Review: Commitment

"We are here today at the house of Ganny Lanslow, a man who has been constantly eating grapes since 2003. We are approaching the door, which as you can see, is a barely hinged screen door, very easy access to prowlers, roustabouts, and in this case, reporters. Ganny should be at his dining room table... Ganny? Hello?"

Ganny is seen eating a grape with bags of bunches of grapes on the table. There are empty plastic bags strewn about the dining room. Purple stains decorate the tablecloth, curtains, walls, and face of Ganny Lanslow. He finishes his grape an plucks another from one of the bunches in front of him.

"Ganny, before you eat that grape I just have a few questions to ask of you... Ganny?.... Well, ok... what are you exactly accomplishing here?.... Why grapes, Ganny?... What do you do for Thanksgivings?... Ganny, if you could just answer my questions here, the people want to see you for who you really are. You are most intriguing I say, Ganny... When's the last time you had sex?"

" I (chew, chew, chew) get (chew, chew, chew) fellat-(chew, chew, chew)-io (chew, chew, chew) from my (chew, chew, chew) sister (chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, GULP) every couple of months. (chew, chew, chew)"

"Out of all the questions you chose to answer, I do believe that is the wrong choice."

"What (chew, chew, chew) do I care (chew, chew, chew) I've (chew, chew, chew) been (chew, chew, chew) eating grapes (chew, chew, chew) one by one (chew, chew, chew) since (chew, chew, chew) my (chew, chew, chew) wife (chew, chew, chew) left me (chew, chew, chew). I've (chew, chew, chew) only (chew, chew, chew) gained (chew, chew, chew) 6 pounds (chew, chew, chew, GULP), my shit is closer to liquid, (chew, chew, chew), and I (chew, chew, chew) now see (chew, chew, chew) purple (chew, chew, chew) where I (chew, chew, chew) once saw yellows and (chew, chew, chew, chew, chew, chew) browns (chew, chew, chew) but eating grapes has become my shield against the outside world. (chew, chew, chew)."

"Very insightful, Ganny. Thank you. You should really do something about the door. This is Howard Vendersmear reporting. Back to you, Ian and Janice and Lord Bolidar the Night Obstructor."

Review: Commenting on Comments

To less further complicate things in a manner that actually complicates things more, let's just use this blog as an example.

Sometimes, people comment on this blog. I, as the example blog's administrator, choose not to comment back. That does not mean in any way I am discouraging people from commenting. Not commenting usually means you have nothing to comment. I encourage not forcing yourself to comment. Comments are a natural feeling, a burst of energy that coincides with the emotional response you get from reading. Sometimes, a lot of times, you have nothing to say.

I have nothing to say back to comments. Usually. Even if I do, I feel it's best to keep it clean and dry and not pad my own comments stacks. Why? Lazy I guess. Why not? Not lazy enough I guess. When? Lazy Sunday. See- I just don't concentrate on the task at hand enough, and rather than have sticky situations where sarcasm and tone can't be read, I just don't comment.

Which makes this post the worst to comment on. First of all, it's begging for it. Second first of all, it says not to comment on it. And the other one- I would feel obliged to comment back if you commented on it. Or is this covering my basis for when no one comments? I am most decidedly in the business of not asking for comments, but know I don't get much anyway. Or is this just the natural extension of me thinking about when someone actually does comment on my blog? I'd like to think so, and writing things out is easier than keeping things in, but by now I feel like I am taking to long to write this. Now is this just a way of ending a blog post or am I just asking questions so you can make a natural comment on one instead of you trying to be clever and think of a comment? Did I just insult my audience? Am I still doing it? Yes I am. Why would I answer my own question knowing it is not in my best interest to answer it and then keep doing the same exact thing? Licks to the center of the tootsie pop, y'all.

How to Be an Adult: Gene Wilder in Silver Streak

Look! A new segment for special segment Friday. "How to Be an Adult" owes its existence from noticing truly amazing characters who are completely grounded in reality. These characters offer a class and dignity in how to deal with certain everyday actions. They give us actions we as people need to try and emulate in order to make this world full of bounce and vigor. First up: the impeccable Gene Wilder in the beautifully shot, scored, and executed Silver Streak.

This is from the beginning of the movie. Before things get crazier. When we just know that he is a publisher. The everyday interaction this mild mannered man comes to face is how to talk to a beautiful women. It's a tough assignment. But Gene Wilder's George Caldwell is seemlessly calm and collected. He talks about himself. He asks about her. He shows that he is listening. It's not very churning cinema, but its real, and its charming. It hits a sweet note, without coming off as cute. The "I know what goes where"s. "I like this song, if I ever hear it again it will be hard not to think of you" is a line every man should have thought of but they aren't that debonair. Gene Wilder shows us how to get a girl by simply being himself and conscious. That's a great life lesson from a great person to get great things from. Recap:

How to Be an Adult (Silver Streak)

-Remember what a women you talk to says

-Jokes should be thought out and informative. Don't be coy, and add the appropriate amount of innuendo. Tip: Play jokes as bits, but not schtick.

-Read signals and go for them! Mask aggression with magnetism.

-If you're ganna drink- handle it! Drinking makes things easier, but you need to stay in control.

-Talking what you know about can turn a women on.

Review: Sharing a Name with Someone Famous

"It doesn't bother me" - Sidney Lumet, age 14

"I wish I could use my name as a Gmail account. Oh Well." - Tim Duncan, age 41

"Frankly, there were like two or three hundred of us with the name, so the odds were for at least one of us to be famous. I still think the wrong one got famous." - Grace Kelly, age 91

"There's a famous person with my name?" - Michael Balzery, age 56

"Happy kitty!" - Irving Berlin, age 3

"Frankly, there were like two or three hundred of us with the name, so the odds were for at least one of us to be famous. The right one become famous." - Rip Torn, 84

"How dare you assume I am not him." Larry King, age 27

"How dare you assume I am not him." Speedy Gonzalez, age 60

"I actually changed my name to hers, so that we would have a natural ice breaker if we ever met." - Lucy Lawless (male), age 38

"It totally sucks." - Terry Schiavo, age 16

"Being homeless, I have much larger worries in life." - Norm McDonald (homeless), age 35

"I think I'm more famous than him now, at least in the chemistry world." - Andrew Shue, age 49

"When I woke up tonight I said I... I'm ganna make somebody love me." - Franz Ferdinand, age 21

"Technically, it' not my name, people just keep calling me that. It was funny at first, then infuriating. Now, after I killed those 12 mall shoppers, it feels very remorseful." - Miles 'Miley' Cyrus, age 29

"No comment." - Bill Clinton, age 28

Review: Home Runs

"My daughter asked me, her mother, what makes a man. I couldn't look her in the eyes, what with it being only a day after we buried her father. I asked her why she wanted to know, and she replied that penises were funny. I had to agree, penises were pretty funny. But I explained to her that a man is more than a penis. Many men didn't even use their penis. What makes a man, truly a man, is their ability to say they are a man, and then back up through their actions. I thought about this as I said it. I pictured Babe Ruth pointing to the stand with his baseball bat right before hitting a home run. I pictured that husking figure of a man swinging that bat and smacking the ball and turkey trotting around the bases. I pictured him in grainy black and white. I looked my daughter in the eye. "Home Runs" is what I said to her. She looked despondent and confused. I didn't elaborate.

The next day she came back from school, her hands as red as over-ripe pumpkins, her eyes as determined as starving orphans on halloween. She had a wiffle ball bat with her with a sizable dent in what would constitute the sweet spot. She walked up to me, slapped my ass, spit a loogie that what I would imagine (countering in her size) was 40% of her saliva, and said "I'm the man now Momma, you ain't gonna cry no more." I felt obliged to tell her, that is not how it works- but I realized- no. Home Runs exemplify a mysticism beyond comprehension, and that mysticism now meant that my little girl was now a man.