden. We pull up to a stall and all try not to laugh which only makes us shake. You know, laughing in church and whatnot. Only this time if we laugh it'll be like laughing in church and then getting hauled out of church, thrown into a detention facility and more than likely getting a prostate exam wa-haaaaay ahead of schedule. So we try not to laugh.
"Hi there."
"Hi." Glenn and Gary.
"What's the purpose of your trip?"
"Oh, flight cancelled, going to Seattle, etc etc"
"Ok, and it's just you two?"
"Oh no, we have five more in the back."
PAUSE
"I'm gonna need you to open that back door." I slide the door open and feel very mexican all of a sudden. We all wave.
"How many of you are there total?"
"Seven-- in the van...total."
"And you're all American?"
"Nope, four are Canadian!"
"Aaaand how do you know each other?"
"Oh no, we don't-- at all actually. I mean, we're paper salesmen from California so WE know each other, but the other five don't knwo us or each other at all. Air Canada suggested we just band together...we want to get to Seattle."
"Yeah, I'm gonna need to see your passports." So we do. He plays some games with us, tells us when we've gotten a new haircut or HAVEN'T and waves us through the border. No bag check. No anything. I feel thrilled, but also fairly certain my homeland security taxes aren't being put to proper use. I'll take it. 128 miles to home.
This along the way:
"Do you think Air Canada ever expecting so much banding to take place when they suggested we band together? I'm thinking this is maximum banding right here. We're like a third of the flight."
"A guy walks into a bar. Guy at the bar says there's a weird wind thing out the window that you can jump out, fly around, and it drops you back inside. Guy says no way. Other guy says yes way and shows him-- jumps out window, flies around, comes right back in. Other guy says WOW and jumps out the window, falls and crashes to his death. Bartender says, 'Superman, you're a real jerk when you're drunk.'"
"We sell all types of COOL paper-- we have color changing paper, see through paper, paper with heat sensitive spots on it. Casual Paper is our company."
"Do you sell to the Paper Zone."
"We do."
"I, sirs, have purchased your paper."
"Cool."
"Let's all do a million Borat impressions-- it will never get old. AGREED!"
"We're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die." (me, staring at the road, awaiting our icy, sliding off the guard rail death)
117 miles and 2 hours later we reach the outskirts of Seattle-- and DEADLOCKED TRAFFIC. It's the kind of traffic you look at and say, "I can't believe the T-Rex escaped the island and is rampaging the I-5 bridge." We sit for 45 minutes and move 1 mile-- enough to escape onto an exit ramp and head towards freedom. We then drive for another hour on the terrifyingly more icy roads while Love Tap in the driver's seat refuses to brake until he is .111111111222234 inches away from the bumper in front of him. He's really getting a feel for this ICE AND SNOW THING.
We somehow make it back and reflect on the trip:
"I really didn't think we'd make it."
"I definitely didn't."
"I can't believe we're here."
"We definitely need to get drinks sometime."
"I can't believe www.41414.com is a website (check it out)."
"I can't believe VANCOUVER ran out of de-icer."
"I can't believe it snowed in Seattle!"
"I still don't believe Glenn and Gary are paper salesmen."
"I feel like we went on a great adventure-- I'm glad this happened."
"Yeah, plus we learned a lot along the way."
"What was the MORAL of this trip?"
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"Superman's a dick when he's drunk."
And they all freakishly survived.
-Witz-
So here's the deal:
Never ever ever say, "I'll just fly through X instead of Y because X never has cancellations due to weather." Be it electrical storms, blizzards, earthquakes, typhoons (or typhoon lagoons), or even a diseased outbreak, something will always happen to X to make Y smile at you as if to say, "What's up now, dickhead? How you like dem apples (read: fires, tidal waves, smallpox)?
Having said that, I flew home from Paris (soon to be picked), through Montreal, to Vancouver planning on heading down to Seattle. I did this instead of through Chicago because Chicago is the Purgatory of airports, the only airport where all of the previous dangers could happen at once thus cancelling your flight to Phoenix or Los Angeles. They do make a good pizza though.
After flying for fourteen hours (a good round number), and watching both The Devil Wears Prada (first flick) and Pirates of the Carribean II (without sound-- proving that the dead last seat not only doesn't recline, smells like toilets, and gets service last, but also receives the brunt force of violent outbursts as well. I did, however, manage to accidentally elbow the male Flight Attendant squarely in the groin WITH force after he was a perpetual a-hole to me the entire flight. Also, I'm sorry, but there is such a thing as "too big" a flight attendant. The aisle is a tiny and valuable thing which must be kept safe and available. Plunking a deuce-seventy five flight attendant in there with a large cart and saying, "just walk up and down there for about 8 hours and try not to crush the fingers and knees of every single person along the way" just isn't a good idea. The fact that he was a complete douchebag didn't him anymore appealing-- thus it was extremely satisfying when coincidence struck (literally) and I evoked a high-pitched french "A-Whoops!! from the giant obstruction.) I was ready to make my connection for the final 50 minutes from Vancouver to Seattle. I got off the plane (did I tell you how much I love the last row?) in about half an hour while people stumbled over themselves to find their overhead bags (where'd I put the bag-- honey, ohmygod, where'd I put the bag?? We're in a confined space where nothing could get lost, but ohmygod WHERE'D MY-- Oh, there it is, directly above me, where I placed it, in its confined cubby). After deboarding I waited for my luggage, got it, went through customs, re-checked my luggage, went through customs, walked five miles to the gate where 30 of us were waiting to board our Balsa Wood Jet to Seattle when, "Flight 8097 from Vancouver to Seattle has been cancelled. There will not be any more flights tonight, and most likely tomorrow either as your flight is not a high priority. Also, since it is a weather problem, you will not be compensated for either the flight or accomodations for the night. You can try Amtrak, but they probably won't be running until tomorrow morning at the earliest, so our best advice is to band together and rent some cars to drive down to Seattle. The roads are pretty clear so it shouldn't be too bad a drive."
........................
........................
........................
ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?????
AIR CANADA! WHAT IS HAPPENING?
........................
We managed to find out through the grapevine that there was snow in Vancouver and Seattle and Vancouver was LOW ON DE-ICER. HOLY CRAP, HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? AND DOESN'T MORE EXIST?
We immediately look at each other like idiots and wondering what the hell to do when I see a guy with a Microsoft backpack hustling off in the direction of the rental cars.
"Excuse me, are you going to Seattle?"
"Yeah."
"Think I could split a rental car with you?"
"Well, uhhh, my company's kinda paying for my car--"
"--cool..."
"--So, uh, sorry guy." and he tears off down the hall.
What? So the car's free therefore I can't come with? Are you integrated with the car and I'm not compatible, what the fuck is going on here?
Just band together. Right.
This is when I meet the first member of what would become our epic group-- we'll call him Jacques. Jacques is from Montreal and works in Seattle at an internet company. Jacques heard what happened and wants to rent a car with me to Seattle. Jacques is over 25 and can rent said car. Jacques and I BAND TOGETHER.
Back through customs into Canada, back to the Air Canada desk, where are my bags, back down to pickup my bags and wait wait wait.
Jacques and I are standing waiting for my bag, me apologizing profusely so he doesn't leave (he somehow didn't recheck his bag) when Ryan comes up to us. "Hey, you guys goin to Seattle?" Yep. "Cool, I've been here for 24 hours, my flight was cancelled yesterday and I've been sitting at the bar all day-- can I come with?" Absolutely. Shit, why not, let's just band together and whatnot. 3 IN THE GROUP. Ryan had several things on his side-- he looked exactly like my friend Ryan (hence his pseudonym), he was going to Seattle (so were we!) and he was a person (rental car's is expensive!). He was in.
I get my bag, we move on. As we're crossing the street we meet Brian. "I'm takin Amtrak." Amtrak might be closed (i'm a wealth of knowledge), wanna come in our car to Seattle, there are 3 of us and you would be 4, perhaps a sedan is in order. "Yes, I will-- we are of similar age and appearance, let us band together." Good, then, we are banded-- "yes, banded." And we were.
"We have a car you can rent for 540 dollars."
"I think you misplaced the decimal point when you spoke."
"I think you need to rent a car and we have cars."
"I think your name is BUDGET and you overestimate my salary and living expenses."
"Others will rent the car in your place-- you are nothing to us."
"Are you aware we have banded? Do you see that? We will defeat you."
"We shall see."
Suddenly another Seattle-bound member appears in line and says the name of one of our traveller's. Brian. Brian recognizes the guy and within minutes, we figure might as well fit 5 in one car-- cut down on the price. When--
"$385" What? Who said that? Brian points over to two slim men in trench coats standing at the next counter over. They look similar and it's tough to tell whether that is because they are or because they've been around each other so long they just inadvertently give off the sense that they are one person. They're in their mid forties maybe and are the target of Brian's finger.
"Excuse me, did they tell you 385?"
"They did."
"Oh good, over here they wanna charge us 540"
"Well, we're getting a mini-van." There's ice on the roads, snow all around, there's two of them and they're getting a mini-van."
"Huh. How many's that hold, ya think?"
"Let me ask-- how many does that hold?"
"Seven." The rental clerk says.
"Seven." the two men alert us.
"Huh." Looking around. "You guys wanna have five strangers in the back of your mini-van?"
The two men look at each other and smile, not the type of smile that says, "fresh meat" but more the kind that says, "Are they suggesting we band together? We're two WILD and CR-AZY guys, let's do it!" and tell us,
"SURE!"
So there we are, five unrelated twenty-somethings and two older men. We head to the mini-van: Our Dodge Caravan to be exact. Introductions are exchanged, us already like a family introducing itself to these two men who tell us their names are Glenn and Gary and that they are paper salesmen from California. We all look at each other and pile in the car. Within minutes we're on our way, out of the garage and heading towards the border. The roads are less than clear. Fucking Air Canada.
"So you guys aren't really paper salesmen are you?"
"Of course we are."
"You're definitely CIA."
"Haha, why do you say that?"
"The trench coats, the looking alike. Glenn and Gary."
"How did you know my name was Gary?"
"You told us."
"I said my name is Andy."
"You said Gary."
"I go by Andy."
"Your name is Gary and you go by Andy?"
"No-- I mean Yes, but-- My middle name is Andy." These guys are definitely CIA. Suddenly his phone rings. Gary-Andy answers it and immediately busts into a string of Japanese. We all stare at him wordless. "Oh they are DEFINITELY CIA."
"Sorry about that."
"What was that?"
"Oh, I speak Japanese."
"Clearly. Why do you go by Andy?"
"Because when I was in Japan as a kid, I found out that Gary is Japanese for diarrhea."
"That...is a very good reason....and what does Andy m--"
"Andy doesn't mean anything in Japanese."
"But we're not in Japan anymore..."
"It just kinda stuck."
"Until you told me your name was Gary."
"I said Andy."
"Right."
And on we went along the road, just the world's worst winter season, most tippable vehicle careening dangerously along Canada's finest snow and ice laden concrete. Heading towards the border. Just us seven random strangers and about fourteen bags in the trunk. This got us thinking:
"The border is going to be terrible."
"Does anybody have anything that is going to get us strip-searched?"
"Don't make ANY jokes."
"We have 3 Americans and 4 Canadians."
"How do you guys know each other?"
"Oh, you know, drug dealers."
"Oh, you know, myspace."
"Oh my no-- I don't vouch for any of these people!"
"Well, officer, our flight from Vancouver to Seattle was cancelled and so we all banded together, rented a mini-van, and are heading home together...also, this kid has heroin up his ass."
The border is going to be a delicate affair.
Another delicate affair is the driving situation. It becomes clear about, oh, say, 30 seconds into the drive that Gary and Glenn have absolutely no idea how to drive on snow. They are two paper salesmen from California. They speed up on straightaways and accelerate just before hairpin on ramps that are covered in white packed snow. They RENTED A MINI-VAN and we failed to miss the clue. We all offer to switch driving but Glenn is ok in the driver's seat. He's, "gettin' the hang of it." Super. I lean towards the middle of the van so I can see, push my fingernails into my skin and stare terrified ahead for the entirety of the trip, occasionally mumbling things like, "you know just because it's black and clear looking, doesn't mean it's NOT black ice so maybe 70 mph isn't the--" and "Must slow down, must slow down, must slow down," and "Maybe the two cars are going 35 for a reason and the lane you are passing in is not a lay per se so much as a breakdown--" concluded mostly with, "AAAAHHG" but always without incident. This draws the question from Ryan,
"What kind of car do you usually drive. Porsche, Honda Civic." We hear no response. Oh. Right. Probably a Dodge Caravan, huh? I feel safer already.
When we reach the border, it is empty, but snow laden. We pull up to a stall and all try not to laugh which only makes us shake. You know, laughing in church and whatnot. Only this time if we laugh it'll be like laughing in church and then getting hauled out of church, thrown into a detention facility and more than likely getting a prostate exam wa-haaaaay ahead of schedule. So we try not to laugh.
"Hi there."
"Hi." Glenn and Gary.
"What's the purpose of your trip?"
"Oh, flight cancelled, going to Seattle, etc etc"
"Ok, and it's just you two?"
"Oh no, we have five more in the back."
PAUSE
"I'm gonna need you to open that back door." I slide the door open and feel very mexican all of a sudden. We all wave.
"How many of you are there total?"
"Seven-- in the van...total."
"And you're all American?"
"Nope, four are Canadian!"
"Aaaand how do you know each other?"
"Oh no, we don't-- at all actually. I mean, we're paper salesmen from California so WE know each other, but the other five don't knwo us or each other at all. Air Canada suggested we just band together...we want to get to Seattle."
"Yeah, I'm gonna need to see your passports." So we do. He plays some games with us, tells us when we've gotten a new haircut or HAVEN'T and waves us through the border. No bag check. No anything. I feel thrilled, but also fairly certain my homeland security taxes aren't being put to proper use. I'll take it. 128 miles to home.
This along the way:
"Do you think Air Canada ever expecting so much banding to take place when they suggested we band together? I'm thinking this is maximum banding right here. We're like a third of the flight."
"A guy walks into a bar. Guy at the bar says there's a weird wind thing out the window that you can jump out, fly around, and it drops you back inside. Guy says no way. Other guy says yes way and shows him-- jumps out window, flies around, comes right back in. Other guy says WOW and jumps out the window, falls and crashes to his death. Bartender says, 'Superman, you're a real jerk when you're drunk.'"
"We sell all types of COOL paper-- we have color changing paper, see through paper, paper with heat sensitive spots on it. Casual Paper is our company."
"Do you sell to the Paper Zone."
"We do."
"I, sirs, have purchased your paper."
"Cool."
"Let's all do a million Borat impressions-- it will never get old. AGREED!"
"We're all gonna die, we're all gonna die, we're all gonna die." (me, staring at the road, awaiting our icy, sliding off the guard rail death)
117 miles and 2 hours later we reach the outskirts of Seattle-- and DEADLOCKED TRAFFIC. It's the kind of traffic you look at and say, "I can't believe the T-Rex escaped the island and is rampaging the I-5 bridge." We sit for 45 minutes and move 1 mile-- enough to escape onto an exit ramp and head towards freedom. We then drive for another hour on the terrifyingly more icy roads while Love Tap in the driver's seat refuses to brake until he is .111111111222234 inches away from the bumper in front of him. He's really getting a feel for this ICE AND SNOW THING.
We somehow make it back and reflect on the trip:
"I really didn't think we'd make it."
"I definitely didn't."
"I can't believe we're here."
"We definitely need to get drinks sometime."
"I can't believe www.41414.com is a website (check it out)."
"I can't believe VANCOUVER ran out of de-icer."
"I can't believe it snowed in Seattle!"
"I still don't believe Glenn and Gary are paper salesmen."
"I feel like we went on a great adventure-- I'm glad this happened."
"Yeah, plus we learned a lot along the way."
"What was the MORAL of this trip?"
..............................
..............................
..............................
"Superman's a dick when he's drunk."
And they all freakishly survived.
-Witz-
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Witz Reluctantly And Indecisively Pickz: Heroes -- An In Depth Review
No, it's not an X-Men rip-off. No, it's not about firefighters. And yes, that is the chick from Varsity Blues. NBC's attempt at an episodic series seems to have worked, as now millions of people are tuning in for the self-proclaimed television phenomenon "Heroes." The question is: should you be watching it?
Great question, casual television viewer! As an intelligent human being with massive TiVo capabilities, you want to know if this "Heroes" show is worth filling your digital and actual memory with.
"Heroes" is a show about ordinary people who are discovering that they have superpower potential. A disastrous future is looming, and fate appears to have aligned these characters to save the world. Now I know what you're thinking—you're thinking, "Yeah, save the cheerleader, save the world, what the hell's that all about," and you're absolutely right—the tagline has to go. It's stupid. It begs mockery. It's downright lame. But once you know the meaning behind it, you might just find yourself a bit more interested.
The "cheerleader" of reference is Claire, a high school cheerleader who has just discovered that due to accelerated cell regeneration, she can't quite seem to die. She's certainly tried; jumping off buildings, getting into car accidents, running into burning buildings-- but even when it means waking up in the middle of her own autopsy—she heals up. Oh, and also, she's hot. That's also kind of her schtick.
Herded by destiny to Claire's side are many more characters, each with their own new-found, or as of yet, undiscovered powers. There's Nathan Petrelli, a politician in the middle of a campaign who also has the ability to fly. His younger brother, Peter can fly too, but he hasn't mastered it yet, nor is he capable of escaping the fact that he looks a lot like Jason Schwartzman.
Niki Sanders has an alternate personality that she sees in the mirror. Yes, exactly like the Goosebumps book. When Niki is in danger, the personality takes over and tends to stick mostly to killing people or beating the hell out of anyone in the vicinity. I'm not entirely sure that this is considered a "superpower" and not "psychotic schizophrenia," but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Neither personality seems to have an affinity for whipped cream bikinis, but consider my fingers crossed. Recently, we've been introduced to her ex-husband who has the ability to move through solid matter (like Ghost Dad!!), and their son, Micah, whose superpowers have yet to be revealed. Micah has an aura about him that makes us think he's a very important child—the key to salvation—the Barack Obama of the "Heroes" universe, if you will.
Matt Parkman is a cop who can read minds, even if he doesn't want to—it's like "What Women Want" only apparently most women want to cheat on him or mock his physique.
Next up is Isaac Mendez, who looks like a rock star and therefore does a lot of heroin even though he's only a painter—but to be fair, he can paint the future, so he's got that going for him.
Seemingly everyone's favorite hero, however, is Asian comic book geek, Hiro Nakamura. He can stop time—not like your boss in a particularly horrendous business meeting, or like your teacher in advanced trigonometry—no, no, much better. Hiro can stop time like Zack Morris—call a "timeout" and then improve the world by saving people from explosions or cheating at roulette. I can't wait until he starts winking at the camera.
The foil to these superheroes is the mysterious "Syler" who appears to have superpowers himself, but also tends to use those powers to do things like cut out the brains of the victims he recently mutilated— a slightly different "super" direction. Oh yeah, and he's Claire's step-dad, so that family's a FOX reality show waiting to happen. "Who's Claire again?" You're asking. C'mon. Stay with me here. "Save the cheerleader, save the world," remember? Unfortunately, you might be lost, and the large cast is one of the main problems with "Heroes."
With so many characters and such an intricate story, very little actually seems to occur each episode. You can only move so many characters forward in an hour, and so each plotline feels like it moves an inch each week. While the characters are slowly approaching each other, you can't help but wish destiny had a little more of a grasp on weekly episodic structure.
Despite this shortcoming, the show exudes a Paul Allen-like sense of purpose, and while the overall pace may lag, each episode is packed with interesting stories, some actual conflict, and more flying/mind-reading/cell regenerating/alternate personality rampaging/time-stopping/future painting than any other show on television; and in the end, isn't that really all we can ask for?
Heroes airs Monday nights at 9pm on NBC.
Great question, casual television viewer! As an intelligent human being with massive TiVo capabilities, you want to know if this "Heroes" show is worth filling your digital and actual memory with.
"Heroes" is a show about ordinary people who are discovering that they have superpower potential. A disastrous future is looming, and fate appears to have aligned these characters to save the world. Now I know what you're thinking—you're thinking, "Yeah, save the cheerleader, save the world, what the hell's that all about," and you're absolutely right—the tagline has to go. It's stupid. It begs mockery. It's downright lame. But once you know the meaning behind it, you might just find yourself a bit more interested.
The "cheerleader" of reference is Claire, a high school cheerleader who has just discovered that due to accelerated cell regeneration, she can't quite seem to die. She's certainly tried; jumping off buildings, getting into car accidents, running into burning buildings-- but even when it means waking up in the middle of her own autopsy—she heals up. Oh, and also, she's hot. That's also kind of her schtick.
Herded by destiny to Claire's side are many more characters, each with their own new-found, or as of yet, undiscovered powers. There's Nathan Petrelli, a politician in the middle of a campaign who also has the ability to fly. His younger brother, Peter can fly too, but he hasn't mastered it yet, nor is he capable of escaping the fact that he looks a lot like Jason Schwartzman.
Niki Sanders has an alternate personality that she sees in the mirror. Yes, exactly like the Goosebumps book. When Niki is in danger, the personality takes over and tends to stick mostly to killing people or beating the hell out of anyone in the vicinity. I'm not entirely sure that this is considered a "superpower" and not "psychotic schizophrenia," but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Neither personality seems to have an affinity for whipped cream bikinis, but consider my fingers crossed. Recently, we've been introduced to her ex-husband who has the ability to move through solid matter (like Ghost Dad!!), and their son, Micah, whose superpowers have yet to be revealed. Micah has an aura about him that makes us think he's a very important child—the key to salvation—the Barack Obama of the "Heroes" universe, if you will.
Matt Parkman is a cop who can read minds, even if he doesn't want to—it's like "What Women Want" only apparently most women want to cheat on him or mock his physique.
Next up is Isaac Mendez, who looks like a rock star and therefore does a lot of heroin even though he's only a painter—but to be fair, he can paint the future, so he's got that going for him.
Seemingly everyone's favorite hero, however, is Asian comic book geek, Hiro Nakamura. He can stop time—not like your boss in a particularly horrendous business meeting, or like your teacher in advanced trigonometry—no, no, much better. Hiro can stop time like Zack Morris—call a "timeout" and then improve the world by saving people from explosions or cheating at roulette. I can't wait until he starts winking at the camera.
The foil to these superheroes is the mysterious "Syler" who appears to have superpowers himself, but also tends to use those powers to do things like cut out the brains of the victims he recently mutilated— a slightly different "super" direction. Oh yeah, and he's Claire's step-dad, so that family's a FOX reality show waiting to happen. "Who's Claire again?" You're asking. C'mon. Stay with me here. "Save the cheerleader, save the world," remember? Unfortunately, you might be lost, and the large cast is one of the main problems with "Heroes."
With so many characters and such an intricate story, very little actually seems to occur each episode. You can only move so many characters forward in an hour, and so each plotline feels like it moves an inch each week. While the characters are slowly approaching each other, you can't help but wish destiny had a little more of a grasp on weekly episodic structure.
Despite this shortcoming, the show exudes a Paul Allen-like sense of purpose, and while the overall pace may lag, each episode is packed with interesting stories, some actual conflict, and more flying/mind-reading/cell regenerating/alternate personality rampaging/time-stopping/future painting than any other show on television; and in the end, isn't that really all we can ask for?
Heroes airs Monday nights at 9pm on NBC.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Witz DOESN'T Pick: The "Experts" Picks
When you're in the picking business, which myself and a large group of historical black people are, you take picking seriously. For this reason, I've had it with alleged "experts" making picks every week in sports, particularly football. First of all, I myself am not claiming to be an "expert." I'm simply claiming to have the ability to take life experiences and vaguely, haphazardly spit out some form of opinion on them for you to consume like a a baby bird eating the salvation of my gullet. You're feeling kinda gross right now, aren't you? But maybe a little turned on? Such is Witz Pickz. BACK TO THE "EXPERTS."
There are two ways I know these people aren't experts. The first way is that they do not spell "experts" with a "z". Everyone knows that if you pick things consistently and are even an amateur in the field, you spell experts with a z. Bagelz With A Z is an expert on bagels and that is why their bagels taste so good and are spelled with a Z. N.W.A stood for "Niggaz With Attitude" and they were expertz at hip hop. This is all very simple and common knowledge. The experts on tv, do not spell their experts with a z.
More importantly, alleged NFL experts aren't very good at picking. Just because eight guys with that "something's not quite right" look to their faces (physical manifestation of mental deficiency) used to play football does not mean they have any idea what's going to happen. In the Chicago Bears v. Arizona Cardinals game a few weeks back, one announcer said, "Why even play the game, this is DEFINITE! IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ARIZONA TO WIN." Well, first of all, play the game because that's why you have a job and why we're all watching your television network you stupid sonofabitch-- but also, it's a game...and while the odds might be against a team, is the announcer's job to outright eliminate the possibility of a surprise victory-- especially when the ONE THING we consistently tell kids about sports is that perseverance and hardwork can pay off and that on any given day, any one team has the chance to beat any other team? That's like...the POINT OF SPORTS. So shut up announcer guy. Now, in an unfortunate twist, Arizona blew a 21-0 lead at halftime and let the Bears win. BUT at halftime, shit sure looked a lot different to Mr. WiseAss Pick Em Expert.
This is just one example of many. In baseball, Joe Buck, Joe Morgan, Steve Lyons, Tim McCarver, and the rest of the Fox/ESPN announcers have truly destroyed baseball viewing with their inane "insight" and downright painful commentary. If a man throws a hanging curve that is hit for a home run, I know he "didn't mean to throw that pitch there." Experts picked Detroit over the Cardinals-- ACTUALLY-- Experts picked THE YANKEES to win the world series from the minute they stepped out of Spring Training. But then something funny happened-- they played 162 games and then went to the playoffs and had to play MORE games. They played the games because that's what you do-- that's what sports are-- the games-- not the hours and hours of pre-scripted experts banter over who is definitely going to win. If everyone just shut up a little, gave us information instead of useless opinion, we'd all be a lot better off when it came to our sports, film, music, and television choices.
So eff it: Here are Witz Pickz for Week 9 in the NFL. I'm not an expert-- in fact, I'm less than not an expert. I'm a guy who watches football kinda and would drop everything for a game of pickup on a saturday afternoon. So here are my pickz. Let's see how I stack up.
Witz Pickz NFL Week 9:
ATLANTA (-5.5) over Detroit
CHICAGO (-13.5) over Miami
GREEN BAY (+3)over Buffalo
BALTIMORE (-3) over Cincinnati
WASHINGTON (+3) over Dallas
NEW ORLEANS (-1) over Tampa Bay
ST. LOUIS (-3)over Kansas City
NY GIANTS (-13)over Houston
JACKSONVILLE (-9.5)over Tennessee
SAN FRAN (+5) over Minnesota
SAN DIEGO (-12.5) over Cleveland
DENVER (+2.5)over Pittsburgh
NEW ENGLAND (-3)over Indianapolis
SEATTLE (-7.5)over Oakland
I Sure Hope This Doesn't Backfire,
Witz
There are two ways I know these people aren't experts. The first way is that they do not spell "experts" with a "z". Everyone knows that if you pick things consistently and are even an amateur in the field, you spell experts with a z. Bagelz With A Z is an expert on bagels and that is why their bagels taste so good and are spelled with a Z. N.W.A stood for "Niggaz With Attitude" and they were expertz at hip hop. This is all very simple and common knowledge. The experts on tv, do not spell their experts with a z.
More importantly, alleged NFL experts aren't very good at picking. Just because eight guys with that "something's not quite right" look to their faces (physical manifestation of mental deficiency) used to play football does not mean they have any idea what's going to happen. In the Chicago Bears v. Arizona Cardinals game a few weeks back, one announcer said, "Why even play the game, this is DEFINITE! IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ARIZONA TO WIN." Well, first of all, play the game because that's why you have a job and why we're all watching your television network you stupid sonofabitch-- but also, it's a game...and while the odds might be against a team, is the announcer's job to outright eliminate the possibility of a surprise victory-- especially when the ONE THING we consistently tell kids about sports is that perseverance and hardwork can pay off and that on any given day, any one team has the chance to beat any other team? That's like...the POINT OF SPORTS. So shut up announcer guy. Now, in an unfortunate twist, Arizona blew a 21-0 lead at halftime and let the Bears win. BUT at halftime, shit sure looked a lot different to Mr. WiseAss Pick Em Expert.
This is just one example of many. In baseball, Joe Buck, Joe Morgan, Steve Lyons, Tim McCarver, and the rest of the Fox/ESPN announcers have truly destroyed baseball viewing with their inane "insight" and downright painful commentary. If a man throws a hanging curve that is hit for a home run, I know he "didn't mean to throw that pitch there." Experts picked Detroit over the Cardinals-- ACTUALLY-- Experts picked THE YANKEES to win the world series from the minute they stepped out of Spring Training. But then something funny happened-- they played 162 games and then went to the playoffs and had to play MORE games. They played the games because that's what you do-- that's what sports are-- the games-- not the hours and hours of pre-scripted experts banter over who is definitely going to win. If everyone just shut up a little, gave us information instead of useless opinion, we'd all be a lot better off when it came to our sports, film, music, and television choices.
So eff it: Here are Witz Pickz for Week 9 in the NFL. I'm not an expert-- in fact, I'm less than not an expert. I'm a guy who watches football kinda and would drop everything for a game of pickup on a saturday afternoon. So here are my pickz. Let's see how I stack up.
Witz Pickz NFL Week 9:
ATLANTA (-5.5) over Detroit
CHICAGO (-13.5) over Miami
GREEN BAY (+3)over Buffalo
BALTIMORE (-3) over Cincinnati
WASHINGTON (+3) over Dallas
NEW ORLEANS (-1) over Tampa Bay
ST. LOUIS (-3)over Kansas City
NY GIANTS (-13)over Houston
JACKSONVILLE (-9.5)over Tennessee
SAN FRAN (+5) over Minnesota
SAN DIEGO (-12.5) over Cleveland
DENVER (+2.5)over Pittsburgh
NEW ENGLAND (-3)over Indianapolis
SEATTLE (-7.5)over Oakland
I Sure Hope This Doesn't Backfire,
Witz
Monday, October 30, 2006
Witz DOESN'T Pick: Inaccurate TV Ad Campaigns and Taglines
Some ad campaigns/movie trailers have taglines that are perfect-- they're witty, funny, or just dead on and make their product sell. Swingers: Get A Nightlife. Gatorade: Is It In You? But some marketing just doesn't make any sense, and it's time someone told them that. Here are a few that have been driving me crazy.
I was watching tv, minding my own business and then I hear this-- "There's only one thing to do when you live across the street from a Monster House!" the following scenes alluding to "go inside the Monster House." Well, no, movie, that's not true. First, you are presupposing that there are Monster Houses, and that people live ACROSS THE STREET FROM THEM. Then, you're telling me that once put in this position, the only option I have is to enter the house to snoop it out? Sorry, but I'm just not gonna do it. I do have other options. When you live across the street from a Monster House, you can choose to continue doing whatever you'd ordinarily be doing, and the Monster House will go on existing just fine without me in it. If I wish to take action, I can create a petition and get neighbors to sign, stating their discontent with the Monster House situation. I could buy numerous long range weapons and test out their effectiveness against said Monster House until I find one that can do harm to it. What the film Monster House doesn't seem to understand, is that I have all the time in the world. It's the Monster House that's bored and immobile. I would go so far as to argue that "when you live across the street from a Monster House" there are innumerable things I can do, the very last of which being to actually place myself in the maw of the beast. Now I can see some exceptions-- The Monster House might have HDTV with NFL Gameday Package or a really comfortable couch. Maybe the fridge is stocked with Sunny D and includes a mom that will clean my grass stained clothes with a smile on her face-- in any of these cases I'll take my chances and enter the Monster House, but not because I HAVE TO-- because I CHOOSE to. So sorry, Monster House, but your clever mindgames won't work on me. Besides, you didn't even try and ask me to go SEE Monster House, you simply are setting me up for my own terror ridden adventure by having me seek out and enter ANY Monster House. And if nothing else, that's just plain rude.
Another joy in all our lives is the Hummer H2. Luckily, while Hummer: Like Nothing Else, is an amusing tagline given the puns, their new slogan, "I'm not saying, I'm just saying" doesn't make ANY FUCKING SENSE. I'm really stumped. Honestly. I'm not saying I think the campaign sucks, I'm just saying I have no idea why anyone needs a goddamn Hummer to cruise around on paved, traffic light ridden streets. I'm not saying the commercials are bullshit, I'm just saying that they either lack creativity or have so much creativity that they operate on a level mostly reserved for mathematical equations and binary code. I'm not saying that I change the channel every time these commercials come on, I'm just saying that I can't think of any other way to finish this sentence. Oh-- and I'm not saying that you're using completely incorrect punctuation and sentence fragments, I'm just saying that your slogan has nothing to do with your product and you dont' present us with a single relevant idea.
That's it. I'm all worked up. I'm outta here.
-Witz-
I was watching tv, minding my own business and then I hear this-- "There's only one thing to do when you live across the street from a Monster House!" the following scenes alluding to "go inside the Monster House." Well, no, movie, that's not true. First, you are presupposing that there are Monster Houses, and that people live ACROSS THE STREET FROM THEM. Then, you're telling me that once put in this position, the only option I have is to enter the house to snoop it out? Sorry, but I'm just not gonna do it. I do have other options. When you live across the street from a Monster House, you can choose to continue doing whatever you'd ordinarily be doing, and the Monster House will go on existing just fine without me in it. If I wish to take action, I can create a petition and get neighbors to sign, stating their discontent with the Monster House situation. I could buy numerous long range weapons and test out their effectiveness against said Monster House until I find one that can do harm to it. What the film Monster House doesn't seem to understand, is that I have all the time in the world. It's the Monster House that's bored and immobile. I would go so far as to argue that "when you live across the street from a Monster House" there are innumerable things I can do, the very last of which being to actually place myself in the maw of the beast. Now I can see some exceptions-- The Monster House might have HDTV with NFL Gameday Package or a really comfortable couch. Maybe the fridge is stocked with Sunny D and includes a mom that will clean my grass stained clothes with a smile on her face-- in any of these cases I'll take my chances and enter the Monster House, but not because I HAVE TO-- because I CHOOSE to. So sorry, Monster House, but your clever mindgames won't work on me. Besides, you didn't even try and ask me to go SEE Monster House, you simply are setting me up for my own terror ridden adventure by having me seek out and enter ANY Monster House. And if nothing else, that's just plain rude.
Another joy in all our lives is the Hummer H2. Luckily, while Hummer: Like Nothing Else, is an amusing tagline given the puns, their new slogan, "I'm not saying, I'm just saying" doesn't make ANY FUCKING SENSE. I'm really stumped. Honestly. I'm not saying I think the campaign sucks, I'm just saying I have no idea why anyone needs a goddamn Hummer to cruise around on paved, traffic light ridden streets. I'm not saying the commercials are bullshit, I'm just saying that they either lack creativity or have so much creativity that they operate on a level mostly reserved for mathematical equations and binary code. I'm not saying that I change the channel every time these commercials come on, I'm just saying that I can't think of any other way to finish this sentence. Oh-- and I'm not saying that you're using completely incorrect punctuation and sentence fragments, I'm just saying that your slogan has nothing to do with your product and you dont' present us with a single relevant idea.
That's it. I'm all worked up. I'm outta here.
-Witz-
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Witz Pickz: Endless Hours In Front of the TV to Avoid the Real Everyday World
Here is my Fall lineup of shows to watch:
MONDAY:
Prison Break: 8pm on Fox
Here's the thing-- I pick the first season of Prison Break because with such a thin, lame sounding plotline, it managed to be extremely interesting because the question was, "what did he have planned to get through this problem and how is he going to adjust that plan now that something is going wrong?" While Michael Scofield (the main character) has only two acting faces (I'm a quiet genius and I'm totally fucked), and while any other emotion or face he tries to show looks absolutely insane, he is an enjoyable lead character to follow. Unfortunately, the second season is Prison Broke-- they are out of jail and running around the US. This is no longer very interesting because the show is no longer contained and based around his plan, it's just another show about escaped convicts you empathize with trying not to get caught. They removed the one aspect of Prison Break which made it worth watching.
Heroes: 9pm on NBC
What sounded like a poor attempt by a major network to make a show similar to X-Men, The 4400, or another superhero show is actually really really good. There are about seven main characters running around either with powers, learning about powers, or trying to catch those with powers.
There is the guy who can fly, but is unable to stop looking like Jason Schwartzman. His brother, the candidate for Congress (political and sexual)who can also fly, but mostly thinks it won't help his candidacy (Despite the fact that nearly everyone in the world would say "I wish I could fly" he would much rather get really involved in red tape bureaocracy). Then there's the girl who has a mirror double personality that usually kills or beats up people, but is still unable to kill or escape the fact that she's the whipped cream chick from Varsity Blues. Ya got your super-chearleader girl who can't die and doesn't want to be a freak-- oh and she's hot. That's kinda her thing too. There's a cop who can read minds, but also might be dead, so I don't know; an Indian scientist whose father was exploring possible superpowers in humans and died because of it (he's fun except that every time I see him I wonder when he's getting on the plane from Sydney to LA...yeah, that's a Lost reference); an evil supervillain named Sieler or Sielert or something-- they never made it clear if there's a "t" involved. And finally, there is the nerdy Asian guy who can traverse time and space and even has a "timeout" power like Zak Morris that he can use to stop time and cheat at casinos.
The storyline is extremely well done and interwoven and while some plotlines are more interesting than others, they all are ultimately leading towards one resolution. That being said, the problem with Heroes is that there are seven or so main characters! An hour long show is not nearly enough to give a sense of advancement each week when there are so many characters and stories trying to move forward. It ends up being about 1 plot point per character, which is extremely slow moving. Still, it's definitely a show worth watching and has the feel that a well planned out story exudes.
Studio 60: 10pm on NBC
Ok, I don't know. Aaron Sorkin is brilliant and the pilot episode of this show inspired me beyond belief and got a "best pilot ever...even better than Six Feet Under" rave from numerous friends of mine-- HOWEVER, in subsequent weeks, the urgency or immediacy of the show has dissipated. The show is set behind-the-scenes at an SNL like sketch comedy show (The West Wing, Sports Night style), and has the same Sorkin feel of his two previous shows. The problem is twofold...I guess that means they are problemS. The first problem is that coming off of a show about The West Wing and politics and world problems makes it very difficult to care about the similarly styled happenings of a sketch comedy show. Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford are brilliant, and Amanda Peet manages to be likeable and not bad at all, but it just doesn't carry the same gravitas. The second and I would argue, bigger, problem with the show is that they don't show the part of the show you end up wanting to see-- the actual FUNNY, EDGY SKETCH SHOW. With SNL eating it week after month after year, Studio 60 claims to be a hilarious better version of SNL but we never see the actual proof or fruit of the episodes. An entire episode might talk about the political wit and hilarity surrounding a controversial skit, but then we NEVER GET TO SEE THE SKIT. In addition, the skits they have shown AREN'T FUNNY and while the audience may laugh in the show, and while the characters all act like they pulled something off, I KNOW THEY DIDN'T! That's the problem. You can't talk about funny and then not deliver funny. It's not a flaw with the show so much as the premise or possibly just me, but it's a big problem in the long run.
TUESDAY: (are you serious, all of that was just monday???)
Friday Night Lights: 8pm on NBC
Unfathomably good. For a tv show about football which was already an incredible movie, I am shocked by how good Friday Night Lights is. I should have known it was going to be great though since the guy from Morning Edition is the coach and probably knew ahead of time via that cat newspaper that it would be a hit or else he wouldn't have taken the job. Anyway, the show is exactly what you'd expect, diving into high school football culture, the players as people, high school drama, and the power of sports. If you've ever played a sport that you can't play anymore, or miss playing, the show and movie, with the help of Explosions In the Sky (soundtrack) will have you getting a little choked up.
House: 9pm on Fox
Everyone knows what House is. Dr. solves medical mysteries like Sherlock Holmes solves regular mysteries. It's good.
Veronica Mars: 9pm on The NEW CW
I dunno how it happened either, but someone at some point suckered me into watching Veronica Mars (there were promises of food involved) and I got into it. It's entirely about the banter/dialogue for me, but the mysteries are kinda good too (she solves regular mysteries the way House solves medical mysteries).
WEDNESDAY:
30 Rock: 8pm on NBC
I'm not sure how anyone managed to pitch another behind the scenes at an snl like sketch show idea to NBC and have it pass, but I'm glad it did. NBC now has the most confusing 3 related shows on television. One failing sketch comedy show (SNL) and then two shows about better sketch comedy shows. Somehow this has made SNL try harder to be good and actually end up being worse from what I've seen. 30 Rock is the newest of the three and stars Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan (as Tracy Jordan), and Alec Baldwin who ironically has been on SNL more times than anyone else...well besides Tracy Morgan...and Tina Fey also is from SNL...i'm telling you, it's awkward. OH YEAH, and the show...yeah, it's produced by LORNE FUCKING MICHAELS. I have no idea how this happened. BUT i'm glad it did as I said before, because it's absolutely hilarious from the one episode I have seen (and aired). All the parts of Mean Girls that were funny (Anphernee bit, etc) are brought to the show by Tina Fey and with the always hilarious delivery of Tracy Morgan (playing an insane megastar), the show is going to be very very funny. They might even be on TBS someday because TBS knows funny...or at least Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
Lost: 9pm ABC
Yeah, I mean, it's Lost, you guys have heard of that...so, like, watch it...from the beginning...because it's great.
THURSDAY:
The Office (US): 8:30pm on NBC
Apparently NBC owns me and by my count if they don't smash all competition in the ratings, I'll be shocked. Anyway, The Office has fully developed into its own and the third season promises to be great although it did look like Steve Carrell had his fingers crossed. The season premier was hit or miss with viewers, but I thought it was brilliant and definitely worth checking out. You guys know The Office.
FRIDAY:
Battlestar Galactica: 9pm Sci-Fi
I know right, like I got into Battlestar Galactica despite my time harassing my friends who watched it and it's simply because I watched it once and now I need to know what happens. Season three just started and it's the easiest show in the world to download or get on DVD so you should just do that. The plot is that people are in space and worlds and Cylons (robot people) who look the same and God told them to destroy people...BUT ITS GOOD. Also, the language has made it's way into other shows now (I caught a Cylons reference on THe Daily Show and Veronica Mars used "Frack" so they could swear. Very interesting time in television.
SATURDAY: 8-10pm
Why are you watching television on a saturday? THere's NOTHING on! Go drink or play sports or watch a movie-- possibly one that that always enjoyable and fiendishly clever Witz has picked!
SUNDAY: ALL DAY
Remember when you watched Friday Night Lights? Remember the football part? Yeah, watch that, it's all consuming.
And on the 8th Day God Created CSI: Galactica...but then scrapped the day because it wasn't as good as CSI: Miami. Now the 8th Day exists in the 4th Dimension and is known as "the premium channels." The shows on the 8th Day are:
Entourage: Sometime on HBO
Amazing show as previously discussed on this website. It's like a shot of pleasure followed by the realization that you just wasted half an hour.
Weeds: Sometime on Showtime...which really isn't a channel in existence
WEEDS ISN"T GOOD. THERE I SAID IT. IT'S NOT FUNNY. IT HAS MOMENTS BUT IS NOT BRILLIANT. More people like this show than just smokers, so I really don't get it, but I also don't get why I keep going through many hoops in order to acquire the episodes and watch them only to say, "Meh, that was totally mediocre."
The 4400: On USA but who watches shows on the USA Network? It's reserved exclusively for Chuck Norris and Pacific Blue.
Show like Heroes only worse. People disappeared, then came back and now have trouble acting...I mean have superpowers. The story is midlly interesting but it's not nearly as good as any of your friends who like it would have you believe.
Huff: I don't know where this show exists
BUT it's really enjoyable from the few episodes I saw. Check it out on DVD because Hank Azaria is more than just Moe from the Simpsons.
So that's what I got. Watch those shows, c'mon, do it. Don't watch Grey's Anatomy, it's stupid and you're uglier for it,
Witz
MONDAY:
Prison Break: 8pm on Fox
Here's the thing-- I pick the first season of Prison Break because with such a thin, lame sounding plotline, it managed to be extremely interesting because the question was, "what did he have planned to get through this problem and how is he going to adjust that plan now that something is going wrong?" While Michael Scofield (the main character) has only two acting faces (I'm a quiet genius and I'm totally fucked), and while any other emotion or face he tries to show looks absolutely insane, he is an enjoyable lead character to follow. Unfortunately, the second season is Prison Broke-- they are out of jail and running around the US. This is no longer very interesting because the show is no longer contained and based around his plan, it's just another show about escaped convicts you empathize with trying not to get caught. They removed the one aspect of Prison Break which made it worth watching.
Heroes: 9pm on NBC
What sounded like a poor attempt by a major network to make a show similar to X-Men, The 4400, or another superhero show is actually really really good. There are about seven main characters running around either with powers, learning about powers, or trying to catch those with powers.
There is the guy who can fly, but is unable to stop looking like Jason Schwartzman. His brother, the candidate for Congress (political and sexual)who can also fly, but mostly thinks it won't help his candidacy (Despite the fact that nearly everyone in the world would say "I wish I could fly" he would much rather get really involved in red tape bureaocracy). Then there's the girl who has a mirror double personality that usually kills or beats up people, but is still unable to kill or escape the fact that she's the whipped cream chick from Varsity Blues. Ya got your super-chearleader girl who can't die and doesn't want to be a freak-- oh and she's hot. That's kinda her thing too. There's a cop who can read minds, but also might be dead, so I don't know; an Indian scientist whose father was exploring possible superpowers in humans and died because of it (he's fun except that every time I see him I wonder when he's getting on the plane from Sydney to LA...yeah, that's a Lost reference); an evil supervillain named Sieler or Sielert or something-- they never made it clear if there's a "t" involved. And finally, there is the nerdy Asian guy who can traverse time and space and even has a "timeout" power like Zak Morris that he can use to stop time and cheat at casinos.
The storyline is extremely well done and interwoven and while some plotlines are more interesting than others, they all are ultimately leading towards one resolution. That being said, the problem with Heroes is that there are seven or so main characters! An hour long show is not nearly enough to give a sense of advancement each week when there are so many characters and stories trying to move forward. It ends up being about 1 plot point per character, which is extremely slow moving. Still, it's definitely a show worth watching and has the feel that a well planned out story exudes.
Studio 60: 10pm on NBC
Ok, I don't know. Aaron Sorkin is brilliant and the pilot episode of this show inspired me beyond belief and got a "best pilot ever...even better than Six Feet Under" rave from numerous friends of mine-- HOWEVER, in subsequent weeks, the urgency or immediacy of the show has dissipated. The show is set behind-the-scenes at an SNL like sketch comedy show (The West Wing, Sports Night style), and has the same Sorkin feel of his two previous shows. The problem is twofold...I guess that means they are problemS. The first problem is that coming off of a show about The West Wing and politics and world problems makes it very difficult to care about the similarly styled happenings of a sketch comedy show. Matthew Perry and Bradley Whitford are brilliant, and Amanda Peet manages to be likeable and not bad at all, but it just doesn't carry the same gravitas. The second and I would argue, bigger, problem with the show is that they don't show the part of the show you end up wanting to see-- the actual FUNNY, EDGY SKETCH SHOW. With SNL eating it week after month after year, Studio 60 claims to be a hilarious better version of SNL but we never see the actual proof or fruit of the episodes. An entire episode might talk about the political wit and hilarity surrounding a controversial skit, but then we NEVER GET TO SEE THE SKIT. In addition, the skits they have shown AREN'T FUNNY and while the audience may laugh in the show, and while the characters all act like they pulled something off, I KNOW THEY DIDN'T! That's the problem. You can't talk about funny and then not deliver funny. It's not a flaw with the show so much as the premise or possibly just me, but it's a big problem in the long run.
TUESDAY: (are you serious, all of that was just monday???)
Friday Night Lights: 8pm on NBC
Unfathomably good. For a tv show about football which was already an incredible movie, I am shocked by how good Friday Night Lights is. I should have known it was going to be great though since the guy from Morning Edition is the coach and probably knew ahead of time via that cat newspaper that it would be a hit or else he wouldn't have taken the job. Anyway, the show is exactly what you'd expect, diving into high school football culture, the players as people, high school drama, and the power of sports. If you've ever played a sport that you can't play anymore, or miss playing, the show and movie, with the help of Explosions In the Sky (soundtrack) will have you getting a little choked up.
House: 9pm on Fox
Everyone knows what House is. Dr. solves medical mysteries like Sherlock Holmes solves regular mysteries. It's good.
Veronica Mars: 9pm on The NEW CW
I dunno how it happened either, but someone at some point suckered me into watching Veronica Mars (there were promises of food involved) and I got into it. It's entirely about the banter/dialogue for me, but the mysteries are kinda good too (she solves regular mysteries the way House solves medical mysteries).
WEDNESDAY:
30 Rock: 8pm on NBC
I'm not sure how anyone managed to pitch another behind the scenes at an snl like sketch show idea to NBC and have it pass, but I'm glad it did. NBC now has the most confusing 3 related shows on television. One failing sketch comedy show (SNL) and then two shows about better sketch comedy shows. Somehow this has made SNL try harder to be good and actually end up being worse from what I've seen. 30 Rock is the newest of the three and stars Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan (as Tracy Jordan), and Alec Baldwin who ironically has been on SNL more times than anyone else...well besides Tracy Morgan...and Tina Fey also is from SNL...i'm telling you, it's awkward. OH YEAH, and the show...yeah, it's produced by LORNE FUCKING MICHAELS. I have no idea how this happened. BUT i'm glad it did as I said before, because it's absolutely hilarious from the one episode I have seen (and aired). All the parts of Mean Girls that were funny (Anphernee bit, etc) are brought to the show by Tina Fey and with the always hilarious delivery of Tracy Morgan (playing an insane megastar), the show is going to be very very funny. They might even be on TBS someday because TBS knows funny...or at least Charlie's Angels 2: Full Throttle OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
Lost: 9pm ABC
Yeah, I mean, it's Lost, you guys have heard of that...so, like, watch it...from the beginning...because it's great.
THURSDAY:
The Office (US): 8:30pm on NBC
Apparently NBC owns me and by my count if they don't smash all competition in the ratings, I'll be shocked. Anyway, The Office has fully developed into its own and the third season promises to be great although it did look like Steve Carrell had his fingers crossed. The season premier was hit or miss with viewers, but I thought it was brilliant and definitely worth checking out. You guys know The Office.
FRIDAY:
Battlestar Galactica: 9pm Sci-Fi
I know right, like I got into Battlestar Galactica despite my time harassing my friends who watched it and it's simply because I watched it once and now I need to know what happens. Season three just started and it's the easiest show in the world to download or get on DVD so you should just do that. The plot is that people are in space and worlds and Cylons (robot people) who look the same and God told them to destroy people...BUT ITS GOOD. Also, the language has made it's way into other shows now (I caught a Cylons reference on THe Daily Show and Veronica Mars used "Frack" so they could swear. Very interesting time in television.
SATURDAY: 8-10pm
Why are you watching television on a saturday? THere's NOTHING on! Go drink or play sports or watch a movie-- possibly one that that always enjoyable and fiendishly clever Witz has picked!
SUNDAY: ALL DAY
Remember when you watched Friday Night Lights? Remember the football part? Yeah, watch that, it's all consuming.
And on the 8th Day God Created CSI: Galactica...but then scrapped the day because it wasn't as good as CSI: Miami. Now the 8th Day exists in the 4th Dimension and is known as "the premium channels." The shows on the 8th Day are:
Entourage: Sometime on HBO
Amazing show as previously discussed on this website. It's like a shot of pleasure followed by the realization that you just wasted half an hour.
Weeds: Sometime on Showtime...which really isn't a channel in existence
WEEDS ISN"T GOOD. THERE I SAID IT. IT'S NOT FUNNY. IT HAS MOMENTS BUT IS NOT BRILLIANT. More people like this show than just smokers, so I really don't get it, but I also don't get why I keep going through many hoops in order to acquire the episodes and watch them only to say, "Meh, that was totally mediocre."
The 4400: On USA but who watches shows on the USA Network? It's reserved exclusively for Chuck Norris and Pacific Blue.
Show like Heroes only worse. People disappeared, then came back and now have trouble acting...I mean have superpowers. The story is midlly interesting but it's not nearly as good as any of your friends who like it would have you believe.
Huff: I don't know where this show exists
BUT it's really enjoyable from the few episodes I saw. Check it out on DVD because Hank Azaria is more than just Moe from the Simpsons.
So that's what I got. Watch those shows, c'mon, do it. Don't watch Grey's Anatomy, it's stupid and you're uglier for it,
Witz
Friday, October 13, 2006
Witz Pickz: The Puffy Chair
I only saw two films at the Seattle International Film Festival and they were both amazing. The first film was Wristcutters: A Love Story starring Patrick Fugit (Almost Famous), Tom Waits, and that vaguely french looking chick from The Rules of Attraction and A Knight's Tale. The story, dialogue, music, acting, and cinematography were all pitch-perfect (unlike Fever Pitch which was miserable), and the minute it ended I wanted to watch it again-- Unfortunately that didn't and will not happen in the near future, because while the film has won numerous festival awards and is getting rave reviews around the world, it hasn't been picked up for distribution because of its title and the fact that it could be interpreted as glorifying suicide. You can check out the film site HERE and if you have the opportunity to see it, definitely do so.
The other film I saw was The Puffy Chair. This story is much more inspiring, not necessarily by content so much as viewability. Filmed for $15,000 by two brothers, with their parents on the set as crafts services, The Puffy Chair has won numerous festival awards including Audience Choice Awards and has none of the technical issues which usually accompany low-budget productions. The film follows a guy and his girlfriend on a trip cross country to pickup a puffy chair he bought on ebay and deliver it to his father for his birthday. Along the way, the characters discover things about themselves and each other which are both hilarious and saddening.
While it didn't look as though this film would see the light of day either, Netflix recently bought distribution for the movie are now distributing it through Netflix under their new production company Red Envelope Entertainment. This is part of Netflix's ongoing efforts to make money while endorsing and helping spread independent cinema. They have put out over 100 dvd's of independent film and are on their way to producing original content themselves. BRILLIANT. Witz Pickz Netflix A LOT.
The distribution rights to The Puffy Chair aren't exclusive, so other companies such as Blockbuster might start distributing the film, but if you have a Netflix membership or plan on getting one, rent The Puffy Chair.
Witz Pickz Flickz,
Witz
The other film I saw was The Puffy Chair. This story is much more inspiring, not necessarily by content so much as viewability. Filmed for $15,000 by two brothers, with their parents on the set as crafts services, The Puffy Chair has won numerous festival awards including Audience Choice Awards and has none of the technical issues which usually accompany low-budget productions. The film follows a guy and his girlfriend on a trip cross country to pickup a puffy chair he bought on ebay and deliver it to his father for his birthday. Along the way, the characters discover things about themselves and each other which are both hilarious and saddening.
While it didn't look as though this film would see the light of day either, Netflix recently bought distribution for the movie are now distributing it through Netflix under their new production company Red Envelope Entertainment. This is part of Netflix's ongoing efforts to make money while endorsing and helping spread independent cinema. They have put out over 100 dvd's of independent film and are on their way to producing original content themselves. BRILLIANT. Witz Pickz Netflix A LOT.
The distribution rights to The Puffy Chair aren't exclusive, so other companies such as Blockbuster might start distributing the film, but if you have a Netflix membership or plan on getting one, rent The Puffy Chair.
Witz Pickz Flickz,
Witz
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