Destroy All Monsters!

According to someone, Destroy All Monsters (Japan, 1968) is the last “great” Godzilla film produced by Toho Studios. The next film in the series, Godzilla's Revenge, began the much-lamented children-oriented Godzilla films of the 1970s. Boo. Hoo.

Recently, I purchased the DVD of Destroy All Monsters. Originally, I had watched it on WLVI-TV 56’s Creature Double Feature sometime in the early 1980s, and was curious to know what I thought of the film now.

First, the film’s title: it’s deceiving. Destroy All Monsters boasts a cast of eleven monsters, but only five or so have anything more than a cameo appearance. I call bullshit.

Second, the story takes place in the year 1999, where voyages to the moon occur on the hour, but enormous rotary phones are still in use. Huh?

But wait, it gets better: Members of the United Nations Science Committee have established a research facility on the moon. The narrator doesn’t tell us what the UNSC is studying on the moon, but he does say that the UNSC has collected all the earth’s monsters and put them on an island known as Monsterland. What a coincidence. (In the Godzilla films of 1970s, the island is known as Monster Island.) Using a series of sprays, mirrors, and invisible fencing, the UNSC keeps the monsters contained and docile on Monsterland. Thank goodness. As the narrator introduces us to the film’s true stars, i.e., grown men in cheap rubber suits, Rodan swoops into the ocean and captures a dolphin. Great. Also on Monsterland, the UNSC has established an underground research facility, from which they control and study the monsters. Your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen.

"Someone is Killing the Women of Fusion!"

Yes, indeed. I must thank Dr. Joshua "The Fetus" Madden, the sometimes doctor / television executive producer / advertising executive / non-descript business honcho, for that immortal line. Apparently, a serial killer has come to Pine Valley, Pennsylvania and is, as the unibrowed fetus said, killing the women of Fusion, the cosmetics corporate giant. The first two victims were Simone Torres, the local comic foil, and Erin Lavery, the most likeable of the Laverys. Then again, even if Erin Lavery "kicked a puppy through a fan," she’d still be the most likeable of the Laverys. Yes, the Brothers Lavery, Ryan and Jonathan, are that annoying.

Where the Hell is Pine Valley?

I’ve been watching ABC’s All My Children for more than two years, and the one question I keep asking is "Where the hell in Pennsylvania is Pine Valley supposed to be?" The show often features scenes at a local, rather Hawaiian-looking beach, complete with palm trees. Yes, indeed, palm trees. Pennsylvania’s largest bodies of water are Lake Erie in the northwest, and the Delaware River in the southeast, which is hardly fodder for exotic beachfront property. If Pine Valley is in the southeast, as I believe it is, how come, while on this beach, characters never seem to realize that they’re looking at New Jersey?

A True Story!

Back in the halcyon days of November 1998, my friend Pete found out that America's Sweetheart, Emmanuel "Webster" Lewis, would be performing at the Andover Bar & Grill, a local comedy club of sorts located in, of all places, Andover, Massachusetts.

Soon afterward, Pete and I drove to the club to purchase tickets. We rode in the same car in an attempt to save gas. It worked. My car remained in the driveway, and, as a result, used no gas during the trip. I was not a member of the "Pentucket Regional High School Earth People" for nothing. (That was a real after-school club of which I was a real member.)

As Pete was driving us to the club, I began to wonder what the hell Emmanuel "Webster" Lewis would do on stage. Was stand-up comedy a new venture for him? Would he work blue? Would he even be able to climb onto the stage?

As we entered the lobby, which we did after parking the car--I don't want you to assume that we drove Pete's car into the lobby--we learned from a poster that TV's Skippy from Family Ties would also be performing that same night. What are the chances of one club booking such star power on the same night? This would be a 1980s-TV wet dream.

We bought the tickets without incident, for once, and then we waited, and waited, and waited for that Saturday to come.

That Saturday

We arrived at the club early, along with our friend Christos. Christos even brought along his camera to document our evening.

One thing I noticed, as we took our seats, was the club itself: it was bizarre. The event room looked like the basement of your average urban bingo hall. I was surprised the club owners had sprung for wallpaper (featuring shiny, metallic pineapples). I was expecting wood paneling and maybe a Pong entertainment system.

Showtime

The opening act was an actual stand-up comedian whose name to this day I forget--probably because he blew, but not because he needed the money. It wasn't like that. He blew because he was a terrible comedian. Really. Ugh.

Skippy took the stage without much fanfare, and he was actually sort of okay as a comedian. He was on stage for about an hour and a half, so he earned his money that night. Midway through his act, he had the Skippy Tonight Show: take a guess who his first and only guest was? No. Try again. No. Again. No, goddamn it! It was Emmanuel Lewis!

Emmanuel came on stage, as short as ever, and performed ten minutes of "witty banter" with the Skipster, which included what he'd been up to since the cancellation of Webster.

Answer: Not much. He mentioned being a big recording star in, surprise, Japan. (Christos claimed that the Japanese used Mr. Lewis as a good luck charm.) He also mentioned recently earning a black belt in karate. Yes, indeed. Emmanuel also told some really odd and disturbing jokes about women's breasts. The jokes were disturbing because the jokes weren't funny, and because he still looked and sounded six years old, even though he was pushing thirty. After about ten minutes, he said goodbye and bolted from the stage. That was it. Ten frigging minutes. He didn't even break dance.

Epilogue

After the show, Christos (the Greek) broke into Skippy's dressing room, and got a picture of him shirtless and one of him chasing Christos out of the dressing room. I must scan those for you, if Christos hasn't sold them for ransom.

Years later (two?), we also saw Dustin "Screech" Diamond, performing stand-up at the same club. I know what you're thinking, "WHERE IS THIS FABULOUS CLUB?" Please! You have no need to shout! Well, it was in Andover, Massachusetts, but the club has since closed and is now a comedy-less restaurant. Oh yes, before I forget--Screech was terrible, but this was before he made homemade porno.

Deck the Halls!

This past Sunday, I drove to the CambridgeSide Galleria to partake in some holiday shopping! Take that, Bill O’Reilly, you dope.

While shopping at Border’s, I was fortunate enough to witness the fine "stylings" of one smooth operator: Two young women from a Northeastern University sorority were wrapping gifts for donations to charity. Their cause was for establishing public schools in economically deprived areas of India (the two young women were of Indian descent).

As I was browsing the Ds in Literature, several feet behind the two young women, this deceivingly normal-looking young man came over to the wrapping station and began working his magic. First, his purchases were from another store, but the women quickly decided to wrap them anyway. Then he started to talk to them. He sounded like a pod person, and after comprehending why these women were wrapping gifts, he proceeded to lay on the charm: "YOU GIRLS ARE REALLY BEAUTIFUL! WHAT'S NORTHEASTERN? IS THAT A SCHOOL?" After that, it all seemed to go downhill, somehow. I had to retreat to another section of the store because I was becoming physically ill with embarrassment. He did have a goatee though. Pencil-thin. Mambo Number 5!

As I was leaving, one of the women of course asked me if I wanted anything wrapped. I was thinking, "Now, what would a pod person do?" so I pointed to my crotch and yelled, "Wrap this!"

No, not really. But that would have been funny. Actually, I just stood there as they wrapped my gifts, and only spoke when I was spoken to, which may have made me look like a pod person, too.

Cage Fighting!

What is behind this obsession contemporary crappy TV drama has with cage fighting?

Last year on ABC's All My Children, the supremely annoying Ryan Lavery participated in a "fight club" to work through his "personal demons." What was Ryan so upset about? He was questioning if he could be a good parent since his own father was not. (Side Note: Ryan's wife, Greenlee, was artificially inseminated with sperm Ryan had donated to a fertility clinic many years ago when he first came (!) to Pine Valley. I'll end this here as it could go on for quite some time.)

For example, and one that I find extremely funny, Ryan's father would often make a sandwich for Ryan's younger brother Jonathan; after Jonathan had finished his sandwich, Mr. Lavery would tell Jonathan that the sandwich was poisoned. Apparently Mr. Lavery played this trick repeatedly, so Jonathan is also, like his brother, an idiot. Jonathan, stop eating the damn sandwiches! Who could blame Mr. Lavery for playing such pranks? Look who his sons are! But I digress from the topic at hand.

More recently, on Fox's The OC, the superficially dark and moody Ryan Atwood (not to be confused with Ryan Lavery) was also involved in cage fighting as a means to work through his "personal demons," after his long-time, on-again/off-again, friend/girlfriend Marissa Cooper (played by an animatronics robot) was de-activated in a car crash at the end of last season.Was Ryan responsible? No. Although Marissa was a passenger in Ryan's old-school Toyota 4x4, the sinister surfer Volchok and his van ran TV's least favorite couple off the road and into a maudlin montage. Of course, Ryan could have stepped on the brakes and let Volchok pass, but that would have been too sensible.

As a result, Ryan moves out of the Cohen's pool house and into a bar, where he also obtains employment, despite the fact he's only 18 years old (although in real life Benjamin Mackenzie is just shy of collecting Social Security). Out in back, the bar owner conducts cage fights for the betting man. Ryan, being mildly retarded, participates in the cage fights yet refuses to take payment. He is beaten regularly--literally and figuratively--as he doesn't put up much of a fight, until his male lover, Seth Cohen, convinces Ryan to stop this stupid story arc.

Again, what is behind this current obsession with or tendency to use cage fighting as a means of coping? Natalie, Tootie, Blair, and Jo from The Facts of Life never worked through their "personal demons" by joining a fight club, although that would have been the best episode ever.

My First Piece of Fan Mail

"Your blog is to fucking boring dud, go fuck your self"

Thanks for writing! But I must point out a few faux pas in your correspondence. Your comment should read as follows:

"Your blog is too fucking boring, dude. Go fuck yourself."

Here's what I did:

1. Changed "to" the preposition to "too" the adverb.


2. Corrected the typo, I assume, "dud" to "dude."


3. Changed the comma to a period. You have two complete sentences joined by a comma, which is technically a run-on sentence. I suggest using a period, a semicolon, or the conjunction "so."


4. Corrected the typo, "your self," to "yourself."

The Movies...

On Saturday I saw The Departed, a good, and violent, movie. I’m not writing a proper review, as I’m sure several hundreds have been written.

The story takes place in Boston, where the movie was partially filmed and where I almost live. Only one actor (Vera Farmiga) completely fails to somewhat simulate the Boston accent. Why can't any one in Hollywood do a Boston accent? I don't understand it. Of course, two of the stars of the movie, Matt Damon and Marky Mark (sans Funky Bunch) are from Boston, and as a result, don’t have much of an issue with Boston lingo. Tonic! Rotary! Pocketbook!

***SPOILER ALERT***

Everybody dies! Bang! Bang! Pow! Pow! The end.

Leonardo DiCaprio did a good job. Sometimes, in my mind, his "boyish good looks" often affect his ability to portray roles other than that streetwise homeless kid who lives in a dumpster on TV's Growing Pains. And I hated Titanic "with the passion of a thousand burning suns." That's a cliché, but it's one that I've always found funny.

As I was leaving the theater, I heard an older woman make a complaint to her companions about the "language" in the film, i.e., the swearing. According to the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com), the word "fuck" is said 226 times during the course of the film. (Whose job is it to keep these sorts of statistics?) I've never understood this issue about "language." Wasn't this woman familiar with Realism? If a movie contains beatings, shootings, and other such dramatics, wouldn't you even consider that a character might, just might, say, "fuck?" What if, instead, that same character, facing a loaded gun or a serious beat down said, "Nuts to you?" I dare to claim it would not possess the same emotional impact.

For example, in Theodore Dreiser's 1900 novel Sister Carrie, the title character has an affair with a married man, and unlike most other contemporary novels, Carrie doesn't end up suffering from some horrible calamity dealt to her by fate: she is a "fallen" woman who survives her chosen course of action unpunished. Carrie's outcome defies the popular but unrealistic theory that bad people are punished and good people are rewarded. If Dreiser had written a more conventional story, resulting in Carrie suffering for her "immorality," his novel would read like a fairy tale. What Dreiser writes instead is revolutionary. What am I talking about, Willis? Realism. Weren't you paying attention? I took the time to make a literary reference and then actually explain it. Sheesh!

Cold

When will this cold completely go away? This past Wednesday, I was almost convinced I had pneumonia! I almost passed out inside that strange candy store in Harvard Square due to a high fever and labored breathing. Oh the vapors! You know the store I’m talking about: it has a really good selection of chocolate in many forms from around the world, or at least Europe.

Back at Work

Last week I returned from a two-week trip to Ireland and England, which I am writing about in detail, and will hopefully post those details within the next week or two. I have a lot of notes to sift through, and I’m trying to gives details, yet not be boring, which is always a tenuous tightrope to cross. I will have some minor posts coming soon though...

Who Killed Terry McDermott?

My spider sense or dandruff shampoo is tingling, notifying me of the presence of yet another whodunit on ABC's All My Children! This time it's "Who Killed Terry McDermott?"

But who is Terry McDermott, and why was he killed? Terry McDermott is the sleazy ex-husband of Annie McDermott, (and the latest possible love interest for Ryan "Whisper-Shout" Lavery). Annie divorced Terry after learning of his penchant for seducing teenagers, and sued for full custody of their daughter, Emma, but lost due to Terry's "impeccable record." (I'm not sure how a serial rapist has an "impeccable record," but then I remember that ABC Daytime has the very worst in law enforcement. The Sweathogs from Welcome Back, Kotter could conduct more competent investigations.) Fearful for Emma's safety, Annie kidnapped Emma and took her on the run, and with help from the slightly cross-eyed Erin Lavery, they eventually arrive in Pine Valley, where nothing bad ever happens. Phew!

Coincidently, Terry is also the man who tried to get it on with Lily Montgomery during her ill-fated trip to New York City. Lily, of course, is the autistic daughter of Pine Valley's astonishingly tan DA, Jackson "Jack" Montgomery, the tenth (or so) husband of Erica Kane. As you may remember, Lily ran away to New York City after Jackson had forbidden her to pursue a relationship with Jonathan Lavery, who, due to an undiagnosed brain tumor, is responsible for several murders, including that of his own brother, Branden Lavery, played by a frozen CHUCK NORRIS. Even after a successful removal of the tumor turns Jonathan into a harmless and annoying simpleton, his past endeavors still cause Jack to error on the side of caution, unlike Erica, who thinks the autistic 18-year-old Lily and formerly homicidal 35-year-old Jonathan make a charming couple. Thankfully, depending on your point of view, Jonathan saved Lily from the shirtless Terry just in time, and Jonathan and Lily made their way back to Pine Valley, somehow. I forgot what happened afterward.

In the not too distant future, Terry located Lily, again, through a "social networking website" called MyFriendsterSpaceTube or something. Lily had posted a profile in an attempt to meet a young man just like her (i.e., mildly retarded and extremely annoying). Terry pretended to be a young lad suffering from Asperger's syndrome (pronounced "ass-burgers" by Lily), an affliction somewhat similar to Lily's autism spectrum disorder, according to the All My Children writing staff, but not really.

Wait just a goddamn minute. Jackson convinced the New York City DA to drop the charges against Annie, and convinced local sheriff Derek Frye (not portrayed by Suzanne Somers). Now my post is even more worthless. Frig.

"You can't eat me! I'm Erica Kane!"

What's really concerning me at the moment is we still don't know who killed world-renowned fertility specialist Dr. Gregory Madden on ABC's All My Children. The primary suspects include the following:

• The beloved Dixie Louise Cooney Chandler Martin Bodine Martin
• The cabalistic (not cannibalistic) casino kingpin, Zack "Attack" Slater
• The Queen of Pine Valley, PA herself, Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Marrick Montgomery

But what about the numerous theories floating around the Internets? One theory claims that the good doctor was killed by the combined efforts of the mildly retarded Stuart Chandler and the seemingly undead Myrtle Fargate; another accuses private eye Tad Martin's doppelganger, Ted Orsini. By the way, how does Tad make a living as a private detective? Besides being the worst detective ever, all his clients are members of his immediate family, thanks to Erica, who has been married to everyone in Pine Valley at least once. I believe she even married herself during the 1988 writer's strike.

More Car Talk

I dropped off my car at the dealership yesterday, and inside the dealership there is a "car rental agency," from which you can rent cars while your own car is being "diagnosed" for the tidy some of $95.98. Anyway, I answered the rental agent's questions, such as:

"Are you the only person who will be driving this car?"

Yes. (For some reason, I started to think of the old Saturday Night Live skit, "Toonces the Driving Cat." In fact, my cat resembles Toonces, but my cat cannot drive a car--yet.)

"Will you be crossing state lines?"

It depends on how old she is. Ha-HA! (No, I didn't say that.) Now here's the question that really caught me off guard.

"Do you want the Dodge Magnum? It has a Hemi."

What? You rent Hemis?

For those of you who don't know, a Hemi is a high-performance V8 engine developed by the Chrysler Motor Corporation many years ago. The Hemi was available as an option in many of Chrysler's muscle cars, like the Roadrunner, the Charger, and the Barracuda, and it has recently re-emerged, after a thirty-year (or so) absence. The name Hemi derives from the engine's hemispherical cylinder heads blah, blah, blah. If you're a typical guy, you probably have an erection by now. If you're a typical woman, you probably have stopped reading this blog. Sorry.

I thought about it, and was tempted, but I opted for the basic rental, which was (drum roll, please) a 2006 Chevy Cobalt: a gold, 4-door, 4-cylinder, automatic Chevy Cobalt. Fuck yeah!

For those of you who don't know me (i.e., all of you), I love driving stick; I hate driving automatic. Why? I'm not sure. I learned to drive stick rather late in life, a month before my nineteenth birthday, and I didn't have the easiest time during my apprenticeship under my father; and to make a long story short (too late), my father is very patient with everyone, except members of his immediate family. I could go on and on, but I won't. You're welcome. In summation, I consider learning to drive stick a major personal accomplishment.

Now my car just needs a new radiator. The current one has a crack all along the top. The "fluid" is not pouring or spraying out, but it isn't exactly staying inside the radiator either. This repair will cost almost $600 American. Oh dear.

I promise my next post will be funny.

Today Featuring the Super Robot Daikyuu Maryuu Gaiking (Giant Sky Demon Dragon Gaiking)

Greetings, Earthlings!

I have returned from the Honda dealership with an oil pan filled with fresh, golden petroleum product. I also made an appointment to find out why the CHECK ENGINE light is on, and to replace some doohickeys in the front end. As the kids say, I hope I have enough "bread," to pay for this repair work, "daddy-o."

You should see this particular Honda dealership, as it is oh-so fancy. First, it’s the size of the average Canadian province--I believe Mounties patrol the lot--and contained within its hallowed walls are the following:

• A hotel-like lobby, featuring a large, flat-screen, cable-equipped television and soft, only slightly stained, chairs
• An Internet café
• A real-world café selling various forms of criminally overpriced coffee and pastries

More to come…

I'm keeping the details of this post nebulous to protect the innocent.

Why is my connection to the "Internets" so slow this morning? And where is everyone? The office is very quiet.

This past Sunday morning I sampled over one thousand different kinds of cake, which is a slight exaggeration. I gave myself a headache, thanks to consuming several pounds of highly processed sugar, and as a result, my pancreas leapt out of my body and punched me in the face. I was also concerned that I would soon be co-starring in an infomercial for those diabetic maintenance kits endorsed by Wilfred Brimley (the man who was born 65 years old). What was the name of the 1980s family-friendly (i.e., boring) NBC show he was on?

"Our House." Thanks imdb.com!

In closing, here's a painting of Journey frontman, Steve Perry:

Hello World!

Hello and welcome to my blog. I have nothing to say at the moment other than "hello," and, "welcome to my blog," but fear not: I shall have more to say in the near future.