Witz Pickz: Airline Mis-Adventures!

It really began at the Doctor's Office--er-- hospital. You see, I was sick. Not a shock, given that my immune system is one breakdown away from an HD Special on The Discovery Channel. So I'm sick again, and this time I have a fever and some real pain, and I'm 24 hours away from a cross-country flight where my health insurance will be useless. So I call up Group Health and find the soonest appointment possible-- 11 AM (I call at 9AM). Now, granted, I should have been concerned, given that "the guy with the earliest open appointment" probably is not also "the guy with the best medical school education and interpersonal skills." What am I gonna do, though? I'm sick, and I need help stat.

I have this thing, and it's not a plus-- it seems that every single time I make an appointment with a new doctor, I sit in the room, waiting, and then the sketchiest, least professional, worst spoken man I've ever seen comes stumbling into the room. In fact, I'm pretty sure I haven't been to a doctor in years, but a series of Psyche Ward patients who have stumbled into my room in an attempt to dodge some pursuing attendants. They always arrive skittish and confused, and tend to have one eye on me and one eye on the door the whole time they're working, often times literally. This was one of those literal cases, as my lazy-eyed MD, Brent Lewis stumbled into the little room and shook my hand with a pudgy mitt.

"What seems to be the problem?"

I explain to him all my symptoms and he proceeds to check my ears. He spends about five minutes painfully jabbing my ear with what I'm pretty sure is a dentist tool, and removes the smallest piece of wax I have ever seen. "Now I can see," he says, with one huge eye showing through his magnification eye-lens. "Now I'm deaf," I want to tell him. He looks in the ear, but gives no sign that there is an issue. He moves to the throat and I do the obligatory "Ahhhh's" awkwardly aka without enough prompting. "It, uhhh, it uhh, looks like, a uhhh, you might have a little case of tonsilitis," Brent tells me. My Doctor. Whose name is BRENT.

"That means my tonsils are enflamed right?" I ask, faintly recalling that tonsilitis is a horrible problem that must be solved by REMOVING THE TONSILS."
"Yep. Minor case. Tonsils look a little pussey," he replies, and I wonder two things-- one, if the guy is making it all up and two, how you spell puss-y without making a post socially uncomfortable.

So I leave the office with a penicillin prescription, which is also suspect, since I'm pretty sure they don't just give out straight "penicillin" anymore. Isn't it usually mixed INTO another medicine? I dunno, all I know is that our man the doctor got the hell out of my room quickly, telling the nurse to take my temperature, but I was good to leave. I have a 96.7 subtemperature, but apparently that wasn't his concern.

Fast forward. This pick isn't about doctors or penicillin or swarthy RN's who don't appreciate a good, "I'm glad to see that temperature taking technology has make advancements in the last ten years," joke when she uses a new fast-actin' ear thermometer on me. This pick is about AIRLINE MISADVENTURES, of which heretofore, there have been none. So here it is.

I take my penicillin the whole rest of the day. I feel alright. The next morning I feel a ton better, my fever appears to be down or gone, and I take another dose of the meds with some toast and peanut butter. We get to the airport, I take another dose at noon, and eat a bagel from a Starbucks that apparently does not have a toaster oven-- freakin' homeland security. At noon, we board the plane, settle into our seats and prepare for take-off. The plane takes off fine, I smile, remembering how insane it is that WE CAN FLY IN PLANES ACROSS THE COUNTRY, and start to read my book.

An hour in. That's when it happens.

I'm feeling good, reading my book, nothing having changed from when I got on the plane when-- SNAP!-- I feel nauseous. Like NAUSEOUS. In a split second, I go from feeling happy to be here, to feeling like I'd been riding the Pirate Ship ride at Six Flags for the last twelve hours. NAUSEOUS. I'm tucked in the window seat, with my girlfriend next to me, and a pleasant older man reading a Hunter S. Thompson book on the end. My girlfriend has already had to slip past him once for the bathroom, and I'm number two er-- number three? Is number three "vomiting until your brain pops out and your toenails shrink? If so, yeah, number three. "Uhp, your turn!" he says to me and I try a smile as I force my way past.

"Where's the bathrooms?" I ask my girlfriend.
"In the front and the back, but the one in the front is in use." I look to the back and see the snack lady blocking the aisle. No way I'm making it there.
"I gotta go to the front," I tell her.
"You can't stand there while you wait, you have to wait at your seat."
"I'm going to throw up," I explain and force my way into the aisle, aiming for the front, which seems to be getting further away and I stand up.

My vision starts to darken and whirl, flicker, and fade, and I know this isn't just about throwing up anymore, I'm definitely gonna pass out. I place each heavy foot in front of the other as I stumble and make my way towards the front. I look up and see the flight attendant shaking her head at me. She's probably in her fifties, tiny, and wearing a frown on her face as she shakes her head and makes it abundantly clear that my girlfriend was not lying about the waiting thing.
"Nooo," She says and pantomimes, waving her hands back and forth to block my path.
"I-m-go-ing-to-pass-out," I mouth and continue my headlong charge up the aisle. My body feels like we must be flying straight up and each step is a journey. I'm also tumbling back and forth like I just pounded a fifth of tequila, so that's fun. I press forward, the air darkens, the flight attendant shakes her head "No" and I shake my head "Yes" just so she'll understand when--
...
...
...and I'm on the ground. I'm at the front of the plane, on my knees, with three of four people crowded around me talking and all I know is that my name is Jon W itz and I think I'm going to pass-out. "We know honey," is what I get back and water is handed to me. "I swear I left my water in my seat," I think, and drink it anyway, completely baffled by the fact that I'm sitting on the floor of an airplane, but knowing that it's much more comfortable than one might think. "I need to--"

"We know, honey, we know," I hear all around me. "Now sit down and drink this. How's your head?"
"My head?"
"You hit it pretty hard."
"My head feels fine, but I don't remember hitting anything....wait a minute, have you guys seen Flight Plan?"
"No."
"The Forgotten?"
"Nope."
"Red Eye?"
"Sorry."
"Snakes On A--"
"--We don't watch any movies starring Jody Foster, Julianne Moore, that chick from the Notebook, or anyone who was ever in Goodburger. Besides, this is all in your head, you're not saying this outloud."
"Whew-- you're all pretty snooty film snobs for flight attendants who have to watch crappy movies all day long."
"This is Southwest Airlines-- we don't show films."
"Touche."
"What's your name honey?"
"Still Jon Witz," I say outloud, hopefully answering a question posed audibly by someone.

Apparently, this is what happened: I blacked out about halfway down the aisle, stumbled forward, clipped about five people on either side of the aisle as I went, barrelled through the flight attendant who spun around as I charge headlong forward, slammed into the wall at the front of the plane, and hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

So now I'm lying on the ground in the aisle, the old flight attendant at my feet, a nice younger woman talking to me and checking my weak pulse, wet towels on my head and neck, sweat dripping down my pale white and green face, passengers on either side of my head (one of whom is a midget, which makes the whole thing even more surreal), and the rest of the plane staring at me from their seats. The nice lady asks me if I want some oxygen.

"No thanks, I don't want to make a scene."

She stares at me for a minute and tells me just to lie there and breath. I talk about my meds, she tells me she's a sports trainer who saw me stumble by and knew something was wrong. She talks about how medicine soaks up liquid so fast that I'm probably really dehydrated and need some food and sugar in my stomach. No, I'm not hypoglycemic or allergic to penicillin. Yes, I would like some pretzels and Sprite. The floor IS very comfortable all things considered, and no matter how many times you say it, flight attendant, nobody is gonna laugh at your joke that I tried to dance with you.

So I lie there for a while, my savior with a slight southern accent coaching me through my recovery, and in a matter of fifteen minutes, I'm sitting up, and standing a few minutes after that. The sports woman tells me that I went into shock and my body had the fight or flight response and, naturally, my body selected flight. This knowledge is slightly embarrassing, but not as much as knowing that I have to walk back to my seat in a few minutes. I take a second to wonder what I would have done if I had made it to the bathroom intact. I'm pretty sure I would have just starting pounding on the bathroom door repeating, "I need to use this now!" over and over until eventually vomiting on the person right as they came out to see who the crazy-person was. Passing out was the better option.

The time comes when I have to get up and go back to my seat. The flight attendant walks in front of me, but I'm much taller, so it's not a helpful shield. It's essentially my first Walk-of-Shame, and I have to keep looking at people staring at me as I walk back and giving them the "Whoah, How Bout THAT Little Fiasco But Now I'm OK" face, which is a combination of a half-smile and a grimace slash wide eyes. But I make it back to my seat, where I sit back down and am welcomed by the friendly old man.

"Want something to eat? We got an assload of peanuts," he imforms me and he is right. Apparently my aisle got "Sorry someone in your row went batshit crazy and passed out" snacks. Nice.

I settle in, eat as much food as I can find, and fall asleep for as much of the flight as possible. As we exit the plane (looking forward to my next three hour stint to Hartford), I am greeted by all sorts of people staring at me, saying they're glad I'm alright, and patting me on the back. In line, while getting pizza, a gentlemanly man behind me strikes up a converstation about how he's glad I'm ok, without my ever turning to know that he was talking to me. Everywhere I go, people look at me, and I know they know. All the same, I got to waste a good half hour of a four hour flight, and had the chance to lie down on an airplane, which, once feeling better, was incredibly comfortable. So yeah, all things considered, Witz PICKZ Airline Mis-Adventures, because with any luck, I will forever be able to refer to this one incident as "My flying story." Hopefully. But I can't help but think that somewhere back in Seattle, Brent Lewis is hiding in a janitorial closet, sniffing chemicals, and trying to avoid the attendants trying to get him back in the psyche ward.

You Know, We Fly High, Ballin--,
Witz

Witz Pickz: Actually Posting On His Blog

Whew, it's been a while. I have to apologize for my lack of posting, but I've been "between apartments" for the last few weeks and not having access to much internet. Plus, it's kinda tough while staying in your friends' apartment to say, "Sorry guys, can't hangout now, I have to 'NOT Pick Laffy Taffy.'" So there was a lull, or as I call it, "a time to go back and read all the posts you missed and appreciate what I have written instead of dwelling on when I haven't..." But that's only what I call it.

Anyway, I'm back, to some extent, and totally jobless, so while I won't be sat down in front of a computer everyday without choice, I'll try and post as often as possible. So without further ado, I will now post my first return post-- a post of recent mis-adventure and a post that will actually appear before this one...which is kind of a problem...that we ought all pretend doesn't exist...like creepy handshakes and fat ghosts.

Witz

Witz Pickz: When A Good iShuffle Comes Together

I have a ton of random crap on my iPod, from hip-hop to punk, to some waaaay emo stuff to some waaay Siberian Surfer stuff. So I don’t put much faith in the shuffle feature. I don’t feel the iPod SHOULD be able to mix all my music, especially when I’ll have full albums on there with only one or two tracks I’d like to listen to individually (as opposed to being alright with as part of a full album). I also don’t need a rap skit about “rolling a Seven-Eleven” falling between M. Ward and The Zambonis. So I don’t put much stock in the shuffle.

Which is why yesterday was so awesome. I decided to give the iPod shuffle feature a shot while driving the last load of boxes and assorted crap out of the apartment we’re leaving. It kicked off with a moody song by Explosions In the Sky and I tensed up for what would come next for my soundtrack. The result was perfect, here’s what I got:

Explosions In the Sky – Six Days At the Bottom of the Ocean

Bright Eyes – Stray Dog Freedom

Beirut – Scenic World

Johnny Cash – The Last Time

Sufjan Stevens – Seven Swans

The Minus 5 – All Worn Out

It was at this point that I arrived at my destination. It was obviously a very contemplative trip, but each song flowed perfectly into the next and matched my mood (or my mood decided to match the music) exactly. Here’s what came next, on the ride home:

Rancid – radio

Voice In the Wire – Follow the Trail of the Psyched

The Mountain Goats – Dilaudid

Rufus Wainwright – Sally Ann

It was as if the iPod knew that I had arrived somewhere, changed moods, and was ready for an uplifting ride back—either that, or they legally can’t play more than six slow, possibly depressing songs in a row so that people don’t kill themselves and sue Apple. Either way, the ride back was enjoyable and also clearly faster, and the trip on the whole was an enjoyable experience. So yes—Witz pickz a good unexpected mixz (silent z).

Mmmm Brownie Mix,

Witz

Witz Pickz: Edward Scissorhands: The Theatre Production

I was offered complimentary tickets to go see Edward Scissorhands at work the other day. I jumped on the opportunity because a) Free shit gets me through the day and b) Edward Scissorhands anything could be sweet. So I replied to the email as quickly as possible, figuring I was going to see one of three things: Edward Scissorhands: The Musical, Edward Scissorhands: The Ice Show, or Edward Scissorhands: The Ballet. After getting the tix and searching online for the production, I figured out that it was the ballet.

Ok—this is ok. My girlfriend used to do ballet, and free tickets are free tickets. Besides, the main character has scissor-hands, so it can’t be terrible—and I’ve never been to the Fifth Avenue Theatre before, so I get to do that.

We pick up the tickets sans ID which I feel is a bad sign (ain’t nobody stealing tickets to this show), and get to our free seats. They are nice balcony seats, and it is when I see the translucent “Edward Scissorhands” backdrop onstage, in “Tim Burton Font” that I decide I am pumped.

And it’s a good thing I was because two hours later, I was extremely pleased with my decision to attend. This was no “Never-Mind: The Nirvana Interpretive Dance.” This was ballet—or, as my benefactor (donator? Whatever, I want a benefactor goddammit) informed us, Modern Dance Theatre. I like that description. They danced. They were modern. I was at the theatre. Perfect.

Well, it turns out that Modern Dance Theatre has severe issues with conflict and resolution. The performance rarely introduced conflict without solving said conflict through a series of spins and twirls almost immediately. Example: Edward just pissed off EVERYONE and alienated girl he loves. MOMENTS LATER IN A CEMETERY: Edward is sad; he dances and wilts; Girl loves him and is ready to party. There is no explanation as to WHY this change of heart occurred, but we’re all pretty glad it did.

There were definitely some moments when the theatre part was outweighed by the dance part. Twice during the performance, dances involving plot devolved into extended group dance sequences, where Edward was barely present. They reminded me why I got bored at dance/musicals, but the stage design was amazing enough to capture my attention and keep me entertained. I would say see this production, if only for the stage design. Amazing. And Edward trims a hedge onstage. Awesome.

We were left with two questions that I don’t know the real answers to at the conclusion of the play:

1) From Girlfriend: “Why did the man think it was a good idea to create a boy with scissorhands?” GREAT QUESTION! In the production, the man’s boy died when he was little and also thoroughly enjoyed scissors. Years later, the man appeared to have found a way to animate a constructed body, and in honor of his child, give him scissors for hands. Now, I liked baseball and soccer as a kid, but I would not want my Scientist Father to animate a creature with my namesake and give it cleats and a catcher’s mitt in place of feet and hands. “Then what would you want??” I can hear you asking. The answer is obvious—I loved nerf weapons. I would require a nerf cannon on one hand, and a nerf bow and arrow on the other. My feet would be detachable Nerf Whistle Footballs, so I was always ready for a pickup game. Ultimately, my weapons would be useless, but I can imagine so many times it would be hilarious and comforting to shoot someone who is annoying me in the head with a nerf arrow and then see how they react (you can’t yell at the guy with nerf weapons for hands. He’s not REALLY doing any harm).

2) From Me: “How did the townspeople know that his name was Edward?” They put up “Welcome Edward” signs and “Edwardo’s Salon” signs, but how the hell do they know his name? He doesn’t talk, he dances. So I can only assume that there is a morse code of dance that I am not aware of. My program should have included the keystone for this language of dance.

Overall, the show was great and I’m glad I went. Edward Scissorhands is cool in any format, and the music, stage design, and performance itself was worth the time. Also, it was free. Check it out if it’s in your area.

Witz DOES NOT PICK Scissors For Hands,

Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Teeth!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about having and maintaining teeth. They do good work. They stand out in a crowd. Easily one of my favorite 2000 parts. But what the fuck teeth? Wasn’t there a time when teeth were capable of standing up to the world? When they weren’t brushed, flossed, capped, sealed, drilled, filled, or bridged?

I understand that our life spans have gotten much longer. I understand that teeth fallout less now. But there had to be a time when teeth were able to stand up to the test of time without massive care. Why did nature create teeth so incredibly weak and pathetic as we evolved from creatures who I have never heard of having tooth problems. Apes have amazing teeth. They are big and sharp and….in existence. I never hear any National Geographic Specials saying, “And here is the ape, he has been crippled by tooth pain.” Then again, I don’t watch too many National Geographic Specials.

I brush my teeth daily, which I feel like should be the minimum effort put into teeth. If there’s old thing old people tell me on a regular basis that we should listen to it’s, “Take care of your teeth!” So I try. And yesterday I go to the dentist and find out I need fillings. “Just slight breakthroughs that we should fill and seal up,” they said. What the hell? Why doesn’t my body have a natural process for sorting out minor cavities of the teeth? Is the enamel and sealent they put on their when I was a kid really the only line of defense? Mystery Person #1 who I know is an even better example. She brushes three times a day when she can, uses an electric toothbrush, flosses maniacally, rocks the Listerine, and cares for her teeth like there’s a tooth fair for you later in life who pays based on quality. AND SHE HAD TO GET A FILLING. TEETH SUCK.

The dentist I went to wants to charge me 325 dollars per filling. They use “White fillings” which are chemical bonds and are much better, but insurance only covers “Silver Fillings.” I asked what the difference was:

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, first, Silver fillings contain mercury,” she says. WHAAAAAT???? That sounds like a) the biggest lie I’ve ever heard followed by b) the best selling point for white fillings ever.

“Wow.”

“And they don’t bond chemically like the white ones—it’s like packing sand into a hole.”

“Hm.”

“And—“

“—I’m sorry, did you say MERCURY?”

“Yes.”

“Like, brain damage Mercury?”

“That’s the stuff.”

“So you would say—“

“—I would say the white fillings are the way to go.”

“Are there any other kinds of fillings?”

“Not really.”

“Nothing cheaper?”

“Nope.”

“What about…creeeam filling?” zing.

“Cream filling is 450 dollars and your insurance doesn’t cover it. Plus we’d have to import it from Boston, which is an added expense. Also it contains mercury. Give us all your money, asshole.”

“Eff.”

So yeah, I’m screwed. My stupid unevolved teeth are falling apart and all of a sudden I’m thinking like an eighty year old man: “If I hadn’t decided after a year to go to the dentist randomly, I never would have known about the tooth problem and I would have gone on living just find until I felt some pain. So this isn’t an issue. I’ll ignore it and be happy and healthy like I was before!” The logic is so simple, yet so flawed. Now that I know what’s there, I FEEEL it. I feel the problem growing, manifesting its stress and doom in my mouth. Taking over my body. Goddamn you my teeth—what happened? Was it the lack of flossing? You know you didn’t want to be flossed. Was it the lack of Listerine, who’s sting I spared my taste buds? Or was it the forty chocolate bars I ate over the last month, stacking pile of sugar on top of pile of sugar in every crevice of my never-saited maw? I’m going to blame the liberal media, for propagating the dentists’ lies of necessary tooth-care that have been woven into our very society and culture. OVER CLEANING! That’s what I blame. We have scrubbed the resistance right off the teeth. Left our gums exposed. They wagged the dog with “Gingivitis” and “Root Canals” and now we are suffering the consequences. We have gone against Evolution. We have gone against Nature. Our teeth are weak. And it might be too late to do anything about it.

Witz

Witz DOESN'T Pick: Scarring Children For Life

I know, I know-- it's big move for me to NOT pick Scarring Children for Life, but since I haven't posted on the subject before, I thought I ought to make my position known. I'm against it. And because it's Friday the 13th, I'll tell you why.

When I was young-- younger than I ought to have been-- my friends and I watched the "Friday the 13th" movies during a sleepover birthday party. I don't know if it was actually Friday the 13th or if it was just some USA/TNT marathon, but we saw at least 3 full movies. Turns out that mental patients going crazy and hacking other people to pieces and then having Jason enter the picture and kill everyone else was not something I found UNfrightening. The whole mirror shot of someone is behind me "reveal" has always freaked me out, and this might have been the first time I saw it. 6 hours of terror later, we went to bed, or as I liked to call it, "Turned off the lights so I could glance around at the pitch black room, hearing every noise as a psychotic killer come to chop me into pieces." We were goofing around and making some noise, so instead of a psycho, it was my friend's mom who entered the room angrily. And let me tell you-- she almost got karate chopped/kicked by a dozen of her son's friends. I did not sleep that night.

After that night, I had a number of nightmares and when I was still envisioning monsters in closets and killers on the loose, it was always Jason Voorhees who was coming for me. It also led to this fun little nightmare:

Mulder from the X-Files is walking alone in old-town Europe-- I'm thinkin' Prague, though I've never been. Somethin's up, I know that for sure, and I can feel the evil, so my nightmares are apparently cliche. Anyway, Mulder steps on some bricks at an excavation site and suddenly the bricks break away and fall down a hole into some water. The splashing of the bricks (and checkout this sick Physics tie-in) against the water causes a body to float to the top, and that body is revealed to be...JASON from Friday the 13th. I see his eyes open and wake the hell up, because I don't need that shit.

So anyway, that is why I am against scarring children for life. Abuse, sexual, mental or physical I'm also against. The whole fake leaving your kid in a Supermarket also isn't spectacular, but I'd take it over the whole unseen murderer thing. I still occasionally think I'm going to look up into the mirror after shaving and have someone there, waiting to kill me and steal my shitty over-heating laptop and scattered coinage while my body drains into the bathtub. Here are some other things that I/we now fear thanks to horror movies:

-A hot naked girl randomly showing up in my home (possibly the worst consequence of a film ever)
-Camping
-The Ocean
-Flesh eating bacteria-- alright, you got me, I always feared that one.

I wish it were Fry-day the 13th-- I'm hungry!

Witz

Witz Pickz: Lever's Incredible Gall

"For all your 2000 parts," they say. They tell us this and we say, OK, that seems convenient. And frankly, I think I'm alright with 2000 parts. I figure, if Lever 2000 cleans 2000 of my parts, I will be CLEAN ENOUGH. You know? 2000 is a big number, and as long as some MAJOR parts are covered, I feel like I can easily get by with 2000 parts being clean at any given time. The question must arrive, at some point or another, however, of "Do we really have 2000 parts? Are there more? Less?"

This question is important. I'll say that up front. I mean, what if we have 2008 parts and one of the parts the 2000 DOESN'T cover is your ass?

"Did you bath today?"
"Yes."
"Huh. Then why do you smell TERRIBLE?"
"Oh, haha, that's just my ass. I use Lever 2000 and it doesn't include my ass part. Also, you're very up front today and apparently have none of the same social folkways as the rest of us."

This would lead to me having to purchase ANOTHER brand of soap to take care of my non-cleanliness insured parts. Probably Irish Spring (new marketing slogan, "For your ass and pits.") or Dial ("Cleaned your pubes lately?"-- yeah, that's the first "pubes" reference on Witz Pickz-- clearly I'm running out of things to say). Anyway, it just seems odd, "For all your 2000 parts." It's too round a number. There's no way Nature was like, "1998, 1999, aaaaand 2000. There. Done." I mean the Appendex issue alone should void the 2000 belief. At the very least Lever should say, "Lever 2000, for your 2000 or 1999 parts." Or just keep it vague and say, "Lever 2000, for your 2000 or so parts." That I would buy. Lucky for me, I don't have to deal with the issue at all. I can't afford Lever 2000. I use, like, Target brand soap. Their slogan is, "Target brand soap: honestly, you couldn't spot up the extra buck for something that works?" When I'm lucky I use Dove soap. Their slogan is, "Dove: For guys who forget to buy soap and are ok smelling like their girlfriends." And you know what? I AM ok with that.

Witz

Witz Pickz: DEXTER (the TV Series)

This is a Monday pick. Meaning this is something worth kicking off your week with, indulging in all week, and integrating into your life. This will get you through the day. Then, when it's gone, you will sit alone, trembling, itching your arms, wanting more.

The show is Dexter. I have not trusted in a show so implicitly since the fifth season of The West Wing. From the first episode to the season finale, I placed my faith in the writers’ hands and did not doubt them for a minute. I haven’t been able to say that about any show in a long, long time. I would go so far as to say this is the best show I’ve seen, from start to finish of the first season in at least 8 years.

SO WHAT IS IT ABOUT??

Honestly, I’m not even going to tell you. I mentioned a small bit about it in a previous post, but having now seen the whole season and gone back to think about it, I don’t want to ruin ANYTHING. I can sum it up and give you a general plot outline, but then you wouldn’t get to experience the coolest details as surprises. Going in completely blind, with only a vague notion of what the show is about made it even better and more enjoyable, so I will leave you with the same. I will say that is can be creepy, it can be hilarious, and it can be very interesting in its examination of human character. As I said, the writing is superb, the acting spot on, and the whole direction and sound is fantastic, too. I was bored for maybe 15 minutes total out of….well….12 times 48 minutes of watching. You need to see this show, at least give it a shot.

SO WHEN IS IT ON??

That’s the funny part. First of all, it’s on Showtime, so you’re not gonna get to see it. Secondly, it’s in the interim between season one and season two, so you can’t even watch it, although they probably have reruns out of order or it could be OnDemand. It hasn’t been around long enough to be released on DVD yet, so you can’t get it there either. Your best bet is to use a downloading client such as Bittorrent to acquire the episodes and watch them, but I’m sure you could also buy homemade DVD’s of the show online for like 20 bucks. Not that I endorse either of those practices. I’ve just somehow seen the show. I do have all of the episodes if you live nearby and would like to “borrow” them. Look, just email me is what I’m saying—we’ll talk. The next season IS happening and is slated for later in 2007, so that’s ambiguous as all hell. I’ve already lost Huff to Showtime’s non-following, so I just pray that we don’t lose Dexter as well.

Witz

P.S. It appears that Dexter is based on a series of books written originally in the early-mid 80's by Jeff Lindsay which are now being reprinted with a new novel coming out soon. If they are anywhere near as good as the show, I will be reading them soon.

Witz Pickz: Inadvertent Hilarity in Commercials

Ok-- I know, I've been slacking..BARELY! Get over yourselves! What, you think that just because I now know I have a reader in Tally Ho, Australia that I'm going to feel responsible and write on a daily basis for the rest of my life?? HARDLY.

Now that I've laid down the law and set lower standards, listen to this pick!

There's this one commercial that I'm sure is a national commercial and that everyone has seen. It's the Credit Score commercial. The first one went, "85. Do you know what that is? It's my credit score. Do you know your credit score? Want to? Do you like being inappropriate with small children? I do. Is that wrong? Let's talk," or something like that. Anyway, a new commercial came out that gets me every time.

The guy sits on the chair with his screen and says, "I'm thinking of a number. Do you know what it is?" And this is where the punchline comes in, "It's two-million," he tells us-- completely straight faced. TWO MILLION!!! Who is supposed to guess TWO MILLION. THAT'S ABSURD. "Is it twenty-three?" Nope! TWO MILLION. The guy didn't even give us any parameters. Then he has the gall to continue, "That's the number of people who got their free online credit report last year." It's like he's never played guessing games before and is working in the reverse order. Here's how sane people talk: "Guess how many people got their free credit report online last year? (Pause) Two million!" And why do we have to guess? Just tell me. If you want me to know your product, don't involve me in a guessing game where I'm speaking to the television. You don't need to pause for my response. I probably am not going to guess above 1,000. It's like the Mitch Hedberg joke, "My lucky number is 4 billion. It doesn't help me out very much." At least both Mitch and Credit Report.com have provided us with some humor.

Witz (is borderline getting sick again!!)

Witz Pickz: Mozilla Firefox & The Google Pack

"Witz has gone so fucking corporate."

I can hear it now. The new look. The search bar. The Firefox download link and the Google Pack download bar. Witz has sold out.

UNTRUE READER-- WHY DOTH THEE STAB MY BACK SO GLEEFULLY?

Truth of the matter is that Witz has gone way uncorporate. So uncorporate that I needed a well-established corporation to provide me with the assistance necessary, because only they have the resources available for me at a reasonable price.

You see, first there was corporate. Then there was post-corporate, when corporations became horrible beasts and counterculture revolted against them. Now there is post-post-corporate, when disliking major corporations and rebelling against them with our counterculture has actually spawned counter-culture corporations such as Google and Miramax, and MTV1-9 + MTVespanol. These, in turn, have become mainstream cultural corporations. Now, if I've done my job correctly, you will either a) so mind blown or b) so confused by my unlogic that you will simply agree with my thesis and move on. So let us move on.

While I have recently added additions to the website which I hope will increase some revenue without ruining the browsing and reading experience, I ACTUALLY VOUCH AND SUPPORT the products I have added. After using Mozilla Firefox, as millions have by now, I have found it to be absolutely fantastic. Tabbed browsing, tons of plug-ins that allow for awesome features such as FoxyTunes (music player control built into your browser so you don't have to minimize anything-- plus it has a sweet search feature that you can click on the song and search for numerous info on the band/song/album/lyric-- very cool), or IE View (view a page as if it were in IE), or FileGrabber (download YouTube video files for keeps). There are tons of these sweet plug-ins that make browsing easier and appease your OCD cravings, and the whole browser works without tapping into your operating system files that make windows viruses so potent and plentiful. So it's safer AND cooler. Also, Mozilla sounds like a mythical monster, and you want that monster on YOUR side! Plus, I get 1 dollar every time someone follows the link from my page and downloads the free browser.

The Google Pack has all sorts of useful freeware (do we still use "freeware" or did that die with Defender of the Crown?) and plug-ins to make searching better, adware and spyware destroyed, and your computer virus protected. You should definitely check it out. I say "definitely" because not only is it a good product, but I get 2 dollars for every download and install via the site. Clever, huh?

So don't take this as self-profiteering madness/genius, but simply as Witz picking something else that I always would have picked, while actually managing to find a way to profit from it. Because you aren't always the ones who profit from my pickz. It's not all cinnamon and Weeds. Sometimes it's Mozilla Firefox, Google Pack, and post-counter-corporate reverse-guerilla marketing pseudo-hobbies.

"I still think Witz has gone fucking corporate...",

Witz

Witz Pickz: Baseball

I don't know how it happened, but the rainy, cold, and bafflingly snowy (if you're on the west coast), or bafflingly un-snowy (if you're on the east), or...who the hell knows what the weather's like in the mid-west (unless you're from the midwest), suddenly turned into-- well it's still cold here, but the point is, it's April 2nd. I feel like it's a postmodern April Fool's joke where for April 1st, they lie and tell you it's April 2nd and then somehow it's actually still February. But the winter is actually somehow over, and when I went home for lunch this morning, I watched my Boston Red Sox get their asses kicked by the Kansas City Royals-- with a smile on my face (well, and also I was really really pissed and yelled at my television)-- but that's why I love baseball. Very few things can both relax me and cause me severe stress and pain. One of these things is Taco Bell cuisine, another is baseball. The seemingly ubiquitous spring, summer, and fall weather, shining through the television or radio to your lazy ears and eyes. The sound of announcers speaking knowledgeably about their teams. Falling asleep to the crackle of static and the cracks of bats or the smacks of the ball hitting the mitt. Nothing embodies the coming warmth of spring or the sought after laziness of summer like baseball, be it in the forefront or in the background. Its existence is enough. I'm glad baseball is back-- any longer a wait and I would have had to ponder the timeless question of "but where will I bury the bodies?" Instead I can relax.

Baseball Cards:
Nothing is nicer than knowing that all the money my parents and I spent on my baseball card collection back in the day will come back to me gloriously as a wad of cash 1/3 the value of my collection at a local pawn shop. I might not get as much money as I spent, but I'm getting it now, when my brain functions and I am able to accrue debt.

Wiffleball:
Is there a greater lazy man's sport? I think not. Wiffleball was invented by a bunch of drunken fat guys. When one man hit the ball between the 1st and 2nd baseman and began to run, his friends said, "Wait just a minute, my friend. Stay right there. No need to run. We'll just call that...a single." The batter replied, "But what of my hit that rolled to the bushes?" to which the wise, large, clearly drunken men with hot dogs and nacho breath replied, "We deem it a triple-- yes, a triple sounds fair." And so it was.

Take Me Out To the Ballgame...Please?....I Can't Afford to Go.....

Witz

Witz Pickz: Peanut Butter

A recent comment from A-Money made reference to his distaste for the Sticky Nutter—ok, let’s never use that nickname again…EVER. Peanut Butter. His distaste for Peanut Butter. While I respect his opinion, and while for many peanut butter can cause shock and death, I will tell you why I love it and why I pick it.

Peanut Butter is the glue. It’s the glue of our childhood. Without Peanut Butter we would just be having Jelly sandwhiches. The expression peanut butter n’ jelly would just be “N’ Jelly.” PB&J would just be “&J” and that is not a food, it’s the name of a contestant on American Idol (I am so proud AND disgusted at myself for that reference). What I’m getting at is that PB (and I’m sure Jay-Z would agree) is “so necessary.” It’s a quick fix full of protein to give children and working folks that boost they need. No time for a big lunch? Peanut butter sandwhich. What are you gonna put on that toast to give it some oomph? Peanut butter on toast.

Peanut butter can be heated and put on ice cream (unfathomably delicious). It can be mixed into rice and actually taste good. Thailand and India know all about the deliciousness of the peanut and it’s many sauce-ish capabilities.

Also, G-Dub Carver was THE MAN.

Quick Pickz: Sharpies, compact umbrellas, the Nickolodeon show "Hey Dude", Dexter

That’s all I got. Have a great weekend (with peanut butter)

Witz

PS. Possible second pick later today—busy day.

Witz DOESN’T Pick: That Douchey Lookin’ UPS Spokesman

I’m so not alone on this. Does anyone even understand the new UPS campaign? The one with that douchey lookin’ guy drawing pictures on a white board while talking, but the two never seem to be connected or problematic? I can’t figure out how what UPS is talking about is any different from the regular USPS. They keep saying things like, “Say you have 3 packages, and you want them picked up and delivered, but you want them delivered to 3 DIFFERENT locations…” and then he draws a turtle and is like, “UPS can do that—it’s not just shipping, it’s shipping…with UPS.”
…….
……..
…….
Isn’t that what all mail services do? Did I miss the part where the US Postal Service said they would only deliver all of your mail to ONE location? I can’t help but think this is one of those total scam campaigns, where nothing is really wrong with their opposition, but they talk about themselves as if they are clearly addressing our issues with the competition. It’s clever, but it’s lame and this time, really really obvious. Douchey. If I see that one guy drawing things one more time and then acting super nonchalant about the whole ordeal (he always finishes up as if he doesn’t need to be there, but we begged and pleaded with him to explain how stamps work), I’m going to snap. I’m already yelling at him on TV.

The Mac Commercials:
I’ve also had it with these. Here’s why: I could appreciate their witty hipster slams at first when they at least made sense and didn’t seem over the top or unnecessarily aggressive. But now they’ve gone too far. The last two commercials I saw of theirs were against installing simple USB devices, and against Microsoft Vista.

The USB one pisses me off the most. PC is getting a camera duct taped to his head and it’s funny because Mac already has one installed. My problems: while I understand hyperbole, PC is not REALLY a human, so duct tape or ANY OTHER KIND OF ANNOYANCE is not actually a part of the process. It isn’t bulky. All you need to do is plug the camera in using a simple cord and that’s it. The software probably self-installs and within about 30 seconds, with the worst case scenario being you have to click “Next, next, next, and Finish” quickly, you have your camera. My other issue here is that on a PC, you can MOVE the camera, so if you don’t want it facing DIRECTLY AT YOU while you type, you don’t have to. On a Mac, the camera is built in, so you can’t move it at all. More on this idea later.

The other one is the anti-Vista commercial. Fair enough, you can attack Vista for having tight security that annoys the hell out of the users by constantly asking if things are ok. I don’t even have Vista and Norton has recently taken to asking me if I want to allow Internet Explorer to connect to the internet. Idiot. So anyway, fair enough, EXCEPT, it was like 2 minutes after Vista came out. They didn’t give it a moment’s rest, which comes off as extremely aggressive and just obnoxious. Mac is quickly showing why they are the hipster choice—because they were very uncool and obnoxious as children, and hate on all “mainstream” culture why they themselves are mainstream. The overly aggressive campaign makes me feel FOR PC and get defensive as a PC user. Just as I end up feeling bad for the child molestors on Dateline: To Catch A Predator, I feel bad for Microsoft. Get off their ass, Mac. Do your thing.

The worst part of it all is that PC can’t possibly respond. I don’t know what the actual sales are like for both types, but they can’t start a “hip war” by putting out parody ads or ranking on Macs. Then they’re drawn into the fight and they look bad. So Mac wins the pissing competition. I hope that’s an expression—I mean, I think it is. This is going to be awkward if it’s not….hm.


“Would you like to allow Witz to post on Witz Pickz?”
Witz

Witz Flickz: Crank!

I knew it was time to take a break from Netflix when the three movies at the bottom of my extensive queue were shipped to me because all of the others had varying degrees of "wait." I opened my mailbox to find The Night Listener, Crank, and Employee of the Month (added simply to fill my queue, but never intended to actually be received or viewed-- other movies along this line included Doogal, The West Wing Season 2 Bonus Features DVD, and The Fantastic Four). My excitement of receiving 3 dvd's turned to dismay at my options, and I quickly looked at my account and cancelled one day before I was billed again. I will return to Netflix, but not yet. Not yet.

Having received my final three movies, I vowed to watch at least 2 of them, or else I wasn't getting the most out of my cancelled membership. I actually tried to put on Employee of the Month to watch while cleaning the apartment, but my girlfriend thankfully put me in my place, saying she couldn't handle a movie with Jessica Simpson. Good call. Which left The Night Listener, a creepy Robin Williams/Rory Culkin flick or Crank, a movie with That Guy from Lock, Stock, & Two Smoking Barrels and more recently, The Transporter(2). After getting a rejection on a possible nightmare giving movie, I was left with Crank, and put it on with intentions of watching half and then going to bed....

....TOO BAD CRANK IS THE SHIT! 87 Glorious minutes later, I was entirely content with my decision/indecision. Because this movie is amazing. Not amazing good, mind you, it's not a "Good" movie, but it is an "Entertaining" movie, and that's something a lot of "Good" movies have failed to do recently. And it wasn't even bad, really, like most action movies, it was simply what it was.

SO WHAT THE HELL WAS IT WITZ? Fair question. I am 99.9% positive that the idea for Crank was created when one dude said to another, "What if we made Grand Theft Auto into a movie? Wouldn't that be sweet?" and the other guy said, "Yes-- yes it would be." They realized that you can't just make a movie called GTA (although they still might) where one guy rushes around inexplicably punching a dude in the face and then spray painting his car yellow, so they had to give him a reason. Poison. He is poisoned and has to keep adrenaline pumping or else he dies. Perfect. Now he can drink a red bull like a freaking insane person, punch out old ladies to get jacked up, and bang anything anywhere without repercussion. The stage is set. This leads to a romp throughout LA where the main character rages through the city finding interesting and scientifically questionable (but believable) ways to keep his heart pumping. They don't waste time with side-plots or extraneous explication that won't matter, they simply have our hero seek out the people who poisoned him before he dies. Brilliant.

But shockingly, it's not just the action that keeps it interesting. The whole movie is actually shot LIKE a video game. The first scene includes a first person "Doom Hand" shot. When setting up locations, instead exterior establishing shots, they use a giant map of LA, zoom to the location, and label it something such as "Eve's Apartment" or "Carlito's Place." EVERYTHING in this movie is fast except when it slows down for a second for comedic effect or to show his heart slowing down. That's the other thing-- It's funny! They manage to be funny without drawing attention to one liners like in most action movies. Things just kind of ARE funny, and not because they're overdone, but because they are ironic, or hilariously necessary, or just plain amusing. Crank is an action movie, that knew it had an alright idea IF it didn't try and pack anything into that idea that didn't belong. No rider themes. Just the meat. I'm not saying Crank is a great movie, but it had me entertained for 87 minutes without hesitation, and that's more than I can say for most of the movies that were at the top of my queue.

Witz

Witz Pickz: Deep Dish Pizza, Suspension, and Pibb

For the sake of maintaining my streak and therefore my dedication to actually posting, here's a quick pick: Deep Dish Pizza.

I love deep dish pizza because it means that at some point in Chicago, someone said, "I like pizza, but there needs to be MORE of it." Then someone had to say, "You wanna make it wider?" and the first man, possibly while looking around at all the skyscrapers in the packed city must have replied, "No. Deeper." This could only have registered shock on the other man's face. Deeper. More punch to the inch. They took pizza to the third dimension which has kept its deliciousness going into the fourth dimension.

Deep dish pizza is the only way I can see pizza be referred to as a "pie." More ingredients are contained by the surrounding dough and it creates a jumbled stuffing of taste. Like a pie. So there it is folks, Deep Dish Pizza-- Dee-licious.

Suspension by Robert Westfield: Just finished reading this and I'm not even positive on the author's name, but the book was great. This author's first novel manages to capture a film noir feel inside a Michael Chabon like environment. It's a quick read and deals with how difficult it is to truly remove yourself from the world and your past.

Pibb Xtra: I like Pibb Xtra because the man thinks he can hide the fact taht he doesn't have a degree with the fact that there is more of it. It = caffeine I think. The Xtra can't possibly stand for a degree or else it would just be Dr. Pibb or Julius Pibb, PhD (I like to think Mr. Pibb's first name is Julius or sometimes Samson...Dr. Samson Pibb, PhD). Also, and here's something worth thinking about, we all give Lavernius Pibb crap for not having his degree, but why the hell is Dr. Pepper a Dr? We don't know that he was a science MD. What if he's a podiatrist? We automatically trust the man, but what if he went to 8 years of dental school and then created the soda that is the WORST for your teeth? What if he's a heart surgeon? Great, you can do heart surgery, but why are there prunes in my pop? Or what if it's just like, Political Science PhD. What right did that give Assante Pepper (Dr. Pepper's first name is either Assante or Jackson. Jackson Pepper sounds right) to go ahead and sell us a beverage? This only gives Pibb Xtra more credibility in my mind.

Witz Sticks (to his picking plan),
Witz

Witz HAS NO FREAKIN IDEA if he Pickz: Modern Dance

Every now and then you encounter something in your life that just straight up baffles you. No matter how many opinion on music, film, literature, shampoo, japanese cities, or pigeons you have, there is bound to be something that makes even the most casual opinionated jackass stop and wonder what the hell just happened. This weekend, this opinionated jackass was stumped by Modern Dance.

After deciding I needed to do more things, I bought four tickets (because 3 people were coming with me, not because I'm uber-obese) to The Spektrum Group's performance of Never-Mind, a modern dance performance set to the music of Nirvana. At least I thought that's what it was. Instead, we received a night I don't think any of us will soon forget.

It kicked off with us getting there just before the show was supposed to start and taking our amazing center balcony seats with the most leg-room in the house. A woman who I have to assume was only posing as an usher, directed us to our seats (INDIVIDUALLY, as if we didn't know each other and sit next to each other-- we all got the FULL ON directions for how to walk straight ahead and sit down) where we were very impressed with the view and room it afforded. About ten minutes later (with the balcony section almost entirely empty I might add), the faux-usher hustled over to us saying, "Now see, you're in row J, which is up there, please move to your seats." Confused, we replied,

"Nono, we're in F."
"Oh. Well this is A, so row F would be--"
"--No. Row A is down there (gesturing to the 5 rows in the lower balcony section), this is row F (gesturing to the giant F at the end of the aisle)."
"--But...I-- Alright," and she walked away. BAFFLING.

After that fun encounter, the show began with two opening acts. I didn't know modern dance had opening acts, but apparently they do. In this case, the same group performed two other pieces set to other atypical soundtracks. The first one was actually very cool. Three graffiti artists tagged huge sheets of paper in the background while the dancers performed a hip-hop influenced routine to Mystikal songs. Apparently there was a story, but I'm pretty sure it just had to do with crack-whores and beating crack-whores. They itched a lot. It looked neat.

So when that came to a close and intermission struck, we were in a slightly less confused, jollier mood. We goofed around and then the second piece began. It was like being ten years old in church again. The set design was awesome, but suddenly four identical women were spasming around on stage for far too long. A near naked man joined them on stage, shaking and spasming as if he were poisoned. My ten year old self put the story together: "They're spiders and he's caught in their web and dying." So I went with that. Each spider kept trying to make sexy-time with the man, who would then convulse and collapse. "Can't be sexing it with spiders," I thought and remembered once again that spiders scare me. The guy kept running away from this one spider who was constantly throwing herself around the stage and shaking insanely before collapsing and doing it all again. I started giggling to myself as I finally came up with the moral of the story: Nobody wants to bang the crazy spider. Good lesson. As the minutes wore on, it was clear that not many people in my general region were enjoying this, and we were all one eye-catching away from a total laughing fit, so I made sure to stare straight ahead, only occasionaly laughing ridiculously, and then hoping nobody saw. When the piece ended, my friend summed up the general feeling: I don't think I'll be running out to buy the new Mio Morales album anytime soon. True.

Here's a funny part-- the story turned out to be about the Wilis-- women who died before their wedding night, who haunt men who cheat on them or something and apparently dance boringly for twenty minutes in order to kill him. Sooooooo no spiders involved. My bad.

Finally, the main piece was ready to go. The curtain rises aaaand--

Why the hell are people dressed up as Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love onstage? Oh crap.

Oh crap.
Oh crap.
Oh crap.

Ya see, in my mind, a modern dance performance set to the music of Nirvana meant that I was going to see a bunch of music video-like performances. Sychronized modern dance to cool music instead of Stravinsky. It didn't mean I was going to see a story told to me IN COSTUME with actions being performed as they are spoken about in songs. That sounds like interpretive dance to me, and THAT is not something I wished to partake in. So my heart sank as Kurt moped around on stage and Courtney stomped around and they both did heroine. It was basically 30 minutes of dancers telling me,. "Courtney and Kurt fought, they did a lot of drugs, they itched themselves, and then he killed himself." What I learned from the performance was that watching someone fake do heroine does not make for an interesting performance. And then something else occurred to me: Between this, the Gus Van Sant movie about Kurt's last days, and most documentary footage I've seen, Kurt Cobain was one amazing artist that was BORING AS SHIT when he wasn't performing. There is far too much presentation of his static depression out there right now. We all get it-- we understand his plight. But holy crap, I don't need to see a drugged up, depressed guy do NOTHING for any amount of time. Music = interesting. Watching a guy dressed up like Kurt Cobain do nothing = boring.

So what do I think of modern dance? I have no idea. Was that modern dance? They certainly danced, I know that much. But was that modernly or was it interpretively? Is interpretively a word? See how many questions I have? I have to say that at some points I thought, "that's like me when I'm joke dancing to make fun of So You Think You Can Dance or another tv dancing show." On the other hand, they do it well, but does that make it dancing just because they can flop on the ground with a full leg extension? I'd like somebody uninvolved to make this decision for me, like Tim Allen or David Lee Roth. The Mystikal part was very interesting and cool, but the Nirvana part was very tacky and kitsch. I'm not sure I would feel proud of Seattle for having put on such a performance. Ultimately, I think The Spektrum Dance Group did some interesting work that I was glad I saw, but would not go back to see. I would rather flop around on the ground with a camera on, watch it myself, and then send the tape to Will Farrell in the hopes of getting a movie deal.

Witz

Witz Pickz: The Nature Boy, Analytics, and Authority Zero

This will be the fifth post in five days for me on Witz Pickz-- something unheard of since the first few days of the site when I was all excited and unemployed (hot and not bothered). Since then, my posts have been sporadic and in short bursts, like the success of Avacados. But now I'm back in a big way, and here's why:

Google Analytics:
It was brought to my attention recently that whether I know it or not, Google owns my balls. While I thought this was impossible as I sold my balls in 1992 in exchange for a Color Me Bad t-shirt and Mega Man 6 for Game Boy, it turns out my balls are currently owned by Google. When you open a gmail account or an adwords account or a google talk/earth/etc account, you have opened a google account. Another cool thing that I recently learned about is that there is a large screen at Google Headquarters where it constantly streams google searches that are being made for all watching to see. I therefore would like to encourage everyone to google something amusing about Google at least five times a day in the hopes that it comes on the board in Mountain View, California. At the very least this will amuse US. I mean, imagine someone at google grabbing a coffee as they read, "Google sends millions of condoms to indiginous South American tribes," or "Google licks its own nipples." Or how about, "Why is this guy drinking coffee at Google so frail looking?" THAT'LL cause some self-image/paranoia issues! I've also started using a phrase recently for people who just look techie, but hip-- I say that that guy, "just got off the google shuttle." I hope this picks up because it's the short bus of our generation-- only the passengers are generally super intelligent and confident in themselves. Having said all this, I like google. I think it's great, and while I don't use their maps, I do love their Google Analytics. You paste a bit of code into your blog/website and the information starts flowing back to your analytics account. I can now see how many unique and repeat hits/users I get a day as well as where in the world these hits are coming from (Carmen Sandiego). Apparently, and I've said this all along, I'm huge in Falkirk. There are all types of ways to analyze the data and sort through it, but right now, just the basic graphs are enough to keep me writing. So well done Google Analytics, you've re-invigorated Witz Pickz and now Witz Pickz you.

The Nature Boy Rick Flair:
I was never really into WWF wrestling back in the day, but some of my friends were and that gave me the general wrestling knowledge I need to get by today. While flipping through the channels last week, I stumbled upon Rick Flair (The Nature Boy) slapping an opponent in the face and then "WHOO"-ing at the crowd (his signature thing). I was kind of grossed out at first by the 50-something year old man with his wrestling-fat-strong abs and pecs, but then realized how audacious it was that he kept on wrestling at his age. I mean, look-- The man is fifty years old and still calls himself The Nature BOY. Then, he looks filthy and grimy and flabtastic, but has the nerve to SLAP a man half his age and twice his size. If the whole thing wasn't scripted, that younger wrestler could rip his arms off, lift him up, and flip him like a coin. But because of the safety of the script, Flair can be a total jackass to this aggressor, make HIM look like an idiot, and even get in a few good moves before taking his choreographed beating. And he still "Whoo's" at the crowd afterwards. That's so completely shameless that it makes him brave.

Authority Zero:
I have always enjoyed the Arizona punk stylings of Authority Zero, but am constantly nervous that their newest album will be awful. I don't know why, but this just hangs over me whenever I hear that a new album is on its way. Their newest album "12:34" came out recently and I didn't know what to expect. I listened to the sample songs on www.myspace.com/authorityzero and was really pleased, so I acquired (hehe) the rest of the album and listened to it-- AND IT'S GREAT from start to finish. Not as good as the first album, but definitely catchy and interesting. There was one song, however, that freaked me out. I THOUGHT the lyrics went:

It's your duuuuuty
To take em on, take em out, take a stand, take a bow
It's your duuuuuty
etc.

This confused me because it really sounds like they suddenly became pro-war, pro-Bush when on their last album the song Revolution included the lyrics, "You want a revolution/Yeah!/Ya gotta make a difference on your own/Ya want a revolution/Yeah!/Stand up, stand up and make it known!" Which in my mind was the opposite idea. So I sang along to this Duty song despite my confusion and just figured "at least it's catchy." I then went to check the lyrics of the song and was astounded by what I found.

Before I say what I found, I want to remind everyone how easy it is to confuse lyrics. I think at least 90% of America thinks that Blinded By the Light says, "ripped up like a douche," and I honestly don't know if that's right or not. So don't be baffled when I say that the song is not called Duty, nor is the word duty even mentioned in it. The song is called "Courage" and the line is "It's your cooooourage, to take em on, take em out, take a stand, take a bow." Now I still think the bow line is weird all to itself, but the song takes on a whole new meaning and at the end, when I thought the backup vocalist was screaming, "It's your duuutyyy, it's your duuttyyy" and then assumed it was, "it's your cooourage, it's your courraaage" it turns out he was screaming, "Let's go Jerrrrry! Let's go Jerrrrrryy!" Eight times. I have no idea what that means, but I assume their next album will include songs entitled, "Tom Can Go Eff Himself" and "My Punk Buddy Seinfeld" or even, "We Have An Unnatural Urge To Root for Jerry Rice." I dunno. Either way, it reminds me that song lyrics should not be discussed until you figure out what the hell they are for sure, and that sometimes your mind hears what it wants to, even if it's way off base. Now let me go watch tv while google analyzes everything I've said here today.

Witz

Witz Pickz: Coal Turning Into Diamonds

It occurred to me recently how incredibly sweet it is that coal turns into diamonds. I mean, what are the odds of that? Granted, we are the ones who gave diamonds value....because they sparkle....and we're idiots....but still! It's pretty freakin' awesome! I mean ya got your coal, right...and then thousands of years later....diamonds! Anyway, I feel like that's one of the few things in life that inexplicably takes something crappy (albeit something that allows us to live the way we do) and turns it into something incredibly valuable. Take "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader." What are the odds that in a few thousand years (ok, let's give em a break-- a few thousand seconds) ends up being considered valuable and sought after? Same goes for Geraldo Rivera. Now I know what you're thinking, you're thinking, "Wow, really Witz? Takin' a shot at Geraldo after he's been around for oh so long and has done nothing to harm you?" Well, reader, yes, I am taking a shot at him, because I was on the edge of my seat when they opened Al Capone's vault, and that Giraldo stole my childhood.

What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, sparkle-coal. The other reason it's good that coal turns into diamonds is for the metaphorical implications. Whenever you see someone ugly or a tough situation, you can just say, "Remember, diamonds were coal before they underwent years of excrutiating pressure." On the other hand, when you put people under excrutiating amounts of pressure, they tend to do bad things...like shoot themselves...or others. And then the price of stamps go up.

Anyway, here's some more pickz:

Raines: 10pm Thursdays on NBC
Jeff Goldblum! He's like coal! He was the Fly who was a human who turned into a fly. Then he was diamondous in Jurassic Park ("Must go faster") and then he turned into coal for like...15 years! But now he's diamonds all over again with Raines, the detective show where he sees people who don't exist, only instead of them being ghosts like in Medium or Ghost Whisperer, they are just in his crazy face head, so they can't provide him with any new info. I predict this show is good at the beginning and then gets less good as time goes on. Which is probably how owning diamond jewelry is.

Rosemary Triscuits:
Triscuits were always diamonds, but now Rosemary Triscuits allows them to be eaten independently of cheese. They are delicious-- try them.

Dystopias:
They just make utopias seem that much better, don't they?



XOXO,
Witz

PS. The Wonder Boy Review comes out tomorrow (3/23) and it's gonna be sweet. So if you want a copy, electronic or otherwise, email thewonderboyreview@gmail.com

Witz DOESN’T Pick: Ruined Breakfast

I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I wanted to. I love breakfast. I even brought a breakfast to work, but then, despite my growling stomach and burning stomach acid, I ended up going hungry until lunch. And you wanna know why? One four word phrase that can take a delicate morning snack and turn it into an A.M. fast: Fruit on the bottom.

That’s right—yogurt. Why is fruit on the bottom yogurt still for sale? It’s approximately 10 cents cheaper and infinitely worse. Does anybody actually like it? It tastes grainy, it’s sloppy to mix up, and no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to get all the fruit from the bottom to the rest of the cup. Try as you might, you will always end up at the bottom of that cup with a solid ¼ inch of blueberry, strawberry, etc. fruit jelly stuck in the recessed ring of the plastic. That’s a fact.

Mixed yogurt is smooth and delicious. Perfect balance of flavor and yogurt, not messy at all, and ultimately more satisfying. You don’t have to work for it, and there are an abundance of more flavors. You can’t mix up “Coconut Cream Pie” or “Pina Colada” from the bottom of a cup. Those flavors are what we connoisseurs call “artificial flavors,” but what you might simply call “delectable.” I have even found 8 oz. versions of the pre-mixed yogurt for the same price on sale as the fruit on the bottom kind. Yoplait usually comes in 6 oz. containers, but they still pack a better punch than the mix-it-yourself. I would dare to say that Yoplait started the unspoken promise that a tinfoil seal on your yogurt means the yogurt is pre-mixed. Fruit on the bottom still rocks the plastic lid, as if I might eat 4 oz of yogurt, and then decide to put the rest away for later.

But let’s take a look at the downside of pre-mixed yogurts for a second, to be fair. We all know there is only one downside—the cost. Why the hell are pre-mixed yogurts more expensive than other yogurt? ALL THEY DO IS MIX IT UP! Are they paying chefs $80 an hour to stir the yogurt themselves? What’s the story here? I would say that machines have to spin around using more electricity, but then, don’t they already need machines to place the layering of fruit and yogurt? Can’t they just buy new machines and get on with it? Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there’s a whole chunk of America (I’m guessing the interior red states) where the “wholesome values” still shine through to them in the form of un-mixed yogurt. Yogurt you have to work for— making you a part of the process. Working class yogurt. To them I say—Jesus Christ, just buy some Yoplait and toss your own wheat germ/grapenuts on there and have at it. It’ll be ok—you can enjoy the 21st century. And to those who don’t spend the extra 10 cents a cup for yogurt; you are the same ones who drive an extra 30 miles to get to a 2 cent cheaper per gallon gas station. You are the ones who voted for Bush because you wanted a 100 dollar tax refund that you could blow in one night eating at Applebee’s and going to see the “Are We Done Yet”/”Stomp the Yard” double-feature. Spend the extra buck on ten yogurts and remember what good yogurt tastes like. Or, if you’re like me, taste what a Boston Cream Pie could taste like, if it were, in fact, inexplicably baked into a tub of yogurt. Yoplait, you crazy geniuses.

Witz

P.S. I honestly had something to Pick this time around, but I forgot it. It’s been that type of week.

Witz DOESN'T Pick: The "Comedy Movie" Trailers Font

Sorry for being so negative recently and DOESN'T picking things, but I've reached my boiling point recently on a number of different things. The most recent has been The Comedy Font from all those bad comedy trailers.

You know the one I'm talking about-- Red, pseudo bubble letters that take over the screen and have single-handedly allowed for the making of thousands of terrible movies. I think it began with The Nutty Professor, and has since continued onward through Cheaper By the Dozen, Bruce Almighty and more recently with Norbit, Wild Hogs, and Are We Done Yet? (a whole other issue altogether). The font falls from the sky most of the time and inexplicably bounces-- you know, because the comedy is bouncy and harmless. Only for me, it has become a sign that the movie is going to be TERRIBLE.

Has another font so singlehandedly dominated our culture? When some dude invented Times New Roman, did he KNOW that he was the shit? That he would become the gold standard for the typed word? Did ancient Greek theatre feature Arial font for their crappy comedy productions? And who did Wing Dings have to blow to get into the mix? The last time I can remember a font being so noticeable and foreboding was when I was introduced to cursive, which incidentally was the most overhyped "font" of the last three generations. Cursive is to handwriting what tech companies were to the stock market. It's like an extra security measure for credit cards, because if I ever stole anyone's credit card and used it, there's no way I'd be able to steal their money if their name started with an I, a Z, or an H. And my last name begins with an "H"-- I've been fakin' it for YEARS. It baffles me when I'm at work and receive a note written in cursive. It's like somebody handed me a piece of paper and said, "here, ignore this." I like to hand them back a note with every 3rd letter removed and when they can't read it I say, "Ha! I had to break your code, now you break mine." The joke's on them though, because I never actually removed every 3rd letter-- I just wrote a bunch of letters down that don't spell shit.

What I'm trying to say is that the red-bubble-crap-movie-bouncing font has made its way into our culture and our subconscious without most of us noticing. All of a sudden every marketing company in Hollywood decided that it's friendly and alluring and now we have to see it every time Eddie Murphy decides he doesn't want to win an Oscar and wants to remind us all that Bowfinger was actually a movie. I can't remember all the movies the Comedy Font was in, but I'm certain that if you go back and do some research, you'll find a long, winding string of comedy bombs. Not to mention a horrible mixed metaphor. So be warned. Do what you gotta do, but remember the Comedy Font before making that decision of whether to see Wild Hogs or 300. There's only one comedy font worth anything, and that's Comic Sans MS. We all know that.

Witz (Witz)