Shit That Bothers Me....

OK, this one will be a stream of consciousness kind of thing. The inspiration will be the diminutive Asian girl sitting next to me in the computer lab who is either A) part heifer B) a fluffer attempting to keep her "tool" in shape or most likely C) enjoying the greatest fucking piece of gum ever created outside Wonka's secret little lab. I used to think my dog was the loudest chewing carbon-based lifeform roaming this ball of dirt and water. At least I can put his food dish outside. Jesus H. Christ! ?&#~*!#$ I'm talking in fucking Q-Bert here this is so annoying!

Allright faithful readers (or reader...or me), I am making the ultimate sacrifice here so that you might get a small look behind the curtain. Yes boys and girls, here is the real Jeff.

If you want to stay on my good side, the number one thing you must do is stay out of my personal space. I am protective of my aura as it is the only one I have. I have this new co-worker, whom it saddens me to report will be spending 30-40 hours weekly no more than 15 feet from me. However, suffice it to say at this point I would gladly accept ever inch, millimeter and smidge of those 45 yards. (Please note the smooth blend of the metric system, the un-named American system, the football system and a grandma-ism.)

This gal stands so close to me I can't even have a mood swing. Which thankfully come less often now through the miracle of modern medicine and its illicit use. Worse than that, she performs another taboo at the same time by reading the newspaper over my shoulder. I work in a fucking hotel! There are newspapers all over the damn place! The same paper! (Which is unfortunately the USA Today, but any port in a storm.)

It would be one thing if this girl were attractive. (She's not.) Or a quality conversationalist. (Lame and too abrasive to ignore.) Or even good at her job. (Do I get paid double for pulling both our waits? Incidentally, she has to weigh more than I, and I ain't a jockey.)

I can't be rude. I mean, sure I can, but my boss has asked/urged me not to be, and he and I are boyz. It's also review/hopefully and finally a raise time, so you understand my quandary I'm sure. What gum can possibly retain its flavor under these circumstances?

You know who else bothers me at work sometimes? Of course you don't, you and I don't work together. But I'm sure you do work with a Same Joke Guy. Same Joke Guy works in another portion of the hotel and when he's bored will call me at the desk to chat about absolutely nothing. Now, there's protocol at the hotel. I have to answer the phone in a particular way. Yet, the phones have called ID, so really I know it's him, but there's protocol. So here's what happens every time.

"Guest Services, this is Jeff. How can I help you?"

"MOM?!?"

Now the onus is on me to come back with something. I don't like being same joke guy, so for a long time I felt the need to always have a comeback. But now, I generally respond with Ol' Reliable.

"If I were your mother I'd have smothered you a long time ago."

So let's get away from the workplace. I mean we don't work together and I'm not there, so this is more of a figurative getaway for the both of us, follow? We're in the car and we're approaching that cross street where we must make a right turn. There is no right turn lane. Just one straight land and one straight/turn right lane. It's a red light coming up. No problem, in these "United" States it is ones right to turn right on red. (Unless your license is suspended like mine, which is another story for another blotter.) Wait! What's this? The only other fucker on the road is going straight and is blocking the straight/turn right lane! Thanks a lot! It's not like I want to get home! Hey, why don't you get out your cell phone, eat some Mickey D's and change your Yanni CD over to Babs Streisand while you're at it! Dammit MOM! How many times...?

Ok, I realize it won't be a significant wait, but it's all about courtesy. Like the bastard that parks in the 15 minute only parking and then takes in a viewing of Ben Hur. You just don't do it. Like eating bacon at every meal...ain't that right Doc Atkins? How's the head?

So I had this idea the other day. With so much of television and now even movies geared toward selling us something, I think I could spend at least one entire day conversing entirely in slogans, jingles, catch phrases and info-mercial speak. Maybe not a day at work, see there's protocol...., but I do love the ellipses?

I had this conversation the other day with someone. Is there a singular of ellipses? Or even a sprint or us cellular now that we're at it? Would a single ellipse be this (...) or just one period (.)? In which case we'd call the single ellipse a period instead of an ellipse. And if it is ..., then what would be an ellipses? And could it be an ellipses or would it be, uhh...some ellipses?

So back to slogan/catch phrase/jingle speak day....no way to end this sentence, but it does have an ellipses, or some periods. We (and by that I mean the people who have in fact read this far, so me) should make a day of it. Just last week we had Talk Like a Pirate Day, which is now my favorite holiday. Think of the merchandising involved with this. I could get corporate sponsors if this thing really took off.

You know what I else I hate? Blogs. Not just blogs, but bloggers. Orange may or may not be the new pink, but blogging is not the new journalism. I mean it is, but it shouldn't be. Hasn't it been made abundantly clear in just these few fews of paragraphs that I am a friggin' loon. (State bird of Minnesota, the place of my upbringing, now you have a place to blame)

Anyone can have a blog. Just like anyone can have a frequent stay card at my hotel, so why in the name of God (Which is either Bob Dylan or Lou Reed, haven't decided yet) would I give your a bunch of shit for free just cause you have one? You can have a frequent stay card without ever having stayed in any hotel anywhere.

So the gum girl is gone, but the sound remains. Its like when you have something amputated but you still sort of feel it there. I mean, I don't have anything amputated, but I did read Red Badge of Courage, which may or may not have addressed the phenomenon. I can't say as I recall. You know, I still have all my original parts? I'm like a Mr. Potato Head that's never been taken from the box. I have my wisdom teeth (natch), appendix and tonsils. Also, my spleen which I realize most people have, and both my breasts which Nancy Reagan lacks. (Her breasts I mean, not mine. She lacks both, but it makes sense she doesn't have mine. Come to think of it she may still have one of hers and Barbara Bush may be the one that doesn't have any. It's not like they need them. They're old, married and no longer need to lactate.

How long is this post? Are you still reading?

I don't like people who dismiss out of hat the notion the Rolling Stones might be the greatest rock band ever rather than the Beatles. The Beatles were a pop band. The Stones have at various points been a pop band (early stuff), country band ("Beggar's Banquet"), and a blues band (some early stuff, most notably "Exile on Main Street"). But they've always been a rock band first and foremost. They also lived like rock stars. Much more so than the Beatles. A Stone was drowned by his contractor. The Hells Angels killed a guy at a Stones concert. They were security you see. I'm fairly certain the Stones didn't want to hang with the Mahatma.

Eli, are you reading this. No...go back to Arkansas.

I'll sign off with a quote culled from the headstone of the late, great Bobby Hatfield.

"If you believe in forever...Then Life is just a One Night Stand."

ellipses baby...the most Righteous Brother loved 'em.

Film Review: The Lord of War

There are over 550 million firearms in worldwide circulation. That's one firearm for every twelve people on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other 11?

And so begins "The Lord of War," a film following the exploits of an up-and-comer in the world of illegal arms trafficking. Written and directed by Andrew Niccol ("Gattaca" "The Truman Show") and starring Nicolas Cage, this is the best political film since "The Contender."

I was hooked by the end of the most amazing title sequence I've ever seen on film. With Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth playing in the background, you see the life of a single bullet up close and personal, from its creation and inspection through packaging and shipping, until it is finally loaded and fired through the forehead of a 10-year kid holding an AK-47. From that point you know this film will pull no punches.

Cage plays Yuri Orlov, the son of Ukranian immigrants who finally realizes the way to a good life outside of Little Odessa is through the merchandising of murder. While rationalizing at every turn, Orlov proudly claims to sell guns to every army but the Salvation Army. He never chooses sides, even claiming his reasoning for not selling to Osama bin Laden came not from any moral standing, but from the fact bin Laden kept bouncing his checks.

This lack of morality will ultimately become the thrust of the film. While Cage attempts to keep on with business as usual, he is faced at different points by a rival arms dealer (Iam Holm) who feels it necessary to pick and choose amongst his clients and sell only to those groups he feels are fighting for just reasons, a trophy wife (Bridget Moynahan) who tries to hide her head in the sand, his brother and former partner (a fantastic performance by Jared Leto) who makes the mistake of realizing their merchandise is designed to kill people, Liberian dictator (Oz's Eammon Walker) who wants to step up his purchases from Yuri and the lone Interpol agent (Ethan Hawke) who can't be bribed by Orlov and doggedly pursues Yuri to the ends of the Earth.

This is a fabulous work of military and political satire, in the vein of "Catch-22" and "Buffalo Soldiers." We see Orlov attend arms fairs complete with camoflague bikini-clad, gun-toting models. As his AK-47's are being fired he hears the cha-chings of a cash register. Yuri ignores the first steps of his infant son to watch the televised fall of the Soviet Union, effectively leaving a big For Sale sign on the entirety of the Soviet arms cache.

The film is marked by its strong performances, particulary those of Leto, Walker, Holm and Hawke. Bridget Moynahan, beautiful though she may be, doesn't really do it for me as an actress. Cage was pretty decent. It is not his best, but I'm having trouble picturing another actor in the role.

The action is scary real. The violence of the title sequence is only the start of death in this film. Be warned. This is a very violent film and many of the shooting victims are the children of these developing nations. That sadly, is less satirical and far more truthful.

That change in tone, from satire to commentary takes place within Yuri's world as he is more and more often faced with the ramifications of his "don't choose sides" mentality. We will see him lose his family, his wife and son and potentially his fortune and freedom as his character seems to get closer and closer to falling off the edge.

Ultimately however, the point Yuri makes to himself and anyone who might listen speakes to the necessity of men like him in the world, and perhaps more importantly, the usefulness of men like him to the most powerful decision makers in the world. Yuri points out it is the United States who is the largest trafficker of arms in the world, and many of its sales go unrecorded, made through the gun-runners of the world when it is not practical for the weapons to have American military or political fingerprints on them.

The film is also backed by a very good sountrack. In addion to Buffalo Springfield, the film features songs from Portishead, the fabulous Mazzy Star, Grace Jones, David Bowie, Eric Clapton, Jeff Buckley and Louis Armstrong.

I can't recommend this film enough. Never before has the ridiculousness war, weapons and American foreign policy been so perfectly depicted in what is largely a fictional film. Niccol claims to have loosely based his screenplay on real life events and gun-runners. I can't doubt that as much of this is too crazy to be made up.

Yeah...don't know how to end this properly...so go see the film. It will grab your attention and keep you on the edge of your seat.

Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans

I realize with Hurrican Katrina more than two weeks past, many people in these "United" States are suffering from a serious case of disaster fatigue. One really can take only so many photos of the dead, videos of flooded homes and businesses and testimonies to lives and homes lost. As we get further from the morning the hurricane struck, those of us who live outside its path will naturally become more de-sensitized to the event. That said, there is a huge difference from being de-sensitized and becoming insensitive to those who have had their lives affected forever.

This Sunday past, the New Orleans Saints were to have played host to the New York Giants for a football game in the New Orleans Superdome. As we all know, the Superdome became a havenfor evacuees in the days following Hurricane Katrina until its own stability came into question. Therefore, the NFL decided to have the game played in New York as part of an unprecedented Monday Night Football doubleheader as the showcase of a telethon to raise funds for the relief of hurricane victims.

This telethon was televised to the world during halftime of both the Saints-Giants game and the originally scheduled Monday night game between the Dallas Cowboys and Washington Redskins. This televised event meant there would be no television coverage of a halftime ceremony in Dallas during which three noteworthy Cowboys were inducted into the teams Ring of Honor.

I am an avid listener of sports talk radio (Shut It!). It pained me to hear the reactions of many Cowboy fans who called into various shows to express their immense displeasure with being subjected to the telethon rather than being given the pleasure of basking in the greatness of their heroes. Fans blamed the NFL for trying to generate their own revenue. They blamed the evacuees for having their hands out, trying to bilk funds from good ol' boys just tyring to get by themselves.

As if that wasn't enough. Even more Cowboy fans expressed outrage at the notion of the Saints being referred to by many in the sports media as "America's Team", a term Cowboys fans feel is intended for their team and their team alone. They're completely missing the point here. No one is trying to steal anything from anyone. Try thinking outside your own pathetic existence for just a few moments and have some level of consideration for others for once in your sad little life. I am embarrassed to admit I have familial roots in Texas after the things I heard said by many Texans. I'm sure those tens of thousands of people in the New Orleans area who have no homes and no belongings to speak of and may or may not know where are their relatives are and if they are even alive or dead are really sorry you didn't get to watch your little ceremony of TV. I'm sure it tears their hearts out that not everyone in America is worshipping the Cowboys.

Incidentally, I don't recall ever voting for which team had the right to claim the title of "America's Team." I must have been doing something else, like using my friggin' head for something other than a hair-growing beer receptacle.

I for one have no problem with any concessions made to any of the New Orleans based sports teams, whether they be at the high school, collegiate or professional level. I am a sports fan and I understand the healing and bonding nature of sports. If the Saints win some games, it won't rebuild homes, but it will begin the process of rebuilding a sense of community. So I for one, will be cheering the new America's Team this year.