Life is Like a Palindrome

I'm just gonna dive right into it; sometimes life sucks, but you gotta find reasons to keep living and ways to enjoy it. And although family and friends are a good support system, you gotta make your own fun. What you do with your life comes down on one person, and that person is you. No matter how good a friend, how influential a colleague, it's on you to live your life. Here are four things I can take solace in that make me happy.

1) Movies. Everyone enjoys a good movie, but I also enjoy really bad movies. Not so much that "trying-to-be-good" bad movie, but the real, unapolgetic crap. I love B movies. They're a perfect combination of kitsch and campy, often laced with gratuitous, over-the-top violence. And I really love the garbage Syfy puts out; Raptor Island and Planet Raptor (both pretty self-explanatory), High Plains Invaders (think pre-Cowboys & Aliens, minus the budget and star power), the previously mentioned, immortal Sharktopus (which shall forever be one of my favorites), and the upcoming - wait for it - Piranhaconda! The only thing I enjoy more than actually watching these movies are the promotional posters. I think it's due in part to the campiness, but I also find novelty in the fact that by simply looking at the poster, you know all you need to know about the movie. For example, Forrest Gump is an Academy Award-winning movie with brilliant performances by all actors involved. But the promotional poster is Tom Hanks, in character, sitting on a bench. Big woop. But with Syfy and other B movies, well... just look;

(I wonder what this is about?)

2) Food. I enjoy all types. Who doesn't? But with so much Italian and Mexican to go around, I often wonder why Arab food isn't more popular. I guess it's one of those things that doesn't sound great on paper (mostly because most Americans can't pronounce them), but it tastes great. My first exposure to it was through a good Syrian friend. Then I got a second exposure to it in Brazil, in fast food form. Sfiha and kibbeh made to order? Yes, please!

(I'm not sure who Habib is, but I believe the man wearing a fez winking at you is Muhammed the Profiteer*, who delivers falafel to me and my friend Eskimo Bob)

3) Writing. Well, probably not very shocking. I mean, I have a blog that I keep pretty well updated. What you might not know is I dream of publishing novels. Good novels. Original novels. Morbidly humorous novels. I've even toyed with pen names. I was thinking something like Scott Gonzales, but we'll talk about that another day.

(although, obviously, nothing I write can ever be as good this self-help book featuring some James Van Der Beek-Zack Morris hybrid and a guy rocking jheri curls)

4) White trash culture. I don't mean to sound condescending, but I really don't know how else to put it. For someone who spends much of his time making of hardcore conservatives, I spend a lot of time bumping elbows with them. I enjoy rodeos - try telling me the majority of that audience isn't corn-fed FOX News Republican. I went to my first demolition derby recently, and I loved it. I love those down-home ma-and-pa diners. Steak and eggs with a side of grits. You're not likely to find any Keith Olbermanns here (you may spot a Hunter S. Thompson, but they tend to keep to themselves) Oh, and I like guns. I don't really use them for anything productive. I don't hunt. The thought of waking up at the buttcrack of dawn to sit and wait for something to show up to shoot sounds boring and frustrating. But boy, they sure are fun to shoot. Reach down from Heaven, Charlton Heston! High-five me!

(I guess even the KKK is raising breast cancer awareness these days)

*The profiteering Muhammed is the intellectual property of Eskimo Bob and eskimoboblives.com, and in no way relates to Muhammed the prophet of the Muslim faith

The Thing Nightmares are Made of...

So, I like movies. A lot. They're kind of a big part of my life, and have been since I first saw Dumb and Dumber. It started within the belly (wherein stored the most laughs, you see), and worked its way up into my skull to nest in my brain. Movies play a role in some form or another in my everyday life. In writing, I like to sometimes imagine how my stories would play out on film. Sometimes I reimagine certain events as if they were a motion picture. And I often wonder how my life would be as a biopic (probably really boring, what with the lack of sex, death, and action - but, I digress).

I also have respect for the people who make movies possible. Being a writer, I really respect the writers/directors that came up from nothing and made a name for themselves, like Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith. I admire (and kind of envy) the actors; not just the big A-list celebrities like Brad Pitt (who is both handsome and talented, which kind of makes me want to hate him) and rising stars like Shia Lebeouf (who is fugly and not talented at all, accept for in minor roles), but the stars with both good work ethic and credibility, but still remain (or at least seem to remain) down-to-earth, like Christoph "Hans Landa" Waltz.

(he plays such a charming villain, plus he looks like a Presidential candidate - but maybe I'm just being redundant. too bad he's foreign born, though. I'd vote for him)

Yes, there are many great directors, but I've recently discovered John Carpenter. He's well-known for his horror films, both good (Halloween, The Fog) and bad (Halloween III, Ghosts of Mars). But his (arguably) best is The Thing.

The movie stars Kurt Russell (a frequent John Carpenter collaborator), Wilford Brimley (yes, that Wilford Brimley), and Keith David (sound familiar? no? probably not, but I'm sure you've seen him in something. he's just one of those actors). It's about a group of American researchers in Antarctica who fall prey to an alien being. Sound familiar? Of course it does. Did I mention it's a shape-shifting alien? Still not impressed? Then you haven't seen the movie. This Thing is terrifying!

(insert muffled scream/dryheave sound here)

And if that's not enough for you, to give you some perspective, this movie was made in 1982. The special effects were latex and corn syrup with puppetry and stop-motion effects. That's way more impressive than James Cameron's Avatar! Here's a fun idea, watch it with a date, and enjoy them clinging to you for nearly 2 hours. As a bonus, if one of you poops yourself, and you manage to stay together, you know it's meant to be.

(also, if he or she doesn't poop their pants, it speaks volumes about their colon control, which may also mean that your meant to be)

Seriously, I've read and watched some pretty creepy stuff. H.P. Lovercaft is tells macabre tales that also screw with your mind. Black Sabbath has sung songs about Satan in first person. Shows like Silence of the Lambs or Dexter have you rooting for a serial killer, for crying out loud! But The Thing is the creepiest creep to which standard creepiness is measured... or at least it should be.

This Week Bites

So, first off, a true story. This past week we celebrated my niece's second brithday. My whole family was over for the weekend (apparently, turning 2 is a pretty big deal). As we were left my parents' house for the party, my brother left with his kids with me trailing behind. My nephew obviously didn't know it was me following them, as he pointed out to his father "That white boy is trying to catch us."

So there you have it. Even to my own family, I'm "that white boy." I heard it a lot in Brazil, but I've been called "white boy" since high school - ever since other white people started calling me that. It's often prefaced by a descriptive term, usually something like large or awkward. But never great. And why shouldn't I be "great white"?

Probably 'cause I'm not an awesome shark.

(not pictured; me)

It's shark week, everybody! One of my favorite times of the year! And why is that?

Did you not hear the title? Shark week! We can break it down, if you still don't understand. Shark, being a big, carnivorous fish, and week, being a period of seven days. Seven days of big, carnivorous fish! If watching large, aquatic predators kill and eat seals and other small creatures isn't enough to hook any man, I don't know what is. But okay, we'll pretend that's not enough. Here are are a couple of fun, family-friendly activities to help you get the most out of your week.

I know what you're thinking; well, I've already got my butt-groove warmed up on the couch and my stockpile of meatball subs in the fridge, but what am I supposed to do in the wee hours of the morning when I can't find any shark-themed shows? Honestly, the only good shark movie out there is Jaws. But that shouldn't stop you from watching that crap Syfy puts out. They're all pretty bad, but if you want epic bad, I suggest Sharktopus. Its bad-ness goes beyond just the shark-vs.-man genre, but it's a good place to start. To give you an impression of how bad it is, its biggest stars are Hector Jimenez (most famous for his portrayal as Esqueleto in Nacho Libre) and Eric Roberts (most famous for being Julia Roberts' brother). The plot is pretty self-explanatory; a half-shark, half-octopus (genetically engineered by the U.S. Navy for combat by the morally bankrupt Eric Roberts, just in case you were wondering) goes on a rampage off (and on) the coast of Santa Monica, California. Apparently, the sharktopus can use its tentacles to walk on land, 'cause, you know, that just makes sense. Oh, and it can impale you with its tentacles, too.

(nah, dude, it's completely different from Jaws... except for the poster... and the plot, kinda)

Now you're probably thinking my meatball subs are all gone. What shark-themed foods can I make for me and my family (and by family I mean cat)? That is a swell question. I wouldn't recommend going out and buying shark meat, because I don't know what it tastes like, and shark fin soup is rather costly, assuming you can find it. How about some shark-shaped kid's meals? I think you can find fish sticks or chicken nuggets. And if not that, be creative. Make a sandwich and try cutting it into a shark shape yourself (or get your mother's assistance).

There are a number of other things you can do, assuming the resources are available to you. You can visit the aquarium You can visit the beach (although, after Sharktopus, you're probably not going to want to go the beach). But, chances are, if you're like me, you'll spend much of shark week watching sharks on TV... where they belong.

The Critics Haven't Spoken...

...and here's what people aren't saying about Brent Orgill and the Random Examiner!

"A genius. One of the greatest artists of our time."

- Kanye West, speaking about himself

"Who?"

- Kanye West, speaking about Brent Orgill

"I hope he dies in a car crash and they play 'Tom Sawyer' in Hell."

- Geddy Lee, Rush

"He's pretty dark."

- H.P. Lovecraft

"He seems angry. Where have I seen that before?"

- Lewis Black

"He refers to me as the 'missing link.' I suppose that's what you call a back-handed compliment."

- Charles Darwin

"Winning. Fact."

- Brian Wilson, baseball pitcher and beard enthusiast

"You know, I was pretty popular once..."

- Brian Wilson, former Beach Boy

"If his life were a movie, it would need lots of filler. But I would see it. 'Cause, ya know, that's what I do. For free. Plus, I don't have to wait in those awful lines. Boo-ya!"

- Roger Ebert

Death: Just Another Reason to Live

Well, these past few weeks have been pretty uneventful. I bought the new Sublime CD (I guess the band is now officially called Sublime With Rome. It is a mouthful, but it is fantastic) and I saw the newest and last (?) Harry Potter film (it was okay, but I was waiting for the part where Ron gets impaled by the Elder Wand and Hermione turns to the camera and declares her love for me. That was the one part they left out of the book that I hoped would make it into the movie). I also came to the conclusion that the meatball sub should be sold exclusively to depressed men, because if you're eating that crap, it means either a) you're lonely and want to stay lonely or b) you've given up on yourself. In either case, the chances are you're a single male, between 18-35 years old. Every time I eat it, I am reminded of my singlehood, and as I eat I find myself getting lonelier and sadder. The only sub that seems even lonelier is the tuna, nay, the toasted tuna (mostly because it smells like fart coming out of the toaster). The only thing keeping it from becoming the official "Lonely Man Sandwich" is that I've seen a number of girls get it. Good-looking girls. That doesn't inspire much confidence in the poor ol' meatball sub (though it may make you feel better if you have to fart when you find yourself in the presence of one of these lovely ladies). It's the same feeling I get when I eat canned ravioli. Life is kind of like a can of Costco-sized off-brand ravioli. There are many meaty pieces, but even if you eat them all, you feel unfulfilled.

And why would you feel fulfilled? You ate a whole can of ravioli by yourself! That's nothing to be proud of.

So what is there to be proud of? Well, that's what I'm working on. I'm in the process of creating my bucket list. For those of you who don't know what this is, it is a list of things you hope to accomplish before you die, or as they say "kick the bucket." If I'm gonna go to my 20-year high school reunion (spoiler alert: I'm not), I want to be able to go with my head held high. And I'm still single (as previously mentioned), so I have no one to hold me back. Nothing to hold me back, that is, except money (or, more accurately, the lack thereof).

For someone who dislikes travel as much as I do (and believe me, I do), I have an incessant urge to do so. This may be considered some form of masochism. The list is actually pretty short in comparison to someone like, say, my sister. The mere thought of travel makes me just a little sick, so I'll keep it simple; Washington, D.C., Louisiana, Alaska, Lebanon, and Brazil (both Belém and either Curitiba or Rio de Janeiro - I don't have the kiwis or the Benjamins for both).

I'd also like to meet and get an autograph from Brian Wilson (once again, the pitcher, not the Beach Boy. I can't stand the Beach Boys. I think it has something to do with the cameos on Full House. There must be some psychological explanation, but I have neither the degree nor the interest to analyze it). Brian Wilson is kind of my hero. The Artie, Strongest Man in the World to my Little Pete Wrigley. The Elvis Presley to my Uncle Jesse Katsopolis (curses, another Full House reference!).

(open-button baseball jersey, classy mullet, and a douchey smirk? have mercy!)

The list goes one. I don't know that I'll ever have it completed by the time I die. But that's the idea, isn't it? To distract you from an imminent death...

Welp, good night!

Every Conversation I've Ever Had at Subway

Happy 225th, America! I hope you all enjoyed your 4th of July festivities as much as I did. But the holiday is over, and it's business as usual for folks around the country, including myself. I don't typically talk about it, but aside from the occasional acting gig, I'm also a Sandwich Artist™, meaning I make sandwiches at Subway.

I don't mind my job. I really don't. I don't want to do it forever, but a job is a job is a job. And I make a good sandwich. Even before I harbored my skills at Subway, my siblings noted me for my sandwich-making skills. But with the good comes the bad, and despite what modern consumerism would have you believe, there are bad customers. The customer is not always right. And to add to the crap-stack, here in Utah, we have a drive-thru. A drive-thru at Subway? Doesn't that defeat the purpose? I myself always enjoyed seeing people make it fresh. If nothing else, it assured me they weren't desecrating my food. That's assurance you don't typically get at Burger King or Taco Bell, or any other fast food restaurant. So, I'm going to take you through the average day ofa Sandwich Artist™. Enjoy. And eat fresh.

(he used to be fat, now he's just ugly and he's getting paid to eat sandwiches! the American dream)

(enter abnormally skinny 19-year-old with an obnoxiously overweight high school-aged girlfriend. He is dressed in baggy pants and a "hatchet man" hat; she is dressed in an inappropriately tight shirt and sweatpants that read "BABY DOLL" across the buttocks)

me: "Welcome to Subway, how are you today?"

Juggalo: (apathetic upward nod) "'Sup."

me: "What can we get for you today?"

Heiffer: "I want a foot-long, double-meatball on white with provolone, mayonaise, pickles, and parmesan."
me: (laughing hyterically in my mind, but maintaining a façade of indifference) "Alright, would you like the extra cheese that comes with double meat?"
Heiffer: "No, I'm trying to watch my weight."
me: (I feel my face crack, but only momentarily) "Okay. And what for you?"
Juggalo: "I just want a ham foot-long on white with American cheese and extra mayo."
me: (applying the mayo)
Juggalo: "More mayo, please."
me: (applying the mayo)

Juggalo: "More."

me: (by this point the mayo bottle is empty and I grab another from the back and begin applying more until he says...)

Juggalo: "Okay, that's good. Just some olives and it's done."
me: (as I close the sandwich, mayo oozes out, and I gag slightly. But I'm a professional, so I regain my composure and charge them for their food and they're on their way) "At least he wasn't a Nickelback fan."

(enter douche bag. Everything about him reeks of douchiness. He's wearing a Nickelback T-shirt and a Green Bay Packers hat, and smells strongly of Tag body spray. He's also talking loudly on his cell phone and holding up the line)

me: "Hello, what can we get for you today?"

Turd: "Hold on a sec." (continues talking on his phone, presumably to a girlfriend with low intelligence and low self-esteem)

me: "..."

Turd: (hanging up his phone) "Yeah, I'm gonna need 10 sandwiches."

me: "..."

Turd: "The first one is gonna be..." (carries on this way, giving dangerously specific directions on each of the ten sandwiches. If we're lucky, only one or two customers leave as he orders)

me: "Alright, your total is $78.90."

Turd: "Whoa! Hey, now! I got the five dollar foot longs!"

me: "Very true. However, you got them with double meat and extra cheese."

Turd: (paying with his girlfriend's credit card) "Pfshk! (enter expletive). This is lame."

me: "I totally agree."

Turd: (after finishing payment) "Wait, can I get those points on my Subway card?"

me: (screaming obscenities in my mind)

(enter Asian tourists, probably Japanese, none of which speak intelligible English. As I wonder what there is to possibly see in rural northern Utah, the one who speaks the most Engrish, which isn't much, procedes to order)

Tourist: "Turahkay."

me: "Uh, can you repeat that?"

Tourist: "Tu-rah-kay."

me: (blank expression) "I'm sorry?"

Tourist: (points at turkey)

me: "Oh! Turkey! I apologize!"

Tourist: (spends the next ten minutes pointing and translating. Even with the pointing, I have a hard time understanding. It doesn't help that I'm partially deaf)

(enter entire family. We're in Utah, so you can rest assured it's a big family. The cavalry is led by the mother, followed by a gaggle of children, ages 10 years to 1o minutes, often accompanied by an apathetic father, and sometimes accompanied by geriatric grandparents)

Mother Goose: "We need 7 kids meals."

me: "Alright, on white or wheat bread?"

Mother Goose: "Let's see, there's a white, two wheat, three white, a white, and a wheat."

me: "... So, that's... five white and three wheat?"

Mother Goose: "Is that what I said?"

me: "Essentially, yes."

Mother Goose: "Then yes."

(each kid takes far too long to say what they want, although they're all pretty much the same - pickles and olives and mayo, sometimes with lettuce and tomato)

me: "Okay, so will those be kid's packs or just the sandwiches?"

Mother Goose: "Kid's packs."

me: "Apples or yogurt?"

Mother Goose: "Don't they come with chips and a fountain drink?"

me: "Nah, it's apples or yogurt and their choice of milk, chocolate milk, strawberry milk, or fruit punch."

Mother Goose: "Can't we just get chips?"

me: "I'm afraid we can't. I'm sorry about that."

Mother Goose: (looking at me as though I farted in church) "Sigh... fine, tell them what you want."

Gosling #3: "But I want cookies!"

Mother Goose: "You can't! You heard what the man said!"

Gosling #3: (looks at me as though I shoved him in the mud)

me: "..."

Mother Goose: "Hurry! Tell him!"

(as I get ready to charge her, she says...)

Mother Goose: "Okay, we've got three more sandwiches."

me: "..."

(typical drive-thru order)

me: "Thank you for choosing Subway, what can we get for you today?"

Drive-Thru: (long, awkward pause)

me: "Son of a..."

Drive-Thru: (yelling) "I need two footlongs on white..."

me: "Will they be made the same?"

Drive-Thru: "...What?"

me: "Your sandwiches. Will they be made the same way?"

Drive-Thru: "...Yes."

me: "Okay, and what will they be?"

Drive-Thru: "Foot long. Spicy Italian. Wheat bread. Swiss cheese..."

me: "We don't carry Swiss at this store. We have provolone, American, pepperjack, or shredded monterrey cheddar."

Drive-Thru: "...I want Swiss."

me: "We don't carry Swiss."

Drive-Thru: "...Provolone, then. With mayo, mustard, vinegar, oregano, everything but tomatoes, pickles, and onions..."

me: "Including jalapeños?"

Drive-Thru: "..."

me: "..."

Drive-Thru: "No jalapeños!"

me: "Okay, then. Anything else for you today?"

Drive-Thru: "A large Mountain Dew."

me: "We carry Coke products."

Drive-Thru: "...Nothing, then. And can one of those be toasted?"

me: (I slap my head, as both sandwiches are already done) "...Yes."

Independence, American-Style!

Hello, fans (assuming we have any? I kid). I would have posted sooner, but Levi's computer wasn't working on Tuesday (friggin' Levi...). Anyways, it's been a relatively uneventful week, and it looks as though it's going to remain pretty uneventful over the next couple of weeks, as much of the OPK cast is on vacation. But we've got some good videos coming.

So, last week I posted about the presidential candidates. Until then, it had only been speculated that Jon Huntsman would run. Five minutes after I left Levi's house, I heard on the radio that he had announced his candidacy. Ugh. Honestly, it couldn't have been five minutes before I got to his house? But it's okay, you know why? The United States of America celebrates its 235th birthday on Monday!

The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays, right up there with Thanksgiving (a.k.a. Turkey and Football Day). Here are just a few reasons it's awesome.

('Merica!)

For one thing, it's the one day of the year it's cool to be über-patriotic. On the 4th of July, you can let your freak flag fly. You can wear a stars-and-stripes shirt and you won't look weird (okay, it's still weird, but on the 4th of July, it's mildly more acceptable). And listening to patriotic music isn't just accepted, it's expected. The following is a list of my favorite 4th of July songs:

1) "America," by Neil Diamond. Because no 4th of July is complete without it.

2) "Born in the U.S.A.," by Bruce Springsteen. Same reason as #1, even though the average person only knows the chorus.

3) "Party in the U.S.A.," by Miley Cyrus. Yeah, I know. Really? But you know something? This crap is catchy. Brownie points of you listen to the Notorious B.I.G. mix.

4) "Oh, Say Can You See?" and "America the Beautiful," are both totally appropriate, but not "God Bless the USA." I think what gets me on this is Lee Greenwood's voice. It scathes me. Besides that, even to the very patriotic, it seems kinda jingoistic.

5) "The Star-Spangled Banner," as played by Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix may be overrated, but this guitar solo squeals America. Besides, most classic rock bands are overrated. (Sorry, but sometimes you gotta roast the sacred cow. And speaking of roasting cows...)

It would be egotistical to claim food is best in the U.S., but let's be honest; nobody does gluttony quite like us. People around the country fire up their grills in celebration, creating a waft of assorted meats.

(dang it, China's doing it better than us again...)

But that isn't the only aroma in the air. Let's not forget about the fireworks. Fireworks are a hazardous beauty (although they don't have the same effect in pictures).

(ooo! ahhh!)

This is the smell of America. Fireworks (made in China, or sometimes Mexico), brats (German), franks (German), and hot dogs (German-American). That's the smell of three different countries. If that ain't America, I don't know what is. Apparently, the only thing made in America is freedom (I know that was cheesy, and I think I heard some Canadians scoffing, but I couldn't resist).

So, I hope you all have a happy July 4th. I know I will.