This past weekend was one of those glorious winter weekends where you end up doing virtually nothing and loving every minute of it. Nick and I planted ourselves in front of the television Friday night, all warm and cozy (the hot chocolate IV helped a lot), and just knitted until we couldn't knit anymore. It was beautiful. There was a parade of B-movies on the SciFi Channel, and we didn't change the station once the entire time, which was how we ended up seeing the Jeepers Creepers movies. (Pointless Aside: There is an episode of Loony Toons from 1939 with this same title. It features Porky Pig as a bumbling police officer who is called upon to investigate a haunted house. Funny stuff, but not the same premise at all.)

I don't know about you, but I can't watch television for more than five minutes without seeing a Spangles commercial. These ads always have a folksy, low-production kind of quality to them, as if they want you to believe that all the actors are local. They all feature a particular product, like the Western burger or the breakfast pita, and the promotion involves some sort of cutesy, themed scenario, like little kids dressed up in cowboy hats. Some of the commercials feature 50s-style songs that are disgustingly singable and tend to stick with you, like a wad of chewing gum on the underside of your brain ("M-m-m-mudslide!"). And the commercials are everywhere, infiltrating the membranes of our culture like some sort of virus. What's the reason for this juggernaut of kitsch and unpleasantness? Well, after copious research and a good deal of creative problem solving, I have arrived at an explanation. It is not, however, for the faint of heart, so I'd suggest that anyone prone to fainting be seated immediately. Ready? Okay, here it is: the invention and mass-promotion of the Spangles franchise is one of the preliminary stages in an imminent alien invasion.

(DISCLAIMER: This is not an article about Che Guevara or the movie (really good) that was made about him. This is a narrative about my personal harrowing experience attempting to ride a motorcycle. So if you're a Che-ophile, and are uninterested in anything obtaining to other topics, I'd advise you to stop reading now. However, if you are the sort of person who finds it funny when other people fall down, you should probably continue with this article. Someone definitely falls down in this story.)

Superman! Superman Superman Superman! Needless to say, I awaited the opening of this film with tremendous excitement. I was so excited, in fact, that I went to see it at its very first showing, even though Nick was unable to see it with me. I saw it again two days later (Nick was with me this time). And a week after that, I saw it in 3D at an IMAX theatre. Truth be told, I could watch it a dozen more times--in a row even, with my eyelids pried open Clockwork Orange-style--and I'd never ever ever be tired of it. Up till now my personal record for number of times viewing a film in the theatre has been 7 (The Matrix). With Supes, I may actually surpass that record. Thanks to this film, you see, I have ascended to the apex of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I have now reached that sweet spot of self-actualization.

I see that ad for The Lake House, and all I can think about is that hideous chunky turtleneck Keanu Reeves is wearing. I want to look away, but I can't. I'm obsessed with it, so I just sit there and watch with the sort of grim fascination usually reserved for slasher films and presidential elections, and when at last the sweater appears—in all its hateful glory—I feel my blood run cold. That sweater is anathema to me. It's appalling, and I can't even say exactly why.

Bob Davis Interviews Three Applicants for the Human Resources Job

Bob Davis: Hi, I'm Bob Davis, the vice-president in charge of Human Resources for Polaris Inc. I hope you don't mind the group interview format, but we have a lot of promising applicants and this is the best way for me to get a sense of who you are and whether you'd be suited for the position of Human Resources supervisor. So, I'd like you all to tell me a bit about yourselves and your previous employment experiences. Tell me why you believe you are qualified for this position.

The Grand Inquisitor: Ahem. Well, I spear-headed the Inquisition program for several years, and that taught me a lot about conflict resolution and how to deal constructively with difficult employees. I was also responsible for incorporating some fun, teambuilding exercises into the workplace. An interrogation session can be a great icebreaker for employees who don't know each other very well.

Last week Nick and I went to my friend Erin's wedding in Atlanta. It was beautiful and perfect, but what I really want to talk about is the Kansas City airport, because that's where we spent a great deal of our time during the trip. You see, we had originally planned to fly out Thursday at about 4 o'clock, but that morning we got an automated message from Delta telling us that our flight had been cancelled. "We have protected you," the voice said, "on Flight Blah Blah Blah departing Friday at 7:10. Sorry for the inconvenience." First of all, I love that they used the term "protected," like we were surrounded by wild dingoes and then Delta the Barbarian came charging in with his gleaming deltoids and Austrian accent, wrapped us in a non-flammable blanket, and carried us to safety. Yeah, thanks for protecting us on a flight that leaves at 7 o'clock in the freakin' morning. We really appreciate that.

I Would Like:

To host my own surrealist cooking show, which may or may not have anything to do with the preparation of food.

To invent a space-age weapon that could reduce a human being to a pile of cotton candy. It would have a candy corn setting, for safety.

To play old-school Nintendo with Bruce Campbell.

Mayonnaise, if it didn't make that awful sound when stirred.

You to purchase a 50-inch television and leave it outside my door.

Ray Liotta better if he wasn't always beating up someone named Karen in his films.

Some more coffee, please.

Let me begin by admitting to you that sometimes I exaggerate when it comes to my movie reviews. There, I said it. I know it's shocking, but it's much more fun to criticize movies than to praise them, and at times some of my righteous indignation is souped up a bit for effect. I'd like to assure you that this is not the case today. None of the following vitriol is in any way fabricated; this is one hundred percent pure disdain. The only reason I am dignifying this particular film with a blog mention is that I hope to prevent others from making the mistake I made. Do not see this film. If someone straps you to a chair in front of the screen and pries your eyelids open, force yourself to develop cataracts or something. Seriously. Because if you watch it, it will be the end of the pure childlike soul within you.

Part I: My Olympic Delusions

When I was little, I had dreams of being both an Olympic commentator and a competitor. I'm not exactly sure how I planned to reconcile those two occupations ... I must have thought I could just climb down from the press box area, suit up, and get in line on the track between Kenya and Brazil. And when I was done, I could comment on my own stellar performance. Perfect set-up, right? Naturally, I wouldn't be a bit biased, and after winning the gold medal I would say nothing but nice things about the people who won silver and bronze.

I prepared extensively for both of these occupations. Or at least as extensively as could be expected from a kid with ADHD.

Warning: This blog entry is rife with movie spoilers.

I watched the movie Underworld over the weekend. Somehow I missed it while it was in the theaters, and now, of course, there is a sequel. Ordinarily, I wouldn't hesitate to plunk down money for a vampire film, but in this case there's source material to be absorbed and understood first. What if my negligence caused me to miss out on something critical in the film? Besides, there's something fundamentally blasphemous about watching a sequel before the original. It's disruptive to the natural order of things. As you will be aware, the movie industry pays close attention to market trends, so if sequels start outgrossing originals, then maybe we'll come to a time when a sequel is released to the theater before the original. This conundrum almost occurred with the spectacular success of Terminator 2, but was laid to rest again with the spectacular failures of both Matrix sequels. So anyway, this is why I decided to watch the original of Underworld before venturing to the theater and creating a rift in the space-time continuum. Because I care about the world, and because I don't want the natural flow of time getting all wonky and repeating itself. One Hitler was enough.

Haiku is an ancient form of poetry that is governed by a tremendous number of rules and conventions. (The 5-7-5 form we all learned in school is only one possible variation.) As heavily dictated as the form is, however, the true purpose of a haiku is of course to provide insight about the world in a concise and aesthetically pleasing package. A mouthful of meaning, you might say. A successful haiku often has deep ontological implications and can be a highly instructive tool for attaining personal enlightenment. With this in mind, I have carefully penned some haikus that are vehicles for my own slightly warped observations. Bear with me and I think you'll see that I have abused not only the form of haiku, but the spirit behind it as well. Cheers!

Mutant tuna fish
Bring terror to the market;
Vampires of the sea.

Dear Friends and Family (or Current Resident),

Well, the holidays are over. It is my sincere hope that all of you got what you wanted, although the gospel of the Rolling Stones tells us it's not always possible to do so. Anyway, here are some general observations about the holiday season that has just concluded.

First, I'd like to discuss the Ghost of Christmas Commercials Past. What is it with that ancient Folgers coffee commercial? It's at least 25 years old, judging by the feathered hair and the fact that I remember seeing it from the womb. You know the one I'm talking about. The strapping young son surprises his family by coming home from college or something. He smells the coffee brewing. His precocious little sister runs to embrace him. Then mom comes down the stairs in her bathrobe and exclaims, "Peter?!" Everyone smiles. Good-old dad, honored member of the bowling club, steps up to greet his son. It's the most tiresome Norman-Rockwell-on-lithium family portrait ever, and yet we are re-introduced to it every year, because—I suppose—if the milk is good enough, it never ever goes bad, right? Is this the advertising world's version of playing Bing Crosby records every Christmas? Is it supposed to be vintage chic? Just because legwarmers have come back doesn't mean that we should revive every other trend from that era. What's next, exhuming Reagan? Don't forget there was some nasty Cold War stuff in the 80s. Not to mention the hair. My God, the hair. Even Linda Kozlowski looked like something the cat expectorated. Let's let this Folgers commercial die a natural death, instead of lengthening its agonizing existence with yearly life support. I mean seriously. Twenty-five years is a long time for your advertising guys to be out of ideas.