I got so mad I bought a bike.

The Gulf spill has me so angry, I often can’t articulate passed “I’m really fucking pissed!” followed by grunting and a tightening of my stomach. I was thinking about how mad I was at BP, but then it occurred to me: Who’s really to blame? Who keeps BP in business? We do. Everyone who buys their gas or products is to blame. Our sickening dependence on oil is why this happened. Blame BP all you want, but the truth is that while yes, they are indeed hell bent on destroying the planet, we most certainly give them the money to do it. Even I, friend to the Earth, buy my gasoline at ARCO. No more.

As with all these situations of planetary crisis, I ask myself what I can do. What can I change? First off, I’m boycotting BP and all their brands: BP, AMPM, Aral, ARCO, BP Travel Centre, BP Connect, BP Shop, BP 2go, and Castrol. Anything with BP in it…boycotted.

Secondly, I used this disaster as the final push to get that bike I’ve been dreaming about for ages. My master plan includes two bikes: My 3-wheeler with a basket for shopping and my 1974 Schwinn Breeze for getting around town. Right. Excellent. I’ve got the bikes, now what? I haven’t rode a bike since I was 12. While I’ve never been totally out of shape, I’ve never been in great shape. Turns out, riding a bike is hard work – especially around Pasadena which is incline-city. I found out on Friday how a minor incline doesn’t even occur to you in a car, but it really kicks your ass on a bike. The good news is, it gets easier.

Day One I just about died, but I hit it again the next day and the next and the next, going further and further each day. Sure my knees are now more apparent to me and my ass is complaining, but you know what? Riding a bike is damned fun! Holy crap is it fun! I feel free, the breeze on my face, working up a sweat on those baby inclines and then gliding all the way back home. The best part is, BP can suck it.

In the real world, I don’t actually live in riding or walking distance of all the places I need or want to go. For work, I need my car and will use it for out of town excursions and trips I don’t have time to bike to. What I figure is that I can cut my driving by half which means I buy half as much gasoline. I’ll save money, I’m pretty sure I’ve already lost some weight, I’ll get healthy, and I feel pretty darned good about myself. I’m gonna pat myself on the back…hang on. OK. Dude, I seriously deserve it. I’m putting my money where my mouth is and in my own way, I’m sending BP et al. a message: “Fuck off“.

Biking half the time doesn’t solve the problem. It does a bit and I feel pretty great about it, but one person biking half the time doesn’t make a big enough dent. We all need to figure out ways to drive less, walk more, bike more, save ourselves, save the planet, and send a real message to these assholes who are cashing in by killing our home.

Some tips:

1. Google has walking, biking, and public transit directions for just about everywhere now. Use it. I’ve been charting my bike routes with it and it’s great.
2. Buy a bike. I got both of mine on Craigslist – sweet little vintage numbers that need a little TLC, but work great for under $200.00.
3. Don’t drive if it’s a mile or less. A mile is less than you think. Walk or bike.
4. Read this: No Excuses! Ride a bike.

You’re pissed about the oil spill too. So what are you gonna do about it?

I ain’t been pinched yet!

Alright, so I know smoking is bad, it stinks, people hate it, it causes cancer, stains your teeth, smells up your clothes and hair, and it’s banned pretty much everywhere now. Yadda yadda, I’ve heard it all. So what? I’ve been a smoker for way too long and while I do intend on quitting one fine day, until then, my life is a series of annoyances at smoking laws created by uptight assholes.

It all started with restaurants. First they got rid of the smoking sections. In the beginning, I was fine because I understood why people didn’t want smoke in their faces while they ate. Cool, whatever. Then smoking was banned in clubs and bars – the places where people smoke the most. This was especially annoying because smoking and drinking are like chocolate and peanut butter: Two great tastes that taste great together. Trouble was, if I wanted to smoke, I had to trudge all the way out to the outdoor patio, stand with a bunch of miserable jerks and freeze my tail off. Eventually, I got used to it and got to like the miserable jerks out on the patio because I was one of them and we were like a 2 minute family who had just one thing in common: smoking. It’s funny how that’s often enough in conversations.

Soon after, I started hearing about not being able to smoke in your house if you had a paid worker there. And then something about not being able to smoke in your car if you had passengers. Was it illegal? Who knows. The worst of it came when entire city streets started banning smoking not just 20 feet from any doorway, but on whole blocks, anywhere, everywhere. This meant you couldn’t sit in an outdoor patio of a coffee shop, restaurant, or bar and smoke. Not anywhere. No way, no how. You couldn’t even smoke while walking down the street. My own hometown, the backstabber that it is, recently enacted this law and I have since given it the middle finger. At first I was wary, but over time I realized that they couldn’t enforce it, weren’t enforcing it, and no one cared.

As I proudly defy the law like the rebel I am, like every other smoker in town, I must also defy the laws of hotels around the world. AJB and I travel quite a lot and I’ve encountered more and more hotels instituting non-smoking rules with ridiculous fines up to $250. They reason that smoking is a danger, that extra work must be done to clean the room after you leave, the smell doesn’t come out of the carpets and draperies, and that other patrons dislike it. These all sound like perfectly reasonable reasons. And they are, but what really grinds my gears is that because I smoke, I am treated like a second hand citizen and forced outdoors in inclement weather – which is rude. As a paying customer, I shouldn’t be treated this way.

The bans on smoking are similar to alcohol prohibition in the 30′s. You know how riled up people got over that. I suppose smokers are more apt to abide by the rules because we’ve been conditioned all our lives that smoking is bad for you, it kills, it smells, etc. etc. We have been inundated with anti-smoking ads since we were kids and are generally poorly tolerated wherever we go. It’s as though we’re branded with a gold star. We endure looks and fake coughs by prissy bitches when we walk down the street. We’re also made to feel guilty about our habit – that our smoking isn’t just bad for us, it’s bad for everyone around us, and we will literally kill everyone we love.

What strikes me as curious is why smoking has become the villain of this decade. Why not alcohol which accounts for more drunk drivers, domestic violence, cirrhosis of the liver, alcoholism, girls gone wild, fights, drunk texting, drunk dialing, and a host of other annoying problems? Why not? Because no one is telling us it’s bad. There are a hundred sickly death commercials against smoking, but every alcohol commercial depicts it as glamorous and elite. P Diddy drinks and looks like a bad ass, so can you. Alcohol will get you laid and smoking will give you lung cancer. Ok, so this is probably true, overlook but overlooking the problems caused by drinking creates an imbalance.

I have no idea why smoking has been villainized and other indulgences have not. McDonalds makes you fat and gives you diabetes, but they’re not banned. The world is a fucked up place and while I really do understand that smoking is bad, it’s shameful that smokers are treated like dogs to sit out in the rain. I suppose the reason I don’t really do anything about it because I know that I’m going to quit someday. I don’t really want to be a vigilante for smoker’s rights, but there is a true injustice happening and frankly, people need to have their attitudes adjusted. Until then, I’ve figured out some crafty ways to get away with smoking in hotels rooms and I ain’t been pinched yet.

P.S. I just found a website that indicates California law states 35% of rooms in hotels and motels must be smoke-free. So why are they all smoke-free? WTF?

When thinking is a crime

In 2006 when Christopher Handley was accused of owning too much Manga, I didn’t hear about it. I heard about his sentencing yesterday. OK, so the basic story is that this guy, Christopher Handley, owns a crap load of Manga. As I understand it, Manga is Japanese Anime in book form. It comes in various forms from completely innocent to totally grotesque. It goes from Pokemon to Tentacle Porn. It runs the gambit of cute fluffy animals having fun in the forest to people having sex with cute fluffy animals in the forest. It further delves into what could be construed as child pornography…or at least, that’s what they’re calling it. This guy, Christopher Handley, apparently owned a ton of it and a good deal of it involved images of children engaged in sexual acts.

Understand, this is artwork. Manga are cartoons. They are drawings on paper. They are Japanese comic books. Handley is guilty of reading cartoons. According to the articles I’ve read, he’s never acted on these images. He looks at them and ‘bates to them. Hey, whatever floats your boat. So tell me again how that’s a crime?

I don’t read Manga, but my step-daughter does. She reads the cutesy teen romance stories. I had Little House of the Prairie, she has Manga. I’ve seen plenty of Manga, it’s hard to ignore when you’re a Comic-Con attending dork and yes, a good majority of it is about sex, implied or explicit. Big boobs, young girls in smaller than small skirts…but not all sex is profane, some of it’s just inferred and a lot of it’s just kid stuff. Television and movies go further than that, so what are we talking about here?

I wouldn’t read the books Handley does and I don’t even really like Manga, but it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t exist. If he’s just reading, collecting, and ‘batin’, where’s the crime? If no one’s being hurt and this doesn’t uncover some illegal Japanese child pornography ring, why is this man serving time? If my step-daughter is reading Manga, should I be worried? I’m not. Not all Manga is bad. How does this effect my life?

It effects everyone’s life. You, me, your mom, everyone. This law basically states that any implied child pornography, even cartoons, is illegal…which means it’s illegal to own or look at Lewis Carroll’s photographs. Does this mean Anne Geddes is a pedophile? She takes pictures of naked children, where do you draw the line? Why is the line an issue when it comes to art and concepts? This is merely a first step to domination, control, and censorship. Criminalizing art? What’s next? Serving time for killing digital men in video games? Will I go to the big house for allowing Mario to fall of a cliff? It was an accident. This may sound extreme, but once we allow people like Christopher Handley to go to jail for READING and THINKING we lose more and more freedom. It happens slowly enough and enough under the radar that by the time people take notice, it’s too late.

Photography by Lewis Carroll

I think most people agree that child pornography is wronger than wrong, but if artwork depicting it doesn’t actually hurt children and the people reading it aren’t physically committing crimes, what’s the problem? What this boils down to it what George Orwell called “thought crimes”; you think bad things and bad things happen to you. If America is the Land of the Free, why are people being imprisoned for THINKING about child pornography? Let me be clear, this man never acted on the images aside from wanking off (sorry, no one ever said that, but it’s pretty obvious).

I don’t know the law, in fact, if I try to read legal forms I glaze over in a dumbfounded haze which can only be cured by funny cat videos on YouTube. What I do know is that yes, a crime has been committed, just not by Handley…but by the American Justice System. OUR justice system, the one that’s supposed to protect us from the baddies of the world. I bet all those cartoon kids are happy Handley is in the clinker. He can’t hurt them anymore. Wait…THEY’RE CARTOONS! They have no feelings! They’re not even remotely corporeal!

The biggest mistake Handley made wasn’t owning kiddie cartoons, it was pleading guilty. I’m not sure why he did this, but he should be fighting for this rights and the rights of every American. Perhaps he didn’t want the publicity, too late. Perhaps he just figured he’d serve his time and go back to his life. And what? Go back to the life where he can’t read what he wants, where thinking bad things is a crime. Thankfully the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund seems to be on the case. Handley may not be fighting for his rights, but other good people are.

When I’m outraged to this level, I ask myself what I can do. I can do two things: I will not be afraid and I will help spread the word. If anyone has any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.

An open letter to Anderson Cooper

Dear Anderson Cooper,

I’ve watched you on CNN for years, mostly because you’re always on, you’re charismatic, good looking, and you talk smart stuff. Like a good journalist, you rushed to Haiti and were one of the first on the scene. You’re fairly thorough in your reporting and you seem to try and bring in the human aspect of crisis stories, which is admirable. Tonight, however, I watched in horror as you talked at the camera as family members of a young girl desperately dug her out of a collapsed building just inches behind you. They dug with one shovel and their own hands. There you stood like some talking head, reciting the events as they unfolded. At one point, you put the microphone INTO the opening in which these men were digging so that we at home could hear this girl’s muffled cries.

What the fuck is the matter with you? I understand that due to the nature of your career, one might need to grow a thick skin and close themselves off to human suffering. In order to do your job, you have to shut out the cries of children and report like a disaffected robot. You have to get the story. I understand that. It’s your job and it’s why you get paid the big bucks. However, how cold do you have to be to stand there and watch while others frantically work to save a life? How far have you buried your emotions? Where is your humanity?

Over the course of the evening, I heard you relate that many people there are asking for your help. You are but one man and can only do so much. You can’t help everyone so you don’t help anyone. I understand you’re there to do a job and you probably think it’s best to leave the humanitarian work to those better qualified. You might even think that you’re providing a valuable service. Regardless, this isn’t about you quitting your job and joining the Red Cross. It’s what you didn’t do in that moment when when you chose to sensationalize pain rather than get your manicured hands dirty. What did you think you were doing? Did you think you were helping? You were getting in the way.

When it comes down to it, you and your kind capitalize on the suffering of human beings. It’s what you and the other media whores do. You offer nothing in regards to making the world a better place. You report about the bad things and you only watch as horrors evolve. You are a sadist. Did it not occur to you that you had crossed a line? As I watched this, I quite honestly thought (because you come off as such a nice guy on TV) that you might actually help dig. No, you just stood there, talking.

Reporter or not, you’ve shown the world that your ratings are more important than a human life. Your emotions are, like the unfortunate people of Haiti, buried under rubble, trapped and dead. You are an automaton and you have no soul.

Sincerely,
Kristen

P.S. I don’t know what you do in your free time. Maybe you volunteer at a soup kitchen or something, but tonight was reprehensible. You should be ashamed of yourself.

The Two Ryes

Once upon a time…

…I didn’t care what people thought. I didn’t think anyone was reading this blog and I felt free to write whatever the hell I pleased. Mostly, I talked about the days, the things that filled them, and the people who swerved in an out of my life. And then it happened, I wrote about work and my boss read it, tipped off by my “superior” – I use that term loosely. I was frustrated and heartbroken at being passed up for a job I’d earned. I didn’t name names and I was very vague about the incidents that occurred. At work, it became a HUGE issue and I had a serious talk with human resources about it. I was forced to apologize, made up a story about something or other, and eventually got off the hook after being threatened with termination. Truth is, they overreacted and were building a case to fire me by knit-picking and picking on me. I wasn’t easy to work with, you see. I didn’t kowtow to them and I didn’t let them to get away with bullshit. It cost me my job. In the end, however, it wasn’t the job for me and I’m happier now as a freelancer. I also don’t ever regret standing up to assholes, not matter what the outcome.

Since then, I’ve bit my tongue. Now that my blog is connected to a bigger world through Twitter and Facebook, the people I know can now easily find this blog. If I didn’t want anyone to read it, I wouldn’t link the hell out of it, would I? This also means that people I want to read the blog can find it, but so can people I don’t.

I suppose I can’t really blame Mary Fisher and Jonathan Meiners for my own self inflicted censorship. At least they got me thinking about what I write and who it affects. I was no longer able to let it all hang out and became concerned with pissing people off. Who had I let myself become? Someone who cared what people think? That’s not me.

As kids came into my life, I censored myself a bit more, thinking they might stumble onto my blog and learn a few curse words; not that they didn’t already know curse words. I also didn’t want my now-husband’s family to think I was uncouth. Except, I am a bit uncouth. I curse like a sailor and I read Charles Bukowski. I write what’s on my mind as it comes into my mind. I don’t plan, I just write. I log in and whatever comes out, comes out. Or…that’s how it used to be, anyway.

I contradict myself. I am uncouth, but I am also gentile and fancy. I used to like the way I wrote. I took my lessons from Bukowski and Salinger; the two Ryes – “Ham on…” and “Catcher in the…”. I wanted to be eloquent, sweet, charming and a bit of artistic foul.

Jerky bosses and the clean minds of small children.

I used to date a guy who made me cry all the time. One night he said, “I’m not making you cry, you’re making yourself cry” I argued that no, indeed, he was making me cry. It wasn’t until years later that I understood what he meant. What he meant was that I controlled how things affected me. If someone called me an asshole, it was my choice to get upset. I could also call them an asshole right back. It was me choosing to react a certain way; not one person (besides me) controls how I feel. Now, not to say that mean boyfriends don’t have some effect on our emotions, but how we react is what matters. Let’s face it, I was probably crying to make him feel bad about the way he treated me.

On occasion, people say things that make me cry, but it’s always my choice to cry or not. I realized that life isn’t about what other people do to me, it’s how I react. If some fuckhead boss makes my life hell, I have options. Those options aren’t always clear, but in the end, what I do in relation to those heinous acts is my doing.

I chose to censor myself. Who I am and what I write is in direct correlation to who I decide to be and what I choose to write. It’s all on me. So, do I worry about pissing people off? Sure I do. Do I worry about hurting people’s feelings? You bet. Should I let that stop me from doing what I want to do? Well…let me get back to you on that one. This does not mean I give myself free license to say whatever I want despite who it hurts. I’m not that kind of person anyway. I don’t enjoy hurting people’s feelings.

This gets confusing when I stop to think about it. To be free and speak my mind, I must also censor myself to some extent. If my husband is acting like a jerk, it’s probably not a good idea to tear him a new one in front of the whole world. Those conversations are best left to private discussions – the way they’ve always been. I suppose it becomes an issue of respect. I respect my husband and his feelings. I care about him and saying he’s a jerk online probably wouldn’t make him feel good. Also, he’s not a jerk. If he was, I suppose I wouldn’t care either way. He is, in fact, a pretty sweet guy and I love him a lot.

So there…choices but on a case by case basis. Censorship and free will, with respect for my friends and loved ones. I guess it’s always been like that, but I can’t be afraid to cuss or complain about a hard day. Oh, and I also can’t complain about my clients. That would be bad.

With so many people to consider, whats the point, you may ask? Do the really bold writers worry about what their wives will say or do they just say it and take the consequences? It’s obvious that Bukowski didn’t give a shit what anyone said and he died a drunk. He was also a poet. There are always repercussions, I guess. Any writer must face the fact that not everyone will agree with them. My objective isn’t to alienate myself, but to get things off my chest…in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone? I can’t promise anything. Let’s just say I’ll try.

The Addams Family Musical SuckFest 2009

Skipping over the real important aspects of my life like my wedding, my honeymoon, and how I spent my Thanksgiving vacation, I thought I’d concentrate on putting something up…anything. I came to the conclusion that I am often happiest when I write. Therefore, I shall write. I have also concluded that Twitter is, not the least bit, a heartfelt record of my life. And I need one.

I am by no means a theater critic. I do, in fact, hate a lot of theater. Since meeting my husband 5 years ago, he has dragged me (often kicking and screaming) to numerous theatrical productions of various types. These types range in quality from local theater to big productions starring famous people. Bless his heart, he does try to take me to shows he thinks I might enjoy; anything dark or weird.

Over time, my aversion to theater has lessened to the point where I am less inclined to kick and scream, but rather let out a few moans of “I guess so” when he asks if I’d like to see something. This has also geared me towards keeping a weather eye out for shows we can see together; as it’s something he thoroughly enjoys doing. It makes him happy and I enjoy seeing him happy. I’ve also seen enough shows now to have a firm grasp of what the good ones look like.

Vanity Fair Cast Photo

Vanity Fair Cast Photo

On our way back home from Paris, we stopped over in Chicago’s O’Hare airport. As we staggered through the terminal, I spotted a poster for the pre-Broadway production of The Addams Family Musical starring Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth. I was a little more than excited. When we came home, we bought tickets. They were expensive.

A week later, we were back in Chicago for Thanksgiving. Tickets in hand, we ventured to the big city to see a show that couldn’t possibly disappoint. I mean, we’re talking Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family. How could we lose? OK, so it’s a musical, but Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family! As usual, I didn’t set out with the highest of hopes. We’d already heard that the show wasn’t very good, but that Nathan Lane brought it to the table and served it up right. I was looking forward to seeing Lane and Neuwirth do their thing. I mean, these are top quality actors we’re talking about!

To be fair, let’s start with what the show got right. The costumes for the Addams ancestors were gorgeous and rather well done.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way….

The Addams Family Musical was probably one of the worst shows I’ve ever seen. Nathan Lane was out sick and his stand-by, Merwin Foard, took his place. The sheer magnitude of dissatisfaction in this misfortune hovered over the audience like a thick fog. It was, needless to say, a severe let down and the audience never fully recovered.

The curtain opened to a whimsical tune about Wednesday Addams no longer being a little kid anymore and taking the fictional Addams oath to honor the family’s macabre way of life. Instantly, you could tell the girl playing Wednesday was going to get on your nerves (AJB’s 13 year old daughter hated her). Not only was she unable to evoke the spirit of Wednesday, she was, sadly, a stupid little brat which conjured thoughts of ripping one’s ears off.

The creators of this show thought it would be awesome to take our beloved Addams’ into a new direction. Wednesday was now 18, she was in love, rebelling against the strangeness of her family, and filled to the brim with teenage angst. While the creators attempted to keep some semblance of Wednesday in tact, despite her new found mutinous behavior, she wasn’t anything even remotely resembling the little girl clutching a decapitated doll we know and love. This girl they called “Wednesday” had somehow met a boy (a really normal dude) and fell in love. They made out all the time.

Despite claims in the Playbill that the creators would disinherit the TV show and films, the major plot of the story was “normal family meets Addams’ and freaks out”. So much for new ideas. Normal boy’s parents meet the family. All hell’s gonna break loose now! The stereotypical Ohio business man and his quirky, poetry-spouting wife come over for dinner. What could go wrong? Wednesday begs her not-normal family to act normal for one night. There was a song about it.

During the course of the evening, Morticia has a mid-life crisis, Pugsley accidentally poisons the normal mother (of which he is later apologetic), Grandmama flashes her crotch and discusses her sex-life, the family plays a made-up game called “Full Disclosure” in which the “adults” of the family drink wine and tell the truth. Not sure why. Wednesday throws numerous tantrums, Gomez whines about not understanding anyone, and Ohio Dad fucks a giant squid; after which I inadvertently spoke out, “what the hell?” Fester fades in and out of being a weirdo-pervert to a wise narrator who falls in love with the moon – eventually copulating with it. The subject of “sex” was a major topic – because, you know, Morticia and Gomez just bang all the time – it eventually became uncomfortable and creepy, but not in a good way.

Cousin “Itt” makes a brief appearance and so does Thing. Lurch is ever present, but because he doesn’t speak, he’s the least of our worries…that is, until his big number.

None of the above is actually half of the show’s overall problems. Problem was, the creators of the show just don’t get it. They have absolutely NO idea who the Addams Family are, what they’re about, or why we love them. Morticia would never, in a million years, have a mid-life crisis. Ten years in the future or not, she would not lament the appearance of crow’s feet. She would, in fact, rejoice that they were called “crow’s feet” and that like a fine wine, she only gets better with age. Gomez would continue his usual half-crazed antics, be cool, fence, crash trains, and smoke cigars. Pugsley and Wednesday would grow up, but continue to celebrate who they were. Grandmama would always be Grandmama and Lurch would always be Lurch. There is, you see, a great deal of pride in being an Addams. While I suppose it’s OK for characters to grow or change, they shouldn’t change into an entirely new family no one cares about. Because the TV show is an integral part of who the family is, you almost certainly can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, The Addam’s Family.

At their core, they are what a family should be. They’re not perfect and sometimes they embarrass you, but they love you for who you are…even if you’re dead, demented, or covered in hair. They are, above all, about tolerance, tradition, and love. The people who produced this musical totally missed the mark. They managed to turn the undying affection of Morticia and Gomez into a sleezy sex-fest. Yes, we know they bone all the time, but their implied love-making and copious amounts of arm kissing was always far more romantic. We don’t need it spelled out.

Aside from the horrifying diversion from the truest sense of the family, it was painfully obvious that the actors were aware of what they’d gotten themselves into. The missing Nathan Lane, replaced with the poor man’s version of “Raul Julia meets Robert Goulet” wasn’t able to pull off jokes Lane could have done in his sleep. Bebe Neuwirth, whom you’d assume would make the best Morticia ever, ended up looking like someone’s mom dressed as Morticia for Halloween – in one of those “Gothic Enchantress” costumes you see at Target. Frankly, Bebe just doesn’t have the cleavage to pull off the lowest of the low-cut Morticia costumes. And sadly, her big number “Second Banana” fell absolutely flat as it continued the theme of mid-life crisis comparing herself to an old plum. Morticia, insecure? Never. Ever.

Should I even talk about the cruddy set design? Talk about cheap. Just about everything looked borrowed from another show and none of it conveyed the grandeur of the Addams residence in all it’s Second Empire, deliciously dilapidated decor. Cobwebs? Not one. I also don’t have space/time to discuss the ugly choreography and the sad use of major-key songs versus minor (more spookier) songs.

The Addams Family Musical was disappointing on every level. We tried to think: Even if Nathan Lane had showed up, would it have made a difference? It might have…a bit. Nathan Lane is pretty awesome, but I’m not sure even the great Nathan Lane could carry a dead weight like this. Bebe couldn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if this show ends up having one of the shortest runs on Broadway ever. They might even set a new record. Thing is, that’s sad. This show had the potential to be something truly amazing.

If it tells you anything, AJB’s kid’s have been making fun of “Second Banana” for days. If this wildebeest of a sham crosses your path, turn around and walk the other way. You’re better off renting the goofy Addams Family Reunion movie with Tim Curry and Darryl Hannah. That’s not saying much.

Swine Flu’s Coming! Everybody Panic!

When I read about Swine Flu, I have the same apprehension and cavewoman-like fear I did when I read about Bird Flu, West Nile Virus, Mad Cow Disease, Killer Bees, and the HDTV switch. The thought of a global epidemic reaching my door, making me sick, killing my loved ones, and panic in the streets…I can’t help but be reminded of the Vincent Price film “The Last Man on Earth” – which some may know better as “Omega Man” or “I am Legend”. Same story, different (awesome) actors. The basic gist is that a global epidemic hits and people are dropping like flies. One of the scientists (Vincent Price, Charlton Heston, Will Smith) is the sole survivor. He’s left alone to fend for himself, stay alive, fight off zombies, and continue his research looking for a cure. While the sickness is similar to zombies, it has the added bonus of vampirism.

I read all this news about Swine Flu and a part of me is scared because the news makes it sound worse than it is. According to the World Health Organization, as of today: The United States Government has reported 40 laboratory confirmed human cases of swine influenza A(H1N1), with no deaths. Mexico has reported 26 confirmed human cases of infection with the same virus, including seven deaths. Canada has reported six cases, with no deaths, while Spain has reported one case, with no deaths.

Breaking it down:

US: 40 confirmed cases, 0 deaths
Mexico: 26 confirmed cases, 7 deaths
Canada: 6 reported cases, 0 deaths
Spain: 1 reported case, 0 deaths

Note the difference between “confirmed” and “reported” cases. Remember, this is today’s update.

However, also today, CNN writes:

The number of cases confirmed by health officials worldwide totaled 82, most of them in the United States and Mexico, according to the WHO. But hundreds more cases are under examination, and Mexico has said 149 deaths may have resulted.

“82 confirmed cases” does not quite match the update given by the WHO. I counted, it’s more like 66 confirmed and 7 reported. Furthermore, the WHO reports 7 total deaths worldwide…not the 149 stated by CNN. Granted, they carefully use the word “may”. I’m not saying CNN is lying about the 149 deaths, but it’s obvious someone is wrong.

On April 24th, when news broke, the WHO reported 9 suspect cases of Influenza-Like Illnesses (ILI) in the United States. At the time, Mexico was reporting on 3 different cases of ILI: More than 854 cases of pneumonia with 59 deaths. In San Luis Potosi, 24 cases of ILI and 3 deaths and in Mexicali, 4 reported cases and no deaths. ILI does not necessarily mean Swine Flu.

Confusing, right? Totaling numbers together from April 24th, we have 62 deaths in Mexico. That’s kind of a big difference from the numbers they posted today. So what gives? I can’t seem to figure it out. If I go with the numbers posted today, it doesn’t quite sound like the global, end of the world, fire in the sky, dogs and cats living together, Armageddon that the media is shoveling.

Why the big difference in body counts? Digging a little deeper, the Center for Disease Control (CDC) also reports 40 confirmed cases in the United States, but I can’t seem to find worldwide statistics. So does this mean CNN is wrong? I think it does. Or at least, CNN is making a bigger deal out of this than it is. And it’s not just CNN. It’s every news outlet everywhere. And I like CNN. They’re my go-to news source when something big goes down…but they’re not always right and sometimes even the adorable Anderson Cooper is guilty of sensationalism.

Think about this, The United States is home to an estimated 303,824,640 people. If only 40 cases have been confirmed, I’d hardly call that an epidemic, let alone a pandemic. Also note that this is the 3rd time we’ve seen Swine Flu in our history. The first in 1918 (AKA The Spanish Flu) killed 20 to 100 million people worldwide. In 1976, Swine Flu was back, but this time it only actually killed 1 person. Oddly enough, 25 people died as a result of the vaccine. Don’t forget, in 1918, we didn’t have the medical technology and information we have now, nor any of the government health agencies we currently have in place. Furthermore, personal hygiene and food preserving methods weren’t as efficient as they are now. In 1976, one person died, yet people panicked anyway.

When I start looking at the facts, my cavewoman-like fears give way to logic and rationale. My big question is this: Why the hell do the news agencies of the world continue to scare the shit out of us? It’s just plain cruel, if you ask me. Sadly, most people don’t have the gumption to do all the research I’ve done. They listen intently to the news they trust and immediately start buying surgical masks, washing their hands 50 times a day, stay indoors, line up for Tami-Flu, and stock up for the end of the world. Hey, it even crossed my mind. I thought, what if this thing really hits big? What if people really start dropping like flies? Do I have an emergency kit? How about a food stock pile?

Truth is, people all over the world get the flu all the time. So why isn’t the common flu called a pandemic? Or is it? People still die from pneumonia all the time too. In fact, you’re more likely to die in a car crash than come down with Swine Flu. This is all just silly. Come to think of it, I’m a little embarrassed that I was scared to begin with. I’ll continue to watch and research, but as it stands…if the WHO and CDC are right…I don’t think we should call this a pandemic. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Relax. For now.

In the end, this is yet another super scary “run for your life” disease blown out of proportion by the media. Here we go again. I suppose, this just means we can only count on the media to a certain extent. But you already knew that.

Customer Service in the Recession

I should be packing for DC, but this made me so mad, I had to rant about it.

AJB and I ventured out to The Men’s Wearhouse to pick up 2 new suits, some shirts, ties, pocket squares, a belt, and braces. The suits were chosen, but needed to be tailored and were ready tonight. First off, let me say, I understand that The Men’s Wearhouse is not the height of men’s fashion. If you have the means, I would suggest going elsewhere for better quality. In fact, The Men’s Wearhouse is the Burlington Coat Factory of suit stores. That said, AJB needed a suit and we’re on a budget. You can get a nice enough suit at discount prices. At least, you won’t look like you bought your suit at an outdoor swap meet. Since we were picking up the suits, we thought we’d kill a few more birds with a few more stones and get the remainder of his accessories at the same place.

In an effort to bust through the shopping, I hit the tie table first thing. JCS was with me so I picked out ties quickly and handed them to him. We took them over to the table. I thought I’d lay them out with the jackets to see if they worked. Anthony, the assistant manager, whisked the coat from the table as I was trying out ties and quickly came back with shirt and tie selections. He laid them out ignoring the ties I’d chosen. Now, I’m a very observant person. I know when people are throwing attitude, no matter how subtle they think they’re being. Every time I disagreed with this guy, he gave a sour expression and once or twice tossed in a condescending laugh as if to say “yeah right, purple tie with a yellow pocket square? You must be joking.” I explained my color choosing methods and how I was using the color wheel to determine eye pleasing combinations. It’s a fact that colors that are opposites on the color wheel just go well together. They just do.

So this guy didn’t get it. No matter what I did, he kept coming back with blue on blue, red on red, purple on purple. Everything was colored coordinated to a tee. Fine. I get that most people want to match, but AJB is an artist and he specifically told me he wanted to stand out. I also think that when you’re an artist, the rules don’t apply. You can have a purple tie, a blue shirt, and a red pocket square. Go for it. Be bold! The new rules of fashion are: There are no rules. And as an artist, it’s your job to push the fashion envelope whenever possible. So while AJB wants to look professional, he also wants to make a statement about his creative capabilities.

Mr. Red on Red scoffed, huffed, gave looks, and laughed whenever I disagreed with him; like I was some stupid kid. He tried to put AJB in burgundy loafers and when I said “hell to the no” he seemed annoyed, as though I was cock blocking his fashion sense. I was, in fact, cock blocking his fashion sense, but that’s only because he follows a strict set of rules that AJB doesn’t have to adhere to. I suppose you don’t make it to Men’s Wearhouse Assistant Manager if you don’t know your shit, but in this case…because I wasn’t taking his word for it, we were treated like Vivian Ward (Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman) on Rodeo Drive; like dullards, like lower class citizens. He continued to bring his color choices to us even after we’d made a final decision. It felt as though he were saying, “you couldn’t possibly want that, here, try this”.

We did our best to high tail it out of there. As we brought AJB’s items to the counter, Anthony attempted to up-sell AJB on some socks. Being the smart go-getter that he is, AJB noted that it was a better deal to buy 3 socks at $5 each rather than the set of 3 for $20. Anthony was shocked that AJB couldn’t see the logic in his deal and aggressively pushed the socks sale. AJB bought some socks, but not the ones Anthony wanted.

All I know is, Anthony was annoyed with us from the get go. I don’t appreciate being scoffed at. And he scoffed! He sure as hell did. He was annoyed with us, made us feel unwanted, was far too aggressive, and did not provide us with excellent customer service. And I hate that. I’ve worked on the other side of the counter and I know what great customer service looks like…and that wasn’t it. He hardly smiled and he made us feel like a joke. Worst of all, he made us feel uncomfortable. He acted as though I was disagreeing with him just to be contrary or aggravating.

One thing you learn in retail is to leave your shit at the door. I don’t care if your mom died. If your problems are that bad, stay home. Don’t dump your baggage on unwitting customers. It doesn’t matter how much you get paid or how much shit you’ve taken from customers that day…THIS IS YOUR JOB! This is what you do and this is what Men’s Wearhouse pays you do to. They don’t pay you to show up, treat customers poorly, and then collect a paycheck. I repeat, this is your job. You chose it. You do the work that is required of you for however many hours you’re there. You do it, because you’re not the boss and you don’t own the company. You get hired to sell suits with a smile and entice customers to return again. And hey, check this out: You don’t work at Armani. Get a grip.

Playing Devil’s Advocate for a moment, it could be that Anthony is trained to get customers to leave with matching ensembles. It’s what he knows and it’s what usually works. However, has he never heard the saying, “the customer is always right”? If that’s not a Men’s Wearhouse policy, George Zimmer can stand by his suits, but not his employees…and that sucks. Their website reads: Great service is about building relationships. At Men’s Wearhouse, we want to be your clothier for life. Apparently, Anthony didn’t read the employee handbook.

I’m so annoyed with Anthony’s lack of courtesy that I hereby place Men’s Wearhouse on boycott until further notice. I made sure Anthony saw me write down his manager’s name. I will be calling to complain. This is simply unacceptable. In financially difficult times, when sales are down, you need to be as sweet as pie to make sure your customers return. If nothing else, customer service is the foundation of any business. It doesn’t matter what your product is. If you’re an asshole, you won’t be selling any of it.

FYI: I don’t choose AJB’s clothes for him. As a woman, it’s my job to provide perspective, advice, and common sense. AJB always has the final say. Don’t you, baby? *kiss*

Alan Moore Was Right

peepcomic

About a year ago, AJB introduced me to a graphic novel he said changed his life. I felt that way about Sandman. We attended Comic-Con that year. There was a palpable fervor regarding the news that Watchmen was being made into a film. I attended the panel and was one of the first (2000) people to see the trailer. I didn’t know much about the characters or the plot at the time, but I was excited because everyone else was excited and frankly, it looked awesome.

AJB gave me a copy of the graphic novel and I made it through a few chapters before the motion comic made it’s timely way into cyber-space. I’m a slow reader, so the animated version was more my speed. It was, after all, the same thing, frame by frame, only moving and narrated by an actor. It was lovely. Over the next year, I’d catch up as best I could or as time permitted. 12 chapters in all.

As I became increasingly invested in the story, I began to anticipate what I’d heard was a brilliant adaptation of the graphic novel. However, the release date was creeping closer and I was still a few chapters behind. I wanted to know how it ended! I had to know. I couldn’t be the only nerd at the midnight showing who didn’t know how it ended! I crammed the final episodes in before the show and was awestruck. So this is why nerds everywhere hail this as the greatest graphic novel of all time! Everything about it was perfect.

Joined by a full house at the Paseo 14, I sat and watched as a beloved graphic novel was ripped to shreds.

Let me step back a bit. What do comic book lovers want out of movie adaptations of their favorite stories? They want it all, and by gum, they deserve it all. Years of disappointments like X-Men 3, Spiderman 3, The Incredible Hulk (not the Ed Norton one), Transformers, Constantine, Dick Tracy, and countless others have left a bad taste in our mouths. Knowing that adapting a comic book into a film is no easy task, we’ve held our breath in expectation that someone, somewhere, would do it right. Zach Synder, the director of Watchmen, in his undying dedication to the original story, had everyone feeling confident that this could be it. This could be the one. We’d heard that it would out-dark The Dark Knight and would stay true to the 1985 time period. We cheered. Synder convinced us that this would be his love-letter to the Watchmen. Sadly, the promises and hype outweighed the final result.

If you don’t already know the story, it doesn’t matter. Snyder stays true to a great deal of it, but so much has been left out. Granted, 12 chapters of a graphic novel might mean 8 hours of movie (something’s gotta give) but what he gave up was too important. AJB summed it up best when he left the theater and said, “There was no poetry“. Poetry is exactly what makes The Watchmen great: the way it flows, the beating heart of colored images on paper, a story that rang true in 1985 and continues to be poignant 24 years later. How did Synder miss the boat entirely?

Let’s start with the music. For a story that mostly takes place in the 80′s, there was a great deal of 60′s music: Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix. It felt wedged in; the sort of choices one might make if they were trying too hard to make an emotional impact – as if some collage student copied a “songs for movies” list from the net. For example, “The Sound of Silence” during The Comedian’s funeral. What? Why? It’s the sort of song that draws longing and desperation, but at this point in the story, we don’t know The Comedian, and we’re not sad that he’s dead…we just want to know why. Most of the music felt like a joke: “Ride of the Valkyries” during the Vietnam sequence was a nod to Apocalypse Now and 99 Red Balloons was your typical nod to the 80′s, even if it was misplaced during Laurie and Dan’s dinner date. None of it fit and it felt forced down our throats. The music editor should be horse whipped for cutting songs off mid-point. Ever hear of a fade out?

I read a review that said Watchmen was “impeccably acted“. Which Watchmen were they watching? I have various complaints about Billy Crudup’s “Dr. Manhatan” as he missed the confusion and desperation of Manhattan’s internal struggle and his failing grasp on humanity. I have fewer complaints about Jackie Earle Haley’s “Rorschach”; who managed to convince me that he was a deranged vigilante who believed that compromise isn’t something you do, even in the face of Armageddon. However, Malin Akerman as “Silk Spectre II” was a whiny, little brat, who didn’t smoke, and didn’t come off as the articulate, but fucked up, lonely, and broken, daughter of an aging superstar super hero. Her performance was feeble – the caliber of acting one might find at local community theater. Her role as the vacuous sister in 27 Dresses was better suited to her abilities. Matthew Goode as “Veidt” missed the mark as a man who sees himself as the savior of humanity, but lets himself feel every death at his hand. I read another review that said if Goode is the smartest man in the world, then we’re really in trouble. I have to agree. Patrick Wilson as “Dan Driegberg” was a mild portrayal that failed to capture the loneliness and yearning of “Nite Owl II”, a man who hated his life and lived a life full of regret and nostalgia. Jeffrey Dean Morgan as “The Comedian” was on par with Haley’s competence as Rorschach, but lacking in conveyance that his character was a bona fide, card carrying asshole; the kind of man that could shoot a pregnant woman, mow down children in Vietnam, and rape Silk Spectre I, yet still find room in his heart to lament the dastardly deeds of Veidt.

Nope. Not a single one of them captured the essence of their characters and communicated the intricacies of The Watchmen. Where was the conflict? Where was the raw anger and the emotional WHY of the things they did? Where was the gut wrenching loneliness and torment?

Numerous imperative details were left from the script. Details small enough that to the idle fan, it won’t matter. Still, the small details form the bigger picture and molds the identity of the story, so why leave them out? Why shouldn’t Laurie smoke? Are you going to tell me that smoking is a worse habit than beating the shit out of someone? Laurie’s frustration with her life is avoided when Dr. Manhattan suggests she go out with Dan, rather than her doing so because she feels absolutely cooped up. The Keane Act is mentioned once. Veidt’s remaining servants: a dozen multi-ethnic scientists rather than 3 Asian lackeys. Nixon retreats to DefCon 1 instead of DefCon 2. The Owl ship comes off as a good place to bone in, but otherwise, The Enterprise gets more camera love in any given Star Trek movie. Furthermore, they must have blown their CG budget on set design and craft services. Veidt’s beloved pet, Bubastis, looked no more real than Snarf from The Thundercats. I could go on an on. I don’t understand. The constant changes (or Snyder-branding) serve no real purpose in omission or alteration.

These missing details were replaced with gratuitous sex and violence that were placed in the foreground. In an interview with Synder, he states that “…it’s the story about a group of retired super heroes, one of which gets murdered in retirement and the others come out of retirement to find out who’s doing that and why“. That’s only part of it. It’s about the state of the world in 1985, which strangely parallels the world we live in now. It’s about the end of the world and how these fucked up characters fit into it. It’s about finding your true self and shifting through the Grey areas of right and wrong. It’s no more about The Comedian’s death than than it is a political statement of the world during the Cold War era. It’s about those things, but it’s so much more. It’s this beautiful tapestry of color and warmth, the harsh realities of human nature, people finding each other in the haze, and how the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. It’s about those things and still, it’s so much more.

Alan Moore has said that The Watchmen is unfilmable. Sadly, I have to say he’s right. This is a fair attempt and there are indeed parts of it that pay off. However, it invariably falls short, missing the mark far too often. It comes off as a hodgepodge of 12 chapters crammed into one; supplemented with graphic sex, full frontal Manhattan, and ultra-violence that would make even Alex from A Clockwork Orange squirm. It’s an unnecessary detour from the original story that lacks vision, heart, and (as AJB said) poetry. Indeed, there are scenes taken directly from the frames of the graphic novel, which merely show us that Snyder knows how to cut and paste. It just doesn’t feel like The Watchmen.

In the end, this isn’t the one. There is so much wrong with it and not enough of the good stuff that it’s just so disappointing, to say the least. Granted, this was a challenge only the fool hearty would undertake. Zach Snyder is a fool who bit off more than he could chew, decimated a beloved graphic novel and churned it into a cheesy superhero whodunit. As if that weren’t enough, the ending is completely altered in such a way that it escapes the complexities of Dr. Manhattan – at the end, you just don’t feel sorry for him…and you should. In fact, you should feel sorry for everyone. In this case, I feel sorry for Zach Snyder, who took a once in a lifetime chance and shit on it.

For a far better adaptation of the film, stick to the motion comic or better yet, watch the Saturday Morning Watchmen: