The Five Season Rule

Joanne Kelly and Eddie McClintock

This week marked the start of the fifth and final season of my favorite goofy Steampunk/Occult/Sci-Fi TV show  "Warehouse 13." The SyFy channel (I still hate that stupid name - what is it with me and names, lately? - again, I digress) seems to have a pattern of dumping some it's best shows after 5 seasons. "Eureka" was another sweet and goofy Sci-Fi show, while "Battlestar Galactica" spent a scant four seasons over 6 years. 

A fan since the very first episode, Uncle P is truly going to miss "Warehouse 13," though from what I'm guessing so far, it should have a satisfying ending. Yes, it's full of Steampunk gadgets (something they finally acknowledged in last night's season premiere) and a pseudo-science/occult vibe that makes total sense, given the confines of the universe established by the writers (Yes, K - "Within the parameters of it's own reality." Doesn't sound so crazy now, does it? -- Oops. Digressing again). Cool toys, one-liners and obscure but often hilarious historical and or literature references (and self-references) aside, it's the rather extraordinary cast and their chemistry that make "Warehouse 13" such a delight to watch. Brilliant veteran character actors Saul Rubinek and CCH Pounder are joined by Joanne Kelly; Eddie McClintock (who some call 'the poor man's David Boreanaz, though truth be told, I'll take Eddie over David any day...); Allison Scagliotti ("One Tree Hill") and Aaron Ashmore ("Veronica Mars") in a group that has become an oddly functional family is a very dysfunctional universe. 

More than anything, it's rather amazing chemistry between McClintock and Kelly that make the show so very watchable, as evidenced by the episode in which an 'artifact' (if you watch, you know) causes the unlikely partners to switch bodies in an episode which managed to skewer several genre tropes in one fell swoop:

Kelly's 'sexy, smart gal' is the perfect compliment to McClintock's 'sexy doofus.' Together, they provide the show with the perfect combination of romantic/sexual tension and buddy-cop camaraderie. Add Scagliotti's father/daughter relationship with Rubinek to her GBFF relationship with Ashmore and you have quite an interesting group of characters exploring all kinds of relationships amidst the quirky premise. TV doesn't get much more fun than this, kids.

The season premiere picked up right where last season's cliff-hanger left off with a time-travel, continuum-altering plot that was hardly original but very amusingly pulled off, saving the Warehouse once again from someone who wanted to use it's secrets for nefarious means. While there is never any doubt that our intrepid heroes will find a way to save the day, the fun is in watching how they do it. I must imagine it's lots of fun on the set of "Warehouse 13." I will be sad to see it go, but will never deny the pleasure it;s brought me. This is hardly Asimov or Heinlein. But it's always entertaining.

Only 6 episodes? Dang. Way to disappoint, SyFy. Hope we get at least another full 13 episode season of "Haven." Genre Geek rant over (for now).

More, anon.
Prospero

Under Where? TGTYSW (NSFW Version)

Gay Underwear Designer, Andrew Christian

Wow, that's a lot of acronyms in one blog post title. Of course, NSFW is one we're all familiar with by now: Not Safe For Work. And if you read Caliban's Revenge with any regularity at all, you may have sussed out that TGTYSW = The Gayest Thing You'll See This Week. Field space makes for strange acronyms. And the video I am about to share is most certainly the gayest thing you'll probably see all year. The ridiculous pun goes back to an elementary school joke: "What are you eating under there?" 

Andrew Christian is well known for marketing his products to young, gay men with lots of disposable income to waste on frivolity. And believe me, I know - quality underwear is hardly frivolous. A traditional "tighty whities" boy growing up, once Uncle P discovered boxer-briefs, there was no going back. I may have experimented with the bikini brief, briefly. But that was back in the 70's and who wasn't experimenting with something in those days? 

Personally, I don't find Mr. Christian's line to my taste. I have nothing against colorful britches (my personal favorite pair of boxer-briefs is Blood Red, of course) but I just don't understand how one can be actually be comfortable in some of his more daring designs. I'm also not particularly a fan of the twinky young 'models' (i.e. porn star wannabes) he uses. Being a full-blooded Ursan, I tend to like 'em bigger and fuzzier And now that you know WAY too much about me, here is The Gayest Video You'll Ever See Which Isn't Actually Porn (NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!!!):

Now that's about as far from Magic Mormon Underwear as one can get! Coincidentally, tomorrow is laundry day at Chez Prospero. 

Bottom line (every pun intended), why anyone would spend the kind of money Christian wants for his skimpy drawers when Hanes does an even better job of providing support and mystique, is beyond me. I can buy 5 pair of Hanes boxer briefs at Target for less than half the cost of one pair of Andrew Christian's 'Candy Pop' drawers.

Then again, I don't have the kind of money the poor, vapid idiots this campaign is designed for have. And even if I did, I would hope that I would use it in more socially productive way. Still, I suppose the old Madison Avenue adage applies: Sex Sells. Just ask Jon Hamm.

More, anon.
Prospero

Not All Swedes Are Blond, Norse Giants

Alexander Skarsgard

Ask a straight man 'of a certain age' to name a hot Swede and he might answer "Elke Sommer." Ask a gay man of almost any age the same the question, and he'll almost certainly answer "Alexander Skarsgard," probably best known for his role as a sexy vampire on HBO's "True Blood." And while I can definitely appreciate Mr. Skarsgard's attributes, personally, I'd rather spend an evening with his co-star, Joe Manganniello, a dark-toned, hirsute brute with a killer smile and muscles that go on for days.. TMI? Get over it. My other hirsute hottie favs include Bollywood star Hrithric Roshan; Superman Henry Cavill;  Chris Evans and Iron Man himself, Robert Downey, Jr. Hell, Goonies and Caveman co-star (and former NFL player) John Matuszak filled the bill quite nicely, back in the day.

Okay - now you know more about Uncle P's proclivities  than many of my closest friends (no, not really - did you honestly expect me to reveal information my closest friends don't already know?)

Still, when I think of Swedes; Danes and Norwegians, I somehow always conjure up an image of Dolph Lundgren. But a video of members of the Swedish Marines lip-dubbing "Greased Lighting" from the film version of the musical Grease has proven me so very wrong. Brunets easily outnumber blonds in the viral video making its way around the Internet. See for yourselves:

Personally, hair color means far less to me than hair coverage. Damn! I've over-shared again. Anyway, I'd love to see a Gay Bear version of "The Bare Necessities," if only to hear the whizzing sound of Walt spinning in his supposedly icy vault.

More, anon.
Prospero

The Gayest Things You'll See This Week

Showtime's "Penny Dreadful"

After losing a massive (and, if I say so myself, really good) post about "American Horror Story: Coven" (how much do I love that Myrtle plays the theremin?)* thanks to a connectivity issue last week, I haven't really been all that inspired. But today I not only got caught up on AHS and it's insane, over-the-top season 3, I came across a couple of things I just had to mention and share.

First up (via) comes this Axe Body Spray parody which makes sure we all know that DADT is a thing of the past. And while the video below is purportedly a pro-Army shout out in the annual Army v Navy football game from 2008, it really doesn't get much gayer than this:

I can't believe that clip only has 19 thousand hits in 5 years.

And then (via) came this next clip; a teaser for Showtime's upcoming Not-The-League-of-Extraordinary-Gentleman show about literary characters banding together to fight evil, "Penny Dreadful" in which Broadway's original Spider-Man, Reeve Carney plays a decidedly bisexual Dorian Gray (I can only imagine that Oscar Wilde would be very pleased). See if you can spot the moment when Reeve gets licked:

For the first time in a long time, a Showtime series has gotten me hooked. "Shameless" hit me like a ton of bricks when I accidentally stumbled upon the marathon they ran the Sunday before the new season's premiere and I have become a huge fan. Let's see if they can hook me again (I'm guessing yes) with "Penny Dreadful." The show also stars Josh Hartnett; Timothy Dalton and Eva Green. Here are a couple more teasers:

Can't wait!

More, anon.
Prospero

*I'll have to talk about my obsession with the instrument and it's creator, sometime. It's a fascinating story that too few people know (as well as the subject of a musical in progress from yours truly).

Chris Kluwe; Keith Olbermann; Civil Rights & Tolkien?

Is Kluwe really Thranduil?

Former NFL punter Chris Kluwe is an undeniably valuable straight ally in the continuing fight for LGBT Civil Rights. He and former Ravens' player Brendon Ayanbedjo have almost certainly lost lucrative sports careers over their stances in support of LGBT rights. 

Both Kluwe and Ayanbejo are young, attractive and athletic. Both of them came of age in a very different era than Uncle P and both of them (because of their celebrity) are able to make their opinions available to the public at large in venues that are widely accessible to just about the entire world. Both of them have also had Major League sports careers which will allow them to support themselves for the foreseeable future. Kluwe has even managed to write a book from which he will see residuals for quite some time. 

All of that is fine and well, and even commendable. I will never knock or abrade anyone who understands that being gay is not a choice (as do every one of my friends and most of my family). 

Still... I can't help but note that no matter how much these two support our community, neither of them will ever really know the kind of discrimination, hate and abuse the LGBT community experiences on a daily basis.  Both are attractive and fit and both have very public forums in which to express their views. But both of them are straight and neither of them can truly know the kind of hatred expressed solely because of their innate sexuality (despite the by now far-more accepted bi-racial status of Ayanbedjo). 

Hear me out - No one can know anyone (you should excuse the old adage) until they have walked in another's shoes. Straight supporters or LGBT civil rights are all well and good (and more important to our cause than most of us realize) but they will never really know the kind of hatred directed at the people they support. 

Okay - LGBT Rights rant over, for now. 

On a much sillier note, look at Kluwe's ears in the interview below with long-time LGBT advocate Keith Olbermann. Is it me, or do his ears appear to be nothing less than Elvin? I think JRR would agree...

Yes, Uncle P knows his view of the world is slightly askew, but would you have it any other way? I should hope not. Why else would you be reading my nonsense?

More, anon.
Prospero

Netflix Revew: "Hansel & Gretel Get Baked"

I suppose a preface of sort is required here. For the past 10 years or so, my rock, K has spent Christmas Eve with Mom and myself. In a beautiful post on Facebook, K expressed how she was going to miss those weird and wonderful nights now that Mom was gone. And since I'll be at my sister's for Christmas Eve this year (something already passed by the time this post is published - how freaky is that?), I proposed that we have a Christmas Eve Eve with many of the traditions we've shared for so long. We were joined by our sweet, funny, weird, wonderful and adorable friend Michael for a lovely candle-lit night of good food, good drink and very good company. Honestly, everyone should be so lucky to have friends like mine - I love and thank them so much. 

Anyway... after dinner we decided to search Netflix for something to entertain us. K and Micheal searched through my personal list, which includes lots of movies only I (and a few of you... Pax...) would appreciate. And after an unabashedly intoxicated K had issues with the WiiMote, I took over, asking what they wanted to see. "Something funny!" they both said. So I went to the list of movies suggested because I'd watched Tucker and Dale vs Evil. I skipped along the menu until I hit upon a title that made me laugh and chose it, saying "If it sucks, we'll change it!" That title was Hansel & Gretel Get Baked. Starring "Castle" regular Molly Quinn as Gretel; the Twilight movies' Michael Welch as Hansel and a frighteningly over-surgeried and an almost unrecognizable Lara Flynn Boyle as a the immortal Bavarian-Nazi-Cannibal-Witch, Agnes who grows and sells enchanted dope to unsuspecting teens. Not surprisingly, the ingestion of those teens' flesh help both restore and maintain Agnes' youth.

Writer/Actor David Tillman's script is just clever enough to keep our interest, amusingly referencing  the story we all know and aided by costume designer Elizabeth Jett's very decidedly Tyrolean-inspired outfits for Ms Quinn. Add plenty of gross-out moments and hilarious puns (Agnes starts out as literally a 'Little Old Lady from Pasadena'), and Hansel & Gretel Get Baked ends up being a very funny modern take on the story via Cheech and Chong, where Skittles serve as breadcrumbs and hot young guys get slathered in herbed butter while strapped to a mortician's gurney. Cary Elwes makes a cameo as the Meter Man while a slew of other character actors you will recognize from every procedural TV show from the last 20 years crop up in other supporting roles.

Not everything works perfectly (Boyle's age makeups aren't quite convincing, though I suspect that may have more to do with her tragic cosmetic surgeries, than anything else). And some of the CGI FX (especially in the denouement) are a bit forced. But if you're looking for a funny, gory and gruesome distraction from all the Holiday nonsense you've been forced to endure in the past month or so, you could do certainly do worse than Hansel & Gretel Get Baked. I would definitely recommend it over the Big Studio crapfest that was Hansel &Gretel: Witch Hunters.

Screened at this year's Tribecca Film Festival, Hansel & Gretel Get Baked is currently available on Netflix and DVD. **1/2 (Two and a Half Out of Four Stars). Rated 'R' for Violence, Gore, Drug Use and Language, it was exactly what the three of us needed, even if K covered her eyes during the gory bits.

More, anon..
Prospero

Superstitious

Today is Friday the 13th. Or, a randomly assigned date on the Julian calendar with no real significance other than a way to keep track of the Earth's revolution around the sun. Of course, for millions of superstitious people, Friday the 13th is a day to be extra cautious. They avoid walking under ladders; stay away from black cats; don't open umbrellas indoors do their best to not break mirrors. Friggatriskaidekaphobia is the fear of Friday the 13th, the origins of which are unclear, but probably date back to the early 1800's, when just about everyone was religious. According to Christian mythology, Jesus died on a Friday after having been betrayed by his 13th disciple, Judas. 13 is also an unlucky number in Norse mythology involving the mischievous Loki who turned up as the uninvited 13th guest at a dinner in Valhalla.

Even as a kid (when I believed), I was never very superstitious. Being in the theatre (out of respect for my fellow actors who are superstitious), I do avoid saying  "Macbeth" in a theatre, if only to keep my cast-mates from freaking out - even though the production of Macbeth in which I played Ross was completely free of problems, injuries and/or technical glitches. And Friday the 13th is nothing compared to some of the superstitions people hold around the world. Here are a few of them (via):

Spit on a new (baseball) bat before using it for the first time to make it lucky.

It's bad luck to put a hat on a bed.

To protect yourself from witches, wear a blue bead.

It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same match. (This is from WWI, when the glow of a match lit long enough to light three cigarettes could reveal your location to the enemy)

It's bad luck to leave a house through a different door than the one used to come into it.

To drop a fork means a man is coming to visit. (I better start dropping forks!)

If 3 people are photographed together, the one in the middle will die first. (But what if you are in more than one picture of 3 people?)

If you leave a rocking chair rocking when empty, it invites evil spirits to come into your house to sit in the rocking chair.

Do not place shoes upon a table, for this will bring bad luck for the day, cause trouble with your mate and you might even lose your job as a result (Uncle P's mother insists it is bad luck to put new shoes on a table).

If a woman sees a robin flying overhead on Valentine's Day, it means she will marry a sailor. If she sees a sparrow, she will marry a poor man and be very happy. If she sees a goldfinch, she will marry a millionaire.

The number of Xs in the palm of your right hand is the number of children you will have (This childless gay man has three).

The list goes on and on. And superstitions vary from country to country. For example, the seventh son of a seventh son has magic powers, according to Irish folklore, but is a vampire in Romanian legend. 

Here's the thing: it's all nonsense. There is no such thing as magic. There are no supernatural forces controlling your life. Eating 12 black-eyed peas on New Year's Day will do nothing but send the peas' nutrients into your system and playing with a Ouija board will not invite Captain Howdy to possess you. There are no such things as vampires; werewolves; demons; angels; Bigfoot or chupacabras. Fairies exist only in Disney movies; handling toads does not give one warts; cats don't steal babies' breath and repeating "Bloody Mary" three times into a mirror in a dark room will not cause an evil spirit to leap out of said mirror and kill you. Wearing special underwear will not help you win a game or land a role in a play for which you're auditioning. A rabbit's foot key-chain is just a preserved bit of a dead rabbit and a four-leaf clover is simply a genetic anomaly. Blowing all the candles out on your birthday cake just means you have good lungs and wishing on a falling meteor or a coin tossed into a fountain or well is as effective as playing special numbers in the lottery (i.e. not effective at all). Wearing green on game day does nothing to help the Eagles win; rubbing a lamp will not release a djinn who will do you bidding and kissing the Blarney Stone will only transfer germs from the 10,000 other people who kissed it that week. 

If you believe in any of the above-mentioned nonsense, I feel sorry for you. Get over it and get on with your life, already.

Still, Friday the 13th makes for some great horror movie fodder:



You're all doomed.

More, anon.
Prospero

Choose Your Poison

Uncle P is currently the victim of some sort of plant poison. I doubt it's poison ivy as a particularly bad bout with it as a child left me immune. The weeds, vines and unwanted tees growing along my neighbors' fences which surround my back yard (or 'garden' for my UK, NZ ad AU readers) are incredibly varied and often unidentifiable. 

I know there's lots of Rose of Sharon, Honeysuckle and Briar, though there are dozens more growing over, through and under the various fences surrounding my property. If you follow me regularly, you know I am still in the process of cleaning up the debris left by my well-intentioned BIL in May. I suspect it is during this clean-up that I contracted whatever it is that has left my ankles, left thigh and left arm with angry, itchy and downright nasty red rashes which are driving me insane.

Yes, I am using both cortisone cream for the itch and a product recommended by both a dear friend and my local pharmacist to stop the rash's spread. Both are helping, but neither seems to be curing. Every time I think one of the rashes is healing, another one appears on a new limb or a new area of an already affected limb. It burns. It itches. It's ugly. I hate it.

One week from today, Uncle P will be visiting Chicago for both business and vacation. I'll be meeting up with at least two dear friends and hopefully having some non-committed fun (if you know what I mean - nudge, nudge, wink,wink) and I certainly hope these rashes are long gone before then. I don't consider myself a 'Prize' by any means and this unfortunate turn of events certainly doesn't help to upgrade my desirability. 

Honestly, I think my life could be included in the Lemony Snicket books, "A Series of Unfortunate Events." Every time I think things are going well, something comes along to say "Eff You and Your Life!" Of course, this is nothing more than a "First World Problem" or a "White Whine." I know there are people in the world with far worse problems than an uncomfortable rash. It still seems like these kinds of nuisances pop up at the worst possible times...

Of course, I could just be a whiny d-bag who doesn't appreciate how good my life is, compared to many. I'll leave that up to you to decide. In the meantime, I'll be doing my best not to scratch.

At least I know this isn't the issue (nor will it ever be):

More, anon.
Prospero

Visit My New Blog: 'Malaprop Mom'

I may be insane, but I'm trying  to do yet another blog, inspired by my very inspirational and very funny mother.

I won't be posting there nearly as much as here, but I'll be sure to let you know when I do. Like just now, for instance. You should go visit MalapropMom now, if you know what's good for you! Go on, click the link. You know you want to.

You don't get dessert until you go here: http://prosperosmother.blogspot.com/

Just you wait until your father gets home! 

Don't you dare give me that face!

I'm calling the police!

Wait... what? 

I love my my Mom. Hope you will to.

More, anon.

Prospero

The Gayest Thing You'll See This Week - NSFW Version

Johnny McGovern and 'Friends'

Self-described 'Gay Pimp;' comedian and singer Johnny McGovern has a new single out called "The Gayest of All Time." 

Johnny may be very gay, but the 'Gayest?' Not sure about that. I think Clay Aiken and Adan Lambert have him beat in that race. Still, Johnny's often tongue-in-cheek songs and music videos usually tend to poke at fun of the community of which he is so proud to be a part of, providing humor and hotness (and often some VERY hot, half-naked extras). An unabashed Bear with a predilection for featuring hot boys in his music videos, Johnny's latest features some cute twinks, lots of drag queens and a boy in a very NSFW ball cap. 

It looks like everyone involved with this shoot had a great time, though I still question whether this video is the 'Gayest of All Time.' Personally, while I love Johnny and his videos, I can think of plenty gayer clips and songs. And I'm sure you can, too. Just be careful about with whom you share them.

More, anon.

Prospero

Good Riddance to Evil Appliances

Keep Away from Belladonna and Baby's Blood

My house is Mid-Century Cookie Cutter. Of course, some unusual renovations to the interior by the original owners have left me with some very limited choices when it comes to where and how things fit, particularly in my already small kitchen. Eight years ago, my 25-year-old refrigerator gave up the ghost. Of course, like an aging pet or an elderly relative, the older it got, the more I prepared myself for its eminent demise. When I went to replace it, finding one to fit the space I had wasn't easy and I ended up with a Kenmore which I quickly grew to despise.

The non-adjustable shelves were in a very odd configuration, leaving little space for tall things like pitchers and bottles. The freezer had one wire-rack shelf with too much space between the rungs, making it almost impossible to have a level stack of packages, let alone a stable place for ice cube trays. Within a week of running out of warranty, one of the vegetable crisper drawers partially disintegrated in my hand, rendering it practically useless. The exterior was some kind of textured vinyl, making it almost impossible to keep clean and while the freezer door refused to not swing all the open, the fridge door had to be tapped with a knee to close tightly. 

Still, I expected the Effer to last longer than 8 years. Yes, after a slow but steady decline that started with milk-shake-like ice cream two weeks ago ended tonight with me unloading and purging the whole damned thing, filling both my big trash can and my recycling bin to the brim. The thought of lugging them to the curb tomorrow night, along with the yard stuff I managed to get done yesterday, makes me cranky, like a baby with a saggy diaper that leaks. I was able, thanks to a giant cooler and bagged ice, save a lot of the newer produce and dairy. And the chest freezer on the back porch is full, so no one's going hungry anytime, soon. Seems like I just did this last Fall...  

A replacement is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. When I finish this post, I will take my vodka out of the freezer and unplug the hellspawn forever. Of course, I fear that when they take it away, they'll forget to take off one of the doors at the dump and a diseased rat will be trapped in it and die. And then a small dog or a raccoon, followed by some form of Belladonna and some baby's blood and it will become an unstoppable demonic machine, devouring anyone in it's path and growing larger and larger with the ingestion of each victim.

Well, that's just silly, isn't it? No sillier than the nonsense that's been going on around Uncle P's house, lately. I have to check with my electric company (PECO here in southeastern PA) because I may get an energy credit for the new one (the commercial for which is where that goofy monster fridge image comes from).

To quote the great Gilda Radner (look her up!):

"It's always something. If it's not one thing, it's another. Either you smoke or you have a sweatball hanging off of your nose." Seriously, if you don't know this, look it up. Gilda was a comedy genius. Anyway, as much I hate the rigamarole and extra work the Kenmore's death has caused me, I will be very happy to have a brand-new fridge when I get home from the Day Job, tomorrow. I know there is a Robot Hell, but is there an Appliance Hell? I hope so. And I hope that horrible old Kenmore fridge rots there, writhing in imaginary anthropomorphized pain for all eternity. That is of course, until that first rat...

Sorry. I'm in a mood. What are you trying to do, make me sick? Goodnight my little Roseanne Rosannadannas! I hope you clicked those links!

More, anon.
Prospero

Time With My Favorite Person in the World.

Uncle P's Sister

Only my sister and people who know both of us will fully grasp the hilarity of the picture to your right. Trust me, she will not find this picture offensive in the least. In fact, she'll email or Facebook me her approval, because Heaven forfend she should ever actually comment on her brother's blog no matter how much he hints, nags or goads. She's as stubborn as our Hungarian grandmother. Then again, I'm as stubborn as our German mother.

So, double good news for the upcoming Memorial Day Holiday. Sis and the BIL are heading North and Uncle P has a 3-day work week followed by a 5-day weekend! Mom and the BIL are no doubt preparing for what they call our 'secret language,' though truth be told, for as much as the brat and I have in common, we have just as much not. Of course, our differences are secondary to both of us. We argue, like all siblings (we had a mini-argument on the phone today) but make no mistake -- we would defend one another with our lives. 

We have always laughed together far more than we've been cross with one another, and I'd say that ratio continues to grow toward the laughing as we get older. And truth be told, there are plenty of things that she and I share with no one else in the world: Phrases; quotes; sounds; jokes and bits of nonsense that never fail to make us laugh, often to the consternation of those around us, who sadly have no idea why we're crying or bent over in laughter-induced abdominal pain. And make no mistake, many of those folks have known both of us for many years and still have no idea why we find something as hilarious as we do. 

And honestly, we like it that way.

Whether it's down in Florida (yes, I know) or here in PA, I'll never say 'no' to spending time with my little sister. She's pretty great. I hope you and your siblings (if you have them) are as close as my sister and I are. The next three days will be torture...

More, anon.
Prospero

Please Don't Shoot Myrna's Dog

John Daker

I have absolutely nothing bad to say about most religious people. I may think they are silly and misguided, though most of them are decent people with good intentions; inclusive and non-judgmental; loving and fervent in their beliefs. That's fine with me. As long as they don't try to impose their beliefs on me, that's just peachy.

Of course, they are also human, which means they have egos. Egos which lead them - despite their most devout intentions - down the path of derision, ridicule and just plain patheticity (Yes, I made up another word. Deal). These folks truly believe they are doing 'service' to their Lord with these performances, While I have no doubt about their sincerity, their obvious lack of musical talent far surpasses the messages they are trying to import.

A few years back, I stumbled upon the video below and shared it during the Holidays. I remember commenting that poor Myrna looked as if her dog was being held at gunpoint off-camera, which was a reference to former Little Rascals star Jackie Cooper (Superman), who claimed producers threatened to shoot his dog to make him cry on camera.

And I imagine that attorney Michael Clancy wishes this next video never found it's way to YouTube. I'm guessing this is late 80's to early 90's. Ladies and Germs; I give you young, white, untalented Christian rapper Michael Clancy and Nu Thang:

I'm lucky enough to be from a time before video cameras and when the most embarrassing photos are safe inside an album. Poor Mr. Clancy will have this follow him in Cyber Space well beyond his death.

And speaking of things from beyond the grave (rimshot, please), the latest of such performances to pass across my feeds is "My Name is John Daker." Mr. Daker, undoubtedly confident of his presentation before actually shooting, does his best to keep from looking terrified at forgetting nearly every word of both of the songs he was supposed to sing. The fact that neither song has anything  to do with the other makes it all the better (or worse - I'm not sure which).

Oh, dear. Of course, since then, I've discovered two rather genius takes on that clip. First this animated version from cr0uchingtiger:



But best, this 'Daker on Idol' mashup from Erik Hollander:

I really don't have much more to say. I think the clips speak for themselves. No, I'm not 'God.' Yes, I am judging you (well, your performances, anyway) and I find your lack of talent disturbing. Just promise you'll never record yourselves 'singing' again and we're cool. And Myrna - I hope your dog was okay.

More, anon.

Prospero

Falling Mascots and Other Nonsense

So I bought myself a present today. I'm listening to it right now. In typical Musical Theatre geek fashion I broke down and bought the "Smash" Season 1 CD. Love it or hate it (I've embraced it's silly soap-opera look at the business and really love it), you can't deny how well done it is. I'm also a fan of composer Marc Shaiman (Hairspray), who writes the music for Bombshell, the fictional musical about Marilyn Munroe at the center of the show. I know there are loads of Katherine McPhee haters, but I have never seen "American Idol" and had no idea who she was before "Smash," and I kind of fell in love with her in this part. But it really is an ensemble and what a cast! Broadway, film and television veterans who all certainly understand the process. And they honestly do some much more interesting covers than "Glee" could hope to. I think the music is even better this season, and am looking forward to both the Season 2 and the complete Bombshell CDs.

Posting that "Mascot Fails" video last night had me seeking out more. Honestly, whenever I see one of these for the first time I end up curled up on the floor, convulsing in laughter. My buddy James is the same way. It's very specific for me, because it's not the falling mascot that makes me laugh but imagining the expression on the face of the poor confused and terrified schlub inside the costume, flailing helplessly as he goes down, all while the visible face continues to grin idiotically. Oh... just thinking about  han;,s,md;lamk;nrf'aknjjkabhdkghddp 

Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I did not have a stroke. I lost all control there, for a second, laughing. I mean seriously. It's terrible. Every time I see some poor loser on the side of the road in a giant hotdog or chicken costume, I silently wish "Fall! Please, oh please, oh please, please please, PLEASE fall down!" I did see a Quizno's Cup Guy get pushed by the wind once, but he managed to stay upright (needless to say, much to my disappointment). Jimmy and I dare you not to laugh at these:

Oh, man! That last one just about made me hyperventilate. It just gets worse and worse and the poor jerk's ass must have hurt for days! I have to give him (or her) credit, because I would've given up a long time before the blue chicken does.

Here's wishing you a silly (in a good way) day, tomorrow. I'm doing everything I can to laugh as much as I can. Because I know if I don't... well... I prefer laughing, anyway.

Still not sure I'm back, back. Meeting a friend of a Day Job friend tomorrow night for drinks. We've been Facebook friends for a while and are finally meeting face-to-face before he takes off for Boston for a few weeks (our mutual friend describes him as a 'gypsy').

Yes, T and I did have that date, and it was.... very nice and we are both looking forward to more. I'm looking forward to some decent sleep, soon. And doing some laundry. And maybe going out for lunch. Calgon, take me away!

More, anon.
Prospero

I've Always Suspected as Much

It's Girl Scout Cookie Season. Uncle P's downfall are the Peanut Butter Sandwiches. I don't care for the multi-flavored Samoas or the gag-inducing Thin Mints (typing those words was a major hurdle for me - mint and chocolate should NEVER be paired together. The very thought of Andes Candies or York Peppermint Patties can actually send me into a paroxysm of dry-heaving). You honestly have no idea how long I had to hold my breath to link to pictures of those disgustingly sweet confections.

I ran some errands today and was confronted by a table of Girl Scout Cookies manned by the most adorable moppets I have ever seen, set up in front of my local liquor store. I broke down and bought a box of my favorites and a box of Shortbreads for my mother. Of course, each year the box and the cookies get smaller while the price goes up. I can't really fault the GSA for this. Unlike the BSA, the GSA has proven to be an inclusive and welcoming group, allowing female-identifying boys to join and having no policy which excludes LGBT members or leaders. While cookie sales far outweigh membership dues in funding the GSA, they only make about 40 cents per box, just about ten percent. That seems both unfair and exploitative to me.

But this post isn't about the GSA. No. It's about a far more-insidious girl-centric topic: Unicorns. I get it. I think. Girls love ponies, horses and unicorns. I'm not sure what they fully represent or mean to them, not being a girl, myself. I imagine most girls think of unicorns like this:

Tom Cruise was so pretty before he lost his mind, no?

Anyway, I have come to suspect that unicorns aren't really quite as magical and beautiful as girls think they are, especially given this bizarre YouTube series featuring a rather jaded unicorn named Charlie:

But I fear the truth is far more insidious.Via comes this extremely disturbing (yet somehow hilarious) video about the true nature of the Lisa Frank staple (language may be NSFW):

I knew it! Unicorns are merely the tools of homophobic Nazis and gay-bashing, gun-loving nutjobs  who think the Gov'mint is out to git 'em by suppressing their rights to own assault weapons which serve to enhance their ridiculously small penises. It all makes so much sense now!

More, anon.

Prospero

Awards Season Nonsense

Golden Globe Hosts Tina Fey and Amy Pohler

I don't know if it's age-induced cynicism, bitterness or just an increasing awareness about what's really important in life, but I have come to loathe the entertainment Awards Season and the shows which present said awards.

It honestly seems ridiculous to me to offer up awards for any art form, especially since art is so very subjective. I may love a film; TV show; play; musical; painting; song; album; composition;  sculpture or installation that you absolutely detest. Or vice-versa. You might find something uproariously funny while I find it repulsively disgusting. I may be moved to tears by a poem or novel, while you simply shrug your shoulders and say "Huh?" No one else I know is as fascinated by Dali's "The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus" as I am. And that's as it should be. Art (and one's response to it) may be one of the few truly individual things we have.

Here's a very personal example: Dear D's favorite actor is Sylvester Stallone and his favorite movie of all-time is Rocky. I have no favorite actor (really, how can one?) and my favorite film of all-time is Bringing Up Baby. If I did have a 'favorite actor,' I can assure you it wouldn't be Stallone. That doesn't mean Stallone hasn't been in some highly entertaining films. It also doesn't mean that every film he's been in, has been bad. Or even that the bad film's in which he's appeared weren't entertaining. Demolition Man is by no means be 'high art,' but I was amused and entertained by it (though, unlike D, I don't have 3 seashells in my bathroom - no matter how hilarious I may find it). 

Awarding folks for their achievements is hardly new. And while I wouldn't be opposed to winning an award of any kind, I imagine that winning a Nobel or Pulitzer or even an Olympic medal would mean much more to me than a Golden Globe, Critics' Choice or Academy Award. While awards shows may be just as entertaining to some folks as great art is to others, to me they are just ego-inflating parties thrown by and for rich people who have nothing better to do than pat one another on the back.

Oh, and for famous LGBT people to publicly come out (via):

Sorry for the bad audio. It's what they had.

More. anon.
Prospero

Kaiju Do Me a Favor?

Cthulhuzilla? (via)

"Using the Beta Capsule, Hiyata has become... Ultraman!" As a kid, my first real introductions to Japanese culture were the Anime series ("Kimba the White Lion;" "Astroboy") and Kaiju  movies and TV shows I watched after school and on Saturday afternoons - Godzilla movies and "Ultraman."  I think even as a kid, I thought they were goofy. The monsters (and even the heroes) were obviously men in rubber suits, stomping around models of mid-century Tokyo. The response of Japanese filmmakers to the horrors of nuclear war, the genre spawned an industry that has found its way into American culture... or did it?

Kaiju [kye-jou] literally means "strange beast" in Japanese. In this case, giant monsters which wreak havoc in a major metropolitan city. Hmm... in what early American movie does a giant monster wreak havoc on a major metropolitan city...?

Hell, Toho studios practically admits they stole the idea in 1962's particularly silly King Kong vs. Godzilla.

And one can certainly go further back than that for tales of giant monsters. Lovecraft created an entire mythology based on giant monsters who ruled the world before the age of men. Conan-Doyle's The Lost World? No, older. I know...think about it - Moby Dick is actually early-American Kaiju. Further back? Sure. 'Jack and the Beanstalk' and any quest to slay a dragon. Earlier? Thor used his hammer on the Ice Giants. Wait, further? Okay - Goliath and Jonah have really bad days. Giant monsters persist in mythology because when early humans first encountered dinosaur fossils, they imagined all sorts of creatures that may have covered such skeletal remains. And just to bring it back full circle, the most recent example of American Kaiju was 2008's first-person, 'found footage' movie from producer J.J. Abrams, Cloverfield:

Having been denied (for now) bringing his vision of At the Mountains of Madness to the screen, director Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth; Hellboy) is about to unleash his interpretation of Kaiju with next summer's release of Pacific Rim. A fan of del Toro's ever since 1993's odd little vampire tale Cronos, I have always been in awe of the director's passion for spectacular visuals. The full trailer for Pacific Rim was released online today and even from what little it shows, you can tell that no one's skimping here. Some folks have described Pacific Rim as "Godzilla meets Transformers." I can certainly see how some people might make that correlation but knowing the body of the director's work, I think we're in for something much more.

I have no doubt that Pacific Rim will be decidedly better than the 1998 fiasco that was Roland Emmerich and Dean Devlin's Godzilla:

Let's hope the proposed 2014 American reboot of the franchise isn't anything like that. Regardless, I'll be seeing Pacific Rim. Will you?

More, anon.
Prospero

Turkey Thursday on Saturday: Shark Bait

Seriously?

I can't believe that Thanksgiving is this coming Thursday and I've only done one Turkey of the Week post. I'm blaming Sandy, which screwed things up for so many of us in the Central Atlantic states these past few weeks. Thankfully, Uncle P received an unexpectedly expedient (say that 3 times, fast) check from my homeowner's insurance and I was able to start restocking my empty fridge and freezers today with the largest grocery order I've purchased in a very long time. I know there are folks within driving distance who don't even have a fridge to fill, so I am exceptionally grateful that I do. I urge you to continue to provide support to the American Red Cross and other local charities who are helping those most in need. Food, baby formula and warm clothing are still desperately needed by thousands affected by the storm.

Now I'll hope you'll allow me a moment or two of levity. Last night, Uncle P posted about my personal Top Ten Spielberg films, among them: Jaws. Universal made three sequels to Jaws, none of which included Spielberg and each of which is more ridiculous than the one before. Jaws II was okay at best, while Jaws 3D was just plain silly, despite the presence of the hotness known as Dennis Quaid as the adult Micheal Brody. Most egregious of all, 1987's Jaws: The Revenge delves very deep into the waters of ridiculousness, appearing on more "Worst Movie Ever Made" lists than anything directed by Ed Wood, Jr.

Convinced that her husband's fatal heart-attack was prompted by his fear of sharks, Ellen Brody (Lorraine Gary) knows that the shark which quickly kills her son Sean has a personal vendetta against her family and flies Micheal (now played by the decidedly less-hot Lance Guest) and his family to the Bahamas in an attempt to escape it (though why she doesn't go somewhere land-locked like Kansas, remains a mystery). Pilot 'Hoagie' ( Oscar winner Michael Caine) and his pal Jake (Mario Van Peebles) also happen to be marine biologists (?) who decide to track the shark (which has apparently followed Ellen from NY to the Bahamas) with a device that monitors its heartbeat. Ellen has flashbacks to events she didn't witness, while experiencing some sort of psychic connection to the shark that wants to eat her family because her husband killed it's brother or father or something. Eventually, Ellen decides to sacrifice herself to the shark to save Michael and his family, but Hoagie and Jake save her by impaling the Great White on the prow of the their boat, after driving it crazy with electrical impulses from the device they attached to its heart. What? Yes. That's really what happens in this epic PoS sequel to one of the best movies ever made. Most of those involved in the making of Jaws: The Revenge disavow it as the garbage it is. In full disclosure, Gary was married to the head of Universal at the time. I hope she has divorced him, since.

Here's what the late Gene Siskel and the now-silent Roger Ebert had to say about the movie upon its release:

More, anon.
Prospero

Needing Nonsense, Stat!

Zombie Plumbing Company - Draaiiins. We clean draaiiins!

A little nonsense now and then/Is treasured by the wisest men. ~ Raold Dahl

Before I start, a quick reminder, if you can, go kiss your boy or girl and like it tomorrow night. You know where. Last word on that for a while, I promise.

Things have been grim and angry and shouty and unhappy around here, lately. Time to take it down (or rather, up) a few notches and get our silly on. What say you? Too bad. I've already decided. I hope the Copyranter Mark Duffy sees that pic. Hell, I'm sending it to him. There. Done. Let's see if he posts it. So what other kinds of nonsense can we get up to tonight?

Oh - how about assorted Olympics nonsense? 8 Women's Badminton players from three different Asian countries were disqualified for deliberately playing badly in order to manipulate the teams they would play in future matches. What kind of moron cheats at the Olympics? It's not like cheating on a 5th grade math test. This is on a global scale. Literally the entire world knows what they did. They've not only shamed themselves and their countries, but sullied the Olympic ideals. Every two years the world comes together to celebrate the best of their athletes. The best. And you'd better be. Of course, badminton wasn't the only example of bad sportsmanship. Two other competitors have been sent home for thoughtlessly Tweeting racist or otherwise inflammatory comments about other athletes. Do young people still not realize how quickly everything they post on line can go viral and is forever? Even if they delete it, it can be found in an archive, somewhere. Now, I am guilty of regretting a thing or two I've posted, but I own up to that and try to be very careful when I talk about people I actually know. There may be some value in "trash-talk" on the field, but such nonsense does not belong on Twitter or Facebook, especially when the ENTIRE WORLD is watching.

See? I had no control over posting that. Wow. I almost forgot how hot Val used to be. And now that I've posted from a movie, I suppose I should touch on the most ridiculous scandal rocking Hollywood, which conveniently ties in with the photo as it's about vampire leaving the zombie who cheated on him. Wait... WTF!?!? I don't give a crap about two no-talent uggos and neither should you. Sweet Hephaestus, I'm sick of hearing about those two and their terrible, terrible movies. Actually, I'm kind of glad they broke up. Imagine the baby those two would make:

KPAT, Jr.

Aye Carumba! Isn't Photoshop a wonderful tool for telling photographic lies?

What other non-fast-food-related nonsense is going on? I know. Sight and Sound magazine has published it's once-a-decade "100 Best Films List" and for the first time in fifty years, Orson Welle's masterpiece Citizen Kane has be demoted to number two, replaced by Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece, Vertigo (via). While I love both of those movies, they usually hover a bit lower on my personal Top Five. My personal Number One is a perfect example of delightful nonsense, Howard Hawkes' madcap comedy Bringing Up Baby, starring Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant; both gorgeous and both at the height of their comedic prowess. A dinosaur bone; a rude little Terrier; a dowager Aunt; an eccentric heiress; a big-game hunter; torn jackets; frilly housecoats and not one, but two leopards, all add up to a fast-talking series of ridiculously improbable events that end in an even more improbably happy way. Critics were cold, though over the years (much like Vertigo), it's genius has come to be acknowledged and it regularly shows up in Top Ten lists.

Now that's some Hollywood nonsense.

I think I need to try my hand at writing a modern madcap comedy. The last one that really worked was Peter Bogdonavich's What's Up, Doc? in 1972, again featuring a cast of actors at the peak of their comedic prowess, including Barbra Streisand; the then muy caliente Ryan O'Neal; Kenneth Mars; Austin Pendleton and the film debut of the genius that was Madeline Kahn. Four identical plaid suitcases at the same San Francisco hotel are the cause of the mayhem. Thieves, spies, musicologists and an insane car chase are just some of the silliness that makes What's Up, Doc? Bogdonavich's second funniest comedy (his best being Paper Moon).

Still, nothing comes close to the nonsense of the Pythons. Oh, how I love them.

There. That's better. My silly self is most satisfied and I am smiling once again. Nu? The next time I need a nonsense break, we'll revisit MST3K.

More, anon.
Prospero