Dracula Loves You

Ballgame over! World Series over! Yankees win! THHHHEEEEEEEE...

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 22:54:00 -0800

Ballgame over! World Series over! Yankees win! THHHHEEEEEEEE YANKEES WIN!

Let’s celebrate No. 27 the best way we know how: with Wade Boggs crying while riding a horse.

MANIFEST DESTINY: There is no Eerie, Indiana

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:11:00 -0700

After two nights in Pittsburgh in which I lamented a town I thought I had once known, Sunday night brought everything back home. A corner bar, cheap beer, and someone yelling at me about how Derek Jeter remains overrated.¹ In towns like Pittsburgh, sport becomes the only topic of discussion.² Perhaps it’s the bars I choose to go to, but after I turned 21 and after the house parties become more sporadic, I noticed that nearly all bar-talk eventually gravitates towards sports. Depending on the nature of the conversation, this is a blessing and a curse. I’d love to talk about movies or recently released albums with a stranger. But at the same time, I don’t have to listen to a liberal leaning monologue that is expounded upon by some schmuck that is blindly passionate and tragically under-informed. I guess it just comes down to the fact that all of us heavy drinkers can completely relate to these professional athletes. Finely tuned bodies, millions of dollars, expensive cars, giant houses, gorgeous women, cult-like followers that heap upon endless praise. It’s like looking into a mirror.

On Monday morning I left Pittsburgh heading for South Bend, Indiana, a one night stay before I hit Chicago. I’d driven through large chunks of the U.S. before, down South and all the way to the South West, but never through the Upper Midwest. My understanding of places like Indiana and Nebraska was limited entirely to John Mellencamp videos and Footloose. I was told South Bend had a nice little campus, but before I could get there I would have to make my way through the horror that is Ohio.

Living in Western PA for half a decade, I have spent some time in the state of Ohio. Never once did anyone suggest we hang out for a while, or maybe get a hotel and stay the night. No matter where you go in Ohio, you get out as soon as you can. When the concert is over, when the game has ended, when the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has turned off the lights and Little Richard has asked you politely (for the tenth time) to leave, you get out of Ohio. So because of things that have happened to myself and my friends, I made a great effort to avoid stopping for anything other than gas in Ohio. Who knows what could have happened had I stepped out of the car for more than a few minutes, but it would have been a perfect storm of booze and tragedy, I can assure you of that.

The Midwest has a whole lot of nothing. I would learn this on my trip. I had thought that to be a myth of sorts, a grand generalization of our sprawling country made by us costal elitists. We know little about these states, so we assume there is very little there. I was wrong. There is nothing in the Midwest. Towns are dozens of miles apart, no one seems to have any adjacent neighbors and someone is making a killing selling nothing but silos.

I chose to spend the night in South Bend, Indiana because I thought it was a longer drive from Pittsburgh to Chicago than it ended up being. I could have made it in one shot, but the hotel room was already booked and paid for, so I made my way to Middle America’s capital of brawling Irishmen.³

My hotel was right off of I-80, surrounded by big box stores and chain restaurants. Judging from my surroundings, I assumed I was far from Notre Dame’s campus as these types of stores are not symptomatic of “college campus.” But when I inquired at the front desk as to if and how I could get to the campus from the hotel, I was met with furrowed brow.

“You want to get to Notre Dame’s campus from here? Welp, I suppose you could get on the highway…let’s see…are you from around here? Let me think of the easiest directions. Actually, let me go get someone else to help you.”

After a few minutes of this man unsuccessfully trying to conjure a point of attack using his brain magic, I headed back to my room, hoping to find something - anything - to do for the night in what I assumed was Middle of Nowhere, Indiana. It was barely 5:00PM, so I did a quick search on Google Maps to find something to eat and realized I was mere miles from Notre Dame’s campus. No longer than a five minute drive. Maybe a grand total of five traffic lights away. This baffled me. Not because I was unaware of how close I was to Notre Dame’s campus, but how this man - who has to live in this town - was completely unable to give me directions to the area’s single point of interest only a few miles down the road. This man didn’t seem mentally challenged. Then again, maybe the mentally challenged can hide it better in the Midwest.

Notre Dame’s campus was much smaller than I had assumed it would be. The popularity of the Fightin’ Irish nationwide (most often by people who didn’t go to Notre Dame) makes the school seem a lot bigger than it really is. The stadium, the dome, the library are all right next to each other. Amazingly enough, these landmarks are all dwarfed by Charlie Weis’ walk-in refrigerator.

I pulled around the football stadium, through a crowd of what must have been tourists, and into a super small parking lot. I have no idea where people must park for a Notre Dame home game. It lacks the sprawling miles of fields and cement that surround most big-time college football stadiums. Instead, the buildings are packed relatively close together, connected by open areas of grass and sidewalks that (when viewed from above) create symbols and characters that expose the university’s deep-seated association with the Illuminati.⁴

On the sidewalk in front of my car, a little kid was trying to shoot everyone with his finger guns while his middle-aged parents gawked in awe at an empty stadium. I opened the door, got out, stretched my legs and “BANG! BANG!” I grabbed my side, yelled out in agony and fell to the ground in slow motion. The kid laughed, but as I got up, his parents were shaking their heads in disgust as they dragged the poor child away by his arms. What have we become if we can’t simply indulge a small child’s thrill-kill fantasies? This is not the America that I signed up for, that’s for sure.

I made my way around the stadium and towards the library adorned with the famed Touchdown Jesus. Not knowing if or when I’d ever be back to South Bend, I had to make an attempt at what I once drunkenly claimed I would do someday. The library was almost entirely empty on this late August evening with summer classes over and the fall semester yet to start. I walked up to a young lady at the first desk I saw and asked her for some information about “The Jesus.”

“The Jesus,” she replied somewhat confused.

“Yes, The Jesus. I would like to ride The Jesus,” I said.

“What do you mean ‘ride The Jesus,’” she asked as she began to look around for other employees.

“Just point me to a staircase or something that will allow me to ride The Jesus and I’ll be on my way,” I continued.

“Um, sir, I’m not sure if you realize that this is a library and…”

“Listen, I don’t want to make a big thing about this, just let me ride The Jesus in peace and everything will be all right.”

After flagging down a male employee that was bigger than I am, she finally put her foot down. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now. Just please get out of here.”

“This isn’t over,” I said as I made my way out of the library before the male employee could make his presence felt.

I continued to walk around campus in hopes of finding Notre Dame’s place to be. It’s the bar that is the presumed first destination for students when they head out for the night. It’s the place that serves the campus’ best drunk food. Every college has them. I for one love having a beer at these places and eating whatever food made up of three days worth of calories. But I couldn’t find these places at Notre Dame. Every student I talked to on campus was an incoming freshman with seemingly no understanding of campus life at their new alma mater. They were all headed for the book store or the library.⁵ So it is my estimation that Notre Dame’s campus is full of either nerds or liars. Or both.

By now it the sun was just starting to go down and I had seen all that I wanted to see. In fact, I saw more than I wanted to see because I hate Notre Dame and their sports teams and those teams’ fans. I headed back to my car in hopes of getting some food and something to drink before I went back to the hotel. But I’m not finished with you yet, South Bend. Not by a long shot. Mark my words: I am going to ride your Jesus and I’m going to ride it hard.

__________
¹ My opinion, as a Yankees fan, is this: He’s great, but overrated by those that love him and underrated by those that hate him. Thus making him accurately rated.
² After pussy, and how much or how little someone is getting there of.
³ The reigning American capital is the Greater Boston Area, of course.
⁴ This may be speculation.
⁵ A return visit was not in the cards.

North American Hallowe’en Prevention Initiative // Do They...

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 18:41:57 -0700

North American Hallowe’en Prevention Initiative // Do They Know It’s Hallowe’en?

In 2005, a ridiculously awesome groups of musicians and so-and-sos got together to record a Halloween song for charity. You can get it on iTunes, and I’m going to just assume that the proceeds still go to UNICEF. That or it was all a ruse and Win Butler has been hoarding a mountain of UNICEF pennies for the last four years. It was a caper that was almost too perfect.

The Five Blobs // The Blob Because it’s almost Halloween,...

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 18:56:50 -0700

The Five Blobs // The Blob

Because it’s almost Halloween, I present the theme song to the original, 1958 incarnation of The Blob. It was co-written by Burt Bacharach, and it helps set the mood for this independently produced creature feature. Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.

Monty Python performing At Last the 1948 Show’s...

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 16:53:56 -0700

Monty Python performing At Last the 1948 Show’s “Four Yorkshiremen.”

Ben Folds Five // She Don’t Use Jelly There was a time...

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 02:40:11 -0700

Ben Folds Five // She Don’t Use Jelly

There was a time when The Flaming Lips were considered a novelty band. Before The Soft Bulletin, “She Don’t Use Jelly” was the only song people were familiar with. In fact, if you went back in time to the early 1990s and told people that The Flaming Lips would become this fascinating band that defied genre and become a seminal part of the rock music landscape you might have been punched in the face. Although I doubt it. I feel like those flannel-clad indie rock kids didn’t carry a big left hook. Anyway, here’s an awesome lounge-influenced cover of that song.

Paul F. Tompkins' long-lost 1998 HBO special "Driven to Drink"

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 00:57:00 -0700

Paul F. Tompkins' long-lost 1998 HBO special "Driven to Drink"

Lookwell! (1991) Created by Conan O’Brien and Robert...

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 17:53:00 -0700

Lookwell! (1991)

Created by Conan O’Brien and Robert Smigel and starring Adam West, the pilot for Lookwell! wasn’t picked up by the network. This decision led to numerous natural disasters that year including the West Virginia derecho and a Halloween blizzard in the Midwest. Tens of dozens were killed and hundreds were injured.

I'm Dead and It's All My Fault.

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 01:14:48 -0700

I'm Dead and It's All My Fault.

Howlies // Angeline Though I had an iPod packed with choices on...

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 19:46:46 -0700

Howlies // Angeline

Though I had an iPod packed with choices on my recent cross-country jaunt (mentioned below and perhaps above at some point), I found myself coming back to this album again and again during the longer stretches of the Midwest. Trippin’ With Howlies has become one of my favorite albums of 2009, due in no small part to this track. The drums sound a little bit like Talking Heads’ “Road To Nowhere,” which is always a very good thing.

MANIFEST DESTINY: The Great Experiment Begins

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 19:09:00 -0700

I packed my car and left the East Coast on August 21st, 2009, heading west on Interstate 80 with a final destination of Los Angeles. Hollywood. La-La Land. Tinseltown. The Windy City. Old Muddy. Brigadoon. For as long as I care to remember, the mythic Great American Road Trip was something I had always wanted to do, but had never gotten around to actually doing. Or even had made serious plans to do. Or had even considered where I would go on such a trip. But with my post-graduate years quickly becoming my pre-derelict years, and a bleak-looking future in front of me in the East, I made the somewhat arbitrary decision to up and move cross-country. Oh, the places we’ll go. The things we’ll see.

My first stop on this fantastic voyage was Pittsburgh, PA. A town known almost entirely due to its inclusion in James Brown’s “Living In America.” It is the town in which I became the educated, upstanding¹ citizen living within this pale skin. It is the town in which I matriculated through the upper echelons of this country’s educational system. It is also the town in which I watched a man lick a combination of pudding, mud and gravel off of his own flip-flop.

I was to stay for the weekend at a close friend’s house, one of very few - I would soon come to realize - I had left in Pittsburgh. The tight knit community of drunkards and revelers I had once known had, as I, moved on. With real person jobs in other towns in other states. And I was left feeling depressed by this revelation. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that the thought of this happening never crossed my mind. It was my understanding that Pittsburgh was, as it should be, the way I left it. And that would be the case ad infinitum.

Close Friend Kevin had made it understood that he would be at work by the time I arrived in the Friendship² section of Pittsburgh. He assured me of this. So it was very confusing when an elderly Asian woman sitting on his front stoop informed me that I had just missed Kevin. ”He should have left for work a while ago,” I said. But she insisted that she had just seen him. He must have gone in later, I thought to myself and went around back to where I had been told the apartment keys were hidden.

After a fruitless search under the garbage cans in the back, I walked around to the front of Kevin’s apartment building, explaining to the elderly Asian woman that the keys that I was promised would be left behind must have been Raptured up. The woman informed me that Kevin’s girlfriend was in his apartment at this very moment, and though I was unaware of Close Friend Kevin’s relationship status, I assumed this aging Woman of the Far East had to be telling the truth. What reason had she to lie? So up the stairs to his apartment I marched, knocking on the door to no avail. And then back outside I went once more.

By now, the elderly Asian woman had changed her story. ”You just missed them again,” she exclaimed. My suspicions had not been aroused. Rather, I was certain we were talking about two very different people until she described Kevin in perfect detail. She informed me that Kevin and his mysterious lady friend had just gotten in his car and left. One unanswered phone call and one text message later, I decided I was too hungry to wait around and headed towards Oakland, my old grounds for stomping and clapping and generally carrying on.

I walked around The University’s campus for a little while, until it occurred to me that no undergrad enrolled at Pitt would have been there when I was in school. I hate when I figure out how old I’ve become³, so I fled Oakland. As I made my way through Pittsburgh, I finally got in touch with Kevin who again assured me that not only was he at work, but that his keys were back at the apartment. Only he had to explain to me that his keys were under the garbage can in the front, not around back. Which they were. And, of course, the elderly Asian woman was nowhere to be seen.

This seemingly harmless, old Asian lady lied to my face. She gave me the Verbal Kint, and I fell for it. I thought about it for hours afterwards, but I could never figure out her game. I couldn’t get a handle on her angle. The only thing that was certain was that I was very obviously her mark. It was a flimflam, the ol’ “you just missed your buddy” dodge. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure this cost me money somehow. Old Asian lady laughed all the way to the bank.

The lesson in all of this? Even in my older years, I am too trusting of elderly Asians. This isn’t the first time I’ve been burned, and it damn sure won’t be the last. When speaking to an elderly Asian person, I take their words as absolute truths. They just seem so wise. Even with the most nonsensical gibberish sentence, I’m digging for that morsel of enlightenment buried deep inside. I need to put an end to this, lest I be swindled once more. Their quiet dignity is but a facade hiding their sinister, elderly ploys.

I spent the next few days wandering the city in the afternoon, trying to find something to do in a town that once seemed full of choices. It’s surprising how different a city becomes when all your friends are gone. They add to the personality of the city and - more importantly - they make your actions seem much more rational. Why is it that something completely acceptable in a group of people suddenly becomes “against the law” when done solo? A congregation of booze staggering home from the bar, yelling and galavanting is a party. A single person doing that must be homeless or deranged or both. I assume this is the fault of freedom-hating liberals. This isn’t my America!

As for the evenings, Kevin ended up working late into the night for most of my stay. I killed the time drinking alone in his apartment, watching movies on cable TV. Some would consider this an inauspicious start to my great move West, but it is completely in my wheelhouse. It would, in someways, foreshadow the trip ahead. Though I would be stopping to visit friends here and there, I would be unaccompanied through a bulk of America. A loner. A rebel. A man who wants little more than a drink and to not be bamboozled, hoodwinked or run amuck by aging foreigners. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.

__________
¹ In so much as I do tend to stand upright.
²With most friends gone, this irony was not lost on me.
³This happens constantly. For example: when I remember what year a pro-athlete was drafted or what year a movie came out.

Quentin Tarantino: 20 Movies — and Posters —...

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:53:19 -0700

Quentin Tarantino: 20 Movies — and Posters — You’ve Got to See!

[via /Film]

The Footnotes of MAD MEN

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:34:36 -0700

The Footnotes of MAD MEN

The opening cinematic for The Beatles: Rock Band. I could watch...

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 12:57:17 -0700

The opening cinematic for The Beatles: Rock Band. I could watch a feature-length version of this.

A larger version [here].

[via Make Something Shark Every Shark Day]

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 20:54:49 -0700

[via Make Something Shark Every Shark Day]

Sadly, Reno 911 was cancelled today. After six seasons and one...

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 18:14:07 -0700

Sadly, Reno 911 was cancelled today. After six seasons and one motion picture, Comedy Central has apparently decided to spend their money in a more fiscally responsible way. This, of course, means more Jeff Dunham specials and opportunities for Greg Giraldo to spread his comedy wings. Those MAD TV reruns don’t pay for themselves, you know.

So goodnight, sweet Reno. My television box will spit out a much less funny radiation and glow without you.

Please to enjoy: Terry.

[via Aww Hell Nah]

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 23:43:54 -0700

[via Aww Hell Nah]

[via The “I Can Read Movies” Series]

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 14:54:49 -0700

[via The “I Can Read Movies” Series]

The trailer for Don’t You Forget About Me. “If he...

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 12:24:13 -0700

The trailer for Don’t You Forget About Me.

“If he gets up, we’ll all get up. It’ll be anarchy!”

[via /Film]

[via OMG Posters!]

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 19:30:08 -0700

[via OMG Posters!]