And the Oscar goes to…

People always ask me, “Hey Josh, what movie do you think will win the Academy Award for Best Picture this year? Who do you put your money on?” To which I usually reply, “Sure, it’s 4:47.” Because once people start talking about the Oscars, my brain shuts down and I start thinking about interesting things, like wondering if I could handle the cinnamon challenge.

But this year, you’re in luck! I happened to have seen all 9 movies up for best Picture and am perfectly willing to do a quick synopsis of each, followed by my, set-in-stone, pick for the winner. So pick out your finest overalls and dust off your fanciest Tevas, because tonight we hit the red carpet on our way to see…

1. War Horse

War Horse is a tragic tale of loss, redemption and murder. Starring Vincent Price, Charles Bronson and Paula Poundstone as the titular War Horse, this movie takes place during the Trojan war, when large armies fought epic battles all for the sake of holding the tv remote. This five-hour long movie shows the journey Paula Poundstone takes from being a forest of living, healthy trees, to a giant, hollow, wooden horse occupied by soldiers who use her to enter the city of Troy and give everybody wet willies.

My favorite aspect of this movie is that it feels timeless and like an instant classic due to the fact that they didn’t use as CGI effects. Director Werner Hertzog believes in realism and practical effects and that shines through in this delightful picture. If you haven’t yet, go see this movie. It’ll change your life.

2. The Artist

The Artist is quite an interesting movie, if only for it’s bold approach to its subject matter. Staring a watermelon and three grapes, The Artist tells the story of fruit, long abandoned by the people who purchased them, who are forced to come to terms with that abandonment. Shot in real time, this movie is innovative as it shows the three-week process of fruit rotting. It’s powerful and will tug at your heartstrings, whatever heartstrings are, I’m not a cardiologist.

3. Midnight in Paris

The first thing you need to know about Midnight in Paris is that it takes place in Bakersfield, CA. Often mistaken for the pornographic movie One Night in Paris’ Herpes-Riddled Vaj, Midnight in Paris is actually the thrilling story of a man and a woman and their struggle to finish the Friday version of the New York Times crossword puzzle. Ned Flanders and Cher struggle to finish the puzzle while juggling the responsibilities of cleaning the floors of movie theaters. If you’re in the mood for a taut thriller with superb acting, in Korean with British subtitles, then this movie is right up your alley!

4. Moneyball

Moneyball is a documentary about Lance Armstrong’s battle and triumph over testicular cancer, and his subsequent sex-change operation to join an all-female wrestling league. The pacing is great and the story is brimming with good humor and much pathos. This is by far the best animated documentary I’ve seen this year and I can’t speak highly enough about it. Moneyball is sure to warm the cockles of even the grinchiest heart.

5. The Descendants

The Descendants is this year’s only sci-fi entry. Starring Diablo Cody and Spuds MacKenzie, and directed by George Takei, The Descendants flies us up into outer space where our heroes must do battle against the forces of evil, in the form of intergalactic postal workers. The special effects and make up are great, all the way down to Diablo’s double space labias. I highly recommend watching this movie after drinking seven cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

6. The Tree of Life

I’ve seen The Tree of Life four times and I have absolutely no idea what it’s about. Something about dinosaurs, trees and life. Also, I think I saw a hippo and a giraffe copulating in the background in one scene.

7. The Help

The Help is a foreign movie, straight from China and director Robert Rodriguez. It’s not often that martial arts movies become Best Picture contenders. In fact, I believe the last one was in the early 70s, the Dolomite sequel The Human Tornado. Unfortunately, it lost to Somebody to Shove, a movie about love and punching people in throats.

The Help, is about Bruce, a drug-addicted ping pong paddle, who fights his way through the Toronto underground, to get back the woman he loves, played by MC Skat Cat. The fighting scenes are very well choreographed and the action is non-stop! So be sure to snort at least two grams of cocaine while watching this to feel fully immersed in the action.

8. Hugo

Hugo is the coming-of-age story, starring George Burns as Hugo. Hugo is a young boy sent off to Christian Bible Camp one summer by his nephew, as a cruel joke. Throughout the movie Hugo has to learn important bible skills during the day and secret study the Torah at night, because he’s Jewish and Australian. Oh, did forget to mention that? Because it’s vital to the plot. Also, he has two left arms and he’s a robot with laser-vision.

I really liked this movie because I could totally relate to Hugo. He had all the problems I had when I was his age, Jewish and Australian. Then I converted. The ending is the saddest part, when Hugo uses his newly acquired Christian skills to baptize himself to death.

9. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close is a silent movie about people who get off on rubbing on other people in tightly-packed buses and trains. Filmed as a mockumentary, this is a hilarious look at this disturbing subculture of perverted freaks. Featuring cameos by Michael J. Fox and the ghost of Bernie Mac, this story is great for the whole family and extremely funny and incredibly hilarious (see what I did there?) Rated NC-17.

Well, there you have it. A rundown of all the movies in this category and how good they are. Each one is a work of art and they are all worthy of being chosen as the Best Picture for 2011 (except for Tree of Life). But if I had to pick one to win, I would have to go with a film that was, in my opinion, snubbed and wrong excluded from the category, and that would be The Twightlight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 1. Go team Edward!*

*Just kidding, that’d be a cruel joke. I actually think that The Human Centipede II should win.

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

At the beginning of the summer, I announced the "Create an Eighty-Four Glyde" Contest. The deadline was Labor day and the prize was $100. I had many interesting entries and was very pleased. But there can be only one winner, and that winner is Brenda Armira, because I liked her topic. If you didn't know about the contest, or didn't have a chance to finish your entry, not to worry, there will be another one next summer. Until then, keep reading, keep writing and keep doing a third thing.

Here is Brenda's entry, unedited and presented as it was sent to me. Enjoy!

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

Ever notice how telling a lie is easier than facing the truth? Is this because people are so afraid of confronting the truth about themselves? I’m not sure but I decided to do some research regarding the topic, beginning with what a lie is and how many different subtypes of lies there actually are. Wikipedia says- A lie is a type of deception in the form of an untruthful statement, especially with the intention to deceive others (Wikipedia, being such a reliable source). According to the Fringe Benefits by staff writer J.M. Lucci there are 5 types of lies, Little White Lies, Big Black Lies, Distraction Lies, Fucking Lie (Male version) and Fucking Lie (Female Version).

Little White Lies, we are all familiar with. We have all told them and usually the lie causes no damage or is told to be less hurtful to a person. An example is; “Your outfit is pretty” rather than, “Your outfit is pretty but not beautiful enough to distract from your ugly face… “ oh, and “it would look so much better on me”. Another example is, “I arrived late because there was traffic” rather than, “I arrived late because I decided to go out last night and engage in after hours activities (wink wink) therefore having me hit the snooze button several times…Oops”. In my opinion, these are completely necessary when dealing with your newly divorced mother. My mother asked if she was considered a cougar? A looked at her and asked, “Do you know what a cougar is” (hoping it was lost in translation), she looked at me and said, “Of course”. I answered, “Yes”, because I needed breakfast before work.

Big Black Lies, require thought process and usually are hard to believe, they contain extreme exaggerations. An example is, “I arrived late to work because there was an accident on the freeway. There was a 7 car pileup so I pulled over to help a lady stuck in the car. I pulled her out just in time because after we got away, the car caught on fire. I received a call from Governor Swarcenegar and am supposed to receive a trophy from Mayor Villaraigosa appreciating me for my heroic act.” Too much! Every Californian knows that the governor only has time to raise taxes and impregnate the working class and that the Los Angeles Mayor only has time to do his hair. I swear his hair must take at least 7 hours; leaving only 1 hour to do official government business. In my high school days, I became interested in black men believing, they all came with big junk, to my surprise, they weren’t all carrying big black phallus’. What a big black lie?

Distraction Lies are lies told to refocus a person’s attention on other topics. These lies are usually told to stupid people with low attention spans. Example; you’re hair looks so pretty today (even though it’s the same hair style she’s worn all her life) in the hope of distracting from the original topic of, “why haven’t you paid the rent this month?” These lies are extremely useful to me when being pulled over by a police officer. Lets just say, having DD’s comes in very helpful.

Fucking Lies both Male and Female are lies told to “get some”. These are sexually based lies in order to seem more appealing (sexually) to the opposite sex. An example is, “I swear, that doesn’t usually happen to me” (after finishing a long 3 minute session) rather than, “I just wanted to get mine, who cares if you finished”. Another example is, “You’re only my 2^nd partner” rather than “I lost count after number 30”. Being a 29 year old virgin, I can’t really speak on this, except for that tying up someone while whipping them should really be done with furry cuffs rather than police cuffs…so I’ve heard.

During my research, I came across a wall post asking, “If you tell an ugly person they’re pretty, do they know you’re lying?” It’s people telling lies to protect people they care about, or is it? As a friend, it’s your responsibility to tell your friend when she looks “to’ up from the flo’ up.” Heck, if I went out looking like a “muffin top”, “un burrito mal envuelto” (a badly wrapped burrito), or I have 4 butt cheeks hanging out as well as 4 boobs, please, let me know. It’s not flattering in the least bit, in fact, it’s the only way to make DD’s look all bad.

A friend told me, he lies all the time when he is trying to get out of an engagement by saying, “he has to go to his brothers” or “something suddenly came up.” I asked why lie? He said, “It was mainly out of force of habit but also because his ex-girlfriend refused to go out and he did not want to sound like he was going against the “Bro’s before Hoe’s” manly code. I have to admit, I lie to get out of certain situations as well. Not a good trait. I should be able to say one of the following options;

· “I refuse to go to your party because your parties are boring and suck ass, “

· “ I refuse to go out with you because I don’t like you,”

· “I’m not going with you because you embarrass me with your table dancing in a mini skirt,”

· “because I married a man 10 years older than me and now his arthritis is catching up with me,”

· “I look like a muffin top today, catch up with me next week.”

All acceptable truths?

My favorite lie is, “It’s not you, it’s me.” What people really want to say is, “of course it’s you, your nasty breath, bad body odor, your disgusting habits, your poor communication skills, anti-social behavior and most importantly, you suck in the sac”. Just tell the truth! People will learn what they need to change and hopefully will be better partners in the next relationship. It wouldn’t be difficult, watch pornos, get more friends with benefits and if you have money, get the “relationship experience”. There is nothing like practice.

I think it would just be liberating to tell the truth, even if it comes with some repercussions. A lot of people will never get out of their homes, anti-anxiety pills will be provided to everyone and cyber communication will be the only means of communication. Sounds great!?!

I have come across many liars during my short 18 years on this earth and can honestly say that I’ve told some wild ones. Such as me being 18 years old. In fact, I would have considered myself a pathological liar as a kid.

When I was 8 years old I told a lie that got my sister in trouble. One night I peed in the bed, slept right through it and then pretended it wasn’t me. My parents questioned my sister and I (had they just done the sniff test the mystery would have been solved) but I denied and denied. Being the youngest and daddy’s little girl, my older sister ended up taking the blame, getting a beating and was also punished for 1 month.

Lies are told for many different reasons; the story told about me being 8 years old could also be a lie. I guess one, never really knows what can be believed…

The Shaky Falldown

Friday, August 19, 2011: 8:42 pm, U Street, Washington D.C.

It’d been a long week. I’ve never been a fan of 9–5 jobs, they seem like they rob the best part of the day from you and you have to be satisfied with the scraps of morning and evening. This had been a particularly annoying week; my boss had been riding my ass for some bullshit assignment that only made sense to him.

“Joshua?” He asked, taking two steps into my office. He never liked to walk entirely into my office and normally I wouldn’t mind, because I’m always quick to get annoyed by visitors when I work and the less time they spend in my designated work-space, the better. But his annoying ass grated on me any time he opened his mouth in my breathing area. “Hey, have you gotten around to pulling those numbers I asked for the other day?”

Have I gotten around to pulling the goddamn numbers he asked for? Of course not. I had actual work to do and he wanted me to pull the stats for each player on the retarded Dallas Cowboys for the last five seasons. It’s not my job to do his bitch work for his fantasy football team. As far as I was concerned, he could take his “numbers” and…

“Because I’m really trying to get that info before ‘C.O.B.’ today,” he said in that high, nasally voice of his that always reminded me of Pee-Wee Herman, for some reason. The worst part? The dick actually did air-quotes when saying C.O.B.

“Listen Mr. Loomis,” I said with a barely-contained sigh. “It’s 15 minutes until the day is over, do you really need the stats by then?

“To be honest, no. But I do need you to finish that task before you leave today. No matter how long it takes.” And with that he took two steps out of my office, without even looking backward, like he was on some sort of Evil Jerk conveyer belt.

God, I said to myself, I deserve every alcohol in the world for this bullshit.

Fast-forward to now. Sitting in one of those pretentious bars on U street, Northwest. They’re each about the size of a Japanese apartment, with drink prices that require you to take out a mortgage. I’ve been pounding down drinks for the last 90 minutes or so. Not entirely sure. You know how it goes when you’re three-sheets-to-the-wind on a Friday night: time is for other people, for people who cared and who had places to go. I was already where I was supposed to be, with my two friends, Marcus and Arthur. Marcus was my friend from college, Arthur was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle brand gin, it made me feel smart. We’d also been friends since college.

“Alright Josh, I’ve got to get going, I’m meeting Trish for a jumbo slice in Adams Morgan in about 20 minutes, and it’s gonna take all my focus to walk there in a straight line. I got to get going now or else I won’t get to enjoy a nice greasy slice…or any pizza!” he said with the guffaws that only an inebriated person has the ability to make. It sounds incredibly fake, but at the same time garners your pity, because you know it’s real.

“Yesh, shounds good. Lemme jhust crush one more quick gin an tonic and I’ll join yoush. I could totesh kill a shlishe of pizzzza the shize of my head,” I responded, sounded incredibly sober and functional. “Bartender, one more pleash?”

“Ummm, I’m sorry to say this sir, but that was the last bottle Of ACD gin. May I recommend something else? Howard, perhaps? Hemingway?”

“Whaaz? Arsh you trying to appeal to my shense of great writersh/drinkersh? How dare you shir!” I suddenly sprung from my barstool and reached over the bar to grab the bartender by his shirt, in an act that was strangely agile for a person in my present state. “Whush your namez?...Dick!”

“Yes sir, my name is Dick. How did you know?” he managed to stammer.

“Beacush if I were your parentsh, I woulda had that tattooed on your shtupid jerk facesh!” I bellowed an inch from his stupid jerk face. “ Are you telling me you’re outta my gin? Caush I don’t believe a word your…shtupid jerk facesh saysh!”

At that point Marcus reached over and liberated Dick from my grasp (a sentence I had hoped to never say). “Dude, relax. If’s he out of that label, he’s out of that label. Why would he lie?”

Why would he lie indeed, I asked myself. It seemed pretty innocuous, and perhaps I was blowing things out of proportion. This could just be the alcohol talking, and I wasn’t being rational.

But if that was the case, then why, when we were stumbling out of the bar, (making it down the flight of steps with only two trip ups) I was so sure I saw Dick winking and offering the crooked smile of a guy who enjoyed the fact that his name was also his personality characteristic? That guy was hiding something from me. And I vowed to come back the next day to find out what it was.

To be continued…

YOU

You do not exist. And for that, I am sorry, but accepting.

It’s nobody’s fault. Regardless of what Disney movies will tell you, happiness isn’t just hanging around, waiting for you to tap it on the shoulder and make yourself known.

I’ve been on this planet for 30 years, and I’ve seen a couple of things. I can’t say I’ve seen a lot, because who is the judge of that? An astronaut has seen everything the human eye could ever gaze upon. A biologist has seen things that most of us will never see. An artist sees things that only exist in the imagination. Doctors and priests have seen miracles.

I’ve seen a couple of things.

I like to think of myself as observant. I used to think of myself as an impartial observer, but that’s never the case. It’s impossible. The more you observe the world around you, the more it changes you. And the more it changes you, the more it changes the way you observe things. Some people choose to only see good, some, only the bad. But I think that most of us fall in the middle: we want to believe in good, but the world makes it a full time job to try and prove us wrong.

I say all that because there’s one area in which I’ve always tried to be a wide-eyed, naïve believer: soul mates and the fact that there’s somebody out there for everybody. It’s an easy and satisfying thing to believe in. No matter what you look like, no matter how you act, what you believe in, how you smell, the amount of body hair, religious beliefs or Angry Birds score, there’s something out there who will always say “yes” when it comes to you.

Of course, the easy counter to that, which I’ve always used to temper my optimism, is that while it’s possible for that perfect person to be out there for you, statistically, your chances of meeting them are about as likely as…well, your chance of meeting your soul mate. And how often does that happen?

And now, we come to You. You are an ideal. A hope and a dream. You are what people strive and yearn for. And that makes You powerful. Very powerful. So much so in fact, that people refuse to give You up, or even the idea of You. So instead of just being happy with the concept of You, they pervert it, subjugate it. They try to take pure happiness and turn it into something they can control and own. They warp their own thoughts and desires. They’d rather think that You aren’t metaphorical. They want You to be real, to be there to comfort them after a hard day, take care of them when they’re sick, suck their toes when in a nasty mood. Basically all the stuff in wedding vows, (the toe-sucking is in the vows, right?)

But You can’t do any of that stuff, because regardless of all of Your power, You’re not tangible. And I think that deep in the minds and hearts of people, they may have an inkling about that. And they are not happy campers. If you rob hope from people, it makes them crazy. So, instead, they choose to see You in others. They’re willing to compromise in the name of love, and to convince themselves that they have met You. Time, age, experience, these are the teachers that weigh heavy on people, causing some of them to compromise, to settle.

I thought I met You 15 years ago. I blinded myself to any other truth. Much like those who choose to see the world through rose-colored glasses, I felt that I had made my choice. And even better: You chose me to be Your soul mate.

Too bad that’s not how it works.

Years of fighting. So much anger and revenge and drama and games. But mostly sadness and wasted emotions. Obviously, she couldn’t be You. If she were You, there would only be happiness and running through meadows, and my heart warming up enough to find puppies cute, instead of seeing them as soccer balls. So, I lied to myself. I convinced myself of something that I knew wasn’t true.

The worst part? I tried to see You as much as I could in her. I honestly did. Even past the point of everybody else giving up.

But that wasn’t enough. I started to see You in most of the women I dated. I took the concept of the “one” and I spread it across all the women I knew, the women I met and ones I just happened to see. I could see You in a smile, a stance, a smell, the eyes, hair, height, weight. I realized that I was trying to put You together like a puzzle from all the women I knew. Each woman I have ever dated, kissed or even longed for, held at least a piece of the truth that I sought from You.

But I know better now. I’m only 30 of course; I’m no sage, or even a wise man (I’m barely even an adult). But I’ve seen a couple of things in my life, and while I’m pretty sure You aren’t going to pop into my life any time soon, I’m happy that You’ve been able to convince my friends of happiness. Because, while I think You’re an evil trickster and imaginary, I also know that They need You to make the world turn.

So…keep up the good work, You. And take care of Them.

The People vs. A Right Jolly Old Elf

Opening statements

Prosecutor: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for being here today and doing your duty as American citizens.

Today you will see and hear facts and evidence that the accused did knowingly, purposely and unlawfully, send erotic and pornographic photographs of himself to several people, including Mother Nature, Cupid, the Easter Bunny and for reasons known only to himself, Bob from accounting.

None of these people requested these photographs and all of them feel, in some way, soiled, sullied and abused for having received them. These pictures, of an extremely graphic nature, now haunt the dreams of the defendants and have made it hard for them to work. The testimony you hear today from both the defendants and expert witnesses, will show how tormented their lives have become and how the monetary compensation of a measly $8 million will never erase the pain from the defendants’ lives. Although it’s a good start. Thank you.

Defense: Good morning everybody. I hope you’re having a good day so far. It’s a beautiful July day, the sun is shinning, the weather is mild and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. And even better, you get a small reprieve from the tedium of your jobs!

Ladles and jelly-spoons, what my colleague has told you is a complete fabrication. My client has never sent inappropriate pictures to anybody and certainly not to his fictitious peers, nor this “Bob” person.

To be honest, if anything, there’s a high demand for photographs of my client’s private parts that he has to fight off constantly. It has caused him considerable anguish that people perpetually harangue him to see that which has been reserved only for Mrs. Claus.

We demand that these charges be dropped and apologies given to my client, who is nothing more than a simple man, with a stomach that shakes like a bowl full of jelly, and who wants only to bring joy and happiness to the boys and girls of the world. Would you find such a good soul guilty of this laughable crime? I think not, and I know you’ll agree. Today, justice will prevail. Thank you.

Testimony

Prosecutor: Please, Easter Bunny, in your own words, describe the events that occurred on the night of December 8 of last year.

Easter Bunny: I’ll…I’ll do my best. I was sitting in my warren, watching an old episode of Duck Factory and enjoying a Harvey Wallbanger, when out of the blue I got a message on my cell phone. I opened the message attachment…sob

Prosecutor: It’s alright Bunny. Take your time. Here’s a tissue.

Easter Bunny: Thank you. Anyway, the picture was of Santa Claus’s groin area. It was close up and not out of focus at all. Thank you 4G network! You worked too well!

Prosecutor: And how did you know whose crotch that was?

Easter Bunny: Because the carpet matched the drapes!! Sob, sob…

Prosecutor: Thank you. You may step down.

Testimony, continued

Defense: I call to the stand: Dr. Gustav Otto Olberov Christof von Hubberstein.

Dr. Gooch: Danke.

Defense: Dr. Gooch, here we have exhibits J, R and W, blown up photographs of my client’s alleged penis as sent to the defendants. Can you tell us, in your expert opinion if this is actually Santa Claus’s no-no spot?

Dr. Gooch: I sure can, and it isn’t.

Defense: Can you elaborate, doctor?

Dr. Gooch: You bet.

Defense: …

Dr. Gooch: Oh you mean now? Sorry. Anyway, as you can see in these photographs here, here and here, you’ll notice that the skin is smooth and unblemished. After spending hours personally handling St. Nick’s balls and shaft, I can tell you that he has a slight scar right at the base from a night of wild, experimental sex that he and Mrs. Claus tried back in the 70s. It involved a jar of honey, a razor blade and four…

Defense: We don’t need all the details doctor. Thank you. Please continue with other differences you’ve observed.

Dr. Gooch: You got it. Alright, here take a look at the scrotum skin. You’ll notice how droopy and saggy it is. There’s enough extra skin there to supply an entire burn ward at a children’s hospital. This is typical of what you’d expect to see on the balls of a really old guy. However! Santa is no normal old man. He’s a fairy, and as such the skin on his testicles is smooth and taught.

Defense: Interesting. Do go on.

Dr. Gooch: The most important difference is also the most obvious one. The penis in these photographs is uncut. Not circumcised. Weird-looking. Whereas Santa Claus’s purple-headed warrior is majestic in its full splendor and glory!

Defense: Thank you for that…oddly specific testimony doctor.

Dr. Gooch: You’re welcome! Now I’m off to perform a reverse nipplectomy on Justin Beiber.

Defense: I have no idea what that means, but good luck.

Verdict

Judge: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have spent the last six weeks listening to both sides as they presented their cases. And frankly, a lot of it was some weird shit. But it’s a weird case, so I guess it’s par for the course.

You have also spent the last 18 hours deliberating as to the verdict of this case. Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?

Foreman: We have your honor.

Judge: Could you please read as to how you find the accused?

Foreman: On the count of sending lewd and salacious photographs of his genitalia to multiple people, including some who are underage, we find the accused guilty.

Judge: Thank you Mr. Foreman and members of the jury for your hard work. You may be excused.

As for you, Kris Kringle, you have been found guilty by a jury of your own peers. And I don’t blame them. What we have seen over these past weeks has painted a disgusting picture of an old man who has abused his position as Father Christmas. Frankly sir, I find you and your personal life offensive and would go so far as to say that you would most certainly appear on your own “naughty list”.

Because of the circumstances, I must sentence you to a year of house arrest, to be followed by a stint in sex rehab, until I feel that you are well enough to be giving presents to people that don’t involve your pubic hair.

Get this freak out of my sight.