CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- It's that time of year again: a chance to reflect on the year that was, to atone for mistakes made and to vow to try harder in the future.
No, I'm not talking about New Years Eve and its bullshit resolutions but rather the best hook-up holiday of all: Halloween. Invariably, All Hallows Eve is a fete for the senses and psyche; people dress up and act down.
Part of it is the costumes and how you feel wearing clothes not your own and another part of it is the role playing and indulging in your fantasies that make Halloween without peer. But, really, Halloween is all about hooking up.
Over the years everything from butterflies to baby Elvii have Halloween hooked up with this French maid cum cowboy. Not because we were soul mates or drunk or anything like that but because we each offered the other the specter of fantasy fulfillment.
It's the sense that, hey, I spend every other day buttoned down and laced up so why can't I be fucking deprave and debauch with someone else who feels exactly the same way?
We're consenting adults... dressed like children.
# # #
Friday, October 27
Wednesday, October 25
A Cautionary Tale
CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Listen up, kiddies, for I have been down this road already.
You're young, full of life, minimally scarred and supposedly "the future." (I dispute that because "the future" is really hydrogen and not our iDeaf generation.)
You've got the world by the short hairs and you want to make a difference. The best way that you see how is the patented three-point plan:
1.) Start a blog.
2.) ???
3.) Profit.
Let me tell you something, sonny boy, no one (and I mean no one!) gives two shits about the rambling nonsensical web logs of some pubescent teenager living in a cul-de-sac railing against their militaristic parents whose tyranny precludes you any outlet save the aforementioned blog.
Instead, people care about what a thirtysomething -- thank you, Ed Zwick, I just now truly understand your show of the same name a mere 15 years after it went of the air -- with a penchant for obscure words and unorthodox grammar sporadically espouses as fodder from his daily life.
Thirties are the new twenties and it's for real this time. Look at how I've grown over the years, I'm more fascinating now than ever! Hell, I just called up my order history at Amazon.com to verify this.
In 1997, my first purchase from the stratospheric-P/E online retailer was Don Delillo's "Underworld" a masterwork of fiction about a fucking baseball and the nuclear Cold War. The New York Times considered the book the second-best fictional work of the last 25 years. I didn't make it past 50 pages of the three-inch thick doorstop.
See, Luke 10-years ago, was an excruciatingly boring person.
But what, oh what, is in my Wish List these days over at the world's largest bookstore? You'll never guess.
Like I said, "I'm much more fascinating now than ever."
# # #
You're young, full of life, minimally scarred and supposedly "the future." (I dispute that because "the future" is really hydrogen and not our iDeaf generation.)
You've got the world by the short hairs and you want to make a difference. The best way that you see how is the patented three-point plan:
1.) Start a blog.
2.) ???
3.) Profit.
Let me tell you something, sonny boy, no one (and I mean no one!) gives two shits about the rambling nonsensical web logs of some pubescent teenager living in a cul-de-sac railing against their militaristic parents whose tyranny precludes you any outlet save the aforementioned blog.
Instead, people care about what a thirtysomething -- thank you, Ed Zwick, I just now truly understand your show of the same name a mere 15 years after it went of the air -- with a penchant for obscure words and unorthodox grammar sporadically espouses as fodder from his daily life.
Thirties are the new twenties and it's for real this time. Look at how I've grown over the years, I'm more fascinating now than ever! Hell, I just called up my order history at Amazon.com to verify this.
In 1997, my first purchase from the stratospheric-P/E online retailer was Don Delillo's "Underworld" a masterwork of fiction about a fucking baseball and the nuclear Cold War. The New York Times considered the book the second-best fictional work of the last 25 years. I didn't make it past 50 pages of the three-inch thick doorstop.
See, Luke 10-years ago, was an excruciatingly boring person.
But what, oh what, is in my Wish List these days over at the world's largest bookstore? You'll never guess.
Like I said, "I'm much more fascinating now than ever."
# # #
Thursday, October 5
An Argument Against 'Cold Opens'
CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Damn you, network television.
I could handle one television series where I was "Lost" and playing catch-up to what is really going on. But with the recent debuts of "Jericho" and "The Nine" from CBS and ABC, respectively, I feel enough is enough.
Both are "Lost" retreads replete with poor man's versions of non-linear storytelling, pseudo-mythology and masochistic psychology. It all adds up to "science friction" to this beleaguered viewer.
As they say in Hollywood, "imitation is the sincerest form offlattery a steady paycheck." But, by God, these two fall offerings are downright abysmal.
"Jericho" plays to our nookular F.U.D., or fear, uncertainty and doubt. Nice timing on CBS' behalf considering the remaining band members of that irascible "Axis of Evil" trio. Iraq left the group for his solo project whilst North Korea and Iran continue to tour, albeit smaller venues than New York's U.N. General Assembly hall.
Manning the helm at "Jericho" is Skeet Ulrich, who hasn't done good work in the decade since "Albino Alligator." His brooding eyes and wooden acting do little to advance the ball of spaghetti that serves as the drama's plot line.
Meanwhile, Tim Daly, protagonist of "The Nine," makes us wait interminably as though again we're caught in a two-bit municipal airport during the holiday crush in the middle of a snowstorm.
What happened during the 52-hour standoff of a foiled bank robbery? Taking a page from Jack Bauer, the answer will be revealed -- like a Band-Aid pulled much too slowly from a scab -- in 52 episodes allowing for Daly and his cohorts to collect 49 superfluous paychecks.
Add in the lame military PSYOPS cum Stockholm Syndrome angle and we've got a hole in ABC's Wednesday night schedule. However, the lead-in audience from "Lost" alone will allow this show to sputter along over two seasons. And that's two seasons too long in my not-so-humble opinion.
I'm going back to "The Simpson's" re-runs from the third through eighth seasons, when they were at the subversive highpoint, to tide me over the six days to another new "Lost" episode.
# # #
I could handle one television series where I was "Lost" and playing catch-up to what is really going on. But with the recent debuts of "Jericho" and "The Nine" from CBS and ABC, respectively, I feel enough is enough.
Both are "Lost" retreads replete with poor man's versions of non-linear storytelling, pseudo-mythology and masochistic psychology. It all adds up to "science friction" to this beleaguered viewer.
As they say in Hollywood, "imitation is the sincerest form of
"Jericho" plays to our nookular F.U.D., or fear, uncertainty and doubt. Nice timing on CBS' behalf considering the remaining band members of that irascible "Axis of Evil" trio. Iraq left the group for his solo project whilst North Korea and Iran continue to tour, albeit smaller venues than New York's U.N. General Assembly hall.
Manning the helm at "Jericho" is Skeet Ulrich, who hasn't done good work in the decade since "Albino Alligator." His brooding eyes and wooden acting do little to advance the ball of spaghetti that serves as the drama's plot line.
Meanwhile, Tim Daly, protagonist of "The Nine," makes us wait interminably as though again we're caught in a two-bit municipal airport during the holiday crush in the middle of a snowstorm.
What happened during the 52-hour standoff of a foiled bank robbery? Taking a page from Jack Bauer, the answer will be revealed -- like a Band-Aid pulled much too slowly from a scab -- in 52 episodes allowing for Daly and his cohorts to collect 49 superfluous paychecks.
Add in the lame military PSYOPS cum Stockholm Syndrome angle and we've got a hole in ABC's Wednesday night schedule. However, the lead-in audience from "Lost" alone will allow this show to sputter along over two seasons. And that's two seasons too long in my not-so-humble opinion.
I'm going back to "The Simpson's" re-runs from the third through eighth seasons, when they were at the subversive highpoint, to tide me over the six days to another new "Lost" episode.
# # #
Who Used Who?
LOS ANGELES (SNARKY) -- "The Break-Up" has broken up.
Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn have officially split up mere weeks before the DVD release of their collaboration. In a brilliant P.R. move -- loudly predicted by moi, by the way -- the split implores fans of Vaughnifer to quickly snatch up the disc as a memento to their happier times, a tchotchke of rebound love lost.
To fully appreciate the media savvy of the actors' actions, one has to take the macroview. Both of their careers were in the shitter: a bloated, balding, churlish little boy in Vaugh and a vapid, frigid, discarded-like-a-peach-Pitt Aniston.
Add the two zeros together in a vexing, not-quite-right relationship nurtured while shooting and you have the recipe for a high-rate-of-return public relations campaign for "The Break-Up."
Worldwide gross of "The Break-Up" is less than the sticker price of a Prius from surpassing $200 million. That's not bad for a formulaic he-said-she-said with no digital effects, car chases or explosions. Aniston's ass, notwithstanding.
But of the two main conspirators, who got more out of the relationship? Him or her?
Frankly, the argument could be made either way and still not be convincing to me. I feel that they both used the media who in turn used us the paying public. We've been had. Again.
We should learn a valuable lesson from this break up but we won't. We'll repave this long standing Hollywood rut with the speculation and rumor and inordinate interest in the next pair of celebrities who need a career boost.
It's probably a good thing; there are plenty of babies in the Third World that need adopting.
# # #
Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn have officially split up mere weeks before the DVD release of their collaboration. In a brilliant P.R. move -- loudly predicted by moi, by the way -- the split implores fans of Vaughnifer to quickly snatch up the disc as a memento to their happier times, a tchotchke of rebound love lost.
To fully appreciate the media savvy of the actors' actions, one has to take the macroview. Both of their careers were in the shitter: a bloated, balding, churlish little boy in Vaugh and a vapid, frigid, discarded-like-a-peach-Pitt Aniston.
Add the two zeros together in a vexing, not-quite-right relationship nurtured while shooting and you have the recipe for a high-rate-of-return public relations campaign for "The Break-Up."
Worldwide gross of "The Break-Up" is less than the sticker price of a Prius from surpassing $200 million. That's not bad for a formulaic he-said-she-said with no digital effects, car chases or explosions. Aniston's ass, notwithstanding.
But of the two main conspirators, who got more out of the relationship? Him or her?
Frankly, the argument could be made either way and still not be convincing to me. I feel that they both used the media who in turn used us the paying public. We've been had. Again.
We should learn a valuable lesson from this break up but we won't. We'll repave this long standing Hollywood rut with the speculation and rumor and inordinate interest in the next pair of celebrities who need a career boost.
It's probably a good thing; there are plenty of babies in the Third World that need adopting.
# # #
Monday, October 2
Why I Wore A Pink Shirt To The Office Today
CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- Short answer: I love boobies.
Long answer: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I wanted to show my solidarity with those afflicted with the disease.
Can you imagine a world without boobies? Frankly, I cannot nor do I really want to, thank you very much. The boobie, my raison d’être. The very epitome of womanhood; the quintessential giver of life. May we soon find a cure and stop this insidious illness.
So for all the petite A's and B's out there just trying to keep their head above water and for their voluptuous big sisters, the C's and D's -- who are more likely statistically to contract the cancer -- keep fighting the good fight.
And please know, Boobie, that in addition to myself, billions of men are looking out for you.
# # #
Long answer: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I wanted to show my solidarity with those afflicted with the disease.
Can you imagine a world without boobies? Frankly, I cannot nor do I really want to, thank you very much. The boobie, my raison d’être. The very epitome of womanhood; the quintessential giver of life. May we soon find a cure and stop this insidious illness.
So for all the petite A's and B's out there just trying to keep their head above water and for their voluptuous big sisters, the C's and D's -- who are more likely statistically to contract the cancer -- keep fighting the good fight.
And please know, Boobie, that in addition to myself, billions of men are looking out for you.
# # #
Wednesday, September 27
'T.O.' Allergic to FB Practice
DALLAS (SNARKY) -- Terrell Owens is not suicidal and he wants you to know that.
"I make too much money to want to harm myself," said media-whore Owens after leaving Baylor University Medical Center. "C'mon, I just signed a [$25 million] deal in March and I'm going to collect all of it. After all, I've got to feed my family."
The coddled Cowboys wideout is, however, allergic. But not painkillers, sports supplements, hay fever, the sun, unsalted peanuts or anything else equally plausible. No, quite simply T.O. is allergic to football practice.
In a string of increasingly bizarre excuses, Owens will again miss practice at the Cowboys' training facility after being released from the hospital this morning following his "overdose."
For those scoring at home, T.O. has now missed practice because he: 1.) overslept, 2.) tweaked his hamstring putting on his shorts, 3.) broke the smallest bone in the back of his hand, and now 4.) tried to kill himself.
Unlike the Cowboys' front office -- who happen to be some of the stupidest people on the planet -- I am eagerly awaiting Owens' "Excuse No. 5."
Could it possibly have something to do with an asteroid impact or global warming? I'm crossing my fingers while futilely trying to pull the painkillers out of his mouth.
# # #
"I make too much money to want to harm myself," said media-whore Owens after leaving Baylor University Medical Center. "C'mon, I just signed a [$25 million] deal in March and I'm going to collect all of it. After all, I've got to feed my family."
The coddled Cowboys wideout is, however, allergic. But not painkillers, sports supplements, hay fever, the sun, unsalted peanuts or anything else equally plausible. No, quite simply T.O. is allergic to football practice.
In a string of increasingly bizarre excuses, Owens will again miss practice at the Cowboys' training facility after being released from the hospital this morning following his "overdose."
For those scoring at home, T.O. has now missed practice because he: 1.) overslept, 2.) tweaked his hamstring putting on his shorts, 3.) broke the smallest bone in the back of his hand, and now 4.) tried to kill himself.
Unlike the Cowboys' front office -- who happen to be some of the stupidest people on the planet -- I am eagerly awaiting Owens' "Excuse No. 5."
Could it possibly have something to do with an asteroid impact or global warming? I'm crossing my fingers while futilely trying to pull the painkillers out of his mouth.
# # #
Friday, September 22
Blogger Too Lazy To Post, Spellchcek
CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- What was once a paragon for satirical musings and shining example of the art of blogging, "Lukateake" has quietly and precipitously fallen into disrepair through a milieu of mismanagement, posting dearth and ill-advised $25 words.
Luke Penca, 31, of Chicago, has on-again-and-off-again written the peculiarly-hyphenated web log since January. But acolytes of the once popular site have recently begun defecting en masse to a more consistent online feeding at the Humor Teat, ala TheOnion.com and AlJazeera.com.
When reached at his stuffy, blinds-drawn apartment, the paranoid Penca briefly parted the louvers into his psyche before becoming combative with this mild mannered reporter.
"It's goddamn A.D.H. and I don't mean my good friend, Andrew D. Heog," said Penca referring to Attention Deficit Hyperactivity disorder. "And, yes, I know that there should be another 'D' at the end of it. Now go fuck yourself. Sideways."
Perhaps, all is not lost for the young author and his Luakteake creation.
"If Luke can harnass his anger and use it as a creative force even for short bursts, he'll be all the richer for it," said fellow friend and jazz impresario Matt Geraghty of The Matt Geraghty Project, his eponymous ensemble and not the least bit narcissistic.
"But if he can't ride that razor's edge, he'll devolve into a bitter and jaded has-been or, worse, a never-was," said Geraghty. "Granted, even then he can still get sitcom work."
# # #
Luke Penca, 31, of Chicago, has on-again-and-off-again written the peculiarly-hyphenated web log since January. But acolytes of the once popular site have recently begun defecting en masse to a more consistent online feeding at the Humor Teat, ala TheOnion.com and AlJazeera.com.
When reached at his stuffy, blinds-drawn apartment, the paranoid Penca briefly parted the louvers into his psyche before becoming combative with this mild mannered reporter.
"It's goddamn A.D.H. and I don't mean my good friend, Andrew D. Heog," said Penca referring to Attention Deficit Hyperactivity disorder. "And, yes, I know that there should be another 'D' at the end of it. Now go fuck yourself. Sideways."
Perhaps, all is not lost for the young author and his Luakteake creation.
"If Luke can harnass his anger and use it as a creative force even for short bursts, he'll be all the richer for it," said fellow friend and jazz impresario Matt Geraghty of The Matt Geraghty Project, his eponymous ensemble and not the least bit narcissistic.
"But if he can't ride that razor's edge, he'll devolve into a bitter and jaded has-been or, worse, a never-was," said Geraghty. "Granted, even then he can still get sitcom work."
# # #
Football Picks Picked Up
CHICAGO (SNARKY) -- In an apparent nod to his rampant laziness, a Chicago man has outsourced his office football pool picks to Terry Bannon, a columnist for the Sun Times.
"Terry's record this season speaks for itself," said Luke Penca, 31. "I just don't have the five minutes I need every week to contemplate my picks so I'm outsourcing the work."
Admittedly, Bannon's record over the nascent season stands at a yeoman's 23 wins against 9 losses. However, last week marked a dramatic upturn as he went 14 and 2.
"I'm banking my five dollars on another week like [last week]," said Penca before scurrying off for a nap.
# # #
"Terry's record this season speaks for itself," said Luke Penca, 31. "I just don't have the five minutes I need every week to contemplate my picks so I'm outsourcing the work."
Admittedly, Bannon's record over the nascent season stands at a yeoman's 23 wins against 9 losses. However, last week marked a dramatic upturn as he went 14 and 2.
"I'm banking my five dollars on another week like [last week]," said Penca before scurrying off for a nap.
# # #
Monday, September 11
Google To Join Search For Bin Laden
WASHINGTON, D.C. (SNARKY) -- Using the five year anniversary of 9/11 as a backdrop, President Bush unveiled an ambitious new strategy in the war on terror: engaging the vast resources of Google in the hunt for Osama Bin Laden.
"Google can find anything and as my best friend Homer Simpson says, 'they certainly answered my questions about wang enhancement,'" said the President.
When told that Google is only useful in finding things on the Internet and, furthermore, that Homer Simpson is just a cartoon, the President muttered a few nonsensical sentence fragments then furrowed his brow before spitting on the carpet and disappearing behind the blue curtain of the White House press room.
Ask to comment for the Mountain View, Calif. based company, CEO Eric Schmidt said, "Google steadfastly supports the war on terrorism -- from monitoring American citizens' search habits to invading their privacy to sharing our records with the Federal government -- but there is only so much we can do from here. I can put the President in contact with our Tora Bora subsidary 'Gulagle' for assistance in finding Bin Laden."
# # #
"Google can find anything and as my best friend Homer Simpson says, 'they certainly answered my questions about wang enhancement,'" said the President.
When told that Google is only useful in finding things on the Internet and, furthermore, that Homer Simpson is just a cartoon, the President muttered a few nonsensical sentence fragments then furrowed his brow before spitting on the carpet and disappearing behind the blue curtain of the White House press room.
Ask to comment for the Mountain View, Calif. based company, CEO Eric Schmidt said, "Google steadfastly supports the war on terrorism -- from monitoring American citizens' search habits to invading their privacy to sharing our records with the Federal government -- but there is only so much we can do from here. I can put the President in contact with our Tora Bora subsidary 'Gulagle' for assistance in finding Bin Laden."
# # #
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)