Oh. Your. God.

I just learned this, courtesy of the ever delightful Mr. B:



http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/x7lkn0



June, 2009, eh? I have a birthday around that time...



I'm just saying.



Meanwhile, the Citizen Kane game is still mired in pre-production.

Another link dump after a long hiatus...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7599824.stm

Oh. Your. God.

Somebody up there likes me.

Unless this is as disappointing as the last one.

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One, Section C (Subsection i)

Well, Spring is finally sort of here in Chicago,as one can tell from the following harbingers:

• The Cubs are currently 0-2 (as of 9:16am CST). Chicago baseball overall is 0-4, if you count the White Sox, which I assure you, I don't.
• There is hardly any snow remaining on the ground.
• Construction has replaced icy roads as the main reason traffic moves at a snail's pace.
• The Slog's thoughts are once again turned to the effects of 80s movies on the fragile psyche of The Slogger.

Oh yeah. That's right, Slogophiles.

It's our time. It's our time down here in...

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One,¹ Section C

CLASS WAR, RACE BAITING, AND CHILD ABUSE...NOW WITH DICK JOKES!

Parts one and two are avaiable in the Slog Archive for your reading convenience. Unfortunately, I have so much to say on this vast topic (this movie contains multitudes), that I believe it wise to split this behemoth into more manageable chunks. Hey, it's been about a year since I promised this. What's a few more days among a readership of 7 people?

Anyway, on with at least 1/3 of The Show:

..................................................

Oh, Goonies. You hurt me so.

Not in the same way that say, Monster Squad² or Dragnet³ (the movie) hurts. No. And to understand why, we need to get a little more "retro" than the occasional Garbage Pail Kids or Sectaurs⁴ reference the average Slog post might try to cough up. We need to go back to a person most people first hear about in a book of knock-knock jokes they found at their grandparents house: Euripedes.⁶

I. Something's Rotten in the State of Oregon

You know what would be a great cliche to do now? Talk about the Greek conceot of κάθαρσις.⁷ I might get back to that, probably in Subsection III. I can't guarantee that, as I basically just make this shit up as I go along.⁹ But it's not the Glorious Purging of Negative Emotion¹⁰ that I am interested in here. It's the element of social criticism. Masked as it is by cheap ethnic stereotypes and dick jokes.

Euripedes' masterpiece, The Trojan Women, is, among other things boring as hell a stern warning to his fellow Athenians about the fact that the horrors of war do not end with the last battle, and that a lust for vengeance and lack of mercy in victory is a scourge on even the victors. In stating this, he became one of the first in a long line of artists that couch their social criticism in their tales. And Goonies is so obviously a continuation of this lineage that I'm amazed there is less scholarly material on this than on other, far lesser films.

Astoria, Oregon is, like similar 80s towns such as Kingston Falls, Hill Valley, and Duckburg, a dystopian nightmare brought to the present day, where cruel (and yet oddly beardless) developers (Fig. 1) worshiping the crassest form of Mammon drive the innocent and hardworking from their homes. And, they're totally dickweeds about it, man. Especially Elgin Perkins. Seriously, when you've broken a man's livelihood and emasculated him in front of his family, the least you could do is not mention he's only one of 50 others you're going to do the same to. Even the consummately evil and malicious Iago¹¹ had the decency to go after Othello alone, and not pencil in a few other Moors to destroy later that afternoon.

Fig. 1: The Plutocracy

And this same wretchedness extends to the reprehensible Troy, who manages to turn much of the first half of Goonies into a really confusing sequel to The Outsiders. Thankfully, he's dispatched in a Mrs. Deagle-esque fashion via explosive toilet¹² at around the midway point, because frankly, the 80s were littered with jock douches already.

Unfortunately, the Goonies doesn't take the logical next step, and advocate the overthrough of a corrupt system through Propaganda of the Deed.¹³ No, like most decadent societies, they expect us all to hope for a deus ex machina¹⁴ like pirate treasure hidden 3500 miles (mostly across a landmass, no less) from the most common trade routes of the Golden Age of Piracy. Keep buying those lottery tickets, folks! You'll be able to pay off that mortgage one day!

So, in hindsight, the Goonies are a Cassandra that not only is not believed, but is not to be trusted. A cynical servant of power that masks a genuine contempt for the lower classes under a false populism (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2: Age-progressed photo of The Gerber Baby.

Now, this photo of Lou Dobbs will provide the perfect segue to my next section, to be posted within a fortnight, or your money back!

---

1. How much hubris do I actually have in implying that this series has more than one part after this?
2. Yes, I know Wolfman's got "nards." That doesn't make this movie any higher than the low bar Citizen Kane sets.
3. "Hey, I've got an idea? Why don't we allow the downward arc of Dan Ackroyd's career to intersect with the upward arc of Tom Hanks' career at the exact Suckiest Point in the Universe?"
4. You don't even remember these, do you? You probably forgot "Visionaries: Knights of the Magical Light" and "Battle Beasts" as well.⁵ Well, the 80s weren't all cool shit like The Transformers and The A-Team, Sunny Jim. They were mostly pain and misery. Like The Go-Bots and Rip Tide.
5. Holy crap. Was there any dumb toy idea in the 80s the inclusion of a hologram couldn't solve? Battle Beasts were essentially a fucking game of paper/rock/scissors in collectable form.
6. ...pants, you mend-a these pants. Hiyo!
7. Like all quasi-intellectuals, I like to put the occasional Greek term in, in the original Greek alphabet. This is despite the fact that I've never taken Greek, and therefore my airs to Classicism can be considered quite a praetensus. For the record, it's just the same damn mention of catharsis you'll always get when Greek theatre⁸ is mentioned.
8. Also, for the record, the fact that I spell "theatre" in this fashion is a little praetensus as well.
9. Just like Our Current Administration's Foreign Policy. Zing! That's right, W, you've been Slogged!^TM
10. The debut album from Trinity of the Damned
11. It goes without saying that everything I say about the Shakespearian character of Iago also holds true for the animated parrot of the same name voiced by Gilbert Gottfried. Or really anything Gilbert Gottfried has ever done.
12. Oh, sure. He survives this accident, unlike Deagle. But c'mon, you know Richard Donner totally pussed on him getting killed in an Hilariously Juvenile Tragedy.
13. Trinity of the Damned's difficult third album.
14. The third reference to common Greek theatrical terms in this, Our Most Educational Slog Post, to date.

How My Back Ruined My FOUR Day Weekend

Or, Even I Can't Blame the Dog For This One¹

Greetings from the Slogosphere! Though I have never yet gotten to the point of writing The Slog Manifesto, there is a reason for this blog's title. And it's hints are in the definitions on the corner of the page, and how they relate direct to My Sad Little Life.

Even barring the surprisingly common occurrance of Unauthorized Canine Fecal Matter in my apartment,² I am not known as either

• A particularly lucky person
• A particularly level-headed³ person when my luck is bad

In other words, bad shit⁴ happens me to a lot, and I like to complain about it.

I suppose I should "man up" and take charge of my own destiny. But no. In the case of my back, I think it's entirely fair to whine and moan like an 11-year-old that's just been told she can't get tickets to see Hannah Montana.⁵

As eagle-eyed Slogophiles might well be aware, I am 31 years of age. When I was about 26 or so⁶, I developed sciatica. Your mid-to-late-twenties is always a fantastic time to develop a lower back problem. Because, since youth is wasted on the young, why not just take it away from them, and give them a disorder that makes them feel like they're 78 years old?

Honestly, "sciatica" sounds like something your Granpappy complained about just before Mom and Dad made the so-called "tough decision" to ship him to some raisin ranch with a name like Sandpiper Estates or Pleasant Hill Cove. Maybe we could come up with a more "youth-oriented" or "Xtreme" name for it? Or name it after someone kinda cool? I'd much rather tell people I had "David Cross Syndrome" or "a Bulging Chiklis."

Where was I? Oh yeah.

Pain.

I has it.

Anyway, my sciatica has been an on-again, off-again phenomenon since then. Mostly off, as one of my Top Three Deadly Sins to commit is Sloth,⁷ so it's usually easy for me to follow doctor's orders and lay off lifting more than 20 pounds at a time. However, there comes a time in a man's life when he's sick of paying 108 bucks a month to store his excess crap. So Teh Aly-Baerz⁸ and I went on a trip to Public Storage this weekend, and sorted through the Lion's Share of Wolter's Library.

Other facts about me that I could share right now:

• I am a compulsive book reader
• I am a compulsive book buyer
• I am a compulsive book hoarder
• This makes me a jackass

So, I had to sort through roughly 700 pounds of Assorted Printed Material, deciding what to keep and what to give away to Goodwill. I managed to actually give away something like two boxes worth, which is a serious victory in My War on My Compulsions.⁹ However, the specific gravity of paper is high. Oh, so very high.

Before anyone says anything: I (mostly) lifted with my legs, I swear. The problem with that? Oh, the next day, when my legs were killing me and we had to move the boxes into our apartment. Because I then favored my legs. At the expense of...well, I think I've spelled that out enough.

Anyway, yesterday, I couldn't walk, and wasted some Paid Time Off to rest it off. I basically spent the whole day in or around the bed, pestering La Alejandra del Hombre Bueno and complaining. I was moderately better this morning, so I decided to cut off what was rapidly becoming The Worst Unplanned Vacation in History. And since you can't get heroin over the counter, in order to rejoin the work¹¹ force I had to take (to paraphrase Bill Hicks paraphrasing someone else) An Heroic Dose of ibuprofen this morning.

Interesting fact about ibuprofen: it's not a miracle pill.

So, the Slog Status Report for March 18th, 2008:

• I am in excruciating pain
• It is largely my own damn fault
• I have tried and failed to blame The Spark
• In retaliation, he will no doubt crap on something I love while I am at work
• I will be powerless to clean it up, as it took me over 5 minutes to put on a shoe yesterday.

Hope you liked this bitter, largely unfunny rant about My Defective Body. Next one will be less self-centered and have more Synthpop Stars and Mogwai Feeding Tips.

---

1. But Lord how I tried. I really did.
2. Located in stately Slog Towers ("You don't have to be Section 8 to live here, but it helps.")
3. I was going to put sanguine, but I suddenly remembered that I can't remember if sanguine means calm or belligerent. If only I had some way to look up words and their meanings. Oh well, back to writing about myself on the internet.
4. I still can't believe he shat the bed. THE BED!!!
5. I'm not sure who this is. But I'm following the time-honored old-guy tradition of making an attempt to appeal to the youth demographic ('cause kids love reading blogs where 30-somethings rant about how much Citizen Kane could have been improved by adding a scene with a young Bea Arthur and a Talking Rhino singing a show tune [and you KNOW it would have been]. Or at least they do when you mention some pop star and/or actress they like).
6. It might have been 27. I honestly can't remember much that happened in my life before last Tuesday or so. Every now and then I have to consult this blog just to remember what I'm mad at lately.
7. The other two? Gluttony and Wrath. I would have put in Lust, but honestly, thinking of Lust just makes me commit either Envy or Pride, depending on my current status. And Greed is pretty awesome as well. Really, all of the Deadly Sins are pretty good. But I try to stick with my Top Three for most occassions.
8. See my new line of "Loljew" merchandise, soon to be available at a cafepress store near you.
9. Up next: I tackle My Irritating Need To Put Footnotes In Blog Entries¹⁰
10. And after that? Randomly Capitalized Terms.
11. I admittedly use that term loosely (see "Seven Deadly Sins, My Top Three" above)

MySpace Archive: The Dark Underbelly of the 80s 1b

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

This is probably the most "me" of all my posts. It's convoluted, strange, discursive, and combines laziness and "trying too hard" in paradoxical ways. Plus, it has a paean to Dick Miller, and a slam on Christopher Hitchens.

It's also the debut of my exceptionally confusing philosophy, Sincere Irony^TM, which is the culmination of a lifetime of giving half-assed presentations of half-baked ideas (The Supremacy of Ghostbusters, The Nonexistence of Madagascar, The Godhood of David Bowie, etc.)

Strap yourself in for my rootin'-ist, tootin'est, footnotiest adventure to date.

[Originally posted on May 17th, 2007]

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One, Section B

SINCERE IRONY^TM AND THE NATURE OF GOOD AND EVIL

Anyone who sees the title above knows I could only be writing about one topic: Gremlins.

That's right, folks. My own personal Chinese Democracy, "The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One, Section B, Movies That Begin With G (continued)" has arrived. And not a second too late, as our culture needs its soothing balm. Already, the Beatification of professional douchebag huckster/anti-Semitic elephant seal/decomposing corpse Jerry Falwell has begun. Any society whose news media can describe that bargain-bin racist carnival barker as, at worst, a "polarizing figure" is on a rocket sled to hell. And when the only pundit on CNN who speaks with half a brain about how much of a conniving toad that man was is pompous asshead Christopher Hitchins¹, then we are² in deep trouble (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1: Asshead.

But I digress.

Like all 80s movies, Gremlins posits a bleak and terrifying worldview. Unlike Ghostbusters, whose Lovecraftian scope is the vast and uncaring universe run by elder gods whose reign of unfocused terror (Fig. 2) is abetted by the vast and uncaring bureaucracy on earth, as embodied by a bearded man with no dick³, the enemy in Gremlins is the evil elements of our own culture. We are hell-bent on our own destruction here in the West. If September 11^th has taught us anything⁴, it's that jaded, hipster irony is insufficient to stem the forces of evil, doubt, and televangelism in our world. The only thing that can defend us from these elements is Sincere Irony^TM.

Fig. 2: Cthulhu.

To take the long way to my argument: recently, I have been a fringe participant in numerous online discussions on the nature of faith, religion, and how that relates to the Boston Red Sox and the drumming ability of Terry Chimes (do not question this – suffice to say that Deep Clash Theory^TM is a broad and all-encompassing area of debate). The general consensus reached is that faith is genuine, it must be held in concert with doubt. For certainly and the belief in finite answers is theologically untenable, and reveals the non-doubting believer⁵ to be an intellectual coward⁶. Sincere Irony^TM operates under similar lines as genuine faith.

Fig. 3: Way better than Apocalypse Now.

Simply put, Sincere Irony^TM is a genuine love of the otherwise indefensible. It's watching Spider-Baby because you think it is a genuinely good movie, while being aware that it's also exploitive trash. It's being a dyed-in-the-wool baseball fan while hating jocks. It's believing with all your heart that Ed Wood is a better director than Francis Ford Coppola (who honestly peaked with Dementia-13) (Fig. 3). It's listening to Wesley Willis and genuinely believing he saved Rock'n'Roll while being aware that in the long run the majority of his "fans" are patronizing jackasses, and that you were too the first time you heard him. It's arguing from the heart that the Spice Girls are more genuinely punk and less contrived than the Sex Pistols. It's B-movies, outsider culture, primitivism, and junk food. It's basically everything the Cramps have ever done. It's Orwellian Doublethink for a new generation not afraid to create a reality in opposition to what we're being force fed by Sinister Outside Forces⁷.

And its Messiah is Dick Miller. (Fig. 4)

Dick Miller is the lynchpin of Sincere Irony^TM. Like the Danube snaking its way through Europe, he snakes his way through All That Is Right About Pop Culture. He is Mr. Futterman. He is the cop at the end of Rock'n'Roll High School. He is the guy who realizes Audrey, Jr. is a big deal in The Little Shop of Horrors (not the musical, so stop checking imdb now). He is WALTER-FREAKING-PAISLEY⁸, for Chrissakes. He is the Alpha and the Omega of Movies Decent People Need To See To Be Complete Human Beings. And he isn't flashy about it. He's not some trust-fund crybaby. He's working class. He's blue collar. He's probably a great guy to have a beer with. Every time he gets a part in a film, an angel gets a Ferrari. Of course, that self-same angel probably rolls it, but Dick gets pretty steady work, so there's another Ferrari on the way, Gabriel.

Fig. 4: Our Lord and Savior.

Gremlins posits our Dick (and the worldview he represents) against the forces of evil. And to the observant, that isn't the Mogwai, even if they have eaten after midnight. The forces of evil in this movie are the bland and uncaring modern world, full of hateful machines, alcoholic cops, and Mrs. Deagle.

Mrs. Deagle is perhaps the finest example of what is wrong with America. Miserly, cruel, and humorless, she embodies all of the pettiness of crass consumer society⁹. She lives to wreak havoc and revenge on Billy Peltzer for the twin crimes of youth and dog-ownership. She is the modern (well '80s modern) incarnation of Raskolnikov's pawnbroker. As a villain, she reigns over such lesser film heavies (Fig. 5) as Ivan Drago, Cruella DeVil, and Adolf Hitler¹⁰. Actually, footnote 10 is more on point than I meant it to be, as Mrs. Deagle is very analogous to the Nazis in the first and third (or "good") Indiana Jones movies: you can kill them without arousing any pity.

Fig. 5: The Vienna Boys Choir.

The death of Mrs. Deagle¹¹ is one of the oddest of film anomalies. In an ostensible kids movie, a sad and pathetic old woman in a house full of cats is systematically taunted, then launched out of a window with cannon-like force by a motorized chair (thus indirectly saving the Peltzer homestead). This should be seen as a heartless act of depravity, but instead seems delightful and justified. If anything, the gremlins themselves are acting as agents of righteous vengeance (much like the mythical Furies, in their guise as the Eumenides, or Kindly Ones – but with more kickass mohawks). I don't know anyone who grieves over the sad demise of Mrs. Deagle. But if I ever meet someone who does, I will know that they are, at best, a pussy¹².

Other victims of the gremlins' rampages include the cold, analytical science teacher who takes secret delight in tormenting his test subjects, the alcoholic cops who pervert their promise to serve and protect the community, and Corey Feldman (for obvious reasons). In fact, Corey (Fig. 6) is largely to blame for the nightmare occurring to Kingston Falls, and should be fired out of a cannon-chair himself. Just because…

Fig. 6: War Criminal

Back on topic:

We are all slaves to our modern devices. Gremlins practically screams this at us. All it takes is a hideous army of reptilian saboteurs to render our orderly society a chaotic nightmare. During Christmas no less! This supposed time of brotherly love and familial celebration has been cruelly mocked by its own crassness and commercialization¹³. And yet, the seeds of our destruction are the seeds of our redemption. For every malfunctioning traffic light, roller-coaster chair, and wacky shaving kit, there is a juicer, a microwave, or a nifty remote control car that represents our salvation. These contradictions are inherent for any follower of Sincere Irony^TM, and only bolster our belief in its value.

FLAWS IN THE DIALECTIC

Okay, having said that, Gremlins is not a perfect movie. There's no reason to compare it to works of sheer cinematic majesty like, say, Ghostbusters. There are two major flaws in the movie:

1. Corey Feldman
2. The Rules of the Mogwai

Feldman goes without saying¹⁴, but I would be remiss if I didn't point out a few problems with the other point. I will be brief, as I will be venturing into bad stand-up territory¹⁵.

1. Do not expose them to sunlight – what the hell kind of crazy evolutionary dead end are Mogwai? I could understand skin sensitivity and light sensitivity, but melting like Velveeta¹⁶ at the slightest exposure to the sun seems to be a bit of a hurdle to overcome for the whole survival thing
2. Still, I suppose if the main goal of evolution is to survive until reproduction, the rule of Do not expose them to water cancels that out. However, given that water covers 70% of the earth's surface, falls from the sky on a very regular basis, and makes up something like 90% of all living creatures, the world should be alternately covered with either Mogwai or the goo left over after a sunrise. And what about condensation? Wouldn't morning dew guarantee an army of gremlins? Or the snow that covered Kingston Falls? What is the minimum viscosity of a fluid that would create more Mogwai? Gremlins look a little shiny; could their own slime self-pollinate them?
3. Don't feed them after midnight – holy Hell, this requires a subset of points:
   1. Midnight where? As the earth is a sphere, doesn't that mean a roving line of demarcation where Mogwai mustn't eat?
   2. Or is it based on time zones? Like, if a Mogwai in Chicago eats at 11:59 central, at the same time as one in southwestern Indiana. Would one remain cute and furry while the other grew a cocoon?
   3. And is daylight savings taken into effect?
   4. When is it safe to feed a Mogwai again? Shouldn't Key Luke have narrowed the criteria? Because Gizmo would have starved to death in my house.

POST SCRIPT

Assorted other observations that did not fit elsewhere:

1. I would be remiss if I didn't mention part of the reason I realized Gremlins was fighting the good fight in the culture war is a cameo by one of the single greatest humans in history. The Mr. Jones who compliments Billy's cartooning skills is none other than the legendary Chuck Jones, the single greatest director in history. Oh, sure, bring up Citizen Kane again…look, you film school jagoff, Chuck Jones was working with techniques, camera angles, and characterization that live action directors would take years to integrate. So take your fat, pompous, fishstick-and-wine-shilling hack Orson Welles and cram it. Chuck Jones is on the side of good. And I would rather watch "What's Opera, Doc" 18 times in a row than see tham damn snoozefest about the sled.
2. As a child, I thought Phoebe Cates was hot. I kinda still do.
3. I am one of about 6 people who enjoyed Gremlins 2: The New Batch. I'm not bragging or apologizing. Just stating a fact¹⁷.

Tune in whenever I feel like making Section C. I'll give you a hint: it'll be about "OUR TIME!"¹⁸

NOTES

1. The fact that everything Hitchins has said on this topic is fantastic does not make him any less of an asshead.
2. For some reason, MS Word has told me that this should be "is." As in, "we is in deep trouble because MS Word is a shitty program that can't speaks good grammar. Also, the joking "speaks" in my precious sentence was not flagged as bad grammar. AUUUGH!
3. It seems that the beard is the pinnacle of evil in 80s culture – Walter Peck, James Brolin (he stole Pee Wee's god-given role, dammit), ZZ Top – the list is seemingly endless).
4. It hasn't.
5. I resisted the urge to write "believer^TM"
6. Suck it, Falwell.
7. Patent pending.
8. I'm not going to automatically dismiss you for not knowing who Walter Paisley is, but if you don't watch the classic Bucket of Blood as soon as you can, you are less than human to me.
9. For anyone who thought my Falwell intro wasn't germane to the topic: Wolter-1, All Y'all Haters-0
10. I am of course, speaking of the Hitler from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, whose major crimes seem to be burning books and autographing diaries. The real Hitler was probably at least somewhat nastier than Mrs. Deagle. But I bet he at least liked dogs.
11. Ok, I'm making an assumption here. Maybe she didn't die…somehow Mr. Futterman survived into Gremlins 2: The New Batch despite being apparently run over by a bulldozer. Nah. She's dead. Futterman had to survive because Joe Dante will never make a movie without Dick Miller. Joe Dante is on the side of good.
12. And at worst a Neo-Fascist Class Traitor.
13. If I were a more profound thinker, and less anxious to finish this ever-expanding monograph, I would point out that this whole crisis can be seen as a parable against commercialization, as it all began with the need to come up with a better, flashier Christmas gift, in lieu of spending more time with one's family. Shame on you, Hoyt. Shame on you.
14. Indeed, after a landmark ruling made in Geneva in 1992, his inclusion in the cast of any movie is considered a War Crime.
15. Why don't they make the whole plane out of the black box? Am I right? Who are these people?
16. Actually, per the commercial, I guess they actually melt like cheddar: lumpy, oily, and dribbling onto your doily or other placemat material.
17. I also liked Drop Dead Fred. With Phoebe Cates….
18. However, to date, it hasn't been your time to read it. 9 months and counting since I made this promise. Maybe I'll have the next installment done before the world ends in 2012.
    

Swastikas=Comedy Gold

As one may have guessed from recent posts, I'm dating a person of the Jewish persuasion. Have been for some time now. The culture shock is not as bad as one might think, and it turns out I'm quite good at blowing the Shofar.¹

But every now and then...well, I get confused by her. First and foremost, by her own admission, she's not a very good Jew. The only reason she doesn't eat pork is that she's allergic to it. Which she only found out by, well, eating it.²

Bad Jew.

But that still didn't prepare me for the exchange I had last night, regarding this picture I used on my last entry:

Exhibit A

The exchange, delivered as close to verbatim as my crappy memory can make it:

Ali: You should have put a swastika on it. That would have been funnier.

Jon: I'm not really sure if a swastika is exactly the idea--

Ali: It would be funnier.

Jon: That's not what I'm trying to say with--

Ali: You're overthinking this.

Now, I am of German descent. We are not known as a funny people. However, Ali hails from a people long renowned for their comedic tradition. So how can I argue with the inherent comedy of Charles Foster von Kane: Hatemonger?

---

1. Not nearly as vulgar as you would think. Sorry.
2. ibid

MySpace Archive: The Dark Underbelly of the 80s, 1a

In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.

This is part one of my so far two-part exposé into the
movies that shaped my life. Part two followed some time after, and part three will probably come out some time around The Second Coming (or the First, if you are Ali).

I suspect I will have minimal commentary on this one, as though this is flawed, I have a soft spot in my heart for these entries, especially given that is the beginning of my one-man war against The So-Called Greatest Movie Ever. This war has not really touched any of my other entries to date, but is a major part of any given day.

Any footnotes not in italics are from the original post.

[Originally posted on April 12, 2007]

The Dark Underbelly of the 80s - Part One, Section A

Movies that begin with G.

NOTE: I have abandoned my initial practice of starting all blogs with "Well." It seems to be making me unable to come up with new blogs, is a little too precious, and has outlived it's usefulness (I really only set it up that way so I could whip out a "Well, I have cancer" blog, but silly me, I had to be healthy).

Anywhoo.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

I am a child of the 80s. Scratch that. I hate that term. I didn't spring fully formed from the thigh of the 80s. That's lazy, cliché-riddled writing to say that. But I did spend the ages of 3.43 to 13.57 years of age living in that Reagany, Syth-laden, and Acid-washed time. Somehow, despite spending the entirety of the decade in South Carolina, I never had a mullet, barely wore Jams, and...well I fucking loved Guns'n'Roses. Fine. I admit it. I still love Appetite For Destruction. But that's neither here not there. The point is, I missed out on some of the finer and more embarrassing points of the 80s.

But I did watch a lot of movies.

And a lot of them began with G.

Well, three of them began with G (not counting sequels). Those three were very important in the process of forming my worldview. It's tempting to say that without them, I would be a happier, more trusting human being. Of course, that would be a lie, as what I'm about to write is pure BS-driven hyperbole. However, the fact that such darkness exists in what are ostensibly comedies is proof that we are in the grip of unnamable dread.

The first of the movies in my Trinity of the Damned¹ is the aptly named Ghostbusters.

Ghostbusters, in and of itself, is a fantastic movie. Probably the greatest ever made. You know that's true. Don't even fucking try to lie to me or pull that "Citizen Kane" junk with me. You know you've watched Citizen Kane maybe one time, and you probably dozed off for part of it. But you've seen Ghostbusters so many times that you know what to say if someone asks if you're a god, you know better than to step on a Church in Venkman's town, and you know good and damn well not to think of anything when asked to choose the form of your destroyer (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1: Your delicious, fluffy doom awaits you.

But, of course, underneath the cheery and wise-assed exterior beats the thousand-tentacled eldritch heart of Lovecraftian terror. And that's a good thing. Ghostbusters taught me that, no matter how successful your life is, there's always a chance that a 3,000 year old Sumerian god will eff your world up for no damn good reason. Also, the Babylonians certainly knew a hell of a lot more about theology than Rome does (Fig. 2), no matter what Lenny's Archbishop buddy says.

Fig. 2:The Church isn't gonna save you from Gozer.

So, if god ain't gonna save you, who can you turn to? The state? Hardly. The government (Fig. 3) is, if anything, a total douchebag. Any tinpot bureaucrat with a hard-hat and a government I.D. can set off a nuclear chain reaction that unleashes the full fury of the Elder Gods on an unwitting soundstage that looks sort of like New York. Is it any wonder that I gravitated to Left-leaning Libertarian Socialism² as I grew older? No. It's a wonder more people didn't. If Walter Peck weren't already dickless, Bakunin would have ripped his junk off in a nanosecond.⁴

Fig. 3:The U.S. Government.

Ghostbusters II also taught me a lesson: no matter how anxiously you await a sequel, there's a good chance it will suck on toast. Also, that no matter how good a person you've been in your life, there's always a chance you will have to see Peewee from the Porky's movies paw all over Sigourney Weaver.

Okay, I think I've run out of steam about Ghostbusters. I promise I'll have more meaningless crap to say in Section B: Gremlins.⁶

Surprisingly, I think Section B actually DID come next. But don't hold me to that.

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1. Wouldn't that be a great horror movie title? Or maybe the name of a Goth power trio? Is there such a thing as a Goth power trio? I bet they would really suck.

2. Secret euphemism for Anarchism. Used to describe people without huge beards and round cartoon bombs with fuses that find all control systems to be anathema. See, you learn something every day. ³

3. I must have been rereading No Gods, No Masters when I wrote this. Jeez, Wolter, way to bring politics into a blog about Ghostbusters...

4. This is the truest sentence I have ever typed. No foolin.'⁵

5. I bet people who read all the way through without checking footnotes thought I screwed up the numbering.

6. The fifteenth greatest movie of all time, for those counting.