A Call To Arms on the Subject of Navigational Instruments Made of Precious Metal......and the Movies Made Thereof

An Open Letter to Messrs. Robert Shaye and Michael Lynne, Co-charimen and CEOs of New Line Cinema:
Dear Sirs,
Hello, I am The Post-Modern Renaissance Man. How are you? I am fine. I'm writing to you today because I am concerned about you two. How are you? Really. Listen, we need to talk about your next big budget fantasy opus, The Golden Compass. I'm worried about you guys. Do you want to talk it out?
I mean, here you guys are, in the Spring of 2004, and you option a little known fantasy trilogy by this guy named Phillip Pullman. This is on the heels of LOTR, arguably, your greatest triliological success since Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III: Turtles in Time closed out the TMNT trilogy. I understand that you are giddy with the possibilities. Then you bring in Chris Weitz as your director. Okay. The guy who directed About A Boy. Hmm. Now, here's where we first come across my concern for your film. With Lord of The Rings, you could hire a bunch of geeks (Peter Jackson, Sean Astin) to do the work because of the HUGE NAME that Lord of The Rings had. You could bring in the geeks to do it justice because you didn't need to worry about selling the product. So you brought in a guy with some semblance of fantasy experience and credibility, and you subsequently burned him for 100 Million in royalties. More on that in a moment.
So, Chris Weitz. Young, starry-eyed kid. Big fan of the series. But, he directed About A Boy. See, again, same ish. With The Golden Compass, You don't have, forgive me Pullman fans, one-eighth the name recognition that LOTR or Narnia had, and forget Harry Potter. Don't you even look at him. Actually, you might want to. Back to that in a sec. You're gonna need to work for your money back on this one. So, how does any GREAT company do that? Hmmm....Well, you could cut costs in the production team and hire more stars than talent in the cast. Try that.
So, back to Weitz. You also tap him for the screenplay. Fun Fact: He wrote The Nutty Professor II. No judgment. Just saying. So, having done that, you decide to fuck with the fan-boys. Who can blame you? I would have. I'm sure they all have questionable hygiene. So scrubbing the filth of your lies off when you drop the hint that Tom Stoppard would be brought in for a draft would do them a favor, removing layers of grime that have been there since Bridge To Terabrithia.
So, Weitz quits, because he realizes he directed About A Boy and THIS is his follow-up. Or, he finds the technical challenges too "daunting". Whatever you believe. You bring in Anand Tucker, the man behind your big-budget success, Shopgirl. Pullman loves him. There's a problem. Anyone he'd like has got to be a fan-boy, and you can't afford, wait, sorry; don't want to spend on fan-boys (Jackson is still costing you 20 mil. a year for five years). So fire him. Good call. Bring back Weitz. His sensible, Steve Martin free movies teach us all to laugh, love, and not want to kill Steve Martin.
Production rumbles forward. You shoot your wad of cash on Nicole Kidman, which, may I say, there's no better way to not help your movie, while not hurting it either. A very fiscally clever status quo move there. Then, unfortunately, you realize that your other heavy hitters: Jude Law, Michael Caine, and James McAvoy....They'll all want money too. Probably a lot. Hmm. That's a problem. Wait, what if you hire lesser known, more respected, cheaper actors? And make it look like the movie has artistic merit again? GENIUS! Bring in James Bond, The Older Brother from Tombstone, and James McAvoy's buddy in Last King of Scotland (Not Forrest Whittaker. The other one. The white one.) Back on track, back under budget. Hey, and fan-boys love James Bond. Bonus Round!
Still, they use that internet a lot. And the internet has been filled with all those articles about how Peter Jackson hates you because you doctored the receipts of LOTR to screw him AND his effects team out of 100 million. That's trouble. Because that's like the Jesus of the New Fan-Boy community (with Brett Ratner and Zack Snyder as sexy, 30-something apostles) is telling you to piss off. That's going to hurt. Because now none of the special effects companies in town will help you. Oh well, when in doubt, sign a rookie for 25 million. Hopefully that'll go well.
Still, you should probably show the fantasy fans around the world, who are at this point skeptical of the prison shower scene this whole affair has been so far, that you were right. Why not beat them at their own game? Put a trailer on the Internet. A Teaser Trailer! That'll show 'em.
Wait, it didn't? And now Weitz is talking about how difficult it was to interact with the producers and the film company? He's saying you held him back? Asshole! You made all the decisions you needed to make. Sure, 20% isn't that impressive for a hit ratio, but still: HE DIRECTED ABOUT A BOY! WITH HIS BROTHER! THAT'S LIKE, HALF CREDIT! WHO'S HE TO JUDGE?
Better put out another teaser. Just re-work the old one, you guys can do it yourselves one night on iMovie over a sixer of Grolsch and a pizza. Or better yet, get one of those 13 year olds on the YouTube who're always making fake trailers of old movies and trailers to do it. There are like, 50 for The Dark Knight. Boy, I bet you guys wish you had that movie. Oh, sorry.
What, they want more? MORE? Then just give it to the little jerks. Spoil the whole movie. I mean, people who've never heard of an alethiometer or don't get why polar bears are in armor are the people you want in the seats. Just like Harry Potter. It's better to be in the business of financially remunerative, yet culturally irrelevant movies that are gimmes for Best Special Effects (Oscar Winner!), than to be in the business of pleasing 3rd Level Dungeon Masters and kids who call comics 'graphic novels'. Don't please them. Loyalty to a franchise is about as costly as Nicole Kidman's Assistant. Fuck fan-boys. If you were in the business of pleasing them, you'd be working with Peter Jackson on The Hobbit. Or at Disney working on Prince Caspian. Or working on The Dark Knight. Boy, I bet you wish you guys had that movie.
Which brings me back to my first question: What the fuck is your problem?
I'm sorry. That came out wrong.
How are you? Really.
Respectfully hoping for your correspondence,

Why Good Things happen to Good People, as Long as they Have Rich Friends.

What, ho! Faithful Readers.
So I'm chilling in my crib, sipping on gin n' juice (specifically country club and cranberry, AKA Methuen Mouthwash! Bwahahahahahahahaha! Boston Humor), watching the football match, when I get a call from Mrs. ******* (Name omitted for safety reasons), the woman who was my first gig in the catering biz. Long story short, she has agreed to set me up with funds to get the company going again! Which I might, in time. It just goes to show, work the 40-55 Rich Female Demographic like I do, and anything is possible.
Today, I am recording voice sync dubbing for four halloween movies that will hopefully be on sale this coming wednesday in Cambridge, MA, for the Back Bay Comedians (Or BBC. I know, I know, they're clever). It's a bunch of my old HS friends, and what we're doing is Skype-ing while we all watch the same movies and a friend of ours is recording our live conversations. Think of it as a live, low-budget MST thing. What you do is you buy the CD, then start it as the movie starts and play over the audio. It's low-tech, but seems cool. So I'm recording that from 3-10, and if you have any jokes to throw out, IM me. Here's our order:
SAW from 3-5.
Jeepers Creepers From 5-630.
Sleepy Hollow from 630-830.
Bram Stoker's Dracula from 830-1030.

So IM me at Huflpufnstuf on the AIM for suggestions.

Wondering what he can cook up now,


The Top 10 Things That The RM Covets:

10.) A situation where I can use the word de-oxidize in a sentence.
9.) The Complete Series of Friday Night Lights on DVD.
8.) The BC Eagles in the National Championship Game.
7.) A Conversation on AIM that doesn't use AIM Speak.
6.) A Really Well Made Sandwich.
5.) My Company Back.
4.) A Pet Otter.
3.) The Ability to Catch 'Em All.
2.) Another Bottle of Hennessey.
1.) My Friend Wiry.

Loving Lists,

The City on the Hill, Choices in Cold Weather Gear, Why Game Freak hates me, and Conrad Veidt

Day Three of my new existence as a failed Corporate Executive. Slightly colder than I might have expected.

Have resolved to wear more flannel, because it is warmer than most of my sweatshirts and coats, and also because I like saying Flannel. Flannel. Fla-nell. Flah-nel. Flay---moving on.

There are many reasons to be proud of being from Boston. Xenophobia, ties to the IRA, Ben Affleck, Chris O'Donnell, I could go on. But right now, all the world looks to us as a mecca for sports. And, indeed, we now are. Which is a good and a bad thing. It's a good thing because the famous long suffering fans of Boston now finally have some relief (excepting the past three Super Bowls and the 2004 World Series. Those don't count). It's a bad thing because we are the most obnoxious sons of bitches on Earth once we get going.

Even I, humble, lovable shoe-shine boy of a Boston sports fan that I am, can't help but take some savage pride in the current prison shower scene that some call the 2007 World Series, because I can remember back when I was a tot and a good day in Boston Red Sox was Wade Boggs showing up sober. When our most poignant weapon was John Valentin. When we all prayed that Roger Clemens was an android who would work for the blood of Oil Can Boyd rather than money. Alas, we were wrong.

So the new Boston Mantra is, since we can beat 'em, why not beat 'em senseless? Tom Brady is on pace to throw 60 some odd touchdowns this year. For a frame of reference, Peyton Manning, arguably the best pure QB ever, set the record at 49, which was unheard of. The Pats don't consider it a win unless it's by 21 points. That's a beatdown. Also, in the NBA, the impressive trio of Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen, three of the best point scorers in the Modern Era of the NBA, are all now in Celtics Green. Think they're going to keep the scores low? Also, the Boston Bruins have the largest margin of Points Scored versus Points Allowed in the NHL, only one game behind the Ottawa Senators for the best record in the NHL. In College Football, Heisman Favorite Matt Ryan has lead the BC Eagles to the 2nd overall ranking in the country.
That's 5....5 sports in which Boston can now be argued as a dominant force. Not even NY during the hey days of the Yankees, or when Oakland had the High-Flying A's and the Thug Raiders at their zenith can touch that.
Yeah, if your a Boston Sports Fan, you're a well deserved dick right about now.

In Pokenews, I have picked up the new game for the DS. However, I can't comment on it yet because I am forced to choose, as my starting pokemon, either a fire-monkey, a penguin, or a dirt turtle. HOW CAN ANYONE MAKE SUCH A CHOICE? Every time I try I just stare at the screen, unable to choose. Then I turn it off, and resolve to make a decision tomorrow.

I had my live Skype Halloween film fest uplink with my friend Michelle from home, our 6th Annual. This years theme was "1919-1939: Or, why Tim Burton is a thieving douchebag." We watched Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, The Man Who Laughed, Edward Scissorhands and Sleepy Hollow. While I will always enjoy the last one as a semi-goofy Johnny Depp/Miranda Richardson vehicle, Christina Ricci always creeps me out. I don't know if I'm supposed to be aroused by her or freaked out. At least with Helena Bonham Carter it's a creepy arousal. Christina just keeps me floundering. Quick side note, if you ever have the means, watch The Man Who Laughed. Most emotionally touching silent creepy movie starring the Joker before the Joker existed ever.

I've started baking again. The healing can begin.

Still working on that Hennessey,

In Memoriam, Q.C.C.

To whom it may concern,

Today marks the end of the embattled and all too short-lived Quince Catering Company, of Dover MA. Due to increasing financial instability, and external pressures, I have closed it down.

Some of you knew about this side project of mine, and regarded it with passing fascination.

To me, it was much much more, and I hope to use this small space to do it an ounce of justice.

I was kicked out of Kenyon College in August of 2006. Not asked to leave, not because of financial troubles. Kicked out. Because I had chosen to put my priorities above those of the College. I was disgraced, and I was heartbroken. My friends were in shock, and it caused irreparable damage to one particular relationship that I fear I will never live down. Shortly after this, I formulated a hap-hazard plan to get back to Kenyon. I was told I had to wait a year to re-enroll. It was my goal to be back in six months. My mother, little knowing what was ahead for her, agreed to take me in, provided I get a full-time job and go to classes in the morning and at night. I did just that. I took on four classes at the local community college, and I got a job waiting tables at a restaurant called J.J.'s, outside of Jacksonville. My school was fifteen minutes to the south of my house, the restaurant around 45 minutes north.
I worked hard. At the restaurant, more due to my resilience and my ability to understand abuse in french, I was promoted through the ranks of chef. At school, I earned an A in every class. I was up most days at six in the morning, and wasn't back until 12 at night.
This took a toll on me psychologically, causing me to say and do things I will always regret. My relationship with my mother faltered, as we are both very emotional people, who wear our hearts on our sleeves and don't contain feelings very well. By Christmas, we had trouble making eye contact, and I left, to return to Kenyon six months ahead of their schedule but right on mine.
At Kenyon, which should have been my moment of triumph, I froze. I came back to a very different dynamic and different people, some of whom I'm sure were upset at me for leaving, some who didn't know how to reincorporate me after my absence, and some who regarded me as a ticking time-bomb, a mentally unstable hazard. I do not blame them for this. However, this caused me to 'freak out' just as they had predicted, and I began to have frequent panic attacks and became unable to leave my room for extended periods of time. I was not ready to return.
I left, again in shame. This time, I turned to my father in MA for support, and I received it. We worked on a plan that involved me getting a job, taking classes and seeking psychiatric support for my troubles I experienced at Kenyon.
While I was taking classes and working on my problems with Dr. Mitchell, I had trouble procuring a job. It was around this time I ran into the mother of a friend and told her of my job in Florida, working as a chef. She knew about my trouble to find a job, and offered me a one-time catering gig for a small party of hers.
From there, Quince Catering took off. Through word of mouth and the parents of my high school friends, I was able to establish a somewhat-successful and financially gratifying catering company. For the first time in almost a year, I had something to be proud of. I was not some stopgap for a French restaurant, or a college flunkie, or a failure son, I was a successful entrepreneur. When I returned for Senior Week at Kenyon, to see my friends off and wish them well, I had something. I had something to vindicate myself in their eyes. Yes, I had failed Kenyon. Yes, I had failed them, twice over. Yes I had failed at life, and yet, I had this. I had my own company. I had taken the first step, albeit forced, into the real world; And despite a shit storm that (not to sound bitter) few of them could even come close to understanding, I had survived. More than that, I had thrived. Still, I could tell that in the eyes of some I was still a failure. Or, if not a failure, I was no longer one of them. I had forsaken my membership to our circle when I had become a failure to the academic system. I left senior week to go down to Florida for my sister's High School graduation, crying much of the way from West Virginia to Georgia. It was then I resolved that I would never let other people judge my worth. That I would rest my laurels and my pride on my own skills and abilities.
After a summer working at a boys' camp, I returned to Kenyon again, lonely and isolated. Resolving that I could not continue my company from here, I sold my control of it to a friend of mine, a recent graduate of Johnson and Wales. Within a month, it was clear that he, though a far better chef than me, could not handle the financial and PR facets of the company. It was near bankrupt.
So I bought back Quince with what little money I had left, and despite being busy with schoolwork and a mounting series of family problems, I took control from 1000 miles away.
Despite my best efforts, it was not to work. And so, today, I fired my friend and shut down the company indefinitely.
This brought back a sense of shame and failure I had not felt since that drive down to Florida. That's when I realized that, however proud we may be, however hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise, we do crave the acceptance of others. And I had once again provided fodder for the chorus of people ready to label me a failure. You can take this moment or an earlier moment to say no such chorus exists. That I am being paranoid. If you are saying this, you are one of my friends from college. If that is the case, you know god damn well that people have gone behind my back and said shit behind my back in the past. I have no reason not to believe that those people, and others, less judgemental though they may be, still consider my exodus from Kenyon as a failure, and myself as one as well.
It's hard to not take this the wrong way. For a good six months, this was the one thing in my life I had some pride in. It vindicated me. Sure, some of my friends were at school, and successful academically, and happy, but I had proven my worth in the real world. I had built a testament to my resiliency, and I felt that for the first time in over a year I was worthy of, and deserved, some respect.
With it gone, so has that feeling. I feel like November 2006 all over again. I am alone, I am isolated, and I am a failure.
Quince was a security blanket when I had nothing to hang my hat on, nothing to be proud of, no sense of self or of pride. It was a savior for me, and it is gone.
That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.
~Tennyson, In Memoriam
Rest in Peace, friend.

Me? I'm gonna go drink a bottle of Hennessey and wait until all this blows over.

Insert pithy pop-culture reference to make this less pathetic here,

A Falliday Recipe from the Pomo Kitchen Corner...

So, for those of you that don't know, (hints can be found at facebook or on Jeff's link page, or by talking to me) I have some professional experience in the cooking world. Indeed, in Jacksonville I'm something of a celebrity on the subject (not really...). Anyhow, fall is right around the corner and I thought I'd share this recipe with everyone. It's really easy, though it requires some focus and patience.

Pumpkin Spice Cake with Sugar Apple Glaze
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temperature

1 1/4 cups light brown sugar

2 large eggs

1 cup fresh or canned pure pumpkin (about 1/2 of a 15 ounce can)

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

2 cups sifted cake flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

1/2 cup buttermilk, room temperature


3/4 cup brown sugar

1/2 cup apple cider or juice

1 tablespoon butter

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and place rack in center of oven. Butter and flour (or spray with Pam) two - 8 inch cake pans. Set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer (or with a hand mixer, which I prefer), cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy (about 2-3 minutes). Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add the pumpkin puree and vanilla and beat until incorporated.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt and spices. Add the flour mixture and buttermilk alternately to the pumpkin batter, in three additions, beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Divide the batter in half and then pour the batter into the prepared pans. Bake for approximately 25 - 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes and then invert and remove the cakes from their pans. Cool completely before frosting.

To make the glaze, pour the brown sugar into a saucepan with the butter and heat to medium high. Stir the butter and brown sugar until it makes a smooth mixture (be careful brown sugar burns a lot faster than regular sugar. vigilance!) to that, add the apple cider, once mixed well, let cool. If still too liquid-y, add more brown sugar, or confectioner's sugar, if available.

Assemble cake, garnish with chopped walnuts, pecans, or almonds.

PS: Don't want to invest in buttermilk? Combine 1/2 cup of milk with 1/2 tablespoon vinegar or lemon juice. Stir and let stand for 10 minutes before using.




An uncontrollable smile....

it's been a long and tiring week, and i found this goofing around on youtube.

I smile uncontrollably every time i watch it, which is at least thirty so far.

if you hadn't guessed from my link section, i love alice in wonderland. while i cannot with my whole heart say it is my favorite disney movie, it is by far my favorite source material they ever used, eclipsing even the late 70s porn classic deep throat, which somehow became the emperor's new groove.

it's just a really sweet little video, and the comic itself is rather cute, there's a link on the youtube page.


P.S. Apparently the link isn't working, so just paste this.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGhKLeAhKic

the foreboding nature of gummi berri juice....

i began watching justice league unlimited on youtube this week. like many of my generation, i watched the original batman the animated series, and to this day will fight tooth and nail that mark hamill's voice of the joker is the best rendition of the character ever captured. this new justice league show, the latest and apparently final chapter in the paul dini/bruce timm collaboration that started it all, is quite good too. the voice talent is surprisingly diverse, from justin bateman to ed asner to michael york to nathan fillion. but that's not the point. i raise this point, looking over my collection of childhood memories on dvd (freakazoid, gummi bears, batman the animated series, king arthur and the knights of justice, etc), and remembering something a friend of mine once told me, when she was taking a psych class for her doctorate at tufts:

most people who possess child like features after the final stage of normal emotional maturity usually revert to childhood possessions as a manner of repression of current trauma. they latch on to things they associate with a simpler period of existence to convince the conscious and the subconscious that there is no problem.

anyone who knows me acknowledges, with various terminology ranging from blunt to adroit, that i am childish. i have a predisposition to immature and occasionally rash decision making, can become upset over inconsequential things, and when threatened have all the grace and tact of a seven year old. however, this made me wonder if my love of the things that defined my childhood are simply because i don't want to face the conventional face of adulthood. i wonder because i like some adult things. i like black socks. i like bargains in gas prices. i love alcohol and tobacco.

unsure if grammi gummi is just a security blanket or is really something more,

a few thoughts on why i wish i was a pokemon...

today i found myself in a rather unpleasant telephone conversation with a person who i am intimately familiar with. as any conversation like this goes, at least when i am getting reamed for something i've done wrong or have been told i did something wrong, the phrase 'what do you have to say for yourself?' inevitably comes up. i hate that fucking phrase. because, at least in my case, whatever i have to say for myself is the wrong fucking thing. i am never right in this situation, so whatever words i choose will fail to defend me in any way. ergo, i wish i was a pokemon. they are blessed, among other things, with a one word vocabulary limited only to identifying their species. this word must represent all words for them, ans do with clever inflection and the right timing you can sound quite good without saying anything. that seems to me to be their biggest boon.

i'd want to be a fire-type. though that'd leave me wide open for a squirtle.

man, that sounds wrong.


Why I love Top 10 Lists....

My good friend and former live-in....associate.....Jeff has posed an excellent question re: The Top 10 (Most significant to you) Albums of All Time, meaning All Your Time. I have crafted an answer to him:

1.) Collective Soul, by Collective Soul
2.) Omnibus, by Tarkio
3.) Pet Sounds, by The Beach Boys
4.) Stunt, by Bare Naked Ladies
5.) Fush Yu Mang, by Smashmouth
6.) Dookie, by Green Day
7.) Disney's Greatest, Vol. 2
8.) Fashion Nugget, by Cake
9.) The Color and the Shape, by Foo Fighters
10.) The Greatest Hits, The Alman Brothers Band

Take that, sir!


The Thursday Three-Point: Blog Technology, Chimpanzee Correspondence, and Violence in Videogames

I spent a good hour today trying to figure out how to make my template cooler. Not on this website, no. That would be to sane and logical. I went to over two dozen websites that promised me pre-fabricated templates of varying interest and quality, all self-explanatory and easily installed at the touch of a button.

The internet is a liar.

To this point, I have resolved to merely keep the one I have, and when all my cool friends with their awesome backgrounds ask me why mine is so vanilla, I will make some defensive comment about the quality of the words over the look, then skulk away, planning to kick them in the shin after they've forgotten about me.

I was talking to a friend of mine who works at a record label the other day, and let slip perhaps the greatest secret of my faux-hipster persona: I like the Barenaked Ladies. I know, I know, that phrase either means you're lame or are a rich white boy with season tickets to them, and Dispatch, and DMB (Wait......), but my even cooler music friend admitted he likes them to, in shameful secrecy.

Does everyone like Barenaked Ladies in shameful secrecy? Are we all afraid to come clean? The Pomo will continue its investigations.

Finally, I was playing one of the old Super Mario Bros. games the other day when it dawned on me that if the violence in video game people really wanted to make a legitimate claim, they should've started earlier. The conspicuous lack of concern for the thousands, and I mean thousands, of souls crushed underfoot by that Pseudo-Italian death machine some fancifully dub Mario is disheartening. I can't help but ask why the mid-western housewife who won't let her son play a game that accurately depicts and teaches how to kill with piano wire thinks that Mushrooms and Turtles don't deserve saving. Are they second class citizens to you, Frau Hitler?

Remember, if they have spikes on their shells, they have it coming.


The Wednesday Essay: On Nocturnal Melancholia, Men with Two First Names, and People who Sell Me an Inconvenient Number of Lighting Tools

As the poets say, It's 3 AM, and I must be lonely.

Surely, unless Messrs. Thomas, Doucette, MacMillan, Yale and Cook are mistaken, I must be damn near miserable about now. Also, apparently it's raining. Neither is true at the moment. So why is it that, whenever I listen to that, or any mid 90s alternative song, I feel miserable?

I've been toying with this for sometime now, and have spent all of my funding and most of my scientific good name to reach this conclusion. My generation loves being miserable.

It's true. The Post Generation-X Generation, or Generation Y, or Generation 9/11, or the Information Generation, or Harry Potter and The Generation of Sorrows, whatever you will call us, is a generation that enjoys, occasionally, wallowing in its own misery.

Take the evolution of goth and Emo cultures. As much as they would like you to believe, they can draw no history past our generation. Emo is not the love-child of new-wave and punk. They're just sad, depressed idiots. And Goth has nothing to do with Victorian England. It doesn't. In fact, both movements can be traced to the year 1990, when a cracked out waste-head named Tim Burton got high and thought his fingers looked like scissors and Connor Oberst's sixth-grade girlfriend dumped him because he was "icky".

But surely this is a modern American success story. From such inauspicious beginnings, Emo has become a by word for the weak and emotionally sensitive and insular of the world. Instead of taking pain, and thriving on it, learning and growing from it, they wallow in it; Staying in their basement, pining for their best friend of the opposite sex, wondering why he/she will never see me that way, and listening to the newest from Dashboard.

Goth culture, meanwhile, has succeeded in taking non-conformity to the business world. Through their joint-venture with Abercrombie and Fitch, Hot Topic, they have not only spread wearing black in August to the whole world, they successfully conned everyone into thinking anything can be Goth. A cursory glance at any Hot Topic will find, after the obligatory Tim Burton rack: Care Bears, Transformers, Hello Kitty, Pirates of the Caribbean, and Harry Potter. None of those are Goth. They're not even close to Goth. They're Geek. So admit it, Goths. You're geeks who, afraid being labeled that would get you beat up in high school, hid behind an ugly amount of mascara. Come into the light. Everyone here is a geek and wants to help you. I have a friend who plays for the Virginia Military Institute's Football team. He'd love to talk Hello Kitty with you. I'm dead serious. And I can think of at least twenty people who'd love to talk Care Bears. And Harry Potter is a global phenomenon. Surely you can talk to one of them.

Counter-Culture is a wonderful thing, as is following your own voice and doing your own thing. But don't hide behind a pre-conceived set of behavior to hide who you truly are. Because then, We become the Gothest Generation. And as God is my witness, Cinema Strange will not speak for me.


Grand Opening

I just started this blog.

....I'll think of something clever tomorrow.