I'm Not (Un)Dead Yet

My site meter shows you've been lurking for fresh posts. I'll get to them soon. For now you'll have to be satisfied with zombies reciting poetry. Who'da thunk a severed foot could be an effective punch line?

Boxter Explains Fusion

Greetings and salutations. My nom de plum is Boxter.* I am your guest blogger this evening. Your regular host is incapacitated for reasons I shall endeavour to explain (and you may fail to grasp, due to this tale's queer nature).

The man you know as "Rider" is a complicated individual; stout of heart with a genius-level IQ, while child-like in many ways. I have personally observed him tending his Japanese rock garden for hours--yet I have also seen him become wildly frustrated while lacing his footwear. He is a raving loon, destined to live out the latter half of his years in a sad institution with padded walls and medications distributed in paper cups.

However, I owe him my life (a story for another day) and therefore call him friend. As compensation for the food and shelter he provides, I am tasked with this blog's many Photoshop needs while Rider focuses on the "writing." I shall employ my design skills to relate the events transpiring earlier this week.

Whether or not the pig known as Fernando was actually kidnapped is immaterial. What is of significance is that Rider embarked on a quest and the reason for that quest ended before it could be resolved...

...Or was it? I posit the notion that the "Adventures of Rider on the Road" was actually a grand scheme subconsciously implemented by Rider himself to achieve mental health.

Few readers know that Rider has suffered from dissociative identity disorder since last year--a condition which led to the creation of multiple weblogs under a variety of different names. Fellow blogger McGone has even labeled him the "Moon Knight of the blogosphere."

Referencing the Marvel Comics hero was apropos: Marc Spector, a Chicagoan standing six-two, took on not only the identity of the costumed Moon Knight, but also those of Jake Lockley and Steven Grant. Living multiple lives threatened his mental stability and eventually caused a breakdown.

As I was living with a blind French-Vietnamese whore in a London crackhouse last year, the traumatic events which led to my friend's personality fragmentation are a mystery to me. The facts suggest that beginning November 16, 2007, at 9:00 AM, a disturbed man created at least three distinct blogs that focused on key aspects of his life: family, entertainment, and work.

Each blog was attributed to a different person. Eric Rider is one and Hal Haroldson is another.**

Does that revelation shock you? Imagine living with it. I discovered his shameful secret this past April when the mild-mannered family man I had known by one name popped in a horror DVD, unfastened his pants, and introduced himself as "Rider." He then poured cheap scotch into a Spider-Man coffee mug, and announced my new name was "Boxter." We watched zombie movies until dawn with frequent pauses to review exploding skulls in slow motion. His cackles were frightful and haunt my dreams still.

Which brings my story to a resolution of sorts. For months, neither Rider nor Hal acknowledged one another's existence. The walls started to crumble when Hal began posting comments on another blog about Rider...and Rider would respond. A conflict built and marched toward a confrontation. The date was unknown, but the place was hinted at in a post about a cryptic message left on Rider's cell phone: "oh hi oh." The Moon Knight connection was mentioned, as well as talk of welcoming back and going to "hell" (Hal).


Rider "caught up" to Hal in Sandusky, Ohio. It was there that he discovered his nemesis cavorting with Fernando...and that his foe was wearing his missing Blogger hoodie.

The next moments were disturbing to both myself and Hal's family, as this deranged man would alternately yell things at an empty chair, then put on the hoodie, sit in the same chair, and shout back to no one looming above him. I took pictures for the hearing.

Hal's family retreated to the indoor water park in tears. Fernando dove into the $20 margarita and drank non-stop until he passed out on a floating lime wedge. Bystanders thought they were witness to performance art.

The spectacle ended abruptly when Rider reached for Hal's chest, seemingly intent on grabbing the hoodie. The moment his hand "touched" the Blogger logo, Rider screamed one word--"Fusion!"--and collapsed in a heap.

Several folks in the crowd applauded. One threw a quarter. A little girl asked her father the meaning of fusion. "I dunno," he said, scratching his head. "Something having to do with fueling a time machine."

Here's what fusion means to Rider: acceptance of his mental disorder. He hasn't merged his disparate personalities into one whole person...yet. But upon returning to "the Block," an unusually quiet Rider sat down at his Mac and logged in to his Dashboard and added a link to his blogroll. He also tweaked the blog listings under his profile. He will ignore you if you call him Hal, though.***

"Little steps, Sparks" as David Morse said in Contact.

I must now bid you farewell, dear reader/lurker. Either Rider or Hal is screaming in the other room about how "John Mayer continues to be a tool," and "why does People.com continue to report his every move?"

At least they can both agree on something.

Best wishes,
Boxter
7.26.08

* My Christian name is actually Belvedere St. John-Smythe III, which was dismissed by Rider/Hal as "fruity" within seconds of my adoption. My actual face looks like this.

** The third, he of the work blog, must remain a mystery to non-invitees...which perhaps suggests a clue as to the nature of the trauma.

*** But he does refer to his "Significant Other" as his wife now.

The Silicon Chip Inside My Head Gets Switched to Overload

I don't like Mondays.

I'm sitting here in a water park resort in Sandusky, Ohio, and I'm glaring at something that makes me want to shoot the whole day down.

I was inexplicably drawn here after yesterday's arrival. I spent the last of my cash to get in, and that's when my faithful Boston Terrier started going Spears-level nuts. Boxter pulled me out into the pool area and I barely had time to snap this picture...


...before he yanked me toward the private cabanas and bar area.

That's when I saw this table from a distance.

I've cropped it here, so you know exactly what Boxter was so excited about.

Looks like a dude enjoying a large, fruity beverage, right?

I moved in a little closer, and I noticed something unusual about the guy. His features were blurry.


Naturally blurry features are a distinguishing characteristic of only one other human on the planet. That man is Hal Haroldson of the Distant Authority Figure blog.

My nemesis.

A man with an irrational hatred of me and my Technorati ranking of 987,964.

Boxter kept straining on the leash, trying to get closer to Hal. After a moment, I realized why he wanted to get closer.


Fernando the pig, the International House of Blogcakes contributor, was drinking a $20 margarita with Hal.

Fernando, whom I set out to rescue when the Pork Liberation Front abducted him (for reasons confusing at best) and then released him (or something) before I had the chance to clear my name.

Fernando, whom was directly responsible for my leaving home and then wandering the country like a damned smelly hobo for seven weeks.

But even worse was when I realized what Hal was wearing.


My Blogger hoodie was stolen weeks ago. Now I find this Hal jerk wearing it--as if I'm not the only person in the country who owns one.

It.

Is.

On.


To be continued...
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First Reader to Call Me "Tommy Boy" Gets Punched

After hours of wandering what I'm guessing were the outskirts of Mordor, the fog/emptiness slowly lifted and I emerged from the blogosphere into actual sunlight. It hurt my eyes.

I've only heard of this town from a Chris Farley movie. Have Boxter and I entered another dimension?

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I Think I See Robert Duvall

Boxter and I have been walking for two hours now. We don't know where we are. It's all fog and emptiness as far as the eye can see, like we're on the set of THX-1138 or inside the mind of a TV programming exec. It's almost midnight, but it's bright here. We're not in Mordor anymore.

I'll report back later...
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Texted Movie Reviews: The Dark Knight

Texted Movie Reviews™ is a regular feature wherein Rider posts SMS messages he received on his BlockBerry from friends or family members about current movies.

The following reviews are from Tim L. and Eriq E. about The Dark Knight.

Message #1 (Eriq):

Watchmen trailer so sick

Message #2 (Eriq):

Very well put togther film-lacking in action at times-both Heath and bale are excellent-I feel Heath would have received nod dead or alive

Message #3 (Tim):

Funny dark very very good heath ledger is great and a surprise twist in the plot

Message #4 (Eriq):

overall good movie-would see it again

Creepy Orphans, Manilow, and White Hen Sammiches

Just to reestablish my credentials as a pop culture blogger, here's my wrap-up of the past few days.

Saturday - I watched The Orphanage on DVD. It frightened the living dooky out of me--in the middle of the day, no less. Remember how unsettled you felt toward the end of The Descent? I'm starting to like that...similar to getting addicted to the way your tummy feels when you're tipping backwards in a chair and catch yourself just before you fall. Wheee! Spooky moppets emerging from the shadows behind you!
Sunday - I was almost prompted to download a Barry Manilow song after seeing Hellboy II: The Golden Army. It also made me crave a cold Tecate. Even the voice of Seth MacFarlane couldn't ruin this movie for me (he's the antidote for funny).
Monday - I watched "The Drug Test" episode of Factory on Spike. The show capably balances quick, Arrested Development-type humor with blue-collar machinists talking smack about sex, their jobs, and life. When perfect shows like AD get cancelled, this one won't stand a chance. Still fun to watch while it lasts.
Tuesday - I've been known to occasionally watch Ninja Warrior on G4. Asians being humiliated on obstacle courses goes perfectly with Flamin' Hot Cheetos and scotch when the TiVo queue is lean. It turns out ABC's shameless ripoff Wipeout is surprisingly watchable and even funnier with Americans getting hurt. Who'da thunk it?
Wednesday - It was Wednesday, so Andy Dick did some inappropriate shit.

Day 43 on the road - I'm still wandering Mordor's heartland, and as you may recall in this post I've been shacked up in an Arby's.

My situation is both pathetic and sad. My clothes smell like curly fries. Boxter vomits on cue when our host Chas offers us Ham & Swiss Melts he planned on "throwing out, anyways." I've only been eating this "food" for eight days. I don't know how Morgan Spurlock lasted a month.

I took some cash from the register this morning (Chas encourages it), and walked to the nearest convenience store. You know Arby's food is bad when a White Hen ham sandwich with chips tastes like Thanksgiving dinner.

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Rider Explains the Appeal of Zombie Movies - Part Uno

A new feature on the Block, where your humble host Rider attempts to explain the appeal of zombie movies. If you ever meet him at a blogger party and you've run out of topics--i.e. why Whatchamacallits are the best candy bar on the planet, 100 reasons why John Mayer is a tool, how Sprint is the worst cellular carrier in the U.S. and will fold within 12 months, etc.--there will be no need for awkward silences. He will have sparked a desire in your heart to seek out movies and books about the walking dead and you'll have more interesting things to discuss than why Dr Zibbs has been in the bathroom for an hour or how drunk McGone is again.

Our first installment focuses on the most obvious reason why zombie movies are so appealing...

It's fun taking out pent-up frustrations on family members and other worthless members of society.

Come on, admit it: you've wished your family members dead at least once in your life. Maybe it was the time mom smacked you when you spilled milk and sent you to bed without your liver and onions, and as soon as your bedroom door shut you whispered, "I wish God would take her in her sleep tonight."

And the next day she cooked you scrambled eggs and bacon and you loved her again--but the point remains: you wished your mother dead over trivial shit at a young age. That's a deep-seated instinct that never goes away, my friend.

Cut to a standard dilemma in every classic zombie movie since 1968's Night of the Living Dead: a character's brother or daughter is killed in a zombie epidemic, has a brief moment of peace, then opens their milky eyes and suddenly lunges after them with a garden trowel. Surprise!

It's you or them, dear reader. You don't want to kill Uncle Rudy, you have to. But what your inner self is actually whispering is, "Now you get to."

The primary reason why zombie flicks are so awesome is because you live out the fantasy of putting a bullet in the brain of the brother who teased you incessantly, the roommate who stuck you with a $1,500 phone bill from porn calls,* or the teacher who ridiculed you in front of the class for not knowing pi to the tenth decimal.

Or, as pictured, the birthday clown who once creeped you out and gave you nightmares and a life-long unpredictable bladder. Usually triggered by Ronald McDonald making parade appearances.

* True story. Sadly.

Not Feeling Like Blogging Today

Bit of a pain in the gulliver. Got to rest. Otherwise I'm liable to miss a lot more blogging.

Texted Movie Reviews: Wanted

Texted Movie Reviews™ is a regular feature wherein Rider posts SMS messages he received on his BlockBerry from friends or family members about current movies.

The following is Jeremy W.'s review of Wanted.

Message #1:

Wanted was awesome. No nudity.

Message #2:

Movie was awesome! GREAT kills

Click this link to read a translation of Angelina Jolie's tattoo

Day 35 on the road - Jebus help me. After leaving Target two days ago, now we're staying in an Arby's.


Chas, the 16-year-old store manager, lets us sleep in a booth because "the corporate douches haven't promoted me to district after five goddamn months. Besides, what are they gonna do--fire me? Feel free to use the laptop, even for porn. I've got shit bookmarked."

His assistant manager Gladys, a 43-year-old mother of six, brings us leftover Bacon Beef 'n Cheddars just before she leaves for the night. I have managed to keep them down, but just barely.

This morning the Mordor County Health Inspector walked in as I was bathing Boxter in the prep area sink. He watched quietly, then informed me that I "missed a spot." He gave the restaurant a pass in exchange for one of my Chuck Taylors. When I handed it over, he explained that he met Ellen Page at a Katy Perry concert and she autographed his right shoe. He keeps it on a shelf at home and needed a replacement.

Chas was pissed at me, though. "You shouln'ta done that, bro! Let 'im close us down! I needed a vacation!"

I replied that it could have turned into a permanent vacation.

"Dude-man, haven't you been listening? Nobody gets fired from Arby's! Joe-Ray the maintenance guy strangled the last store manager, and I just gave him a fi'ty-cent raise!"

I don't think I'll be staying here much longer.

Gotta go. Gladys just told me Boxter pooped in the walk-in.

It's No Leg Lamp but It's Certainly a Major Award

Rider's Block has been recognized for excellence in bloggery--by an esteemed physician, no less!

Dr Zibbs over at That Blue Yak seems to think my wooden block head is a hoot. Sure, my physical malady caused me extreme suffering throughout childhood and the taunts of neighborhood bullies sent me running to my room in tears many times, but hey, what's more American than mocking the deformities of others? I guess that's how they roll in West Chester, PA. Why not punch a dwarf in his oversized, squishy noggin, Zibbs, you prick! Trip a cripple with leg braces and blog about how funny it was to watch his crutches flail about!

You think my having a cube-head was easy on my mom? Think again! She never really loved me. She never sang "Mockingbird" to me the way she used to when I was in utero and life still held such promise.

When I was seven my father told me, "Your goddamned head ruined everything! Just look at how your mother walks now!" Then he went back to mainlining Dewar's and smoking Salems to the filter, stubbing them out on my cranium. I didn't mind because it didn't hurt and he was giving me attention, but still...

...Er, where was I?

Zibbs has given me the virtual Arte Y Pico Award. I don't know what that means, I just know I've had a craving for salsa since I followed the link last night. He also tapped me for a meme, which I don't appreciate at all. I'm supposed to recognize five other blogs deserving of the Arte Y Pico.

Look at my blogroll, Zibbs. Does it look like I even know five other bloggers? You may be the blogging equivalent of the hot Dairy Queen babe in a hick town, but I don't sleep around with just any blogger who rolls past me in an El Camino with neon underlighting and three bucks for a Dilly Bar.

That said, here's my four, plus one:

1. A Crown of Thistles. MJenks may be the coolest chemist since Bryan Cranston on Breaking Bad--and he's probably in his underwear even more. He's written novels and almost had them published. Every other post has a Leelee Sobieski picture. Also, I contributed to his coolness by making him my Padawan learner on the finer points of mouseover text. He has graciously contributed to my sister blog Calling the Karma Police.

2. Valerie's Life 2.0. She's the Lucy van Pelt to my Charlie Brown. Valerie seems to hate me, always posting about how bad I smell or how I look like Sasquatch. She even drew herself kicking my ass once. What could I have done to inspire such venom? What does it mean when someone can't stop blogging about you? All I know is I'm too smart to run for any football she's holding, but she can't say the same. That girl is T-R-O-U-B-L-E(-D).

3. I, Splotchy. I'm not sure why I include him. He rarely posts.

4. josh pincus is crying. Why is J.P. crying? I can't speak for him but he makes me weep from looking at all his beautiful drawrings. His blog's got me reaching for more Kleenex than a teenaged boy watching The Girls Next Door. Plus you learn about the folks he sketches. Here, absorb a few factoids about Henry Rollins.

And here's my anti-award:

5. Distant Authority Figure. This is a dude (improbably) named Hal Haroldson. He's a funny enough guy, granted, but I must've done something to piss him off. He's always ragging on me whenever Valerie posts about how she can't get enough of me (which is always). Here's something he wrote about Amelia Earhart and Hitler, and how folks in hospitals would feel better after seeing fake news. For the record, I will punch his lights out if I ever meet him.

I apologize in advance to the above "winners," but I'm obligated to turn this beautiful awards ceremony into a meme.

Should you choose to accept this award, here's the fine print:

1) Pick 5 blogs that you think deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.

4) Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of “Arte y Pico” blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award which is here: Arte y Pico.


Thanks you for the award, Dr Zibbs. It weighs nothing at all. Like my mother's seething hatred of my sharp-edged head, I won't forget this.
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Moon Knight of Blogosphere...?

I woke up in Target this morning (for the last time, it turns out) and I found the following message saved as a draft on my BlockBerry:

oh hi
oh you are in hell
you are
marc spector
jake lockley
steven grant
moon knight
of blogosphere
enough is enough
hell is waiting
welcome him back
german swine
will bear witness
go to hell

I don't remember typing it myself, but the handset was right next to me where I always leave it (see this picture and subtract the still-MIA hoodie). I don't recall any dreams, although one image in particular (left) is stuck in my mind.

To quote Pee-wee Herman, "What does it mean?"

I'm a little freaked, as you can imagine. First my hoodie goes missing, now mysterious messages are turning up on my phone.

I'm taking Boxter and we're leaving this town. I'm in the local Apple Store composing this message on a MacBook Air. (They're sweet machines, by the way.)

First I'm going to finish this post, then I'll check out McGone's blog and leave it open for others to enjoy 'cuz I'm a pal like that, and then we'll hit the road again. I'm going in whichever direction the wind takes me. As long as it's away from here, that's cool.

It was time to leave Target anyway. The workers had come back during the day to make their July 27 grand opening. Also, even though the sign looked OK back on June 11, now it's shedding its skin. And that's just weird.


How am I the "Moon Knight of the blogosphere"...?

A Peek Inside My (Block) Head: Newsweek

I am trying to hold it together following yesterday's tragic occurrence. In the meantime, I'll share with you my first thought upon seeing the current cover of Newsweek.

How did I drudge up the back cover of a 1976 Marvel/DC crossover? Am I that pathetic...or that unabashedly awesome?
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My Blogger Hoodie

I started using Blogger in March 2002. I upgraded my account one year later, shelling out my hard-earned lucre to add photos to posts (which sounds really stupid these days).

A few months later Google acquired Pyra Labs--the company that founded this service--and I received an email from its founder saying:

"Google has lots of computers and bandwidth. And Google believes blogs are important and good for the web."

Everyone reading Rider's Block knows how wrong Google was and how little it amounted to, right? I mean, how good can a blog be if anyone can have one?

Anywho, the email also informed me that since I had paid for Blogger Pro, Pyra was in a position to "give back." I was hoping book deal but...

I received my hoodie weeks later.

For the past five years, as far as you know, I have worn it while composing every post on each of the 99 blogs I've created (101 in total, if you count the Wilder Valderrama and Conchata Ferrell fan fiction sites).

It is the prize jewel of my wardrobe. I hand-wash it with soapy, distilled water mixed with baby's dreams and rose petals, and I blow dry it by mouth.

It is an essential component of my identity and it makes me who I am and drives my purpose for being...

but when I woke up this morning at this Target in central Mordor and looked around for my Blogger hoodie it wasn't there and I searched the whole store with Boxter's help but it was nowhere to be found and I'm sorta panicking right now because who could've taken it and when did they take it and I don't have a clue since there's not supposed to be anybody here except us and I'm already hungry from being banned from entering any Panera in the continental U.S. and now this happens and how can things get any worse and I really only have one question and that's

who took my Blogger hoodie and why?

A BLOGGER COLLAPSES: Rider reacts to the loss of his beloved hoodie

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