N.U. 14

NU14 Has Moved!!

2010-04-29T11:01:00.003-06:00

Hey there. If you are looking for new NU14 updates, please visit the new, permanent URL:

http://www.nu14.com/

Technical Difficulties

2010-04-06T08:00:00.001-06:00

Something has gone terribly wrong at NU14.

Oh noes!

Please bear with us as we get our ducks in a row. We'll be back in full force—and with full disclosure—soon.

Guest Blog

2010-04-01T08:00:00.004-06:00

Today's post is provided by my wife, as I have been commanded to have the car packed for our trip to Moab by the time she gets home, "or else..."

Pictured: Or else.

Dear devoted readers of NU14. Let me first apologize for Adam's severe lack of blogging in the last few weeks. He has been rather busy, what with getting a new job and throwing his back out while inline skating on the Wii (stories to follow soon I'm sure). So to halt the inevitable pitch fork waving mob scene that is sure to ensue if you are faced with one more day of waiting, I have agreed to provide today's post.

As today is April Fools Day, I thought that I would share with you a prank from WWII.

One of the largest scale and most expensive pranks in human history was kept secret for 50 years. The perpetrators were a team of artists in the U.S. Army, and the victim was Hitler. And what they did was more ridiculous than anything the zaniest of movie fraternities could have come up with.

After the American military landed in France after D-Day, they faced a German war machine that by this time was good and mad. Borrowing something straight out of Wile E. Coyote's playbook, they set out to baffle the Nazis with a completely separate army armed with nothing but fake inflatable tanks.

Yes, the tanks were literally inflatable.

What the Germans thought was a 30,000-man armored battalion was in fact a thousand artists (mostly art students recruited for the task) wearing fake uniforms, sending out fictional battle reports over the radio (complete with a war sound effects record playing in the background) all while trying to keep their tanks from getting knocked over by the wind.

They would then intentionally do a mediocre job of covering their tracks, so that German planes and scouts would spot them and report back about this huge army waiting at the location. The Germans had to completely rethink their battle plan each time, while the real American forces were sneaking around, causing trouble somewhere else.

How convincing were they? Well, it's thought they saved up to 30,000 allied lives purely with the power of BS. Oh, and some German units even surrendered to them. Which must have been pretty humiliating when they were marched past an armored division they could have taken out with a sharp stick.

Tune in next week when Adam will have another rousing game of "Guess that...", complete with bonus points and prizes!

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 12

2010-03-20T08:00:00.000-06:00

As a former Blockbuster employee, I fully support this message.

Dumbo: A Tragedy in Three Acts, part III

2010-03-18T08:00:00.001-06:00

Act III: Redemption?

As usually happens, time went on, and that fateful autumn day receded further and further into my past. I began to outgrow my affinity for all things Dumbo and moved forward to more important things, like elementary and (subsequently) middle school. In fact, I would dare say that at this point in my life, I had forgotten all about the heartache I had twice experienced in southern California.

There was one slight hiccup in my thought-repression, however. At the end of middle school, as was the custom at the time, all 9th graders got to take a day off from school and go to Lagoon. For the uninformed, Lagoon is an amusement park in Utah that prides itself on being the most-visited amusement park within a few hundred miles; they fail to note, of course, that it is also the only amusement park within a few hundred miles. Pride-by-default notwithstanding, "Lagoon Day" was something most 9th graders looked forward to, if only for an opportunity to rub it in the younger classmen's faces. As I had not been to Lagoon (or any other amusement park) for quite some time, I explored every nook and cranny of the park, determined to get the most out of my trip. Because, you know, that's what cool fifteen-year-olds do.

Pictured: one cool fifteen-year-old

In my exploration, I discovered something that struck an all-too-familiar chord with me: a ride whose cars spin around in a circle and can ascend/descend at the rider's will. Had I accidentally stumbled into a wormhole and been transported from Lagoon back to Disneyland? Upon closer inspection, I realized I hadn't; for you see, the cars at the Lagoon ride were helicopters, not flying elephants. While it may have offered some solace, I knew I would not only be lying to myself by riding it, but I would feel a degree of guilt—much like someone who marries a girl's younger sister when she shuts down his proposal... twice. I realized that no, this was not the time nor the place for me to settle. It was Dumbo or nothing.

Pictured: nothing

When I was in my early twenties, my father surprised me with the most interesting news I had heard in quite some time: that winter, we were going to Disneyworld. Perhaps he had had his fill of Anaheim, or perhaps he wanted his grandchildren to have the Disney experience at its fullest. Whatever the reason, a few months after the announcement, this supposed "Magic Kingdom" was the destination of my family—including my nieces and nephews, a whole new generation of younglings ready to be hewn down by the lightsaber of crushed hopes wielded by none other than Darth Disneus.

Star Wars metaphors, anyone?

Much to my surprise, Disneyworld was actually pretty fun, even as an adult. Actually, perhaps it was because I was an adult that made it so enjoyable. After all, a child wouldn't have received the same degree of enjoyment that we did after convincing the operator of Splash Mountain to break the rules and let us go twice in a row; nor would a child have found the humor in Snow White's Scary Adventures completely shutting down because our cart—full of seven fully-grown adults—weighed too much and caused a malfunction in the driving mechanism.

After we were asked to leave Snow White, we were debating what ride to visit next; while we were in mid-discussion, I glanced across the walkway and saw something whose beauty surpassed anything I had ever seen: Dumbo the Flying Elephant in all its remodeled glory. The center turning machine had been outfitted with gold beams and brass filigree. There were sixteen elephants instead of the original ten. And the best part of it all: a line of children were standing in front of it. A line meant proper operation! Nearly two decades after my original encounter, I finally reached my destination.

victory

Or so I thought.

As I neared the ride, I realized that the line was slowly dissipating. I quickly maneuvered my way upstream through the dispersing crowd and reached the operator. His back was turned, so I desperately tried to get his attention. He was busy working on something and paid me no mind. Just as I was about to start throwing things to get him to turn around, he walked away from what he was working on. While I was racking my brain, trying to figure out exactly what was going on, he was busy posting...

...a sign announcing that Dumbo the Flying Elephant was closed for repairs.

the sign, as I remember it

Le sigh.

It has been over four years since that day, and I have yet to return to a Disney park; a man can only take so much punishment, after all. Will I ever go back? My initial thoughts were akin to "not in a million years". However, with the recent announcement of Fantasyland getting an expansion and makeover—including an entire area devoted to Dumbo—I may be forced to once-again swallow my pride and venture forth again in a few years. Perhaps the fourth time will be a charm?

It looks good, Lou. But we really need to convey the feeling of despair children are going to have...

Dumbo: A Tragedy in Three Acts, part II

2010-03-16T08:00:00.002-06:00

Act II: Despair

After I returned from the ill-fated trip, life went back to normal. That is to say, as normal as one's life can be after having one's dreams obliterated by an uncaring rodent juggernaut. My friends would ask me how my trip was, and I would respond that it was as good as could be expected. This, of course, was just a façade, put forward for appearances. In reality, the trip was anything but fine; yes, Disneyland was still fun and I had an enjoyable time, but deep on the inside, I was a broken man.

A GoogleImage search of "melodrama" brought up this picture.

As time went on, my wounds began the healing process. After a few years had passed, I had buried the incident deep down and had gone on with my life. Then, one day at school, we were discussing past American presidents and their various quirks. When we got to Harry S Truman, my first thoughts were that he was a champ; not only did he seal the deal on WWII for America, but he also was too cool for a middle name. These thoughts of adoration quickly ended, however, when I was told the following tidbit: when Truman visited Disneyland in 1957, he refused to ride Dumbo the Flying Elephant because he didn't want to be seen with the main symbol of the Republican party.

What an f-hole.

Much like in the Manchurian Candidate, a few simple words had triggered a reaction in my head. Images and feelings of heartbreak and sorrow from the past filled my mind. These images were joined by a new-found disdain for the 33rd president. He had the chance—nay, the privilege—to ride Dumbo and he blew it off? Korea may have been forgivable, Mr. Truman, but not that.

For those confused about that last comment, this is an f-hole.

A few short weeks after Truman, with one single act, secured the "Worst President of All Time" position in my young mind, my mother surprised me with the best news I had heard in the past three years: that fall, we were going to Disneyland. While all my siblings were excited about the newly-built Splash Mountain—and, I'll admit, there was interest on my part as well—I knew there was only one ride that called my name. And to make matters all-the-better, we were going to visit the park for two days. Two whole days! This time, nothing could get in my way. There would be no one to stop me this time.

The cold, hard look of determination.

The air was crisp that cold, autumn morning. The cool sou'wester that frequents southern California caused the temperature to be almost perfect. And, due to Utah's habit of coinciding the fall school break with the opening weekend of the deer hunt, we were there on a Thursday, which meant the lines would be at a minimum. My parents suggested that our first stop be the aforementioned Splash Mountain. I didn't object; after all, there would be plenty of Adam/Dumbo time later.

As the day drew on, I grew more and more impatient. Finally, when the rest of the family was taking a breather after a particularly nausea-inducing spin on the Mad Tea Party, my mother agreed to escort me to Dumbo. As we walked, we saw Timothy Mouse—the ornament resting atop the center of the ride—emerge above the treeline. I started running at this point, for I was only a few feet from my destiny. Only a few feet from my white whale. Only a few feet from...

...a sign announcing that Dumbo the Flying Elephant was closed for repairs.

I was crushed. Had I really been snubbed twice by a ride that I had showed nothing but love, compassion, and ultimate devotion towards? My mom put her hand on my shoulder in an effort to console me. While I appreciated the effort, the damage had been done, and was far too deep. I sulked back to my family and back to Utah. It seemed that Dumbo would be forever out of my reach... until the fates would once again intertwine my life with my big-eared friend's, 2500 miles and 16 years later.

the sign, as I remember it

Coming up next time: a final chance at redemption...

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 11

2010-03-13T08:00:00.001-07:00

The lament of a video game villain.

Dumbo: A Tragedy in Three Acts, part I

2010-03-11T08:00:00.005-07:00

Act I: Disenchantment

When I young, my parents revealed what was at the time the best news I had ever heard: that summer, we were going to Disneyland. Like many kids growing up in Utah, I had never been to this Californian Shangri-La and had only heard legends and tales of it from two sources:

1) My parents/aunts/uncles/grandparents/other old people who talked about how great it was when they were kids; and
2) The occasional spoiled kid at school whose families made a tradition of going on a complete California vacation every summer, and who would always brag about his trips and suggest that perhaps this most recent one "wasn't as good as last year's". (Incidentally, these kids would grow up to be the same d-bags who have license plate covers that say things like "My other car is also a porche.")

Given the aforementioned circumstances, you can understand how happy I was to hear the news.

me, circa late-1980s

It also needs to be noted that at this particular point in my life, my favorite Disney movie was Dumbo. (While I'm at it, it also needs to be noted that at the current point in my life, my favorite Disney movie is The Emperor's New Groove. You simply cannot beat lines like, "I'm kind of hard to fit: I wear a 66 long and a 31 waist.") There was just something about that flying elephant that struck a cord with the little version of me. So when my parents told my siblings and me that we were going to the Land of Disney, I was overjoyed; but when my mom told me that I would be able to go on a ride called Dumbo the Flying Elephant, I nearly died of excitement. An entire ride dedicated to my favorite flying pachyderm? Truly, this must be heaven.

Dumbo the Flying Elephant, circa late-1980s

The road-trip to Anaheim was long, and it felt, what with two adults and four children piled into a 198something Corolla hatchback, longer. And for those who have made the drive, you know that the scenery from Salt Lake to SoCal doesn't make the trip much better. But it all became moot the moment we saw the spires of Sleeping Beauty's castle jutting up from the suburban wasteland, hailing all who saw to take refuge within. We had arrived; I was home.

a Toyota Corolla hatchback, circa late-1980s

I practically ran across the miles of parking lot to the front gate. After years of hearing about it and weeks of dreaming about it, I was only a few hundred yards from what was sure to be the end-all/be-all of my (admittedly short) existence. Being the youngest—and, by definition, the most likely to cry when things didn't go my way—I was granted first choice when it came to rides. I already knew my destination and plotted my course.

Taking the helm, I led the family to Fantasyland. We passed the Enchanted Tiki Room, sidestepped the Jungle Cruise, and completely ignored Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Those could all wait, for there was only one ride on my mind. Come hell or high water, I was taking my family straight to...

...a sign announcing that Dumbo the Flying Elephant was closed for repairs.

I could not believe my eyes. Surely there had to be some mistake. After all, Dumbo was my ride. How could it be closed during my weekend, after I had traveled 700 miles just for it? But no amount of pleading or reasoning would avail; the sign stood firm. After coming to the understanding that no matter how many other rides were available, Dumbo wouldn't be, I hung my head in sorrow. Much like Dorothy thought about Oz after discovering the man behind the curtain, I had been brought to a somber realization: perhaps Disnleyland wasn't so great after all.

the sign, as I remember it

Coming up next time: a second shot at glory...

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 10

2010-03-06T08:00:00.005-07:00

I always knew geography was awesome.

NUance 1

2010-03-04T08:00:00.003-07:00

(Every so often, I will present to you a NUance of my own creation.)

Who's the leader of the club...?

Utah - H*ck Yeah!, part 2

2010-03-02T08:00:00.002-07:00

Land of the mountains high, Utah, we love thee!
Land of the sunny sky, Utah, we love thee!
Far in the glorious West,
Throned on the mountain's crest,
In robes of statehood dressed, Utah, we love thee!

While my feelings towards the Beehive State aren't as fervent as those portrayed in the official State Song, I do happen to think Utah is a pretty cool*. Why? Let me show you.

*Johnny Utah is pretty cool, too.

Religion
Naturally, the first topic of discussion when talking about Utah always religion. "But Adam," people say, "isn't Utah a hyper-religious autocracy filled with zealous Mormons?" While it is true that a large percentage of the population in Utah is LDS, in a recent survey conducted by the Pew Research Center's Forum on Religion and Public Life, Utah came in (a somewhat unexpected) 12th place when ranked among states whose residents feel religion is important to them—a mere 10% above the national average. (For those interested, last place was claimed by the twin coalition of New Hampshire and Vermont, and first place was proudly taken by Mississippi.) While this statistic may be a bit distressing for those who actually want Utah to become a hyper-religious autocracy (of which I can only hope there are only a handful), it may shine a different light on the state to others.

Although something tells me the Hindu population of Mississippi is not as prevalent as this sign would have us believe.

Brain Health
Recently, Dr. Michael Roizen and his colleagues evaluated "the 50 U.S. states... on 21 brain health indicators in the areas of diet, physical health, mental health and social well-being". He then ranked the states according to the brain health index. In said index, Utah ranked at a mighty number 15, just five short of the top ten. While I don't understand science very well, I think that means that Utahns are fairly smart—or at least their brains have the capacity and ability to be so. And while Dr. Roizen says that "Utah residents... should be eating more of the state fish – the rainbow trout", perhaps Dr. Roizen should be using more of the internet to find out what Utah's State Fish really is.

Whose brain is healthy now, Doc?

Safety
Admittedly, Americans in general have a different perspective of "safety" than a good majority of the world. While America is by no means the safest country on Earth, it is far—and I do mean far—from being the most dangerous. That being said, a recent study placed Utah as the 17th safest state in America. When I discovered this, it came as no surprise to me, as Sandy (my hometown) had just posted a billboard on the freeway using safety as a selling point.

We're number 34! We're number 34!

What did come as a surprise to me, however, were the states that took the title of "Safest": that cursed duumverate of New Hampshire and Vermont. This is the second time in three lists they've appeared, and both times they've been at each other's sides. Whatever is going on over there, I don't like it.

They're up to something. I can feel it.

Happiness
Sure, Utah may be just-the-right-amount-of-religious, brain-healthy, and safe, but what about overall well-being? According to a study called the Gallup-Healthways Well-Being Index, in 2008 Utah was #1 when it comes to overall well-being. What does that mean, exactly? The study gathered surveys from each state in six categories: life evaluation, emotional health, physical health, healthy behavior, work environment, and basic access. They then averaged the scores and ranked them accordingly, creating what is essentially a ranking of the happiest states. "But," you might say, "that was in 2008. What about 2009?" Well, I saddens me to announce that last year, Utah was bumped to 2nd place. And what state did the ousting? Oh, only a state that is described by virtually everyone who visits there as "paradise"—Hawaii.

Taking into consideration the unfair advantage the island has (i.e. Hawaii is prime rib and Utah is... weird brother of prime rib), I'd say Utah did pretty well for itself.

Yeah, I'd be happier there too.

Now, I am fully aware that Utah has its fair share of problems. Utahns rank first in per capita porn consumption, and Utah is the only state that not only still uses a firing squad, but allows guns on college campuses. However, Utahns also have one of the highest life expectancies, have the lowest per capita alcohol consumption, and Utah is the fastest growing state in the nation.

So, when it is all said and done, Utah is by no means perfect. However, if you want to life in a place that has some pretty impressive statistics—and not to mention four distinct and awesome seasons—then allow me to quote Robert "the Sundance Kid" Redford: "Because, you know, you're in Utah... and if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere."

And that dude knows what he is talking about.

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 9

2010-02-27T08:00:00.004-07:00

Faithful followers of NU14 will remember a story I told a few weeks ago. It was a true rags-to-riches tale in which a woman found an original NES and a few games in her attic, posted them on eBay, and soon discovered that one of her games was among the list of Video Game Holy Grails which sold for over $13,000.

You remember this, right?

Now that we have that super-awesome story fresh in our minds, allow me, if you will, to tell you an even superer, even awesomer story.

Like the last story, I am going to ask you to put yourself in someone else's shoes. This time around, you are an eBayer who goes by the handle vals2girlz. You have a decent eBay score and repertoire—usually selling things that can only be described as "chickish"—but are by no means a power seller. Oh, and you hail from the sprawling metropolis of Olathe, Kansas.

A GoogleImage search of "Olathe Kansas" brought up this picture.

One day you read a story about a woman finding a game in her attic and selling it for a cool chunk of change. This sparks a memory in your mind that your children used to play video games and you have them all in a box in the basement. You go downstairs and start searching through the box, not expecting to find much. Imagine your surprise, then, when you almost-but-not-quite literally strike gold: your very own copy of Stadium Events—the same game you had just read about.

pay dirt

But what is this? You quickly notice that not only do you have a CIB—complete in box, for those who don't speak eBaynics—copy of the game, but yours still has the factory seal on it. That's right: you have the only confirmed factory-sealed Stadium Events in the entire world. Imagine the level your surprise would jump to upon discovering that.

At this point, you are probably as surprised as you will ever be, right? I would have thought so as well—until I looked at the price the auction closed at: forty-one thousand three hundred dollars.

That's right—$41,300... for something you didn't even know existed a week ago.

Hey: at least you offered free shipping.

Yeah. That's super-awesome.

Utah - H*ck Yeah!, part 1

2010-02-25T08:00:00.002-07:00

It's probably a safe assumption on my part to think that most (if not all) readers and fans of NU14 are, were—or at the very least hope to one day be—Utahns. (Incidentally, it could also be spelled "Utahans" if you prefer, but I think that's putting too many vowels in an already-confusingly-and-convolutedly-spelled word). Aside from my two-year stint in South Africa, I have lived in the state my whole life and am proud to identify myself as a Utah Man—though I didn't go to the University of Utah, so I guess I'm not a "Utah Man" Utah Man, but still.

Boo-yah.

For those who don't call the Beehive State home, you may be asking yourselves the following question: "But Adam, why? Why would a [relatively] sharp and [fairly] level-headed [not to mention extremely good looking] individual such as yourself be drawn to a state that I hear all sorts of rumors about?" (That's right... you ended your sentence in a preposition. And Winston "The Lion" Churchill supposedly said that ending a sentence in a preposition is "the sort of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put". But don't feel bad; few people will ever live who were as cool as that guy.)

Boo-yah.

In concrete answer to your theoretical question, I am preparing an objective presentation on Utah and why it is awesome, which I will present to you next Tuesday. In the meantime, however, allow me to present to you a few bigwigs who, perhaps unbeknownst to you, presently call (or once called) Utah home.

Roseanne Barr, comedienne

born in Salt Lake City

Cytherea, adult film star

born in Salt Lake City

Faye Dunaway, Academy Award-winning actress

attended Dugway High School

Patrick Fugit, actor

born in Salt Lake City

Jewel, singer

born in Payson

Maddox, author

current Utah resident

Amanda Righetti, actress

born in St. George

Picabo Street, Olympic gold medalist

current Park City resident

Mary Elizabeth Winstead, actress

grew up in Sandy

James Woods, Academy Award-nominated actor

born in Vernal

Heteronyms: They'll Get You Every Time

2010-02-23T08:00:00.004-07:00

While the brevity of this entry would normally rank it among other super-awesome finds of the week, I simply could not wait to share it.

No doubt most of you read that word as:
"peer (n.): one that is of equal standing with another".
The first thing I read, however, was:
"peer (n.): one who pees".

That being the case, I would complain too.

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 8

2010-02-20T08:00:00.003-07:00

While the Olympics are super-awesome in their own right, leave it up to Stephen Colbert to make them super-awesomer.

**February 23rd Edit**
As could be expected, NBC doesn't know the meaning of "free advertising" and has asked that the previously-attached video—Bob Costas' interview with Stephen Colbert—be taken down.

Le sigh.

In its stead, let me present you with something almost as super-awesome from another Costas-Colbert encounter:

Bathroom Humor

2010-02-18T08:00:00.003-07:00

There is a certain atmosphere that exists in public restrooms that is unlike anywhere I've ever seen. Sure, there is the nature of what goes on there; but more importantly, people change when they go into a public restroom. And not just in the "If you're American when you go in the bathroom and Asian when you come out of the bathroom, what are you when you're in the bathroom?"* sort of way.

*European!

It seems that whenever anybody enters a public restroom, they feel the need to become hyper-introverted, even if they encounter someone they know. Take a meeting between associates Tom and Bob. If they met on the street, the meeting might go as follows:
Tom: "Bob? Is that you?"
Bob: "Tom! As I live and breathe. How are you, old man?"
Tom: "Oh, I'm good! And you?"
Bob: "Great. The Mrs. and I just closed on our first house."
Tom: "That's amazing. Way to be, my friend."
Bob: "Yeah, we'll have to have you over for dinner sometime."

Now let's examine that same meeting, but this time they meet as Tom has just walked into a restroom as Bob is walking out.
Tom: "...hey."
Bob: *nods

Gone is the frivolity. Gone is the small talk. Gone is Tom's dinner invite. And why? Because of the locale of their encounter. And that's on a good day. Heaven knows had the meeting happened when there were other men in the restroom, Tom and Bob would have done all they could to avoid even making eye contact with one another. In fact, it's a good bet that had Tom and Bob been friends who were walking and talking on their way to use the facilities at the same time, their conversation would have stopped the second they stepped foot in the door.

"So two guys walk into a bath—"

I'm sure we all have funny stories of bathroom encounters. There's the instance when we hear ringing coming from the stall next to us, followed by the person answering and having an entire conversation. There's also the times when something (sink, paper towels, etc.) doesn't work, and the person who has just discovered it seems compelled to make a (often lame) joke about the situation.

"No towels? Looks like I'll just have to come up with another way to dry my hands!"

Despite the aforementioned stories—and any left in comments, for everyone's pleasure—I believe I stumbled across the mother of all restroom tales. The following conversation took place between two young boys at a recent sporting event, and was overheard by me whilst I was in a stall. For organization's sake, I'm going to give each boy a name; but other than that, everything that follows is a direct quotation, told in the manner in which it was heard:

-Tommy enters the bathroom and walks up to a urinal. He is joined shortly thereafter by Bobby.-
Bobby: "No, you don't do it like that."
Tommy: "Like what?"
Bobby: "You don't pull them both down. You pull this part down without pulling this part down."
Tommy: "Huh?"
Bobby: "That way, people don't get to see your bum. You do it like this. Look at this."
-pause-
Bobby: "No, don't look at THAT part!"
Tommy: *giggles
Bobby: "See? This is how it works. My friend does it your way, except with his underwear. I saw my friend's underwear once. But it was at church, so I didn't tell anybody."
-pause-
Bobby: "He had SpongeBob underpants."

Tommy and Bobby, artist's depiction

And that is why those boys are the coolest kids ever.

Where Have All The Ideas Gone?, part 4

2010-02-16T08:00:00.003-07:00

For the past few entries, we've noticed the escalation in convolutedness (though convolutocity sounds so much better) as to where Hollywood's inspiration comes from. From prequels to reboots to video games, it seems that Hollywood is having a hard time coming up with original ideas—and when the original ideas do come up, they usually leave a lot to be desired.

case in point

But what about the times when having an idea from a source just isn't enough? When those times roll around—all too often, I might add—it makes for some interesting scenarios.

The Producers
The year is 1968. The man is a relatively unknown writer by the name of Melvin Kaminsky. The movie is The Producers, a comedy about two men who try (unsuccessfully) to make a Broadway flop so they can rake in extra cash. The movie garnered plenty of controversy and plenty of money; it also catapulted Melvin Kaminsky into the limelight as a household name: Mel Brooks.

Springtime for Hitler and Germany...

33 years later, a musical was released on Broadway titled The Producers, and was a comedy about two men who try (unsuccessfully) to make a Broadway flop so they can rake in extra cash. The play won a dozen Tony awards and eventually had a US and European tour. Four years after that, a movie was released called The Producers. As you might have guessed, it was a comedy about two men who try (unsuccessfully) to make a Broadway flop so they can rake in extra cash.

In case you didn't catch it, we have the original film (The Producers). We then have a musical inspired by the original (The Producers). We then have a movie based off the musical inspired by the original (The Producers).

Confused yet?

Halloween
In 1979, John Carpenter released a film; as I recall, it was a horror film. The film was called Halloween and involved a deranged homicidal maniac named Michael Myers* running around, murdering young babysitters. The original film did so well that it spawned a sequel (and, later, about 50 other -quels), appropriately called Halloween II.

*No, not this Michael Myers.

In 2007, somebody decided that giving Rob Zombie reign over another movie would be a good idea, and the viewing public was given Halloween, a remake of the original. Though the film did nowhere near as well as the original, a sequel was greenlit. Two years later, we were given a sequel, appropriately called Halloween II.

For those keeping score, we have Halloween, an original film. We then have Halloween II, a sequel to the original. We then have Halloween, a remake of the original. And lastly, we have Halloween II, a sequel to the remake of the original, which has nothing in common with the other Halloween II.

How about now?

Nine
In 1963, an Italian director by the name of Federico Fellini wrote and directed a semi-autobiographical film called Otto e Mezzo, known better by its English title: 8 1/2. The film was a huge success and served as an inspiration for numerous works, including a 1974 play called Six Passionate Women, written by Mario Fratti. Fratti then adapted his own work into English, which was first shown in 1998.

Too many numbers... what is this, LOST?

Meanwhile, in 1973 work began on a play inspired by Fellini's 8 1/2. The producers of the play originally hired Fratti to write the play—which he did, mostly by adapting his own Six Passionate Women—but later decided to go with another writer. This play was released in 1982 as Nine. 27 years later, a film adaptation of the play was released in theaters, also under the title Nine.

So we have a movie (Nine) based off a play (Nine), which was itself partially inspired by another play (Six Passionate Women) and by another film (8 1/2).

Sewiouswy, Stwong Bad...

Die Hard 2
The story of Die Hard 2: Die Harder begins back in 1966 with a man named Roderick Thorp. That year, Thorp wrote a book called The Detective about a renegade cop who plays by his own rules. The Detective was later adapted into a 1986 film of the same name starring Frank Sinatra. 13 years later, Thorp wrote a sequel called Nothing Lasts Forever about the same renegade cop playing by the same rules. Nothing Lasts Forever was later adapted into a film called Die Hard starring Bruce Willis, released in 1988.

Which makes these guys the same character...

Die Hard did so well in the box office that a sequel was immediately greenlit. As Thorp hadn't written a threequel, the studio scrambled for ideas. They eventually came across a book written by Walter Wager with the name of 58 Minutes, which was written in 1987. 58 Minutes dealt largely with a renegade cop playing by his own rules. As this matched the model, a pair of screenwriters were instantly tasked with an adaptation, and in 1990, Die Hard 2 was released.

This one might be a bit tricky to keep orderly. We have a movie (Die Hard 2) based on a book (58 Minutes) acting as a sequel to another movie (Die Hard) based on another book (Nothing Lasts Forever), which itself was a sequel to another book (The Detective), which incidentally was adapted into a separate film (The Detective).

A movie based on a book being a sequel to a movie based on a book which was a sequel to a book? Don't let's be silly!

And if you think the cycle of idea-theft is only a thing of the past, allow me to show you what we have to look forward to in the next few years:

The Warriors (2010) — A movie based on a movie based on a book based on a Greek tale.
The Little Shop of Horror (2011) — A movie based on a movie based on a play based on a movie.
Wicked (2012) — A movie based on a musical based on a novel based on a novel.

After discussing the various places Hollywood gets (read: steals/regurgitates) its ideas from, I personally am all the more grateful for those few-and-far-between times when an original movie does come out. But what is to be done with the Hollywood executives who can't seem to get any new ideas into their heads? I have just one thing to say to them. And yes, to follow their example, I'm going to steal it: cut it out.

Thanks, Uncle Joey.

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 7

2010-02-13T08:00:00.003-07:00

This week's super-awesome find comes in the form of an almost-unbelievable-but-totally-true-and-rad news story.

Imagine you are an average mother who sells things on eBay—under the handle of lace_thongs35—in her spare time. From troll dolls to Disney pictures, you specialize in retro merchandise. Imagine you then find your children's old Nintendo Entertainment System with a few games in the attic and decide to put the whole lot up for auction. Nothing out of the ordinary thus far.

Just an NES and some games...

If you have thus far placed yourself in lace_thongs35's shoes, you can certainly imagine her—and, by proxy, your—surprise when the bidding jumped from $9.99 to $6,500 in the first three hours of the auction. If that was the case, perhaps you would instantly jump to Google and see if perhaps, not entirely unlike the Michael-Bay-ruined franchise, there was more than meets the eye to your items.

Surely something must be amiss...

At this point, a quick Google search later would reveal that one of the games you were selling in its complete form was the rarest licensed NES game available for purchase in North America. In fact, your copy of Stadium Events—or more importantly, the box the game came with—ranks number 6 on the 20 Holy Grails of Console Gaming list, and is one of less than 10 thought to be in existence.

Taking this new knowledge under your belt, you probably wouldn't be as surprised—though you would be ecstatic, no doubt—when your little NES lot went from being something meager you hoped to get a couple of bucks from to having a final selling price of over $13,000.

Yeah. That's super-awesome.

Where Have All The Ideas Gone?, part 3

2010-02-11T08:00:00.001-07:00

Over the past week, we've discussed Hollywood's general apathy towards original ideas, and how they like to take existing films and basically rip them to shreds. Today, I would like to point out some of the other mediums—other than history, news, and other "true stories"—that have been hurt due to this philosophy. (As with previous installments, the purpose of this post is not to say that every movie taken from another medium is bad. Just most of them.) Among other things there have been (bad) movies based on...

...books...

...poems...

...television shows...

...plays...

...video games...

...comic books...

...board games...

...toys...

...amusement park rides...

...holidays...

...and even social networking sites.

Though this list is by no means extensive or exhaustive, I think we can all agree that if there is something/anything out there, there has been/will be a movie based on it.

You know it's only a matter of time...

But wrapping it up Tuesday: when it gets REALLY bad...

Where Have All The Ideas Gone?, part 2

2010-02-09T08:00:00.002-07:00

Last Thursday, I proposed the idea that perhaps Hollywood needs to be a bit more original when coming up with ideas for movies. Today, I will explore further why that is the case.

The Remake
Remakes are often started by the following conversation:

Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
Studio Executive 2: "Hmmm... Well, let's get a new actor in there and tell the story again!"

The concept behind a remake is pretty cut-and-dry. They are often used on movies that are old (that they want to introduce to a new audience), low-budget (that they want to make with more money), or good (that they want to completely mess up). Oft-times they will change the name of the film slightly, in an attempt to either admit that what they're doing is wrong, or to trick people into seeing a film with a name that will strike a eerily-familiar cord with viewers.

I'm betting it's the latter.

Remakes are usually made to be a flash-in-the-pan; that is, make a lot of money the first few opening weekends, then be quickly forgotten. Gone is any caring for the original or any hopes to make an actually good film, and present are the hopes of making truckloads of cash before word gets out that it's not a good movie.

I mean, come on!

Most grievous offenses—
Psycho, Alfie, The Pink Panther, The Italian Job
Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Once Upon a Time in the West, To Kill a Mockingbird, It Happened One Night

This summer, Peter and Ellie's lives will change in one night.

The Reboot
The reboot is a fairly new invention, emerging in the past decade or so. The idea behind a reboot stems in its terminology: to take something already in existence and restart it.

Because calling it a "ctrl + alt + del" wasn't as catchy.

By doing this, studios have the freedom of choosing new actors, settings, storylines, themes, and pretty much anything else they want for their movies, but also have the luxury of the populace already knowing the gist of and liking the series. A reboot differs from a remake in that remakes often stick to original ideas that are just revamped, whereas a reboot is a complete mulligan of an entire series. In a reboot, all bets are off regarding anything from previous installments (usually referred to as the "canon"). For an example, take the following conversation:

Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
Studio Executive 2: "Hmmm... Well, let's get a new actor in there and tell the story again! But this time, we'll make it edgy!"

When dealing with reboots, one often hears the word "gritty". This (I guess) stems from the frat-boy inspired philosophy that as long as you are redoing something, you might as well make it more hardcore this time around. While gritty reboots can work—making Batman dark and serious is one of the best moves the franchise ever made—it really makes me wonder at what point they will stop.

See how the man became the legend.

Reboots are usually not explained in the context of the movie itself. Why are we seeing James Bond acquiring his 007 title after 20 films of him already having it? Because we're starting over, that's why. In the most recent Star Trek installment, they actually did attempt to explain it—and did a rather nice job. (Granted, they had to use the "time warp" theory, which only works in something like Star Trek, but still.)

Most grievous offenses—
Superman Returns, Hulk, Halloween
Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Adventures in Babysitting, Song of the South, Spider-man 4

Oh, wait.

Coming up Thursday: when ideas are still copied, but not from movies...

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 6

2010-02-06T10:39:00.008-07:00

Those who know me know that I am not exactly a fan of Dan Brown nor The DaVinci Code. Those who know me best have heard multiple commentaries from me regarding the book/movie's story and dialogue, and the fact that the main character is the biggest bounceboard character in history. The entire book/movie can pretty much be summed-up as follows:

Nondescript Uneducated Character: "What's that?"
Robert Langdon: "Oh, that is the blah blah blah, which means blah blah blah."
NUC: "And what's that?"
RL: "Oh, that is the blah blah blah, which means blah blah blah."
NUC: "Oh no! Someone's trying to kill us!"
RL: "They're probably trying to kill us because of blah blah blah, which means..."

In fact, the only merit I was able to pull from The DaVinci Code is that it gave me a new curse word to yell—shouted ever so awesomely by Sir Ian—whenever something goes awry.

"LAAANGDOOOOOOON!!"

That being the case, I did find something this week that is along the same lines, but actually is semi-credible. A few years back, an Italian musician/computer scientist took a good look at DaVinci's The Last Supper and noticed that the placement of the hands of the apostles and the bread on the table looked an awful lot like notes. He then imposed a staff atop the picture—and arranged the notes in reverse, as DaVinci did all his writing backwards—and ended up with Renaissance-era sheet music.

the REAL DaVinci Code

Now, I know that a lot of you are probably skeptical. Truthfully, I don't know if I am 100% convinced myself. It is hard, however, to deny that something wasn't going through DaVinci's head when you listen to how well the supposed music harmonizes and flows.

Where Have All The Ideas Gone?, part 1

2010-02-04T08:00:00.007-07:00

Ideas are everywhere. They can come from something you see or hear or read. They can come from an experience in your life or a story from someone else's. And some of them are, as a memorable episode of Seinfeld taught us, simply "in the air". With that being the case, why in the world do the powers-that-be in Hollywood ignore the aforementioned sources and insist on rehashing ideas over and over again? Over the next few posts, allow me to explore a few of the ways in which Hollywood is being neither creative, original, creatively original, nor originally creative.

It's not "top of the muffin TO YOU!"

The Sequel
Now, I'm not talking a sequel that was meant to happen from the word go—in fact, when a sequel is planned from the beginning, it is oft-times better than the original (read: The Two Towers or The Empire Strikes Back). Sadly, though, most sequels come to be because the original made a lot of money, and some studio executives had the following conversation:

Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
The preceding conversation is then usually followed with the subsequent one:
Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
Studio Executive 2: [shrugs shoulders] "...meh."

And so it is that we are subjected to a barrage of horrible sequels, some of which have nothing to do with the original, some of which actually undo/write-off the events of the first film to make room for a second one, and some of which are created literally 20 or 30 years after the fact.

Now, that is not to say that all unplanned sequels are bad. The Dark Knight, Evil Dead 2, and Once Upon a Time in Mexico are all great. It is to say, however, that for every good sequel released, we are given half a dozen Saw iterations.

Saw VI? Really?

Most grievous offenses—
Live Free or Die Hard, The Matrix Revolutions, Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Leon (the Professional) 2: Mathilda's Revenge, Armageddon 2: Armageddon, Groundhog Day 2: Back 2 Punxsutawney

This time, it's personal.

The Prequel
Much like the sequel, the prequel comes from a similar conversation between studio executives:

Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
Studio Executive 2: [thinks for a moment] "Ok, then. Let's tell the story of what happened before."

And thus the prequel came to be. Now, again, there are exceptions to every rule—The Godfather II is half-prequel and it is incredible. But the risk that is run with prequels is that the story already has an ending point (i.e. the starting of the original film), so anything that happens in the prequel has to line up to the original. In other words, it's like reading the last chapter of a book first: it pretty much renders moot the rest of the story.

As hot as Hugh Jackman is, did we really need this?

Most grievous offenses—
Star Wars: The New Trilogy (all of them), Tremors 4: The Legend Begins, The Scorpion King, Cube Zero
Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Casablanca: The Early Years, Harry Potter: Dumbledor's Story, Fight Club: I Am Jack's Childhood

This summer, see how it all began.

Coming up Tuesday: What happens when old movies need a new spin?

Sundance Stories, part 3

2010-02-02T08:00:00.001-07:00

And so it is—after ten long and busy days, the 2010 Sundance Film Festival (known as SundanceFilmFestivalTwentyTen to the hipster film crowd) has drawn to a close. As with every year, I am glad I had the opportunity to do it and am glad I could meet some cool people. However, also as with every year, I am glad it is over. (And for any naysayers who think that being a driver during a busy film festival is a walk in the park, I have only this to say: try it.)

Mark "Man of 1000 faces" Ruffalo

Despite what my previous posts—being full of stories and Photoshopped celebrity pictures—may lead you to believe, there are actually films going on at Sundance; and every year, I get the opportunity to see a few. This year, there were many-a good film at Sundance. To Catch a Dollar is an excellent documentary about a man who gives microloans to impoverished communities. Restrepo is a hard-hitting look at the oft-forgotten war in Afghanistan. And Happythankyoumoreplease is well deserving of its Audience Award.

Tory "Mythbusters used to be cool, but now it pretty much sucks" Belleci

Though the aforementioned films were good, there was one film at SundanceFilmFestivalTwentyTen that took the cake: Tucker and Dale vs. Evil.

The premise is simple: imagine that all the events of a slasher movie are one big misunderstanding. For example, perhaps the reason the man comes running around the corner waving a chainsaw is not because he was trying to kill someone, but because he was sawing a log, hit a beehive, and was simply running away. Or how about when the hillbillies stalk through the woods, shouting out, "We have your friend!"? What if it turns out one of their friends got a concussion and the hillbillies were nursing her back to health?

They're nice guys. Really.

Starring two funny-yet-relatively-unknown guys—Alan Tudyk (Wash in Firefly/Serenity, Pastor Veal in Arrested Development, Steve the Pirate in Dodgeball) and Tyler Labine (a whole bunch of minor roles in television and movies)—Tucker and Dale vs. Evil combines the situational humor of Shaun of the Dead with the over-the-top slapstick/gore of Evil Dead. Hopefully it will get distribution (if it hasn't already) so the joy can be shared with others. I mean, how can you not smile at the line, "Dale! Some kid just ran by and threw himself headlong into my woodchipper!"?

We have had a doozy of a day...

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 5

2010-01-30T08:00:00.004-07:00

My apologies to those who have seen this before, but if you haven't, be warned: it is awesome.

Super-awesome, even.

Sundance Stories, part 2

2010-01-26T08:00:00.001-07:00

My sincerest apologies to everyone who was expecting a post last Thursday. As happens, Sundance has been quite hectic and I haven't had a chance to tell some stories. Sadly, I shall probably miss this Thursday's as well—and for that, let me give you a preemptive "sorry". In the interim, allow me to share with you more (fake) pictures of my interactions with (real) famous people.

Robert "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" Duvall

Bill "You may be on B-Squad, but you're the B-Squad leader" Murray

Joel "Falling Down was pretty durn awesome" Schumacher

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 4

2010-01-23T08:00:00.003-07:00

As I haven't had much time to find something cool on the World Wide Series-of-Tubes, this week's find comes in the form of something I saw yesterday while looking to the west. I took the following picture:

Now, granted, that doesn't look like much... until you look at the next picture.

That's right: I have photographic proof that Falkor the Luck Dragon exists.

Rrrraaaaarrrhhhhhh!!!

Sundance Stories, part 1

2010-01-19T08:00:00.001-07:00

For the past three years—Thursday starts year four—I have spent the latter portion of each January at the Sundance Film Festival. More specifically, I have spent the latter portion of each January driving filmmakers and celebrities to venues around the Sundance Film Festival. Is it a fun experience? Yup. Is it hard work? Surprisingly yes. Is it one step away from wearing a suit and being referred to as "James" or "Jeeves"? Pretty much.

Yeah, it's kindof like that.

Due to the nature of shuttling people around (i.e. meeting a variety of people and it usually taking a fairly long car ride to wherever we are going), I often get to meet some cool people and have some really neat conversations. Like the time when I met Nathan Fillion at the airport. I was holding a sign that read "N. Fillion", and when I saw him approach, I went to meet him. "Hi," he said. "I'm N. Fillion." (For those who know who Nathan Fillion is, you know that a joke like that is exactly his kind of thing.) We then talked about a variety of things, and the whole time it took everything I had not to completely geek out on him. Sadly, I didn't have my camera with me (nor have I ever had one there), so any evidence you see of me with famous people is completely (and probably poorly) Photoshopped by me.

Men of Greatness

If I am lucky enough, something during our time together will escalate and I'll have a story to tell afterward. Like the time I was driving Matthew Lillard, for example. When I first met Matt, I thought he was pretty cool, as the first question he had for me was if we could go to the Red Iguana on our way up to Park City. The more we talked, however, the more I realized that he was kind of a... well, let's say jerk. He asked me about my (at the time) fiance, and when I told him our story, he instantly berated me, telling me I was "too young" and that I was being "pressured by [my] family and [my] religion" to get married. He also told me that I should wait years before marrying my wife, because that's how long it takes to get to know someone. Thinking on my feet, I then attempted to turn the conversation around. It went something like this:
Adam – "Wait, how long did you know your wife until you got engaged."
Matt – "Six weeks."
A – "Six weeks!? And you're saying I'm getting married too quickly?"
M – "No, see, the difference is, I was in my thirties when I got married. You're in your early twenties. When I was your age, I didn't know my [bum] from a hole in the ground."
Now, I don’t get offended easily, and I'm not going to go so far as to say that this comment did it. I did, however, realize how big of a logical fallacy he was touting—just because he didn't know his [bum] from a hole in the ground at my age certainly doesn't mean that I didn't.

Not pictured: my [bum]

When mine and Matt's time drew to a close, I picked him and his wife up from their hotel in Park City. They told me that their plane was flying out of "the smaller airport". Naturally, I assumed this to be the Salt Lake Municipal Airport. So, after helping them and their stuff into my car, I headed down I-80 towards Salt Lake. A half hour later, as I was merging from I-80 W to I-15 N, Mrs. Lillard suddenly piped up. "Wait. You're going to the Heber Airport, right?" A look of shock fell over my face as I explained to her that we were nowhere near Heber nor its airport. After a quick phone call to his agent, Matt informed me of the dilemma: the Heber Airport was over an hour's drive away, and the plane had to leave in 40 minutes, or they wouldn't be able to take off until the next day.

Men of Greatness

Realizing the severity of the situation (and not wanting to have to deal with a handful of pissed-off-Hollywood-types), I spun the car around and headed back up the canyon. With it being right at the peak of rush hour, navigation was not easy. Matt kept asking me if we were going to make it, as the plane couldn't take off after a certain hour, because there was no tower at the airport. Each time he would ask me, I would look at the speedometer, then the clock, then the GPS, and then reply, "I certainly hope so."

I was making fairly good time when I merged onto Highway 40 towards Heber. Those who know the road know that there is a decent stretch that is relatively straight and flat. It was during this stretch that I pushed my little Passat as fast as it could go. As we crested a hill, I saw the absolute worst thing I could see in the situation: a police officer, sitting in his car, with his radar gun pointed in my direction. I instantly looked at the speedometer, which read "135 MPH".

Star Wars jokes, anyone?

At that moment, the world slowed. A million thoughts rushed through my head, not the least of which was how incredibly busted I was. As I passed the cop, he and I made eye contact for a solid three or four seconds. After passing him, I came a conclusion that, in retrospect, I realize took a look of chutzpah: "If he wants to pull me over, he'll have to catch up with me first." The world sped up again and I continued my race towards Heber. I kept a constant eye on my rear-view mirror, expecting the dreaded red and blue lights to show up at any moment.

But they didn't. I kept speeding towards Heber and was not interrupted by any sort of law enforcement official. That being the case, I made it to Heber with about seven minutes to spare, and the Lillards made their flight.

I don't think I'll ever know why that cop chose not to pull me over. Perhaps he was too lazy to catch up with me. Perhaps he saw Shaggy in my back seat and was a fan. Perhaps he saw the Sundance sticker on the side of my car and assumed I had a connection with Robert Redford himself, and he didn't want to inconvenience the man. Whatever the case is, due to my driving and that cop not pulling me over, I made it from the 13th South I-15 exit to the Heber Airport in 33 minutes. Flat.

Men of Greatness

And so, as was mentioned before, Thursday marks the beginning of my fourth year at Sundance. What stories will I walk away with this year? Only time—and my next few entries—shall tell.

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 3

2010-01-16T08:00:00.018-07:00

Much like last week's super-awesome find, this week's find has something to do with William "My Friends Call Me Bill" Shakespeare. Allow me to direct you to Hamlet, Act 5, Scene 1.

my well-read copy of Hamlet

Now, some of you may be familiar with this scene, as it is here where Hamlet delivers his ever-so-famous-but-yet-oft-times-misinterpreted "To be or not to be" monologue. I, however, would like to call your attention to this scene for a different reason. Take a look at line 259:

Did you catch that? (If not, perhaps you are not caught up in your nerd-lingo.)

Though there are many theories as to the origin of the word "woot", I think it is pretty cut and dry here—clearly, Shakespeare invented it 410 years ago.

w00t indeed, Bill.

Guess That Gun, the results

2010-01-14T08:00:00.004-07:00

Alrighty, kids. Guess That Gun has now officially drawn to a close. We had some awesome players with some creative guesses, and I would like to thank everyone for playing. (If you still want to play, there won't be any prizes, but feel free to check out Round 1, Round 2, and Round 3.) Before I announce the winners, here is a recap of every screenshot, with every guess listed below it (and the correct answer in bold caps):

THE BIG LEBOWSKI, Kingpin

Pulp Fiction, Beverly Hills Cop, AMERICAN BEAUTY, The Mummy, Absolute Power, Layer Cake

Cocoon, HOLES, Alien

INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE, Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark

ARMY OF DARKNESS, Rambo

CASINO ROYALE, Scarface, Quantum of Solace

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Pulp Fiction, The Godfather, Clue, Johnny Dangerous... The correct answer is MOULIN ROUGE!, people. Come on!

MAVERICK, Sherlock Holmes, Shanghai Noon, Assassin's Creed 2, Three Musketeers

SAINTS AND SOLDIERS, Saving Private Ryan, Jurassic Park, Road to Perdition, Enemy at the Gates, Unforgiven

The Patriot, PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE CURSE OF THE BLACK PEARL

HOT FUZZ, The Fifth Element, The Usual Suspects, A History of Violence, Fargo

The Punisher, V for Vendetta, The Dark Knight, Sin City, EQUILIBRIUM

THE FIFTH ELEMENT

Stand By Me, American History X, BRICK, The Shawshank Redemption

Gone in 60 Seconds, Terminator 2, DEJA VU, The Bourne Identity

THE DARK KNIGHT

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, Waterworld, Treasure Island, CUTTHROAT ISLAND

O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU?, Public Enemies, 3:10 to Yuma, The Untouchables, Bonnie and Clyde

The Matrix, Die Hard, Jaws, A Clockwork Orange, SPACEBALLS

ROMEO + JULIET, Ace Ventura, Miami Vice, True Romance

LEON (THE PROFESSIONAL), The Boondock Saints

Thelma and Louise, Copycat, SAVED!

SERENITY, The Terminator, Shoot 'Em Up

HOOK, Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World

The Matrix, Cobra, STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE

WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT?

Wanted, THE USUAL SUSPECTS, The Boondock Saints, The Fugitive

Silence of the Lambs, Hollywood Homicide, THE BOONDOCK SAINTS, Lethal Weapon

DIE HARD, American History X

The Boondock Saints, DESPERADO, Once Upon a Time in Mexico

A few statistics:
-The most correctly-guessed gun: The Dark Knight (9 right)
-The most incorrectly-guessed gun: Moulin Rouge! (0 right)
-The most different guesses for one gun: American Beauty, Saints and Soldiers, and O Brother, Where Art Thou?(6)
-The guns with only correct guesses: The Fifth Element, The Dark Knight, and Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1)
-Shame on all those who missed: Star Wars - A New Hope, Hook
-Double-shame on those who think that I would own: Wanted, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest
-Props to those who got: Brick, Saved!, American Beauty
-Double-props to those who correctly labeled: Ash's "Boomstick", the "+" in Romeo + Juliet

And now for the winners:
3rd - In third place, with 16.5 points (out of 30), is "joe". For your prize, I will let you keep my copy of Three Amigos. (That's right, I just called you out.)
2nd - In second place, with 17.5 points, is "TheOne", my newly-found friend from India. Since the logistics of getting a prize to you would be crazy, for your prize I will do a blog entry about any India/Bollywood/etc.-related topic of your choice.
1st - And in first place, with a mighty 20.5 points, is "--jeff *". For your prize, I have a brand new DVD of Dr. Seuss's The Grinch Grinches the Cat in the Hat (including the Emmy-nominated The Hoober-Bloob Highway). Congratulations, gentlemen.

--jeff * wins!

The rest of the rankings are as follows:
TheFormer786 - 16
Becca - 12.5
cwils33 - 7.5
RedSteve - 6.5
Melinda - 5
Katie - 4.5
Tiff - 4
Rachel - 2
Tracy - 1

Incidentally, none of you should feel bad for not getting many: two of the three winners were/are film students.*

*Yeah, those guys.

Thanks again to all who played. And if there is enough interest, there will be another similar game coming soon—feel free to leave any suggestions in comments.

Guess That Gun, Part 3

2010-01-12T08:00:00.001-07:00

As it stands, here are the current rankings of Guess That Gun:

TheFormer786 – 11
RedSteve – 6.5
Rachel – 2
Tiff – 4
Katie – 4.5
Melinda – 3
Becca – 9.5
TheOne (I need to know who you actually are) – 11.5
cwils33 – 7.5
Tracy – 1

If you have been playing the previous two rounds of Guess That Gun (located here and here), you no doubt have realized that some of them are fairly easy, while others are a bit more difficult. This has never been truer, as there are some on today's list that nobody should miss, and others that I'd be surprised if more than a few people got. The rules will remain the same, with two additions:
1) Though the name of the game implies that you should guess which gun is being shown, you only need to say which movie the gun is from. (After all, "Guess Which Movie That Gun Comes From" doesn't have as nice a ring to it.)
2) Anyone/everyone can enter until 8am, Thursday, January 14th. At that time, I will collect the guesses, show the correct answers, and announce the winners.
Good luck to all in this, the final round.

Guess That Gun
Round 3

One (1)

Two (2)

Three (3)

Four (4)

Five (5)

Six (6)

Seven (7)

Eight (8)

Nine (9)

Ten (10)

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 2

2010-01-09T08:00:00.002-07:00

This week's super-awesome find comes in the form of a play. Specifically, a play inspired by William Shakespeare and the Coen Brothers, aptly called "Two Gentlemen of Lebowski".

The entire script can be found here, but let me present to you a few choice moments:

JOSHUA: This Wednesday thou and I a-courting go!

WALTER: And wherefore 'fair', when ye be nihilists?

WALTER: This be what befalleth, Laurence! This be what befalleth, Laurence!

THE KNAVE: Beshrew me, who is this gentleman, Maude?

Guess That Gun, Part 2

2010-01-07T08:00:00.001-07:00

It seems the first round of Guess That Gun had a fairly good response. As there might be others who join late in the game, I am not going to reveal the answers to round one just yet. But here are the totals for those who have played. (I'm giving half a point to those who said that a movie was from a series, but didn't specify which movie in the series.)

TheFormer786 - 6
RedSteve - 5.5
Rachel - 2.5
Anonymous (I need to know who you actually are) - 6
Tiff - 4.5

All in all, not bad guesses from many of you. Please, keep them coming and tell those you know who would want to play. Before round two starts, let me clarify a few things to help those playing. Firstly, all the screenshots are from movies I own. In other words, if the movie is still in theaters, you can toss it out. Second-of-ly, all the screenshots are from movies, so if you guess a video game, you can also toss it out. And thirdly, anyone can play at anytime. That means if you only discover the game on the last day, you can still guess for previous entries. And if you already guessed for a round, but an idea suddenly springs into your head as to one you missed, feel free to enter.

Guess That Gun
Round 2

One (1)

Two (2)

Three (3)

Four (4)

Five (5)

Six (6)

Seven (7)

Eight (8)

Nine (9)

Ten (10)

Guess That Gun, Part 1

2010-01-05T08:00:00.003-07:00

I have long said that if one wishes find out who a person really is, one simply needs to peruse their movie collection. Think about it: people like movies that match their personalities, and I can't think of a better way to "meet the man", as Xiang Yu said—or rather, as Firefly said that Xiang Yu said—than to search through the movies that person views as "good/sentimental/worthy/etc. enough to be owned".

After having that thought, I decided to go on a journey of self-discovery and document my movie collection. As they were already in alphabetical order [insert OCD comment here], it was simply a matter of going across the shelves and writing down each film in the collection. And what did I discover during this sojourn of mine? Many things. I discovered that, due to the nature of how my collection came to be—that is, some coming from my days at Blockbuster, some coming from the wife when we were married, some coming from presents from others—it is one of the more varied and eclectic collections I have come across. I also discovered that, had two of my movies not mysteriously disappeared, I would have exactly one movie for every day of the year—I'm looking at you, whoever has my copy of Three Amigos.

My collection, in 363/365ths its glory.

I also discovered that, of the 363 movies I own, just shy of half of them—172 by my count—have guns in them. Now, lest you fear that this is going to be a pro/anti-gun entry, you can sleep easy knowing that it is neither. While I do have feelings on guns, controlling them, and what they do/can do for society, I also love me some skeet shooting and appreciate what they have done in the past. In short, guns are what they are, and if you are looking for opinions on them, might I recommend searching elsewhere. Besides, as the old saying goes: "Guns don't kill people. Missionaries do."

Elder Killington

No, rather than take up arms on the gun issue (get it?), I propose a game: Guess That Gun. The rules are simple. I will show you a screenshot of a gun—as well as a bit of background, to aid the guessing process—from a movie in my collection, and you guess which movie it is from. If you think you know what movie(s) the gun(s) is(are) from, leave a comment(s) with your answer(s). (I am temporarily moderating comments to discourage any cheating.) As this is a game show, yes, there will be prizes* for those who get the most right—but in order to find out what they are, you have to play. The game will last for the next three or four entries, and each person who enters will have a running total for all the days. So, just because you think you don't know many on one day, doesn't mean you won't get every one the next time.

*This will probably not be one of the prizes.

And now, let me present to you...
Guess That Gun
Round 1

One (1)

Two (2)

Three (3)

Four (4)

Five (5)

Six (6)

Seven (7)

Eight (8)

Nine (9)

Ten (10)

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 1

2010-01-02T08:00:00.003-07:00

As we enter the new year—but not the new decade, as was clearly pointed out by sixteen-year-old-me in the editorial I submitted to the Deseret News back in 1999—NU14 is going to undergo a change or two. For starters, you have my word that unless I am physically unable, there will be a new entry every Tuesday and Thursday. (Granted, this isn't so much a change as it is a confirmation as to the frequency of entries.)

Pictured: sixteen-year-old-me

Additionally, over each weekend, there will be a new segment: Super-Awesome Find of the Week, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. I will try and keep them as fresh and as unheardof as possible, with the goal being to introduce readers to some of teh internetz' ever-expanding awesomeness. Though this is a bit of an oldie-but-goldie, allow me to present to you the first entry:

Samuel "Great and Terrib"L. Jackson

My Amazing Wife, part 2

2009-12-31T08:00:00.001-07:00

I am sure that, after reading my previous entry, many of you are thinking the following: "Wowzers! Your wife is fantastic! I wish I had one just like her!" Well, my dear friends, I sadly must inform you that she is one-of-a-kind, not to be found elsewhere. Notice how I refrained from saying "one-in-a-million". The reason for this being that according to the US Census Bureau's World Population Clock, at the time of this writing there are just shy of 6.8 billion people on the planet. If I said my wife was one-in-a-million, that would mean there are 6,792 other people on the planet just like her. As this is not the case, I will stick to my original statement, but shall add a modifier: my wife is one-of-a-kind, or in other words, one-in-six-billion-seven-hundred-ninty-three-million-five-hundred-thirty-seven-thousand-two-hundred-ninety-eight.

Pictured: her

Arrested Development Button
As was mentioned earlier, my love for Arrested Development knows know bounds. Never has a show been so cleverly witty, hilariously slapstick, and amazingly amazing. It certainly changed the way I watch/judge TV shows, and to this day I still get jokes for the first time whenever I rewatch it. (I mean, the bar where Jewish lawyers go to on Friday nights is called Miss Temple's. Come on!) In one particular episode, Buster wears a pin with the following saying: "The only scary thing about a one-armed man trying to scare someone is the fact that he feels that his one arm is good for nothing but trying to scare someone." When I watched the episode with my wife, I noted that if I had my choice, the button would be probably the one piece of Arrested Development memorabilia I would ever want. In the words of GOB: "Ta-da!"

"And that's why you don't use a one-armed person to scare someone."

All Your Base Shirt
If you played video games in the late 80s, you might have come across a game called Zero Wing. In the opening cinematic, a very, very poorly-translated conversation ensues between the heroes and the villain. When the villain tries to explain that they have taken over all the military bases, he does so with the following phrase: "All your base are belong to us." Since that time, the "all your base" joke has become somewhat of a joke/meme in nerd circles and has gained worldwide notoriety. How much notoriety, you ask? Well, if you go to Google and type in "all y", the phrase shows up second in search popularity, just below "all you need is love". That being said, though I am sure my wife had no idea what the phrase meant when I first uttered it, she was only a few clicks away from finding a most excellent shirt.

Somebody set up us the bomb.

Jolly Roger Flag
While I am not into pirates as much as some people are (read: the whole pirates vs. ninjas debate), I have always enjoyed romanticizing a time that, in all actuality, was anything less than glamorous. When my wife visited an awesome store in Gardner Village called Anastasia's Attic, she brought back with her a super awesome jolly roger. And while the rest of the items on this list were presents that had an occasion (Christmas, birthday, etc.), this one was "just because". Although, in actuality, I think it was because she bought herself tons of stuff that night and wanted to lessen the blow by distracting me. Either way, it is a rad flag.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate flag for me

Steampunk Bag
Reader: Steampunk? What's that?
Me: It is a genre of fiction taking place in kind of an alternate history, where Victorian-era lifestyles also included futuristic technology.
Reader: Sounds deliciously nerdy.
Me: It is.
Reader: I'm glad that I, being the non-nerdy type, have steered clear of such a strange movement.
Me: Ah, I am not sure you have. Have you ever watched Wild Wild West, The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., or The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?
Reader: No. Those are all geeky things.
Me: Fair enough. Have you ever read anything by Jules Verne or H.G. Wells?
Reader: Sure. I love Around the World in Eighty Days.
Me: Well then, my friend, you love steampunk.
Reader: Oh... drat...
This most recent gift-from-my-wife is also hands-down the best. Not to be outdone by her previous gifts, she had this bag specially made by an artist in Seattle. That means that the bag, like its giver, is one-of-a-kind.

Professor Pfefferneussen's Contraptions and Haberdashery

So when it comes down to it, I think my wife is amazing. Would I love her just as much if she never got me an awesome present again? Absolutely. Do I think that she will constantly embrace my inner-nerd and get me awesome stuff? Definitely. Are all of you super-jealous? Extremely.

My Amazing Wife, part 1

2009-12-29T08:00:00.003-07:00

My whole life, I have been taught that buying people things is not a good way of showing them you love them. This makes sense for many reasons, as it can cause a myriad of problems in the mind of the givee:
1) If the gifts stop or drop in quality, that means your love does is well.
2) If you give someone else a better gift, it means you love them more.
3) If the gift breaks, then your love is equally as fleeting.
This was told to me time and time again throughout my youth, including the Full House episode where Uncle Jesse buys DJ a drum set to apologize—presumably because sexiest men alive lack qualities in the "caring for children" department.

Pictured: the sexiest man alive

I bring this up because for the next two blog posts, I am going to share with you one particular aspect in which my wife rocks: the presents she gets me. Now, do not get me wrong: there are many ways in which she shows her love for me, and there are many ways in which I think she is amazing. However, many of those would probably rank too high on the Lovey-Dovey Scale—a scaled algorithm discovered in 1921 by Doctors Aloysius Lovey and Leopold Dovey—and would not make for good reading. And so, without further ado, allow me to present the following gifts. (Get it? Present... gifts... ah, never mind.)

Dr. Lovey and Dr. Dovey would rank this a 9.34 on the L-D Scale.

The Fifth Element: Ultimate Edition
A few years back, my girlfriend (as she was, at the time) and I were at a friend's house. As we were looking through his DVD collection—I find that you can tell the most about a person from his/her movies—I saw The Fifth Element: Ultimate Edition. Now, those who know me know I have a deep-rooted affinity for The Fifth Element; one might even say my love for it is super green. Seeing the two-disc special edition before me mustered up all sorts of feelings inside of me, and I turned to the not-quite-yet-Mrs. and told her that if she loved me, she could get me it as a present. Granted, I could not have been more overt had I had taken a cue from Monty Python and said, "Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more"; but sure enough, a few days later, she came to my house bearing a DVD-sized gift in her hands.

We were engaged just a few weeks later.

Volt for Steve Holt shirt
It took probably an hour from meeting the wife before she realized that I was and to this day am slightly obsessed with Arrested Development. And by "slightly obsessed", I mean that if I go 24 hours without referencing/quoting from the show, it is a bad day. (If you do not know what Arrested Development is, stop reading immediately and go to Hulu.com, as it will change your life.) Imagine my surprise, then, when I opened up a birthday present from the Mrs. and found a shirt featuring one of the show's most memorable puns: Volt for Holt.

Four more years! Four more years!

DuckTales Quilt
Anyone who denies that DuckTales is not only one of the most amazing cartoons ever made, but also saved/molded cartoons as we know them today is either uninformed, a hermit, or a communist. Aside from being one of the only outlets of fiction that takes place in a made up state (Calisota, but that is for another entry), DuckTales pretty much served as manna from heaven for me while I was growing up. Knowing my love for all things DuckTalean, my wife got a crew of quilters together and handmade me a DuckTales quilt, complete with fabric that has been out of production for the better part of two decades.

D-d-d-danger walks behind you...

Soylent Green shirt
**SPOILER ALERT** Soylent Green is people. To be a bit more specific, Green, the latest addition to the Soylent Corporation's food ration line—which includes other such favorites as Yellow and Red—is composed primarily of the euthanized elderly members of an overcrowded, underfed society. If none of this makes any sense to you, you just must not be a big enough nerd... or you have not seen the movie. My wife falls in both of these categories, but that did not stop her from finding me an amazing, spoiler-filled shirt.

Remember: Tuesday is Soylent Green day.

Coming up next time: the presents get even cooler...

It's Christmas Eve (and these shoes are just her size)

2009-12-24T16:00:00.004-07:00

With Christmas virtually upon us, no doubt many of you—myself especially—have been flooded with Christmas music at all turns. As the number of days before Christmas have become shorter, an inverse proportion of Christmas songs has risen both in number and ubiquitousness, starting as simple musak instrumentals playing over the PA in the mall and culminating in the 100 Hours of Christmas on 100.3 FM, "Utah's Official Christmas Radio Station"—a claim that is as perplexing as it is unfounded, as I doubt FM100 has endorsement from either the state of Utah or the holiday of Christmas. How one even gets an endorsement from a holiday is beyond me.

Utah's Official Arbor Day Stud

During the barrage of Christmas music, we are occasionally exposed to a legitimately good tune. The Ukranian Bell Carol is probably the coolest thing to come out of eastern Europe, and Handel's Messiah is phenomenal—especially when given the fact that it was written in 24 days. Sadly, for every good Christmas song out there, there are a bevy of horrible ones. And while discussing songs such as Have a Funky, Funky Christmas by New Kids on the Block would be fun, the real problem is not songs like it; for they come and are forgotten quickly. Nay, dear readers, the problem lies in the songs that are absolutely wretched, but are still played every year.

Pictured: the best version of Carol of the Bells

Wonderful Christmastime
Paul McCartney, 1979
While it is a well-known fact that the Beatles are dying in reverse-coolness order—and, as such, Paul McCartney will live forever, as he never had even an ounce of cool—there are some things that Sir Paul has done that are beyond reproach. While the project known as Wings was quite possibly one of the worst "bands" ever, McCartney performed the ultimate sin against mankind when he released Wonderful Christmastime. I understand that synthesizers were getting big in the late 70s, but Wonderful Christmastime has more synth than the Main Street Electrical Parade.

Paul, Paul, Paul... even The Simpsons couldn't make you cool.

Last Christmas
Wham!, 1984
Wham!, the band made of George Michael and the other guy, have a very interesting song repertoire. They have released some really good music (Careless Whisper comes to mind), and they have released some really bad music (Bad Boys, I am looking in your direction). But they took the plunge in 1984 with Last Christmas, a song that is not only one of the most annoying songs of all time—a statement proven by the fact that anyone, anywhere can hum the melody, even if they hate it—but being a completely vindictive and harsh song with the theme of "You are a cheating ho and I am the one who is too good for you!", it completely detracts from the Christmas spirit.

"Maybe it was the other George Michael. You know, the singer/songwriter."

Do They Know It's Christmas?
Band Aid, 1984
Imagine you gathered all of Britain's greatest musicians of the 70s and 80s into one room. Who would you have? Amongst the ranks you would find Freddie Mercury, Phil Collins, Sting, and Jareth the Goblin King himself—David Bowie. If you had all these greats gathered together, what would you do with your never-before-been-topped concentration of talent? Well, if you were the creators of Band Aid, you would write one of the most horrible—and horribly depressing—songs ever and have them sing it. Yes, Band Aid was created to help raise money for a famine in Ethiopia, and yes, famines in Ethiopia are by definition not very funny; but that is no excuse for the travesty of a song that not only uses such great holiday words as "dread", "fear", "bitter", and "doom", but that also suggests that while eliminating the problem would be good, it is equally good to "thank God it's them instead of you". While I think I understand what is trying to be said, something tells me Jesus does not want the celebration of his birth spent by a bunch of privileged white people thanking him that there are the less-fortunate in the world... so that they do not have to be the less-fortunate.

"So two Ethiopian famines walk into a bar..."

The Christmas Shoes
NewSong, 1999
The Christmas Shoes is the worst of the worst. It is specifically written to be as emotionally exploiting as possible, complete with the little-kid-choir singing the refrain at the end. And, believe it or not, the worst part of the song is not when the poor child reaches into his pocket and finds that his meager savings are not enough to buy his sick mother some shoes—or, you know, medicine, which probably would have been a better purchase. No, the worst part comes near the end:
"I knew I'd caught a glimpse of heaven’s love/
As he thanked me and ran out/
I knew that God had sent that little boy/
To remind me just what Christmas is all about."
That is right: the narrator of the song is actually so full of himself, he assumes he is so special that God would set a huge chain of events in motion to teach him the small and easily-teachable-in-other-ways lesson of the true meaning of Christmas... a chain of events which, if you did not catch it, ends with the little kid's mother more-than-likely dying.

The Christmas Shoes, a bad movie based on an even worse book based on the absolutely worst song in existence

There are also a few honorable mentions the deserve a bit of attention:

Baby It's Cold Outside
Frank Loesser, 1944
Do me a favor and read the lyrics of this song really quick. Notice anything amiss? Perhaps the fact that the entire song is about a guy trying to get a girl drunk, despite her pleas to go back to her parents? And to think: it won an Academy Award... the first song about statutory to do so, to my knowledge.

Here Come Santa Claus
Gene Autry, 1947
The song ends with the following lyrics:
"Peace on earth will come to all/
If we just follow the light/
So let’s give thanks to the Lord above/
That Santa Claus comes tonight."
Not to presume what the Savior’s likes and dislikes are, but I am fairly certain he would not appreciate it if people thanked him for the existence of a fictional character whose presence has led to people forgetting why they celebrate Christmas in the first place. And on a similar topic, it is probably not a good idea to blur the line between Santa and Jesus, unless you want your child's faith utterly destroyed when they find out the truth about the former.

Please Daddy (Don't Get Drunk This Christmas)
John Denver
Please daddy, don't get drunk this Christmas. Oh my goodness.

You know you are in a bad way when "Please Santa, don't get drunk this Christmas" is the better alternative.

That being said, Merry Christmas to everyone!

The Twilight Saga, part 4

2009-12-15T08:00:00.007-07:00

It is no secret that I am not Twilight’s number one fan. The first response I usually hear when I tell people this is the suggestion that perhaps I am secretly a Twifan deep down and am in a severe case of Twinial. This puts me in between a rock and a hard place*, for if I agree, I am joining the ranks of Mike the park ranger, and if I disagree, I am usually slammed with a variety of questions, most of which fall along the lines of, "OMG, how can you not just loooooove it?!" Eventually, every conversation usually boils down to the J-word, and I am accused of being jealous of Stephenie Meyer, Twilight, and the success the former has achieved with the latter.

*As opposed to being in between The Rock and a hard place.

In light of the aforementioned accusations, let it be said here and now (and in no uncertain terms) that there is not a single jealous bone, muscle, or tendon in my body when it comes to Stephenie Meyer or Twilight. While it is true that I certainly would not mind dumptrucks full of money arriving at my house on a daily basis, I also would not want to take the risk I am convinced Stephenie Meyer did—that is, entering a fiddle contest against the devil with the stakes being my soul against a #1 selling teen romance series.

The devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat/ He laid that golden series on the ground at Stephie's feet

When it boils down to it, the scariest thing about the Twilight Saga is not the vampires, the werewolves, or even the writing (zing)—it is the fanbase. Fans of Twilight run the gamut from screaming preteens to hyperventilating quinquagenarians and everyone in between. Little girls read the books hoping their future husbands will be exactly like Edward (or, if they are really little girls, exactly like Jacob). Older women watch the movies and wonder why their husbands are not exactly like Edward. And the occasional guy who stumbles across the series cannot help but wonder why every woman in the world, regardless of age, wants her husband to be a distant, domineering, powerful creep with a thing for girls 1/6th his age.

By those standards, this is as close to Edward as a man can get.

Now, do not get me wrong. I am fully aware that with every major cultural phenomenon—especially with books and movies—there arises a large, devoted, nerdy following. Star Trek, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter (to name a few) all have a similar partisanship. All the heretofore mentioned groups have devotees who dress up to attend midnight screenings. All have disciples who rant and rave for hours on internet forums as to why their series is so much better than the others. And all of them even have conventions where fans can buy and sell truckloads of paraphernalia.

What separates Twilight fans from the previously mentioned ones, however, is the level at which Twilight fans operate. I would dare say that of any of the listed phenomena, Twilight has the fans that could most easily filed under "obsessed". If you do not believe me, just go to any opening-day movie showing. Yes, the Star Wars nerds will be in costume and having lightsaber duels; but it is all in good, lighthearted fun. Nowhere do you have girls literally screaming and gasping for breath whenever Obi Wan walks on the screen. (And I am sorry, ladies, but Ewan McGregor is ten times hotter than Robert Pattinson could ever dream of being.)

It's simple algebra, really.

And when it comes to homemade collectibles, Twilight fans take the cake. My mother recently told me about her run-in with something called the New Moon Experience, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. And what did she see during her sojourn? Vampire teeth necklaces, sparkle-in-the-sun-like-Edward cream, and pretty much everything on this list. (Take special note of the plush Bella womb, complete with stuffed zygote.)

How this can be construed as anything other than "really, really creepy" is beyond me.

Sadly, Twilight fans, as crazy as they are, have recently proven that they are a force to be reckoned with. New Moon was released in theaters a few weeks ago and—much to the surprise of everyone who has ever watched, you know, an actually good movie in their lives—it made more on its opening weekend than any movie. Any movie. Ever. (Even more than The Dark Knight, which was, you know, an actually good movie.) And thus it was proven that Twilight and the culture thereof cannot be stopped. For if a group of girls can prove that they have more zeal than comic book nerds—who, for the uninformed, are hands-down the most zealous people on the planet—then I suppose it is only a matter of time before they have completely taken over.

Le sigh.

And so it is. But do not fear, fellow nerds. Though we may have lost the battle, at least we still have our dignity—for you will never see a Star Wars fan with this on their wall:

Sensory Swept

2009-12-09T17:28:00.002-07:00

Firstly, allow me to apologize for not having an entry yesterday. I was all ready to finish off my fourth installment of the Twilight Saga when I remembered I had won tickets to an AFI concert, having been a fan of the band since high school. Needless to say, the concert was sweet—although, it concerned me somewhat that Davey Havok no longer looks like the long-banged singer I remember and now looks more like the (admittedly sexy) lovechild of George Michael (the singer/songwriter) and Jake Gyllenhaal.

Men of Greatness

While I will finish my Twilight opinions on Thursday, today I would like to talk about something akin to bloodsucking, though perhaps a bit out of place on (what I hope is) a funny blog. (For those who know me, you will recognize the following story. For those who do not, just know that I was (sadly) caught in the middle of all this.) Without further ado, I bring you the words of Mr. Jesse Fruhwirth from Salt Lake's own City Weekly (http://www.cityweekly.net/utah/article-9896-sensory-sweep-shortchange.html):

Sensory Sweep Shortchange
Game Over: Utah videogame company shortchanges its employees.

Last year's video game Major League Eating for Nintendo Wii and other consoles got mostly lousy reviews, but it might seem even less fun to play if players knew that the Utah programmers and artists who engineered it were not paid for their work, and the company president is now facing tax-evasion charges.

Salt Lake County independent video-game developer Sensory Sweep Studios closed this year in a fantastic implosion of overdue bills, unpaid wages and criminal charges against its owner and his wife. According to the U.S. Department of Labor, the company owes nearly $1 million to about 200 former employees, some of whom feel slighted that prosecutors are using the threat of incarceration to collect unpaid taxes but applying relatively "toothless" civil actions to collect their unpaid wages.

"I would love to visit him in prison," former employee Paul Grimshaw said of Sensory Sweep president Dave Rushton, echoing the sentiments of other former employees who spoke to City Weekly. "I have a $4,400 dental claim that is probably going to force me into bankruptcy because they weren't paying dental insurance premiums. ... We started not being to able to pay our mortgage when Sensory Sweep stopped handing out paychecks on a regular basis. That put us in a hole, and we haven't been able to dig ourselves out yet."

Grimshaw says he is owed about $10,000 in unpaid wages alone.

The Rushton clan's history of financial tumult starts years before the founding of Sensory Sweep, including a personal bankrupcy filed by Dave Rushton in 1996. Sensory Sweep was cobbled together with employees and contracts from Saffire Corporation, another Utah independent video-game developer owned by Dave Rushton's brother, Hal Rushton. Hal later worked for Sensory Sweep.

Grimshaw worked for both companies, although most employees of Sensory Sweep say they were only vaguely aware of Saffire's history. Grimshaw says he quit Saffire in 2001 when the company was late with paychecks because "they almost went out of business in 1997, and we went three months without pay [then]."

Grimshaw filed an unpaid-wage claim against Saffire in 2001 and was awarded $3,000. Years later, he agreed to work for Sensory Sweep because he needed health insurance and didn't have other job offers.

Sensory Sweep's financial troubles began less than two years after it was founded. Court records from 2005 show the company received multiple judgments from the Utah Labor Commission and the Utah Department of Workforce Services. The largest of those judgments was more than $64,000, for not paying unemployment insurance between May 2003 and December 2004.

In September 2005, Sensory Sweep filed for bankruptcy, but the workers didn't notice, says former employee Todd Smith, who stayed with the company through two business name changes. "Whenever they filed bankruptcy, nothing changed for us. I was on the same project, I had the same cube [workspace]. … I ended up working for a totally different company and didn't know it."

Sensory Sweep Studios had already been registered in February 2005, months in advance of Sensory Sweep LLC's filing for bankruptcy in September. The original company remained in bankruptcy proceedings until October 2009, nearly a year after the company registration expired with the Utah Department of Commerce.

That was not the last time the company gathered debts and quietly reorganized under a new business name, according to records and employee statements. In 2006, Smith says, "I got two [W2s], one from Sensory Sweep and one from Fooptube." Each of the three companies was registered under the names of different Rushton family members. For example, Christopher Rushton was listed as the registered agent for Sensory Sweep LLC, and picked up a civil bench warrant—records show it was never executed—for failing to appear for a court hearing in 2005 tied to the $64,000 judgment from Workforce Services.

The game-ending troubles began in 2008. Grant Heath says that employee's 401(k) stopped receiving contributions in early 2008, yet their paychecks were still deducted for the next few pay periods. After a company meeting, "they stopped taking the deductions, but they never did anything to rectify the fact that money had been taken out and just kind of lost to us. Soon after that, we started getting bounced paychecks." The paycheck problems started when a big customer, California's Brash Entertainment, folded in October. Employees say Dave Rushton claimed as much as $2 million was owed by Brash.

But the company didn't lay anyone off immediately, despite the huge financial blow, and Rushton reassured workers that the company would recover.

Several employees filed unpaid-wage claims at the end of 2008. In January 2009, the U.S. Department of Labor filed a civil suit against Fooptube—the latest of the company's registered names—and Dave Rushton individually, on behalf of 196 current and former employees. The case led to a consent agreement, signed in February, in which Rushton promised to pay $942,000 by September, a promise that was not fulfilled.

In April, the Utah Attorney General´s Office filed six felony charges against Dave and wife Maureen Rushton for failure to file a tax return, tax evasion, unlawful dealing of property by a fiduciary, communications fraud and for a pattern of unlawful activity, or racketeering.

In June, the Labor Department filed a contempt petition alleging they had received six more complaints from employees, beginning in May, claiming they weren't being paid. In September, the Rushtons were slammed with a $654,000 judgment in an eviction case in which Fooptube and Sensory Sweep were also named.

Citing the criminal charges, the Rushtons declined comment, but Dave Rushton's defense attorney, Darin Goff, says his client was not living a lavish lifestyle. "I can assure you, I don't believe there were any expensive cars or expensive homes. Mr. Rushton is a fairly ordinary individual with a very normal standard of living. … The company has met with some very difficult problems related to the economy and industry."

No former employees claim Dave Rushton was living the high life. He drives a minivan, one said. But employees City Weekly interviewed claimed Rushton was a terrible manager who employed too many unqualified family members and deceitfully reorganized his company to avoid paying bills, taxes and workers. They want him stopped before he does it again.

While the tax-evasion and racketeering charges could put Dave Rushton in jail, several employees are disappointed that the threat of incarceration is not attached to their unpaid wages— only the unpaid taxes.

The Utah Labor Commission has also been investigating Rushton for unpaid wages. Wage Claim unit manager Brent Asay said he cares about workers, but with eight people total in his unit and 2,700 wage claims filed in the past fiscal year, they are doing all that they can. Asay said his office needs the cooperation of prosecutors to file criminal charges against an employer for unpaid wages, something that has not happened in Utah—in his memory—in about 10 years.
"[Government regulators] don't care about how many people have suffered without their money for this long period of time," says Kimberly Howell, whose husband and daughter are owed a combined $20,000. "They're focused on their money."

Game over, indeed.

I could add to that, but I believe the article pretty much covers it. Please (and I mean that ever so sincerely) help spread the word in any way possible; hopefully, once enough people know about it, something will get done.

The Twilight Saga, part 3

2009-12-03T08:00:00.003-07:00

While the Twilight love story no doubt raises a slew of "awwww"s from the majority of the audience, it raises a few very large, very red flags to me. For starters, despite knowing that Edward is a vampire early on ("Say it. Out loud!"), people seem to forget that by virtue of being a vampire, he is actually quite old. Like, over 100 when Twilight starts old. And Bella? 17. Taking that into consideration, Twilight is no longer the story of a teenage boy liking a teenage girl. Rather, it is the story of a 102-year-old man—who has not been with a woman in quite some time, as he makes clear—who breaks into a 17-year-old girl's bedroom to watch her sleep. And for some reason, not only is this not frowned on, the exact opposite happens—people think it is the cutest thing ever. Keep in mind, though: in any other context, this situation would involve people instantly crying "Foul!" and a visit from Chris Hansen.

Why don't you have a seat right there, Edward.

Another red flag is raised by how quickly Bella not only falls in like with Edward, but how quickly after he leaves she starts hanging out with Jacob, and then how much she jumps back into Edward's stone cold hands when he returns. Now, those who know me know that I have nothing against romance and falling for people—in fact, those who know me best could probably retell stories from my past where, romantically speaking, I was even more of a girl than Bella.

strictly romantically speaking

But the way that Bella pines and bounces over/between guys basically establishes her as a girl who not only wants a guy, but needs a guy to be complete. Where that gets scary is when the aforementioned hormonally-imbalanced teenagers read the books and start blurring the line between being able to be with someone and not being able to be without someone. And that is precisely the moment at which girls do utterly stupid things, thinking they will be able to be with their guy again. And that, my friends, is a perfectly normal and healthy mindset which always leads to good results.

Oh, wait...

Perhaps the largest and most crimson of flags (you know, the ones Max Hall hates) comes from Stephenie Meyer's strange double-standard of what it means to be an independent woman—or an independent woman part II, if you are of the Beyonce persuasion. Over the course of the books, Bella travels her obligatory (and textbook) character arc, with each plot point ending in her becoming stronger. Great, right? It would be, except for at the end of the saga, Bella is forced to sacrifice everything about her past, her life, and her beliefs and completely conform to Edward's lifestyle, his family, and his convictions in order to be with him. So in the end, we have a story that supports being an independent girl, as long as you do everything your guy says—including joining the ranks of the undead.

strictly, strictly romantically speaking

Coming up next... the Twilight culture. Or, as I like to refer to it, the Cult of the Virgin (Until Book 4, When They're Married And It's OK).

12th-century history jokes, anyone?

The Twilight Saga, part 2

2009-12-01T08:00:00.004-07:00

The Twilight Saga consists of four books, all with cosmothemed titles—Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. A fifth book, Midnight Sun, was planned and half-written, but then abandoned, presumably because Stephenie Meyer grew tired of swimming through gallons of Twilight revenue, Scrooge McDuck-style.

The S is for Stephenie.

Now, from here on in, I am going to be discussing various parts of the books, so a big Spoiler Alert to the very small percentage of people who have not yet read them, but who still have the desire to. (Which, in all honesty, probably amounts to nobody at this point, because I think everyone is pretty much firmly rooted in their camps, whether they be Team Edward, Team Jacob, or Team Does-Not-Live-My-Life-Vicariously-Through-A-Harlequin-Teen-Romance.)

Not Pictured: Team Sane

That last part is a good note to start on. One only has to open any of the books to any random page to see that the Twilight Saga's cup runneth over with sexual tension. From the moment when Edward and Bella meet to when he has to suck another vampire's venom out of her system (in an amazingly thinly-veiled analogy to sexual purity) to when she finally commits necrophilia—ignore it all you want, but that is what sleeping with someone who is dead is, regardless of how sexy his hair is—the books are full of raging libidos. However, since Stephenie Meyer knew her audience would be comprised primarily of screaming 14-year-olds (and 40-year-olds who scream like 14-year-olds, but more on that later), she toned down the tension and put it in teen-acceptable terms.

Stephenie Meyer, hard at work

The problem with doing so is many-fold, the most prevalent of which being this: when you tone down romance novel situations (i.e. "He grabbed her heaving bosoms, caressing her silky white skin.") to teen levels (i.e. "He touched me with his cold hands, sending a chill to my very core."), it still brings all those feelings that romance novels bring (you know what I am talking about), but now it introduces them to a whole new audience—an audience that already has a hard enough time figuring out what their hormones are telling them without the aid of what is essentially PG13 porn.

The original Twilight cover

At the core of the Twilight books exists a love triangle between Bella (a girl), Edward (a vampire), and Jacob (a werewolf, if you could not see that one coming). Actually, I guess it is more of a love V, because to my knowledge, Edward and Jacob never have feelings for one another. Although, who knows? That very well may be the subject of the Twilight Saga's next book, Midnight Sun Cowboy. It is no secret that Bella is in like with Edward, but when he leaves her (to save her, like in Moulin Rouge), she immediately throws herself into the waiting arms of Jacob—and by "immediately", I mean she throws herself off a cliff in hopes that Edward will save her before she splats at the bottom. You know, what every teenage girl should do if her boyfriend leaves her.

This one is free, Stephenie.

In the end, Bella ends up with Edward (surprise) and they get married. While the subject of "How can we grow old together when one of us is immortal?" bounces between them, it only truly comes to fruition after Bella becomes pregnant. Because the baby is half-human, half-vampire (like Blade), it has all sorts of powers, including super-strength—super-strength to super-kick her mom's spine in super-half during delivery. And if that was not enough, the baby also has the power of super-placenta, which eventually results in, as readers of my previous posts may remember me mentioning, Edward performing a cesarean section on Bella with his teeth! After the thorough trouncing that is childbirth, Bella has one foot in the grave. Edward has no choice but to turn her into a vampire to save her life. Precious, right? Oh wait, aside from the utter morbidity of that situation, did I mention that Jacob, Bella's former semi-beau, sees Bella's baby and immediately falls in love with it? And not the "oh, I love that baby" sort of love... the "oh, I love that baby" sort of love.

Hey cutie. Nice umbilical cord.

I think that shall be all for today, but do not fret. There is plenty more yet to come.

Turkey Day

2009-11-26T08:00:00.007-07:00

In elementary school, I was taught a number of things, many concerning my country. I was taught that George "Honest George" Washington cut down a cherry tree, then felt so bad that he immediately fessed-up to his father. I was taught that Christopher "Don't Call Me Chris, Lest I Be Confused With The Director of Harry Potter I And Home Alone" Columbus not only discovered America, but discovered the earth was round. I was also taught that Benjamin "All About the Benjamins" Franklin strongly advocated that the wild turkey, not the bald eagle, should be the bird chosen to represent America.

Men of Greatness

Due to the advent of the internet and, more importantly, the Grand Repository of All Truth (read: Wikipedia), I later came to find out that the aforementioned stories—as with most things taught to me in my youth—are, well, less-than-true. Washington's integrity-affirming story was completely fabricated by his biographer. Columbus was not the discoverer of America—he had to jump in line behind the Scandinavians and the Chinese, at least—and he full-on knew that the earth was round (you know, that is why he knew that he could get east by going west). And while Franklin wrote (somewhat ironically) in a letter to his daughter of his disapproval of the bald eagle, he never campaigned for the turkey, as I am sure most of us were lead to believe.

At last, we know the truth.

And so, as you go to your various Thanksgiving Day gatherings and gorge yourselves stupid on food—because, you know, it is the best way to show... your... thanks?—and you have that *one relative who makes a wise crack about being "thankful that [they] don't have to eat bald eagle" for Thanksgiving, you have my permission to slap some sense into them.

*You know, that one.

On a closing but very related note, I am stoked, quite possibly beyond words. Why, you ask? Well, I was watching the Discovery Channel the other day and I saw mention of what I can only assume is their newest program.

For those who are having trouble reading that, here is a closer view:

That is right. Just in time for the Thanksgiving season, the Discovery Channel is apparently creating a show called "Man vs. Wild Turkey". Finally, there is amazing programming on television once again.

I hope, nay, pray it is exactly like this.

The Twilight Saga, part 1

2009-11-24T08:00:00.003-07:00

I think it would be a fair assumption on my part to say that anyone and everyone reading this—be they friends, family members, or Mike, the rosy-cheeked, dry-humored park ranger who lead the tour of Jewel Cave that my friends and I went on during an impromptu 2005 weekend sojourn to South Dakota—has heard of/seen/been introduced to, in one way or another, the phenomenon known as The Twilight Saga.

Pictured: Mike, park ranger

(Actually, now that I think about it, it would not surprise me in the least to find out that Mike is Twilight's #1 fan. In fact, it would not surprise me in the least to find out that Mike is not only the president of the Black Hills chapter of the Twilight Fan Club, but he has also written multiple volumes of fan fiction entitled "Mikelight", where he has written himself into the story as the Cullen's long-lost cousin who has become a park ranger because he too cannot bear the thought of taking human life and now must spend his days giving tours of caves so that nobody can discover his shadowy yet sparkly secret. Not saying anything bad about Mike, of course. He just seems the type.)

Pictured: Mike, superfan

If, for whatever reason, you are unfamiliar with the subject, allow me to expound for you. The Twilight Saga—named "Saga", of course, because once the fourth book came to be, they could no longer call it a "trilogy", and "quadruplogy" just sounded stupid—is your typical Boy Meets Girl story, wherein Girl moves to a new town, Girl meets Boy, Girl falls head-over-heels in like with Boy, Girl tries to get close to Boy only to have Boy push her away, Girl gets sad, Boy finally opens up to Girl, informing her that he knows of a deep, dark secret: vampires. Oh, snap.

Bolt jokes, anyone?

From there, Twilight gets weird. Like, really weird. Like, rip-open-your-uterus-with-my-vampire-fangs weird. (And no, that is not a euphemism.) But I digress; we shall discuss all in due time. Now, I am aware that it is fairly old hat to make fun of—in blog form, no less—Twilight and all that is entailed therein. The main problem with this is, of course, not that Twilight is unworthy of mockery, for that is most-certainly not the case. Rather, the problem is that those who poke fun at Twilight usually go for the easy shots; and easy shots, by their very nature, are oft times the weakest of arguments. I mean, honestly, there is a lot more to talk about than the fact that Edward glimmers in the sunlight.

Edward's sun-sparkle

That being the case, my intention over the next few posts will be not to mock; rather, I merely wish to share with you a few of my opinions regarding the saga that is in no exaggeration of the word invading our lives. And if, along the way, a snide comment or two stems forth from my mouth (or fingers, as it were), know that they are legitimate concerns that have valid points... at least, valid in the eyes of the guy who spent five (5) posts talking about how he has been wronged by the post office.

Tobias's sun-sparkle

Going Postal, part 5

2009-11-19T08:00:00.002-07:00

V: Delivery Confirmation?
(November, 2009)

As the "part 5" would indicate, I am now reaching the close of my postal tirade. Over the past few days, we have learned a lot about geography, a lot about systems, and a lot about procedures. The posts and stories have made us have laugh, made us cry, made us ponder, and made us facepalm. Now, if I may, let me share with you the last—and, perhaps, most egregious—offense in the ongoing war between the USPS and myself.

facepalm

Through my virtually daily perusal of craigslist, I recently found a chap on the other side of the country who was selling, well, in the interest of half-disclosure, let me say a certain video game accessory that is of great worth to me. I ordered one from him and a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. Overjoyed, I showed this accessory to one of my friends, who instantly wanted one. I ordered another one and a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. Another one of my friends heard about this accessory, so I ordered one and, true to form, a week or so later, it arrived in the mail. I was in functioning postal system heaven.

cartoon facepalm

In retrospect, I should have stopped at three, because as School House Rock taught me, "three is the magic number". However, another one of my friends heard of the accessory and, having assumed that the USPS had repented of its sins—as a major part of repentance is refraining from them—I ordered another one from my newfound associate. As always (though not previously mentioned), the package was sent with a tracking number. For those not in the know, this is basic tracking number theory:
1) The package is given a number and barcode.
2) At each stop along the package's route, the barcode is scanned and the status is updated online
3) All this is to prevent, nay, eliminate the risk of a package getting lost.
Keep in mind, that is the theory...

polar facepalm

Naturally, when the tracking number online informed me that the package had arrived but there was no sign of it in my mailbox, I was a bit concerned. Back at home, I searched for quite literally an hour, trying to find the phone number to my local post office. However, since the USPS does not seem to believe in any form of customer service, the closest thing I was able to come up with was leaving a message with the conflict resolution center at usps.com. A few days later, I got a phone call from Jill, who was pictured in the first "Going Postal" entry. That is when the fun began.

baby facepalm

Right out of the gates, Jill insisted that there was no way her postal worker could have made a mistake, as he is a "good guy". When I asked if she offered any other solution as to the whereabouts of my package, she actually had the gall to imply that I had either lost it or was trying to pull a fast one on the post office. I asked her what the process of scanning a tracking number is, to which she replied that the postal worker literally scans the package one foot away from the mailbox, and then puts it in. Upon hearing this, I put Jill on hold and called up NASA, as it appeared that a black hole had emerged, entirely localized one foot away from my mailbox. After the NASA call, I called Jill back and asked her what exactly the point of a tracking number was; she explained to me the aforementioned theory. I then made the suggestion that while the theory of tracking numbers might work, perhaps there was a problem in the execution, as I was still packageless. Apparently, this was something Jill did not want to hear, as she quickly told me that she had other things to do and tried to get off the phone.

presidential facepalm

Before losing her entirely, I asked her what the USPS intended to do as far as reimbursement. She asked if insurance was purchased for the package; I told her it was not, as I see something fundamentally flawed about paying someone money to do a job, and then paying them extra to assure they do it correctly. Imagine if all businesses operated this way:
"And I'll have the lobster bisque."
"Very good choice, sir."
"Oh, and waiter?"
"Yes?"
"Here's an extra twenty to make sure you don't drop my food on the way out."
"Thank you, sir. I shall see to it."
To this, Jill—who I assume at the time was sitting atop her throne made of crushed hopes and candy stolen from children—actually laughed and said that if I wanted, I could file a formal complaint with the post office in thirty days. When I asked her why the thirty day period, she replied (and I quote): "Just in case the package shows up." That is right: at the end of it all, apparently the USPS's contingency plan for lost items is nothing more than hoping they somehow grow limbs and walk their way to your front door.

implied facepalm

Going Postal, part 4

2009-11-17T08:00:00.002-07:00

IV. The Address Change
(April, 2007)

A few months before my wife and I got married, we decided, because we did not care to be slaves to the beast that is renting, that we would buy a house. We figured this was a good idea because not only would our mortgage payment be equal or less than our rental payment, but because—now hindsight is 20/20 here—at the time, the housing market in Utah was quite figuratively on fire. It got to a point where we would look at a house in the morning and there would be three or four offers on it by that night. So, after searching one end of the valley to the other, we finally found the nexus of the universe we currently call home.

No joke, our grid address is 4321 South 1234 West.

However, before that, there was a multi-week interim where the Mrs. (or Ms., as it were at the time) had moved out of her apartment, but our house had not yet closed. For the time, she followed her husband-to-be's cue in slackitude and came to live in my parents' basement. Though there were the normal (expected) cliches, it was actually a rather painless experience.

Yeah, it was kind of like that.

We closed on our house two days before we took the plunge/tied the knot/[insert wedding metaphor here]. In addition to the myriad of paperwork that needs to be filled out when getting married/buying a house—change of name, escrow papers, signing away firstborn, and the like—we realized we also had to fill out Change of Address forms, informing the USPS that we would no longer be residents of my parents' abode. And as the pattern of the past three posts still held true, that is when the trouble began.

We filled out the CoA forms (as those in the know call them) and moved into our new home. Sure enough, a few days later, mail started arriving in our mailbox that had been forwarded from Sandy. Notice how I said just "mail" and avoided the use of the adjective "our". This is because it was not just our mail... unless "our" refers to my parents as well. That is right: the same postal worker who did not know the difference between South Dakota and South Africa must have processed our Change of Address forms, because they transferred all the residents of my parents' house to our new address, parents' included.

I personally believe that US Americans need Change of Address forms...

After speaking with multiple postal workers and filling out multiple forms, we were able to convince the USPS that my parents indeed still lived in their house and that is where their mail should be sent. Sadly, most of the damage had already been done, as any number of junk mail databases were updated with our address as the new target. To this day, we receive junk mail addressed to my parents on a pretty-much daily basis.

Although, to be fair, I suppose that is karma, as I still give out my parents' phone number whenever any dubious source asks for my contact info.

Sorry mom and dad.

Going Postal, part 3

2009-11-12T08:00:00.003-07:00

III. Cape Town, South Dakota
(July 2002 – July 2004)

In March of 2002, I received—yes, actually received in the mail, believe it or not—a piece of paper that many people know as a "Mission Call", informing me where I would serve my two year religious/humanitarian mission. There were a number of places whose names I wanted to see on that piece of paper, from Scotland to Mongolia to Tonga. It came as no surprise, then, that the place listed was none of those, and was about as far from Sandy, Utah as one can get: Cape Town, South Africa. Over the next few months, I prepared for my 24-month sojourn, informing those I knew and giving them an address I could be reached at there. Incidentally, there was a large number of people who, upon hearing of my destination, would reply, "South Africa? Where exactly is that?"

Wait wait wait... there’s a South Africa?

After a few months of residing in ZA (because SA is Saudi Arabia, obviously), I began to notice many of the idiosyncrasies of the SAPO (South African Post Office, obviously). For example, with the exchange rate it was cheaper to send a letter from Cape Town to Sandy than it was to send one from, say, Sandy to Sandy. I noticed that there could be multiple streets with the same name and numbers—one neighborhood I was in had five Protea Roads—so writing the correct postal code was super imperative. I also noticed that the post office lacked any postage-printing machines, so if someone needed R139.57 in stamps, the unfortunate postal worker had to do an awful lot of mental math to choose the correct number and variety of stamps.

Why oh why didn't I listen to Winnie Cooper!?

The biggest issue I found, however, naturally had nothing to do with the SAPO and everything to do with the USPS. One of every ten or so letters I would receive would have two interesting features on the envelope:
1) The words "South Africa" would be highlighted in yellow; and
2) There was a postmark from Rapid City, South Dakota in the corner.
I quickly realized that there must have been a postal worker(s?) out there who saw the "South", saw that it had a "A" near the beginning and ended in one as well, and concluded that South Dakota was probably the letter's destination. (Interestingly enough, I never received a letter that had been mistakenly sent to South Carolina, so perhaps the formula was a bit more complex than I am giving it credit.)

Table Mount Rushmore, South Dafrica

As noted before, this was a fairly common occurrence. However, since the address the letters were sent to was a permanent address in ZA and not wherever I was staying at the time, I only received the mail about once a month and was usually not bothered by the rerouting delay. There was one offense, though, that needs be mentioned. In a letter to one of my friends, I pointed out the (somewhat amusing) error in passing, as one of his previous letters had been sent on the Great Plains detour. In an attempt to prevent any further delivery mishaps, my friend addressed his next letter to me as per postal standards, then wrote "AFRICA" in large capital letters at the bottom. To drive the nail in further, he drew a miniature outline of Africa and pointed an arrow to the bottom with the word "here". Surely there could be no confusion this time.

I chuckled when I saw the envelope. Not because of the giant letters or the humorous drawing... but because "South Africa" was highlighted in yellow and there was a "Rapid City, SD" postmark in the corner.

Ok, in their defense, it does kind of look like South Dakota.

Going Postal, part 2

2009-11-10T08:00:00.002-07:00

II: The 4-Month Delivery
(January – April, 2002)

My freshman year at college was my first real experience of living on my own. With that experience came a slew of life lessons, oft times learned the hard way. I learned that bringing an acoustic guitar to college is a bad idea, unless you want to be "that guy", and I learned that no matter how you dress it up, ramen noodles are never a good choice when you tell a girl you will cook her dinner. I also learned that an equation made up of (one bored college student) + (the novelty of eBay) + (access to a roommate's credit card) = bad news for all parties involved.

Classy

(Regarding the previous sentence, let it be said that I always paid back any and all expenditures, lest I be esteemed a villain.) During one of my (what quickly became daily) scrolls through the online auction house, a particular item caught my eye—a Braille edition of a book, which was certainly a collector's item. Being overcome with giddiness, I purchased the book and was surprised that shipping was only an additional $12, as Braille books are usually rather large and have to be broken up into multiple volumes. The seller was quite prompt in shipping the book, being told that, due to its size, it would arrive "within eight to twelve business days".

When the eighth business day passed, I started anxiously checking the mail. When the twelfth business day passed, I was a bit miffed. When the twentieth business day passed, I asked the mailman what the deal was, to which he replied that since there was no tracking number, I would just have to "wait until it show[ed] up". When the thirtieth business day passed, I began keeping a watchful eye on the news to make sure I-80 had not been blocked by some sort of natural disaster or, as I feared, a wizard.

You shall not pass!

As the business days turned into business weeks and then into business months, I began to give up all hope regarding my long-lost book. It was just as I was considering buying another book (that had popped up on my eBaydar) when I came home from class one day to discover, much to my surprise, a large box waiting by my door. Upon opening it, I discovered that my book had finally arrived! With 106 calendar days on its belt, I hoped to find foreign postage, burn marks, and other such things one would expect from such a far traveler; after all, it is more-or-less a straight-shot down I-80 from Des Moines to Provo. However, the box was in perfect condition—ruling out falling from a truck or being taken in a hostage crisis—and the postmark was marked on the day when the seller said he sent it—ruling out any tomfoolery on his part. There was only one viable solution left: the USPS, doing its job as per expectations.

Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.

After exhausting multiple avenues—I quickly learned that if you have a problem with the postal system, it is quite difficult to actually speak with someone regarding the problem—I had a conversation with Kevin, manager of the Provo post office. When I asked him what could have possibly happened to make a package be delivered more than four times longer than me actually walking to Iowa, picking it up, and walking back, he simply replied that "sometimes, these things happen". Though I kept silent at the time, I realize now I should have taken a cue from Carlotta in The Phantom of the Opera: "Si! These things do happen! Well, until you stop these things happening, this thing does not happen!"

Broadway jokes, anyone?

Going Postal, part 1

2009-11-05T08:00:00.003-07:00

Recently, I had a rather unpleasant altercation with my local post office over, well, what I view as their inability to do their job correctly. This conversation between myself and Jill—the postal manager who not only could not be brought to an understanding that perhaps one of her workers could have made a mistake, but who also implied that it somehow must have been my fault, though I obviously never touched/saw the package—left me more-than-a-little irked and left the package more-than-a-little lost.

Jill (artist's rendition)

Now, I am aware that it is a mite bit cliche to talk about how ineffective, unprofessional, and at times worthless the United States Postal Service is. However, after a quick jog through my mind, I was able to come up with five examples (including this most recent incident) from my own life of the USPS's ineptitude, poor customer service, and general incompetence.

I: The Dollar Stamp
(April, 1999)

Being a young and spry teenager who had access to the relatively new innovation that was "Free Electronic Mail", I had little use for the postal system growing up. In fact, virtually every piece of mail I received when I was younger could be filed in one of two categories:
1) Birthday/holiday cards from grandparents and the like, which were always fun as they allowed me to figure out how much my relatives loved me, down to the exact dollar amount; and
2) Credit card offers from solicitors who not only somehow got hold of my personal information, but who also somehow failed to realize I was barely old enough to have a checking account, much less a Visa Platinum with no preset spending limit. Although, in retrospect, perhaps they did realize that, and they were trying to start me young.

smooth

During this time, one day I found myself in need of a stamp to mail a letter. Not finding one around the house, I took a quick walk to the post office. As always, the line was inexplicably long; but as fortune would have it, there was a machine off to the side of the lobby which sold stamps. I approached the machine and inserted a dollar bill, with the intent of buying three $.33 stamps and getting a penny for my change. However, the machine quickly laughed in my face, informed me that it was out of said stamps, and suggested I make another selection. I obviously could not afford a book of stamps, so I pressed the change return button. The machine ignored my request and again suggested I make another selection. Again I pressed the button, and again I got no response.

I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that.

After pressing the change return button a score of times and getting no response, I realized I would have to do as the machine suggested and make another selection. A quick browse through the options showed me that the only stamp within my price range was the $.01 American Kestrel Stamp. I selected the stamp (with a quantity of one) and was asked if I wanted anything else. When I informed the machine I did not, it then and only then told me that exact change was required and that I would not be given any change back. And since I had already said I did not want anything else, I lost any chance I had at recouping my loss. The machine must have been able to see my shock at the time, because it then kicked me while I was down by telling me to "Have a nice day."

Before / After

Defeated, I hung my head and returned home. I never saw the machine again after that fateful day, but I assume it is still out there somewhere, scamming another person out of their hard-earned cash.

Find the Queen, get the green, fellas!