Unanswered Questions from Lost 4.1

I put my hands in the calloused-yet-girlishly- gentle grips of Lindelof & Cuse, and they did their jobs better than any other television writers working today.* This new season kicked off with a bang and gave my flabby speculation muscles a workout. I've missed that.

Of course, Lost wouldn't be Lost without the requisite new questions (which are as inevitable as bad reviews for an Eva Longoria movie).

• Didn't anyone even consider that Hurley could have destroyed the Looking Glass station by cannonballing into it? (In glorious slow motion?)
• Will Jack continue to shoot blanks when he gets off the island--and is that why he doesn't end up with Kate?
  
• Now that Locke and Jacob are roomies (that was Locke, right?), can we count on hearing Michael Giacchino's haunting version of The Odd Couple theme soon?
• Is the afterlife fashionable? When someone drowns are they always resurrected in hipster clothes and sunglasses like zombie Charlie?
  

* An admittedly small group considering the strike, but I meant well.

The Meaning Escapes Meme

Splotchy tagged me for a meme. He squirted one off just before February, which is No Meme Month. I'm of the mind that every month should be No Meme Month, but I'm not in charge of the blognetosphere.*

I've been asked to give the following: a noun, two verbs, and three adjectives I like, along with an optional made-up word.

Choke on 'em, Splotch:

1. Noun: lozenge
2. Verbs: gestate, genuflect
   
3. Adjectives: smarmy, otherworldly, ricockulous
   
4. Made-up word: taintage
   

The good news about this happening today? It's too late to tag anyone, so the virus dies right here and now.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I won a quote contest the other day, and I was rewarded with a cool doodle depicting Bill Gates as "Amazing Larry" from Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. Nice job, Splotchy!

* Clearly, otherwise I'd be ranked somewhere in the top one million.

Rider's Soapbox: Spider-Man No More

For the first time in over a quarter century, yesterday I submitted a comic book order form without buying The Amazing Spider-Man. I am boycotting Marvel Comics in my own insignificant way for disrespecting me as a loyal fan of their flagship character.

I'm not going to rehash the reasons in detail, but I poked fun at them here and here.* The truth is, though, I was trying to laugh off something controversial that was gnawing away in my wooden block head like an angry termite. I'll explain by way of a hypothetical question.

Lost fans: Would you still watch if your favorite character never evolved? Would the show be nearly as good if Jack never moved beyond his whiny bitch phase or Sawyer never put on glasses and read a book? Or are you just about the mythology?

Whatever you might think of comic books as a storytelling medium, the Marvel ones have always been about change and growth. Peter Parker was 15 when he was bitten by a radioactive spider in 1962, and 28 issues later he graduated high school. Meanwhile, over in the DC Universe, Clark Kent hadn't changed his station in life since 1938.

Since I started reading Spidey's adventures (beginning with the issue to the left), I saw Peter finish college, go to graduate school, get married, watch a best friend die, lose a baby daughter, and change his vocation to high school teacher. And just before I officially came onboard, the love of his life was murdered. Ramifications of these events have been felt throughout the character's history.

Marvel Comics have always been grounded in reality. They've got Manhattan instead of Metropolis. They've got flawed heroes who are regarded with suspicion instead of legends in their own time. That's key when you want fictional characters to be relatable to their readers. Growing up, I identified more with a skinny loser than a chiseled alien from another planet who was perfect in every way.

Joe Quesada, editor-in-chief of Marvel, made the decision to hit the reset button on Spider-Man's life. He says he did it because it's good for the character. He says no one wants to read about a married superhero--but he also says no one wants to read about a divorced hero, either. Because, I guess, we don't live in a country where 50% of marriages fail and no one would relate.

So in a line of comics where science was responsible for the origins of its most popular characters, Quesada employed magic as the deus ex machina which nullified most of Peter's significant character development. That's like the Wachowskis explaining that Neo is actually a jolly leprechaun in The Matrix.

I was ten when I first picked up a Spidey comic, and I matured with the character as I grew up. I understood the pain of loved ones dying and the joy of getting married and the uncertainty of changing careers.

But this new Peter Parker is not the Peter Parker I grew up with. He might look the same and he still "does whatever a spider can," but I don't want to start over with him. I already did that eight years ago when Ultimate Spider-Man relaunched the character for the new millennium. It's implicit that this new Peter is going to remain emotionally retarded and never mature. That's just not true to the character as he was presented by Stan Lee.

The Spidey I knew has been de-evolved to appeal to a younger generation--and there's nothing wrong with that--but there are several other titles featuring a younger Spidey minus the "baggage," so it's not like Marvel didn't have alternatives for new readers. Besides, I'm a stalwart fan who already saw Peter's coffee shop years. I mean Friends is a funny show and all, but Pete's done that and been there and now he's sentenced to reruns.

It was a bad call for the right reasons, but the execution was insulting. I wiped Quesada's spit from my face after reading that last issue. He's like a father who says, "We're moving and it'll be a Good Thing," then you get to the new place but your bedroom is smaller than your old one.

"Hold on, pally" Quesada/Dad says, clapping you on the back, "we can add to it."

Fuck you, Dad. It still smells funny here.

So I'm done with The Amazing Spider-Man for now. Marvel won't get the additional nine bucks a month out of me. I'll be back for the issue where Peter and MJ shower together and laugh about the bad dream that never happened.

Then they can get divorced and start a brand new day.

* That first post generated more traffic here than anything else I've done, even before it was linked to by one of the most popular comics-related blogs on the Interweb.

Still Bourne

Netflix finally sent The Bourne Ultimatum (after it sat in my queue for no less than 33 months*). It was such an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday night I came up with a Jason Bourne multiple choice question.

What is Matt Damon doing on the Interweb in this scene?


A. Blogging about the hurtful laughs he got in The Bourne Identity when his character intentionally plunged several stories off a landing, used a bad guy as a mattress, and walked away without a severe spinal injury.

B. Googling the phrases "government conspiracy," "on the run with a babe," and "chasing assassins on foreign rooftops," in order to determine the difference between all three Bourne plots.

C. Checking IMDB to see if that was Brian Cox or Albert Finney, 'cuz he was a little confused.

Please submit your own fourth question in the comments.

* Not because Netflix didn't have it in stock--we all know that never happens--but because I add movies that haven't been produced yet. I've got hacking skillz. Next on my list: Spider-Man Returns (with Emile Hirsch as Peter Parker) and Justice League of America, Part Deux.

Unreasonably Distrustful About Alba

Does the title of this post sound confusing? A little off? That's how I feel about Jessica Alba's statement that breastfeeding is the only thing about impending motherhood that makes her "paranoid."

Think about that for a moment. "I'm paranoid about breastfeeding my baby."

Of course, she has The Eye coming out in a week, so saying something nonsensical to the press, knowing they'll report on it, is a tried and true way to generate buzz in Hollywood. As long as they spell your name right it's all good.

But what if she's really that dense?

A better question: What if she's not? What if she actually is paranoid about breastfeeding?

Jessica Alba believes that a tiny, pink paparazzo will switch places with her newborn child just to get a picture of her bare teats! She's not confident in her ability to distinguish her own baby from an unshaven Hungarian midget with a Nikon hoping for the money shot of a lifetime!

Rob Schneider, I have just handed you your next premise. Go and do.

Meanwhile, in personal news, this is a short list of my current state of mind:

• I am delusional concerning my unbalanced breakfast
  
• I am mentally retarded over my coming IRS audit
• I am ecstatic in thoughts of my penile reduction surgery

How are you today?

Jessica Alba in The Eye, wearing the same contacts she wore in the Fantastic Four movies

Heath Ledger - Updated

I was jazzed to hear Heath Ledger was cast as The Joker in The Dark Knight, but I was more shocked to hear of his death yesterday.

It's a shame he won't be around to enjoy the success of what will be the biggest role of his brief career.

It's a bigger shame that he leaves a confused daughter behind.

Update on 1/24/08: I removed my Ledger-as-Joker cell phone tribute because I don't want to be seen as an overreacting fanatic. ("What should happen with 'Dark Knight' now?" Really? I like Pop Candy and all, but why does anything have to change except adding a dedication to the final credits? Come on.)

Ebert on Cloverfield: Who Will Review the Reviewer?™

I don't get paid to blog. I do it for two reasons: 1) I have time on my hands because I'm unemployed, and 2) I love to write. Truth be told, I love to play with words the way Bryan Cranston loves appearing in his tighty-whities on TV.

If I did get paid to blog, however, the quality of my writing would improve to the point that none of my posts would have a "filler" tag. You don't turn in filler when someone's paying you damn good money to write something with content.*

So what's Roger Ebert's excuse with his review of Cloverfield?

If the point of a movie review is to inform readers with an accurate and fair summary of a film, then Mr. Ebert has failed spectacularly with this effort.

Sure, he devotes the requisite word count to pointing out the shakiness of the camerawork (*yawners*), and manages to work in an amusing colonoscopy joke, but then the review devolves quickly into the worst kind of pap. How bad is it? Imagine Ain't It Cool News posting an email from a twitchy ADHD sufferer with an ax to grind after a preview screening of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.

Some highlights:

• Ebert writes that "the statute has run out on the theory that after 9/11 it would be in bad taste to show Manhattan being destroyed"...an obvious point considering actual controversy linking 9/11 and bad taste erupted two years ago following the release of Paul Greengrass' United 93. Plus, scenes of mass destruction in New York have appeared in numerous movies in recent years. I guess Peter Jackson's King Kong didn't count because it took place pre-9/11? That's just lazy writing, dude.
  
• He takes issue with a female character walking for miles and then having "the energy to climb 49 flights of stairs...in her high heels" to rescue someone trapped on a building's 49th floor. Ebert apparently didn't hear the characters say they're trying to rescue someone on the 39th floor. And while the heroes actually climb over 57 flights (long story), Ebert failed to see a close-up of Lily's bare feet on the stairwell. I saw it, and I don't even have a Tarantino-like foot fetish. Then again, they were only 40-feet high and filling a movie screen.
• He points out "the incredible element" of the camcorder's battery lasting "on the evidence of the footage we see, more than six hours, maybe 12." Now, right at the beginning it's established that the "found footage" that makes up the entire movie is shown in real time (depicting exactly what was recorded on a memory card over a seven-hour time-frame). I don't know which hellish director's cut Ebert sat through, but the one I saw was 84 minutes in length.
• My biggest quibble with his review: he spends an entire paragraph (out of eight) explaining something about the nature of the monster...and then dismisses the entire point by including a parenthetical disclaimer that says, in effect, "I just checked online and I was mistaken about that." See, that's where a paid professional would rewrite and not include the reader in the fact-checking process.
  

If I were to rate Cloverfield using Ebert's four-star scale, I'd give it a three-and-a-half. He gave it a three. His unfounded complaints and poor writing make it sound like a two. Considering that Roger Ebert has won a Pulitzer Prize for criticism and there's a bar set for his writing, I give his review a one.

By the way, I wasn't compensated in any way for this review of a review. (Hold on! I just checked on the Interweb and see that feedback from readers and high traffic always fills me with a sense of self-importance.)

* Or, if you turn in filler as a professional, you refuse compensation--or take the money but remove your name.

Cloverfield Monster Revealed!

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who couldn't wait to see Cloverfield because the viral marketing was so effective and those who just don't care.

But whichever category you fit into, you're still curious about what the monster looks like. Admit it. Even after having seen the movie, I'm finding it hard to describe the beast.

In a Rider's Block exclusive, I have the first clear image of the Cloverfield monster. The movie's actual title is also given.

Spoiler alert.

Click here.

Writers Guild of America Solidarity Beard Update #6

You want to know what kind of weasels the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (or NAMBLA*) really are? They worked out a tentative deal with the Directors Guild for many of the same new media compensation issues that WGA writers want.

That's not bad, in and of itself, but at its core it's vile and insulting. Why?

Because now even fictional directors like Alan Smithee** will get compensation for Internet revenues while real people with families are still walking in picket lines.


My solidarity beard has gotten longer, and when I put on Ray Bans these two guys showed up and started following me around. They are teaching me the lyrics to "Sleeping Bag" and how to play guitar.

* © 1999-2008 Jon Stewart, and still funny every time he says it
** A name they stopped using a decade ago, but my point is still valid

The Block Becomes a DMZ

DMZ: from Vertigo/DC. Written by Brian Wood, art by Riccardo Burchielli.

Boiled down: Manhattan has become a demilitarized zone following the second Civil War in American history. Insurgent groups and survival rates change from one neighborhood to the next. It's like John Carpenter had a horrifying wet dream. Intern Matty Roth is sent into the DMZ with a Pulitzer Prize-winning jackass to report on conditions inside. Their helicopter goes down in an attack, and Matty finds himself on his own, in an environment he doesn't understand. He becomes the first journalist to file reports on what life is like for the remaining 400,000 citizens who weren't evacuated before the island found itself the epicenter of two warring sides.


The first trade collection* sets up Matty's predicament beautifully. You're thrown into the thick of it with this kid, seeing it all unfold through his eyes in a frightening blur. It's not long before Wood delivers his overriding message and theme of the series: Wake up. Don't believe everything the government tells you about what's going on in a war zone. Matty quickly learns the lay of this new land; such as what happens in a zoo when supplies are cut off (not what you think; Wood's better than that). He also discovers which one item he brought in with him is worth its weight in gold--but only after it's stolen. (I was confused when the perennial bandage--or breathing strip?--above his nose appears between chapters and isn't explained. But Burchielli makes it look cool. That's the important thing.)

The "Body of a Journalist" arc digs into the way reporters are used as tools by both insurgents and the government. Matty's eyes are opened to the way he's being played, and he spirals into paranoia, especially after the leader of an insurgent group reveals a shocking secret. And Matty gets a girlfriend. (But she's from Canada. You wouldn't know her.) A nice backup feature in this collection: a guided tour of New York. Wood digs into the cultures, neighborhoods, and people of a city that's as much a character as Matty himself.

"Public Works" has our hero going undercover to expose a corrupt, Halliburton-like corporation's shady business practices in wartime. This is the most complex and satisfying arc of the three trades I've read. Matty's commitment to uncovering the truth is tested to the extreme, and his courage shines. By the end I found myself admiring this character's determination and guile. I also wondered if there are there any real reporters like Matty Roth still around.

Final word: Intelligent, thought-provoking writing with gritty illustrations you owe it to yourself to read. Wake the hell up.

Hardcore rating: 5 out of 5 "Hardcore, Chucks"




* Note Brian Wood's autograph below the "D" in the title. He signed it for me even though I approached him at a convention and called him by the wrong name. I'm a fucking idiot. FYI.

John Mayer, Master Logician

"Musician" John Mayer thinks Dallas Cowboy fans need to stop hating on ex-girlfriend Jessica Simpson for "jinxing" their quarterback.

Essentially, he's condemning superstitious sports fans (which amounts to a majority of them), and he almost takes the bold stand that there's no such thing as curses in the first place.

He points out that angry fans could negatively impact her love of Texas with their bitching, and That's A Bad Thing because her home state defines her as an individual.

Mayer is exercising the same logic--and futility--as condemning the White Witch for wanting the Jesus lion dead even though he loves the kingdom of Narnia. You're hurting Aslan's feelings, you old mean witch! Quit it! Narnia is all he's got!

Shut the hell up, Mayer. Don't defend an ex. What kind of man are you?

You tool.

TV Show Hosts I Miss: Alan Robson

Did you ever watch "The Scariest Places on Earth" on ABC Family?

The show's premise was an American family was flown overseas to spend a night investigating a haunted castle. Upon arrival, they were greeted at a campfire by an ultra-serious, red-headed Brit dressed in black. His name was Alan Robson, and he was more frightening than anything found in any castle.

Sure, each episode was thick with eerie atmosphere--featuring over-the-top narration by the frightening little lady from Poltergeist--but Robson served as the show's (un)reality check. He bitch-slapped non-believers with his stone-cold seriousness about the whole experience.

"This is no laughin' matter," he would snap in his thick brogue at a young black man blowing off tension by giggling. "D' ye think somethin's funny about this situation ye're in tonight? People have died in McFrightenham Tower, Sonny Jim!"

The camera would close in on his pale face; his beady eyes shooting daggers at the entire family for the kid's indiscretion. "This is no' a matter t' be taken lightly. Restless souls prowl the hallways of these curs-ed grounds! D' ye no' understan'?"

Alan Robson wanted you to know that ghosts exist, damn it! He needed you to believe it before you strapped on the infrared camera pointed up your flaring nostrils. You shouldn't have come here from the Colonies, Yankee, if you didn't have an open mind to the possibility of invisible, angry spirits that tripped and broke their neck in a previous life and never got over it!

I always waited for what I called his TWTY bomb: If this wee little man in his wee little leather jacket wanted to lay down some serious mojo--if you insisted on appearing doubtful--he would practically stamp his feet like Rumplestiltskin and let loose with, "Things will touch you!"

Nothing ever touched anyone, but my God, it was still an entertaining show. I wish ABC Family produced it more than once a year these days.

Why the Dept. of Transportation Hates Terminators

It's pretty clear after watching Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles that cyborgs leave nasty potholes. Road workers hate when they show up from the future.

Note to Skynet in 2027: re-calibrate your time spheres for six inches above sea level, jerks.

Excerpt from Born Standing Up

Due to illness and insomnia, I finally had the time to finish listening to Steve Martin's riveting memoir Born Standing Up.* Until now, I'd never heard any comedian explain in such depth how they shaped their comedic philosophy and honed their routine. Martin mainly touches on his personal journey and early career on stage. The book ends with the reasons he left stand-up behind, shortly after making The Jerk. I think he needs to write another book about his Hollywood years.

This is a great quote where he's talking about a girlfriend who left him behind:

"...Mitzi sent me a gentle and direct Dear John letter. She had been swept away by the director John Frankenheimer, who, 20 years later, tried and failed to seduce my then wife, the actress Victoria Tennant, whom he was directing in a movie.

Incidentally, Frankenheimer died a few years ago, but it was not I who killed him."

* I normally read novels but there are certain books I prefer hearing in audiobook format, such as memoirs read by the author.

I Was Asked to Be On a TV Show, Part 2

...Continued from this post.

Imagine receiving a phone call from a Los Angeles production office and being asked if you're interested in appearing on a television show.

Of course I thought "Chad" was joking. Chad is a name you use when you're pranking random people in the days before caller ID.*

But then he started selling it by quoting things I'd already read online. From the 30 Days press release (which Chad emailed me that day):

"30 Days will place an individual in a living environment that is antithetical to their upbringing, beliefs, religion or profession. Topics for the six episodes will deal with social and behavioral differences in America ranging from ethnic to religious to economic. Spurlock, who created the concept, will host and narrate the series..."

Yeah, but why me? I wanted to know. Why would my cousin recommend me for this project?

"Your cousin said you would be good for the episode dealing with a homophobic male forced to live with a gay man," said Chad.

"But-but-but--" I stammered.

There are several conversations to avoid in life: one of them is trying to convince someone you're not a bigot.**

Chad didn't believe me, though. He didn't even ask if I was homophobic. He took my cousin José's word for it. And he kept asking me if I wanted to be part of the TV show.

I couldn't convince him I wasn't what he was looking for. He wasn't buying any of it. Here are some of my excuses and Chad's push-back:

• "José and I hung out. With his gay buddies. Frequently. I liked those guys, just not in that way." Chad: "Well, we'd like to see how you feel after a month living with a gay man."
• "I think José said I was homophobic because I stopped talking to him. But it wasn't because he was gay. It was because of inappropriate behavior and his unwillingness to apologize." Chad: "That's not what I heard."
• "I...I have family and job commitments. I can't just fly to L.A. for a month." Chad: "We'll pay you $15,000 dollars."
• "Look, José asked if he could blow me and I said no. But not because I don't like gays. I just prefer women doing that." Chad: "That's not what I heard." ***

In the end, I never actually convinced Chad that I would've made for a boring hour of television. He emailed me more information about the show, and I replied with another excuse why my participation would constitute a conflict of interest: I had a TiVo and was a Nielsen family which could sway the show's ratings. Chad left me alone after that.

A few months later, I watched every episode of the show's first season and enjoyed it. My TiVo represented 250,000 American households. There was a second season, but I only watched half of it. I haven't heard if there will be a third season.

What the 30 Days episode "Straight Man in a Gay World" would have been like with me in it. Note the extent of the conflict.

* No offense, Valerie. I'm not mocking your husband's name. Chad Bodean was one of my prank-call aliases.

** Another is trying to convince someone who star-69s you that your name is not Chad Bodean and you don't know what they're talking about.

*** I didn't actually mention this to Chad. But, yes, my cousin asked. Now do you understand more about his past "inappropriate behavior"?

Dragon Wars: You Know It's a Lame-Ass Movie When...™

Today was Giant Monster Friday on the Block.

After watching Godzilla Against MechaGodzilla*, I popped Dragon Wars: D-War in the DVD player.

You know it's a lame-ass movie when the guy from TV's Roswell is the lead, he's entrusted with the fate of our planet...and the dialogue includes that line.


Also, isn't Robert Forster better than this? He's one of the main reasons Jackie Brown was above average, and here he's relegated to a supporting role in what is, essentially, a Power Rangers flick with a decent CG budget.

Due credit: there's an entertaining battle in the streets of L.A. between the military and an army of winged beasties. The kids'll love it.

Here's yet another dialogue gem. (I don't feel like cluttering my page with it, folks. And that's saying something, considering this is a filler post.)

* One of the more imaginative stories in the Godzilla series. Scientists use the skeleton of the original monster from 1954 and use it, literally, as the backbone of their mechanical robot defender. At one point, the skeleton overrides its programming and goes on a brief rampage--because it still possesses the spirit of the original Godzilla. Holy shit!

I Was Asked to Be On a TV Show, Part 1

I was reading about Morgan Spurlock's new documentary where he goes in search of Osama Bin Laden (do not click the link unless you want the ending spoiled), and remembered I have a good Spurlock tale of my own to share.

First, some backstory: I have a gay cousin. Let's call him José.

While we were growing up, José always behaved a bit...off. I'm not talking about "lighting fires in the garage and melting plastic army men" off (like me); I'm talking about "young boy pretending to be Barbara Eden with magical powers" off. The kind of off where an uncle at a family party would look at him, take an extra long swig of scotch, and silently thank Jebus his own son never tried to blink himself into a plastic genie bottle.

I didn't mind being around José because we had a lot in common. Our mutual love of movies was a big one. During the summer of '94, while I was between relationships, I spent a lot of time with José. We frequented the coolest arthouse movie theatre Chicago has to offer and saw a ton of independent films together, usually with a few of his gay friends.

By this time José had been out for years and was embracing who he was.

Turns out, who he was was sort of a dick.

I won't get into personal attacks here, but suffice it to say my cousin had a lifelong history of acting inappropriate without learning the healing magic of a simple apology. After some heated exchanges about how being proud and gay didn't have to equal acting like a jerk, he and I severed communication. Like most troubled souls, José ventured to Los Angeles to pursue his fledgling acting career. (He now has a page and resume on The Internet Movie Database.)

Cut to February, 2005. I had recently seen a movie called Super Size Me, and was interested in director Morgan Spurlock's next project. He was creating a six-episode TV series called 30 Days. The premise was similar to his movie about eating nothing but McDonald's for one month: individuals were placed in situations that went against their beliefs and/or comfort levels for 30 days.

As far as reality TV went, from a sociological standpoint it sounded more interesting and worthwhile than most shows. Four months before the series aired, I was onboard.

Then one day my phone rang with a California number, and a voice said, "My name is Chad and I'm a producer for the upcoming television show 30 Days. You were referred to me by your cousin."

To be continued...

Open Letter to Netflix

Dear Netflix,

WTF?

I've been waiting almost two months for the top six movies on my queue.

Get some more inventory.

Or are you buying more airtime for the commercial with the dwarves helping each other through the fence?

Sincerely,
Rider

Spidey, We Hardly Knew Ye

In their 20th attempt to do more damage control to the erupting controversy over Peter Parker's struck-from-the-record marriage to Mary Jane, Marvel Comics released this image from next week's issue of The Amazing Spider-Man.

Things have gotten way nuttier. I don't think this will placate the fans one bit.


Spider-Man fans, check out my other posts from the last week here and here. If you comment and have a blog, be sure to include the URL so I can visit. Thanks for dropping by the Block!

Meme, Myself, and I

I feel like a pretty girl at a high school mixer.

I was drinking punch with my friends, and this red-faced little dweeb approached and asked me to dance. That's what it's like when you're tagged for a meme. I'm a pretty girl. McGone's the dweeb. But I'll dance with him out of courtesy because I'm not stuck-up.

If he gropes me, though, I'm calling a chaperone.

1. Voted Most Likely to:
Never talk to women. Sort of. I was nicknamed "Bashful" under a "Seven Dwarfs" theme in one yearbook. Better than the potato-nosed guy chosen as "Dopey" who took it as a personal insult and didn't want to talk about it.

2. Regrets:
I've been fired for undeniably stupid reasons that aren't fun to explain. I don't have any cool stories that end with, "I threw hot coffee in his face and said, 'You can't fire me, motherfucker--'cuz I quit!'" Also, I've never commanded an army of trained animals to kill an ex-boss after work hours.


3. It’s a Monday, you are tired and don’t feel like working, so you:
Masturbate.*

4. You would prefer to have dinner with:
Andre.

5. If you were going bald, you would:
Curse my father. Slap my mother. Prepare for a delicate talk with my son.

6. You lay awake at night, pondering:
Where Dopey is now, did he ever nail Snow White, and is he still angry at me for laughing at his nickname.

7. If you were forced to share a cubicle, the most important thing you look for is:
A willingness to give back rubs and the nerve to continue doing so when the boss approaches. I like the idea of forcing management to say, "Giving back rubs in the workplace is not appropriate behavior."


8. What is most likely to be found in the trunk of your car:
Nothing, officer. No, I hadn't heard my ex-boss is missing and feared dead. In the backseat? Those are just my ferrets. I'd say about 200, give or take. What's on their faces and paws? Oh, they just got into the ketchup.

9. Favorite Spinal tap movie moment:
The leprechauns' choreography around Stonehenge.


10. Based on your work history, the job you SHOULD HAVE right now is:
Probably a full-time dreamer. (See, now you've got me quoting Tap.)

11. Your imaginary band name is:
Either Dick Cheney's Smile or Jerry McTaint and the Testicles.

I don't tag anyone for this meme. I'm taking Marni's approach: if you feel like running with it, be my guest. 2008 is the year of casualness and no meme commitments. I did this one for two reasons: 1) To continue my ongoing streak of a post a day, and 2) McGone mentioned Carson Daly in a negative light in his meme, which is a specific tag of mine here on The Block. That's what I like about McGone. We're like this: [silently pointing two fingers back and forth between myself and McGone, indicating we're cut from the same cloth].

* I'll take any excuse to use this word. It looks funny in print and it's funnier when said aloud.

Spider-Man Drives Traffic to The Block

All I did was blog about the controversial decision by Marvel Comics to magically erase a marriage,* and the next thing I knew it got mentioned on a popular comic book blog.

Now I'm taking hundreds of hits from all over the world, including some from the Marvel offices (the editor-in-chief, judging by the size of the monitor).

Well, bend over, Abigail Mae, 'cause I'm gonna ride this for all it's worth.

I thought I'd add one quote to Peter David's list of what Mary Jane whispered to the demon Mephisto before he nullified her marriage to Peter Parker.

"If Peter starts dating again within a month, give him cancer of the nutsack."

Uh oh...


Bookmark my blog, Spidey fans!

* A common dream of married men and women the world over. Haw haw haw.

Insultingly Short Reviews of Huge Books™: Box Office Poison

I read all 602 pages of Alex Robinson's graphic novel Box Office Poison.

It was good. You should read it too.

Next: Jeff Smith's 1,332-page collection of Bone.

MJ's Available, Guys!

After her marriage to Peter Parker was magically undone last week--literally by supernatural forces--Mary Jane Watson was seen leaving a surprise party* miserable and alone.


Why the long face? Maybe it had something to do with Peter hitting on a potential new love interest a mere seven pages after regaining his bachelor status.

Hours later, a search of The New York Times' personals yielded this ad:


* A party thrown for friend Harry Osborn, who was returned from the dead as part of a package deal with the devil. Confused? Welcome to the shared nightmare of tens of thousands of outraged Marvel Comics fans.

Ellen Page/Writers Guild of America Solidarity Beard Update #5

Consider today's post a membership drive effort. You just tuned in to NPR for This American Life, and Ira Glass is asking you to pledge five bucks. Except I'm not asking for cash, and I won't be able to lure you with Sarah Vowell's lovely speaking voice.

Since David Letterman resumed The Late Show Wednesday night, Rider's Block has been viewed by no fewer than 40 unique hits in 36 hours due to Google searches for "writer's guild strike beard." My blog seems to be the top search result for that phrase.* (There's also the troubling visit I got from a branch of the U.S. Government, viewable here, but I won't get into that.)

And last week's searches for quotes from Hard Candy, detailed here, continue to bring in multiple hits a day.

I'd be a world-class idiot to not use these searches to attract readers, wouldn't I?

So here's Ellen Page, star of Hard Candy and Juno, with a Writers Guild of America solidarity beard.


My request of you, O Wise Searcher of Blogs: If you were amused by this post, stick around and read more. Bookmark it. Come back tomorrow. If you've never read a blog before, this is what Rider's Block is about. If the mood strikes, leave a comment. If you have a blog, I will link to it and read it. And if you roll your cursor above most of the images here, you're rewarded with hidden caption-treasures that tickle the spirit.

I'm trying to network, you see, for reasons I'll explain at the end of January.

Thanks for stopping by.

* I'm not among the top search results anymore. It dropped off overnight. But still.

My Problem With National Treasure: Book of Secrets

I saw National Treasure: Book of Secrets, and at one point Benjamin Gates must turn to the President of the United States for help. The President is shown to be an honorable, capable leader who is willing to assist an average citizen with a problem.

So why did the producers go with a fictional President?

Ya got me.

The other problem with it: you're supposed to buy the premise that every President since Washington has passed along the same book of national secrets to his successor...and that Ford never accidentally dropped it in the fire at Camp David. Even after reading Kennedy's page on Marilyn.

Writer's Block? That Was So '07

Since starting this blog a full month and a half ago, I've been hoping it would spark my creativity. There's nothing worse than being an unemployed would-be writer who's not writing. That should never happen. It's like being a Lohan or a Hilton and acting sane in public.

I have good news to share, although I'm not sure if it's a result of blogging or all my reading or a combination of both.

• Sometime during the week of December 13th, I began work on a novel about three friends. Its tentative title is Three Boys (although the characters are all grown men), and I'm working slowly through the prologue while I figure out who these characters are. I have a grasp of the story's basic structure, and I know where it has to end up. I'm excited that it feels like this story hasn't been done before.
• I officially submitted my entry for a writing contest last Friday. (Or did I...? More on that, fingers crossed, at the end of this month.) All I know is, I hammered out five more pages for it today, and I'm pretty full of myself. I was strutting down the street like Tobey Maguire in Spider-Man 3.
  

I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Last Entertainment Offerings of 2007

2007 wasn't the best year for me, and I, for one, am happy to put it in the rearview. Here's how I entertained myself for the last 12 hours of the year.

Last DVD of 2007: Futurama: Bender's Big Score. Here's a movie that's representative of the entire year for me: it started out strong and limped to a wheezing close, leaving me unsatisfied and pissed off. I loved the TV series, but this direct-to-video offering just wasn't that funny.


Last TV show of 2007: The Friends episode, "The One with All the Resolutions." Because Ross coming out of a date's bathroom with a wadded up, sticky ball of leather, saying, "I had a problem," is funnier than admitting I watched Carson Daly cross his arms uncomfortably on live TV for the last 30 minutes of the year. (Why hasn't that guy jumped in front of a train yet?)


Last book of 2007: I received The Areas of My Expertise for Christmas, written by John Hodgman from The Daily Show. I literally laughed till I cried on more than one evening while reading it. He has a list of 700 hobo names, and I read every single one. Click here for the one, highlighted in red, that gripped me with uncontrollable giggle-spasms and left my face red and damp. I want to write like Hodgman.


Last concert of 2007: Two hours before midnight, I attended a performance by indie rock band Downmind. Sure, it took place in a basement, and yeah, when I left a fifth of the audience vanished, but that doesn't mean they didn't kick all kinds of ass. I'm no music critic, but they were raw and powerful and have a distinctive voice. My new favorite song is "Before and After," which sounds a bit like The Smithereens (with an edge). Give the boys a listen and support your local talent.


Disclaimer: Rider's nephew plays drums and is a founding member of Downmind, and his other nephew dances next to the lead guitarist/singer like the little guy in The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.