Thursday, April 21, 2011

People I Can't Stand (And Possibly Hate)

Below is only a small list of the types of people I can't stand. I've omitted some of the larger demographics simply because writing about people everyone hates isn't interesting. Except hipsters, hating them is always relevant to my interests.

1.           Hipsters: I know, I dedicated a whole post to my utter disdain for hipsters and their complete misunderstanding of the term irony. But it would have been criminal to leave them out of a post dedicated to people I can't stand. I mean, they top the list. Attention wannabe-beatniks, here is a definition of irony: "An outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected." There was actually a hilariously sad (that phrase is contradictory, hipsters, not ironic...) ironic death in the news as of late: The owner of Segway died...riding a Segway. You just can't make this shit up. Sorry I digressed...Anyway, don't be a hipster. Have a real purpose in your life. And think about the future you: If you decide to stretch your earlobes and if Doc Brown's flying DeLorean worked in real life, future you would probably squander his life savings just to fly back in time and slap the stupid out of you.

"I don't even hear what you're saying right now because your face is driving me nuts."

2.          Terrible Drivers: True story: So I was on my lunch break and driving to go eat what ever rubber meat they're serving at Subway (I think today it was processed llama) when I got stuck behind this mini-van. The driver had absolutely NO clue how to operate a motor vehicle: Swerving between lanes, slamming on the breaks for no apparent reason and using the blinker to go straight. So obviously I bet myself (there was no one else in my vehicle to make a wager with) $10 that the driver was a woman. I didn't base my wager simply on the terrible driving (although it was a good indicator nonetheless), but also the fact that the vehicle was a mini-van with a bumper sticker that read "Proud Parent of an Honor Student at"...some failing public school system. Anyway, all I could think about was that the child of the driver was probably adopted because any biological descendant of this person would obviously be taking the short bus to school. As I changed lanes to pass the van, which mind you was traveling a whole 18 MPH (in a 35 MPH zone), I saw long hair in a ponytail through the backseat window. I just won ten myself. I decided to make a side bet and further the stereotype: "$5 says she's Asian" I said...aloud. I was right, there is some truth in stereotypes. And this makes perfect sense: Her child probably was an honor student and was not adopted since Asians are smart. See? Stereotypes work both ways.

I'd put it on mute; the music is almost as annoying as women drivers.

3.          Ropes Course Instructors: At first glance, it seems completely illogical to dislike someone who guides you through team building activities and attempts to thwart your fear of heights...or ropes. It really isn't what ropes course instructors do, its how they do it. Example: Ropes Course Instructor: "You can do it, it isn't that scary. I just climbed that tree and zip-lined down a canyon without batting an eyelash...and I only have one leg." Person Afraid of Heights: "Really? That's interesting. By the way, what are you afraid of? Oh, clowns...I see. How about this...I'll take Doc Brown's time machine after that dumb hipster is finished slapping the stupid out of his past self, travel back in time and drop you off at John Wanye Gacy's house. You can help him with his yard work and be his clown sidekick until you end up underneath his floorboards you arrogant prick." It's the subtle nuances I notice in these tree-hugging instructors that simply goes unnoticed by the average person.

Because this can only end well...

4.          Know-It-Alls: Going through law school, you end up seeing some of the brightest students in their respective college classes. However, along with this comes arrogance only matched by ropes course instructors. No matter what subject of the law I was studying, there was always some douchenozzle who believed he/she knew the answer to absolutely everything. I was at least smart enough to know how stupid I was; I kept my hand down, my mouth shut and either played spider solitaire on my computer or drank beers in the back of class (Note: These activities were not mutually exclusive). However, I must give these know-it-alls some credit, because they provided a few genuinely comical moments when they were wrong. And by "a few" I mean "numerous". I'm sure after the know-it-all realized what he/she said, they wished they could borrow that time machine, after the ropes course instructor is dropped off a Gacy's house of course, to go back and remind themselves of how little they really know.

(Pictured: The best possible reaction to a "know-it-all")

          Please remember that this is not an exhaustive list of the types of people I dislike. In fact this is just a tip of the iceberg (I'm pretty sure I just realized that I'm a cynic). But this is all for now. I have to go invent the Flux Capacitor in order to slap my past self before I blew up my parent's kitchen...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

5 Astoundingly Underrated Films (By the Mainstream)

          Ok, go ahead and call me a hypocritical hipster for being "underground" about this post, but then I'll probably just tell you to get some incurable venereal disease, like herpes, and go on about my day. So the following is a group of five of my favorite movies that are either misunderstood or unnoticed masterpieces that, in reality, belong in the annals of filmmaking history. To some of you these films may be predominant in your collection. However, to most, they are simply overlooked. My list is in no particular order.


          Bruce Campbell is the greatest B movie actor this world will ever know. He somehow was able to make dreadfully awful movie premises (Bubba Hotep anyone?) enjoyable to watch. This actor's comedic badassery was discovered by Sam Raimi in the early 1970s, however it wasn't put to great use until the release of Raimi's The Evil Dead in 1981. Although I enjoyed the first of the trilogy (yes, there are three and you should watch them all), it wasn't until Evil Dead 2 (a remake of the first) that I understood Raimi's genius. Not only did Sam Raimi create a delightfully scary film but it was gut-bustingly hilarious. He actually created a whole new genre: Horror Comedy. Without Raimi we wouldn't have classics like Tremors, Shaun of the Dead or Re-animator (again, all movies you should see).


          It is seriously mind-boggling that more people haven't seen this move. Harry Lockheart (Robert Downy, Jr.) and Gay Perry (Val Kilmer) are the greatest duo next to Batman and Robin or Guinness and Ice Cream. There are very few scripts that can match the witty banter displayed in this murder mystery movie (except for the book written by Brett Halliday). A movie that can seamlessly meld a murder mystery and comedy (no, not like Scooby-Doo) without removing the viewer from the story line is a feat in its own. If you don't watch this movie you should look up the word "idiot" in the dictionary:

The best thing any narrator has ever said: "Anyway, by now you may wonder how I wound up here. Or, maybe not. Maybe you wonder how silly putty picks shit up from comic books. The point is, I don't see another goddamn narrator, so pipe down."


          This WTF revenge tale is downright disturbing, but I wouldn't want it any other way. The premise of Oldboy follows a man on his path of discovery to understand why he was imprisoned in a room for 15 years. In my opinion this is the best of Chan-Wook Park's trilogy (yes, another trilogy that you should see) and it's story development is unparalleled in modern day Hollywood...because this is't a Hollywood film, but rather it's from South Korea. I actually heard a rumor that Will Smith wanted to remake this film. I'm glad he didn't because that would just be one more great thing in a long list of things that Scientology ruined (see most of Hollywood...and Jason Lee). Oldboy can be viewed with either english dubs or english subtitles (unless you're blind or you understand Korean), but I highly suggest you watch it with subtitles. Without them, important aspects of the story line are missed if the viewer cannot read Korean. Additionally, the score is fantastic. I, for one, am a huge fan of Vivaldi. If the above didn't sell you on this movie yet: it is the only time I found it to be believable that one man with a hammer could beat up thirty other once...with a knife in his back.

"Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone."


          Brett Easton Ellis: you either hate him or you love him...there is no in between. The film adaptation of his novel American Psycho could be the most quotable movie next to Dumb and Dumber. However, unlike the latter, Patrick Bateman's hilarious comments are sometimes so subtle that often one must watch the film several times to fully understand why this film is a dark-comedy heavyweight. I've seen the movie so many times that I laugh just thinking about it. Am I sick that I think a movie about a mass murdering yuppy serial killer is funny? Maybe. Actually, I'm a pretty sick individual anyway, but that has nothing to do with American Psycho. Patrick Bateman's banters about music are fantastic and his overzealous yearning to fit in is something we can all relate to. 

"When I get to Paul Allen's place, I use the keys I took from his pocket. There is a moment of sheer panic...when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park and is obviously more expensive than mine. I calm myself and move into the bedroom, where I find his suitcase and start to pack."

"Paul Allen has mistaken me for this dickhead Marcus Halberstram. It seems logical because Marcus also works at P&P and in fact does the same exact thing I do and he also has a penchant for Valentino suits and Oliver Peoples glasses. Marcus and I even go to the same barber, although I have a slightly better haircut."

"Not quite blonde, are we? More of a dirty blonde."

"Don't touch the watch."

"I'm on the verge of tears by the time we arrive at Espace, since I'm positive we won't have a decent table. But we do, and relief washes over me in an awesome wave."

          I told you it was quotable...and I was just getting started. You're lucky I didn't post Patrick Bateman's voicemail to his lawyer.


          Primer is the science fact of science fiction time travel movies. Don't get me wrong, I love the Back to the Future trilogy (except for the fact that no one seems to notice that Doc Brown is a pedophile preying on an impressionable high school boy), but the math and physics behind those films just doesn't add up. In Primer, however, with a few leaps of faith, the math and physics actually pencils (not that I understand any of it anyway). The only drawback to this movie is the thing that makes the film great, it's believable premise. This also makes it incredibly difficult to follow....In the first viewing you'll feel like your brain is being raped by a bunch of giant physicocks. But like American Psycho, with Primer, the more you watch it the more you understand it. Also, this movie was made with a budget of $7000 by an engineer.

"Aaron, I can imagine no way in which this thing could be considered anywhere remotely close to safe. All I know is I spent six hours in there and I'm still alive... You still want to do it?"


          Watch these movies, at least once. You will not regret it. Well that is it for today..."I have to return some videotapes."

- LazyTheKid

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Video Games: Chances Are I've (Virtually) Killed You.

          "BOOM! HEADSHOT!" The immortal words of FPS Doug exemplify my adolescents...and beyond. Why did I play video games? Some people were blessed with photographic memories, the dedication to run more than 5 miles without getting bored, or the ability to eat vast amounts of ice cream without getting brain freeze. Not me, I was blessed with impeccable eye-hand coordination, so I figured I might as well use it. I was "pwning" in video games long before First Person Shooters were mainstream (so hipster-esque) or even  invented. Back in the day, I was able to beat Super Mario Brothers in under 10 minutes, finish Contra without using the Konami Code (Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start...just in case you forgot), thoroughly embarrassed the the older kids in the nickel arcade at Street Fighter II and was a force to be reckoned with in Golden Eye.

(Pictured: Duel wielded nostalgia perforating pixelated Russians)

          Despite my grandiose and storied resume of video game accomplishments, I didn't realize my potential until I played a little game called Halo: Combat Evolved. The very first time I played this resplendent game was over a year after it's release. Needless to say there was a steep learning curve. At first I was being slaughtered by my friends. "This aggression will not stand, man." 

          At this point in my life, I didn't own an XBOX and I wasn't about to take a shellacking and injure my gamer's pride. I eventually had a roommate that owned an XBOX, played Halo and introduced me to the original XBOX Live...XBConnect. This mind blowing connection to the gaming world opened my eyes, I saw the light, and it was awesome. I started off in the "n00b" games. But swiftly I climbed the ranks through "n00b" and "l33t" all the way to "godz". At this level, unless you were able to hit two body shots and a head shot with the pistol 90% of the time, you wouldn't enjoy it.

          While climbing the ranks to the "godz" only platform, I decided to change my name. Being the immature person I was (and still am) I changed my name to AIDS. The reason being? Whenever you died in Halo multiplayer, text would appear on your screen stating: "You have been killed by <name>." So every time I killed anyone, it would read to them that they were killed by AIDS. I found great humor in this. By the time Halo 2 came out, I'm pretty sure I (virtually) killed more people than the AIDS epidemic had killed in it's entirety.

Bullet Injected AIDS, That's How I Rolled.

          Soon, my friends no longer wanted to play Halo with me unless I was on their team. After awhile, it actually wasn't even that fun obliterating the people you know and love. Eventually new games were released that drew my attention elsewhere. I reached the highest ranks in Halo 2 and 3. I dabbled in other genres and series like Soul Caliber, God of War and Devil May Cry. However, I was never as good at anything as I was at Halo: CE. 

          I still play video games, but I don't have the time or the dedication I used to have when I was virtually injecting the video gaming world with AIDS. I'm currently trifling with Call of Duty: Black Ops. WHORRENDOUS (spelt incorrectly on purpose) campaign, but the multiplayer makes the game worth purchasing (on discount). In the end, I will always be a gamer. But never again will I be at the apex I was at when playing the original Halo.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Modern Day Hipsters are no Beatniks

           I would like explain my complete and utter disdain for "hipsters". The term is a complete misnomer for this rag-tag group of indie, counter-culture, progressive douches who deem themselves cool (now they say "deck" because the term "cool" has become too mainstream). These non-conformists, who ironically happen to all dress in similar fashion, can be spotted in any urban environment, wearing skinny jeans, horn rimmed glasses, riding a ten speed road bike, listening to a band you've probably never heard of (because if you have it wouldn't be "deck") while displaying additional "vintage" clothing recently bought at American Apparel or Urban Outfitters. Apparently their goal is to look like they spent $7 on their outfit at Goodwill when in reality they shelled out $217 at some corporate store. The men and women of this subculture group tend to have the same unkempt, asymmetric hair styles. While the men usually don some form of ironic mustache to accent their already halfwitted attire, the women who can't grow mustaches usually just grow hair in other places, like their arm pits. And if they aren't drinking a Pabst Blue Ribbion out of the can, they haven't fully conformed to hipsterdom quite yet.  Oh, and they're all professional "photographers".

“This might just be the gross beer talking, but I want my muttonchops to have a baby with your mustache.”             Look at this fucking love connection.
(Pictured: Conformity)

          This effortless cool bohemian look these "forward thinkers" is anything but effortless. I'm guessing it takes the guys 20 minutes to fit into women's jeans. And I intentionally place the phrase "forward thinkers" in quotation marks to make a point: forward thinking doesn't come from the past. An entire generation actually did spawn a counter-culture, anti-materialistic literary movement with Jack Kerouac as it's personification. The real difference between the Beat Generation and these adulterated clones called "hipsters" is that the Beats actually produced something to define their generation. The words of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs and Cassady created windows into the minds of these bohemian hedonists that exemplified their era. The Beats had principles and they stuck by them. Oh, and some of them actually were professional photographers, like Robert Frank.

(Pictured: What "cool" actually looks like)

          Hipsters on the other hand, are the definition of ironic. Anti-materialistic group of trust-fund babies who shop at corporate clothing stores? Non-conformists who all look the same? Not understanding and misusing the term irony? Their entire existence is one big oxymoron. I'm not saying I agree with every viewpoint of the Beat generation, but I do have to respect their beatific integrity. I cannot say the same about hipsters.

“Cockring? I thought you said earring!”          Side Note: A very hipster thing to do is to put in ear gauges or ear tunnels. The purpose, or rather the effect, is that the ear lobe is stretched to fit larger and larger gauges or tunnels. And no, these hipsters were not "forward thinking" when they decided to adopt this form of body modification. Body modification, such a lip plating, has been around as far back as 8700 BC and is still practiced by a few indigenous tribes in Africa. Anyway, my personal opinion is that modern day adaptation of this practice by apathetic and short-sighted hipsters is exceptionally moronic and will inevitably lead to only one thing: regret. I have a plan set forth that will make one unlucky hipster rue the day he decided to get ear tunnels. To do this, the hipster must have tunnels, Like this guy pictured above ^

1st: Obtain a high-security padlock, preferably one that cannot be cut with conventional tools.

2nd: Find an unsuspecting hipster with ear tunnels.

3rd: Lock the high-security padlock to the hipster's ear via the ear tunnel.

4th: Run away laughing hysterically.

5th: Go make yourself a Beer Float (previous post) in celebration of your courageous feat.



- LazyTheKid

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

An Ingenious Idea (That Is In No Way Original)

          There is a saying (obviously I'm too lazy to look it up...hence my name) which states that innovation is the product of necessity (or some BS like that). Tonight I experienced this first hand. Saint Patrick's day is fast approaching which means that I am in possession of an abundance of stout beer. Personally, I prefer Murphy's Irish Stout, but Costco was selling Guinness on the cheap so I went with that.  In order to adequately prepare my liver for the gloriousness that is St. Patty's day, I decided to get a jump start on the holiday and drink some beer. Additionally I was hungry and despite the fact that I did make a recent trip to Costco, I seemingly had nothing to eat...or rather nothing I felt like eating at the time.

          To make a long story short, I reinvented (very loose interpretation of reinvention) a drink/dessert: Beer Float. To create this delicious drink you will need 2 ingredients: some vanilla ice cream and 3 Guinnesseseses (or whatever's free).

Step 1: Congratulate yourself for reinventing such an adult-themed nostalgic beverage and drink a beer, you've earned it.

Step 2: Place a couple of scoops of ice cream in your now empty pint glass. Remember not to be stingy with the goods, it's you who'll be eating it (unless you're diabetic, then you should probably think twice).

Step 3: Over the ice-cream filled glass, pour a beer. There will be some left over beer in the can (depending on how much ice cream you used). The remaining beer is a gift to you so drink it, you've earned it for all the hard work you've done so far.

Step 4: With a combination of drinking and spoon feeding, consume that delicious dessert-drink you've just made. Fall into blissful reminiscence and ponder how much better your childhood would have been had you used Guinness instead of Root Beer when you were 6.

Step 5: Congratulate yourself for finishing your home-made masterpiece with another beer.

            Stout and ice cream is the new peanut butter and chocolate. It's a dessert match made in heaven...or if you're not religious, Iowa (don't ask, it's the first state I thought of. I may or may not have drank a couple extra celebratory beverages). Remember to value the little beer. Because it's the little things that make us happy in the end. I will be enjoying a lot of "the little things" come Thursday. Happy day before Saint Patrick's day internet.

- LazyTheKid

Sunday, March 13, 2011

I blew up my kitchen...sort of (Senior Prank)

         It was my senior year of high school, the time when cheating in order to graduate is acceptable and students expel the same effort in devising a plan to prank the school as they do studying for finals. My friends and I, aptly named the GBC (Gameboy Crew...we named ourselves that in order to simultaneously make it known that we were self-proclaimed nerds while additionally lampooning other groups at our school that made serious "crew" names for themselves) decided to make our mark in high school history. Our "senior prank" was two-fold and had the complexity of a simpleton.

          Phase 1 was to "T.P." the campus' trees with beer cans. In order to complete this mental-midget of a feat, we drank cases of beer every day after school and tied sets of two cans together so the string would get caught on the branches. We spared no expense and only bought the best...literally:

Drinking the Beast in high school was smart and I'll tell you why: When a twelver only costs $3.98 its much easier to hide the purchases from your parents. So a semester and a half of us playing beer pong in my buddy's garage while his mom was at work paid off when we had about 10 large garbage bags full of empty beer cans. Phase 1 of our operation was all set and on standby.

          Phase 2 was a little more complex. The "thing to do" at our high school was to throw eggs into the quad (the large open area in the center of campus where all of the students gathered during breaks). Problem was, we had a campus narc and a campus police officer. In order to evade capture people either threw from a distance, donned masks and ran at a proper speed necessary to outmaneuver the enemy (more like a brisk walk), or they just didn't give a crap and threw the eggs in broad daylight. My idea included a way to throw eggs in broad daylight yet still remain mostly undetectable. I was going to build multiple smoke bombs (recipe via the Jolly Roger Cookbook) and strategically place them around the quad to create both a distraction and a smoke curtain. In order to make my cloudy concoction, I visited the local nursery (before you think of something stupidly clever to say, it's the kind for trees...not babies) to pick up some tree-stump remover. That, mixed with everyday sugar and some heat produces a very effective smoke-bomb. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. <------ = my disclaimer.  


          Cooking the ingredients into a finished product seemed easy enough: add ingredients together, heat, stir. There was NO way I could mess this up...Apparently when the Jolly Roger Cookbook said "use low heat" it actually meant "use low heat". Patience is not one of my well-renown attributes so I was unable (rather unwilling) to see the risk in using medium low heat to speed things along. I will never forget what happened next. I was stirring the mixture in the pot on my parent's brand new Viking Range stovetop with the family dog (the most awesomest, yet mildly overweight, yellow lab ever) aiding in my endeavor...or she thought I was cooking food and was waiting for an opportunity to eat something. Whatever, same difference. Anyway, as I was stirring the ingredients, which were still in solid form, I noticed large air bubbles forming below the surface. All of the sudden chinese new year was happening in my kitchen: the air bubbles exploded, ignited, and turned the once powderish mixture into globs of flaming napalm that showered the kitchen. I somehow managed to turn off the heat, grabbed my fat dog and ran. Thick whitish-grey smoke filled every square inch of the house and was billowing out of the open windows and the front door. Neighbors that were meanwhile washing their cars, mowing their lawns, or doing whatever gated-community neighbors do on their weekends, blissfully ignored my predicament and continued their abstention from my seemingly emergency situation. When I realized I was on my own and deemed it safe, I returned to ground zero to assess the damages. I felt like a scumbag when I saw the aftermath.

          After the smoke finally cleared, the first thing I noticed was that the cabinets next to the range top were charred. Bad? Yes, but a failed cooking story could make for an adequate extenuation. Then I saw the floor. Remember those flaming globs of napalm? On a 10 foot by 3 foot rectangular plot of hardwood flooring there were a couple dozen inch-wide and half-inch deep holes created by caramelized regret. Needless to say I was f**ked because I could not think of a single excuse that would explain that away. Following this incident, an ironic summer of working in a warehouse loading and unloading Viking Range household equipment on and off trucks paid for the deductible on my parent's homeowners insurance. Yes, insurance covered this epic disaster despite my mother reiterating to the insurance agent that "my son was building a bomb" (she clearly didn't want me escaping full punishment).

          The silver lining in this story, outside the story itself, was that I escaped a bombardment of molten smoke-bomb mixture with only a few unnoticeable burns on my left arm and the knowledge that the smoke bomb definitely worked. Oh, and we littered the sh*t out of the campus foliage with a copious amount of beer cans that same night. GBC4life.

- LazyTheKid

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Mardi Gras aka Taco Tuesday on Steroids (with Boobs)

           Oh Mardi Gras, how you epitomize the continuing notion that the world is still run by men. The time of the year where it is completely acceptable for a woman to sacrifice her dignity for 3 cents worth of plastic beads. While enjoying a Mardi Gras celebration at my local watering hole, Sneak Joint in Mission Beach, I literally saw women's equality set back about 9 decades when a female patron lifted her shirt to show her fun-bags as a means to acquire the plastic beads around my neck. To be fair, she had a separate goal: $100 to the woman with the most beads by the end of the night (SPOILER: This girl lost). Now, I gave up my beads because, well, I couldn't say no. Also, I was wearing this T-Shirt at the time:

(Pictured: My greatest $15 investment, ever.) 

          Giving away beads on Mardi Gras is a form of a unilateral contract: Men offer beads and the only way that offer can be accepted is by women flashing their baby feeders. In essence, I was obligated to give up some beads. But this begs the question of how I received my beads. Free. I received them for free. They were passed out earlier in the night. There may not be such thing as a free lunch but free "shows" do exist and I was a witness to one (or 6 since I kept surplus beads in my back pocket until the ones around my neck ran out).

- LazyTheKid