(the) david press.com

I was just having this conversation with my brother, about guilty pleasure movies and how Pineapple Express is one of those movies for me.

“Dude, one of those guilty pleasure movies is Pineapple Express,” I said.

“Why is that?” he replied over the instant messenger.

“Because true assholes, or true movie snob assholes, feel like they have higher standards for what they want out of a movie. But when they like something that they clearly feel they shouldn’t its deemed a guilty pleasure. And that’s what I try to make myself out to be, a true movie snob asshole, so I feel like I should feel bad for enjoying that movie as much as I do but really the ultimate out-cause for me liking that movie is my mind telling me I’m not a snob and those kinds of movies are spectacular.  Or I’m being irrational and just realizing that I’m an asshole for trying to make myself out to be something other than what I am and not being true to my tastes.”

“Not every movie may not qualify by those who are in charge of giving out awards, but that has no reflection on whether or not a movie is good or entertaining,” he wrote.

“Right.”

“And don’t try and be a movie snob, comes off as arrogance and isn’t very impressive. You have an impressive knowledge, don’t ruin it by being an asshole about it.”

See that’s what I really like about Pineapple Express, it finally made me realize that being a snob about that movie, or feeling like my tastes should be better than that really is just my mind saying that I’m being a dick.  Why shouldn’t I like a pot head movie that suddenly turns into a Jerry Bruckheimer flick? With dry, sarcastic, quick-witted dialogue that is EXACTLY my style-why shouldn’t I like it?!  So, really, in the end I’m just being a jerk for thinking that I’m better than something when clearly working or writing a movie like that would cause a shit ton of enjoyment on my part.

And this reason is probably why I’m rooting for Seth Rogen’s take on “The Green Hornet,” to work out. 

:: End Rant ::

…and hope it hits him on the way out.  

I was in a bit of a funk today, not miserable and depressed or pissed off like last Wednesday just feeling a bit off.  Probably has something to do with the day of football and drinking yesterday with Ben, Nisha and Alex and the awkward run in we had with some people from my high school in CT.  No matter how much I felt the need to constantly be reminding myself that today is his last day, and how much that should make me do the Snoopy Dance of Joy, it just didn’t do the trick.  I’m not normally one to shout my political viewpoints on this here blog, because if people wanted to know my opinion on things politically they should ask me, and not be force fed them.  Though on this Blue Monday, I feel like its part of the cleansing phase I’ve been going through for the past week to say something, and write about the dysfunctional relationship I’ve had with George W. Bush.  Considering his first election was the first Presidential Election I could vote in.  So this presidency meant alot to me as a young American.  

I voted for Al Gore initially, for a faith based reason that I won’t be getting into, but I remember the distinct moment that I was 100 percent behind Bush but also terrified of him, it would be a situation that would not change for eight years.  It was a couple of days after September 11th, and I was a junior in college. My five roommates and I gathered in the common room for his first speech on what we were going to do in response.  I agreed with him a hundred percent in going after the man who damaged the city my family grew up in. (Over Columbus weekend a few weeks later would we go down to the Trade Center site), and perhaps most of my anger directed toward Mr. Bush can be formed in the belief  that the man responsible for the attack is still running around and that is inexcusable.  It was the most blatant lie to all of our faces and it still makes me shake with anger.  There were other reasons too, not just this one, though that one is my biggest gripe. 

Warrantless wire-tapping, torture and for a self possessed Born Again to allow the most death penalty executions in his tenure as governor of Texas wreaks of hypocrisy. Add to the fact that he clearly doesn’t speak English just speaks to the fact how deeply stupid we as a country are to allow that guy to stick around after one term.  He wrestles with the Queen’s Good English like a inbred hick at a mud wrestling contest. Just listening to that guy speak, really firmly rested the belief in my mind that he’s not nearly as smart as me.  This bothers me in the fact that I want my president, the face and voice of our nation, to be way, way, way, way, way smarter than me. And I am very sure I’m superior to him in virtually every way.

Alright, I’m going to stop, because tomorrow is going to be a fantastic day.  I am practically sick with joy that I can finally say, “we won.”  I talk about this all the time, how happy it makes me, to have been a part of actively making history in electing this man. A guy who I really believe will make things better.

I fully realized something recently, something I’ve always known about myself ever since high school, stuff as an English student that I never cared for, and probably why I focused more on journalism and the craft of writing rather than the study of the work. This reason is the grotesque vaguery and overall bullshitty mentality of English teachers and their students.  

The graduate level classes at Brooklyn College are set up discussion style with the teacher engaging in a discussion with the students on the impressions of a work. Allowing for the students to engage in a dialogue that is both snobby, know-it-all and self-indulging dismissive without actually saying anything of substance.  I find myself constantly clashing with the vague bullshit that is slung around at master’s level english literature courses.

I find it especially evident in my classes that this is not my style, though I continue to excel at my written work, I dislike the vagueness.  I like getting to the point rather than beating around the bush. There are a number of people I don’t care for when it comes down to the classes.  The kind of people who like to wax their poetic carrot by circling around a point gaining, “yeah, yeah, right, right,” hit points from the teacher who then engage them in similar vague dialogue agreeing with the self-indulgent bullshitter student.  Giving me this sense of: “yeah, I agree with you, and see your point, because I’m just like you.” And since I only see these bullshit artists as being largely full of shit who say nothing of any kind of merit, causing me to feel like the program doesn’t mesh with my personality.  

These students and teachers engaging in this circular dialogue makes me sick with annoyance.  I’m not about talking end from end on how bright I am, and it seems its inherent in English majors that they love to talk in generalities that seem to never have a point. Its because of this nature of class, that I see my old Journalism prof, Denny, screaming in my brain and I utter these words at my graduate school colleagues: “I’m sorry that’s vague. Can you be more specific?”

All I get in response is dirty looks and more generalities which causes my internal Denny to scream: “What the fuck are you talking about?!”

Maybe I’m just not smart enough, or not Advanced enough as Klosterman defines it, or maybe I’m not full of shit.

Probably going to be completely off until Friday, considering Time Warner has the biggest monopoly in all of the New York Metropolitan Area, and feels the need to take their sweet time to hook up the internet.  So, besides text messaging Twitter and Tumblr updates, you won’t be hearing a lot from me.  So, in the mean time enjoy this weirdly appropriate Xkcd strip and my Facebook horoscope that continues to freak the fucking shit out of me.

David,
The Internet and telephones will likely be a big feature of the day, but what’s interesting is not the technology, but who it lets you reach. You may form important connections over a distance that prove vital for your career future. Partners and associates are lucky for you today.

Well, one thing is truly horrible, the other just has the word in the title.  I’m not one to bash stuff, quite honestly, there’s enough voices on the internet to throw shit into the fan just to have it ricochet back at you, and I choose not to be one of those people, but this is one of those situations where I feel like I have to call things to task. And then balance things out with something that is quite enjoyable.

So, two days ago, the internet seemed to be completely obsessed with either bashing Frank Miller’s The Spirit trailer, or saying how wonderful Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible is with its sing-songy tune and wonderful people in it.

I call it Frank Miller’s The Spirit, because that’s exactly what it looks like. His version of the Spirit and not a thing remotely resembling Will Eisner’s or Darwyn Cooke’s great re-imagining.  There have been a number of colorful reactions to this trailer, and I tend to think that given the book published a couple years back (Eisner/Miller, edited by the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund’s President, Charles Brownstein), I can’t help but think its like the little brother trying to out-do the big brother.  Though I must say, I feel compelled to see this movie just for “the god damn Spirit.” I dig the background music which is a loud resounding thump of not okayness in most of the posts regarding this trailer. What can I say? I’m someone perpetually listening to 90s alt-rock and britpop.  Like those sad people who still listen to the Grateful Dead which always perplexed me as someone who didn’t even know who Jerry Garcia was until he was dead.  This movie seems like its on the fast track to being remade Incredible Hulk style.

Though it has the word Horrible in it, there is not a thing horrible about the Whedon family’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. its wonderfully nice and beautifully written. I’m looking forward to the soundtrack coming out.  What I truly enjoy about this experiment is that it changes how the medium of television and niche programming is done.  What was seemingly started with Lonelygirl15, is now something that has been enhanced and thrown into the stratosphere just by Joss Whedon’s popularity.  What I really like about this is it just feels like there is so much love put into this, and that’s what I like about alot of Whedon’s projects.  I feel the heart in them. Buffy, Firefly, his comics and now this you can tell that he puts his heart into everything he does and truly cares about it.  Not to mention it seems like the entire crew staff seems to be comprised of Joss and his family and the awesome Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion and the refreshing Felicia Day. (Harris, in a Doktor Sleepless-like garb, seems like Whedon is poking Warren Ellis in the ribs in a fun loving way).  This whole project is nothing less than fresh, charming and revolutionary.  The first two acts are out now, and I highly suggest starting your day with a viewing of them, as there is little chance that anything will get you down that day because you started it off with something horrible–that isn’t at all.

Last night, while celebrating a co-worker at Doubledown Media’s birthday, the hot topic of discussion was what Lenny Dykstra is doing to the company.

For those keeping track, the first issue of The Players Club came out in early April, complete with a $400,000 launch party and a ton of favorable publicity about a magazine that was distributed for free and aimed at providing pro athletes with financial advice. Even The New Yorker wrote a glowing profile on Dykstra as an eccentric but well-meaning and successful entrepreneur.

But issues No. 2 and 3 have been a source of heated disputes that have left freelancers unpaid as Doubledown and Dykstra wage a nasty legal feud over whether Dykstra was ripped off by Doubledown, as he claims, or whether the former baseball great stole the second issue of the magazine from Doubledown, as the publisher claims.

What actually is happening, that the Post does not report, is Dykstra hasn’t paid his bill for the first issue that Doubledown worked on. So when asked for paying his bill, he cut and run using another printer with work from Doubledown employees. Stuff that I worked on, and a number of other good people at Doubledown. My friend Clifford lost his job over this.

The issue is this: Dykstra gets a Big Win in Media Mogulness considering he sued first (although on massively flimsy charges), the logic behind this thought is massively retarded but it fucking works. The media will always cast a positive light on you, especially if your plaintiff counter-sues that’s all you’ll get in the media: “oh of course, they’re going to counter-sue,” and no one will pay attention. But the thing is: Doubledown, by all rights, should win this case.

They have emails from Dykstra saying its okay to run the Dykstra Club newsletter, they have the pages that were printed from the other printer that are copy right Doubledown since we worked on them. That is Grand Theft, Copyright Infringement and, also, slander, for talking shit in public that he purports did not do, but in fact okay’d.

I’m getting quite angry. Clifford, the managing editor on the Player’s Club that I worked with and contributed to lost his job over this. With more and more people I know losing their jobs in publishing, I’m getting to my wit’s end.

I mean: just how fucking difficult is it to pay your bill and act with class for people who bust their ass for you? Apparently, very difficult in the world of publishing and that makes me really fucking sad.

Late last night, while reading Jimmie Robinson’s Bomb Queen V # 1, some absolutely wretched news came my way in the form of Kiel Phegley being let go from Wizard Magazine. I was angry for much of the evening thereafter but upon waking up this morning, I reasoned that there was little to be angry about. Wizard had done the comics blogosphere a favor, by allowing the truly righteous Mr. Phegley to utilize his vast word slinging talents, as well as his great attitude and good head on his shoulders at another publishing venue. Allow me a moment to justify this.

I had met Kiel a little bit less than a year ago by way of Laura Hudson and Tim Leong, and though I learned quickly that he worked for Wizard, a magazine all the cool kids like to bash, I instantly liked him as a person. But I didn’t truly appreciate how good a guy he is until after I wrote my one-sided piece for Broken Frontier on the legitimacy of Wizard Magazine as a comic book news resource (see the “Other Writings,” page for the article). The reason for it being one sided, was that even though I had reached out to Wizard to comment on the piece, they refused resulting in a very one sided article.

At a party soon after the articles were published, I apologized to Kiel for the content in hopes that I hadn’t fallen out of his favor because I truly like the guy. Like the good guy he is he made note of how one sided the articles were, and all though he was part of something much-maligned by others in the comic book reporting business, still acted like the responsible employee and didn’t shit where he eats by saying anything that could be construed as disapproval for where he worked.

In the weeks and many months following, whatever feelings I had in regards to this situation and whether I had upset a friend by writing such a thing were quickly dispelled. Every time I ran into Kiel it was always a welcome smile, a drink and a discussion on articles we had just done and how fortunate we are to get paid to write about comic books.

So, after hearing that he had been let go last night, I couldn’t think of a good enough reason for them to let someone go who was a responsible and loyal employee, who really knows his stuff (as evidenced by his spectacular Indy Jones Blog ) and is an all around great guy. Though it wasn’t until this morning, over my Raisin Bran, that I realized that Wizard had done us all a great favor. By letting someone who was so obviously more classy than the people he worked for they let him be free of their much-maligned publication so he can bring his skills and kick-ass attitude to another venue that is far more appreciative and deserving of his talent.

So, thank you, Wizard you’ve made some lucky rival magazine or website that much better. Have a good day.

Rocketeer creator Dave Stevens died today at the age of 52. For some it was Gary Gyrax dying last week that was a big deal, and whenever someone passes away its always a big deal no matter whether you’re the founder/creator/whatever of Dungeons & Dragons or someone else. Today it is Mr. Stevens passing away.

I remember playing in my God Parent’s house in Ridgefield, Connecticut when I was roughly ten years old, and one of the facilitators of my interest in comics was their eldest son, Jim, who had legions of long boxes. He got me reading Vigilante, Frank Miller and Chris Claremont’s Wolverine, as well as others, but it was during Jim’s high school graduation party (the family version), instead of refusing to play with the other little kids as they played, I dunno, the video game Duck Hunt, I went through his long boxes.

I leafed through Jim’s first long box that sat near the couch down stairs as my little brother and Jim’s little brother played Nintendo and the first thing I saw was the collection of the first five issues of The Rocketeer. The picture above being precisely what it was, and it totally captured my imagination. I probably exclaimed a giant, “WOOOAHHHH,” at the look of that cover. Just looking at that helmet and the rocket pack portrayed this iconic sense of a time that I never lived in. Which was totally the case. In the introduction essay by Harlan Ellison, it had photographs of people who looked just like the characters Cliff Secord and Peevy. I thought they were real people and Dave was telling a story of something that actually happened.  I still wish I had those idealistic views instead of being the realist I am today.

Jim came downstairs to see how us young boys were doing. When I saw him, I snapped close the book thinking I was doing something horribly wrong by going through his stuff. I tried putting it back into his long box.

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” Jim said. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah…”

I can’t remember what it was that we talked about thereafter, but I remember him giving me that book. It wasn’t until shortly after that I realized a movie was being made and I thought it was just about the greatest thing ever. I still have fond memories of that movie. Though its not the best movie in the world, every time I see it, it sends me back to that day as a kid. Right around the time that comics were a new and wonderful thing to me at a young age, and I’m just glad that I had this to further sink me into my near-obsession.

Having just got home, I thought I had the DVD, but I do not. Time to go rectify that situation. Sleep well, Dave.

Yesterday during my morning commute, I was reading the morning Metro mostly because my friend Jason writes for them. To my shock and awe they ran this story on their front page.

In a city where envy is endemic, where hedge-fund billionaires ride the train with working-class stiffs every day, the holder of that title is neither rich nor famous. Matthew Thomas has something money can’t buy: luck.

The aspiring novelist and private-school teacher won a government-subsidized housing lottery — but had to scramble to come up with the $14,000 needed to buy his new Upper East Side co-op, a coup that was chronicled by The New York Times last week.

Ever since, he’s been getting a hard lesson on the bitter reaches of the blogosphere. Curbed, a prominent real-estate blog, labeled him “the most hated man in New York.”

What a piece of shit.  In this article, a commenter calls this fortunate guy a no one who will write another NYC culture novel and thinks of himself as the next Ernest Hemingway.  I thought this a bullshit sentiment.  New York City is such a rich tapestry of life and lifestyles with personalities that are so extremely fresh from one person to the next that it is completely impossible to write a New York City culture novel that is “lame.” Any writer who lives in this city and writes about it does not have the same life or observatory powers as the writer next to him or her.  Not one single person could write a novel about life here and it being just like anyone else’s.

The ignorance with which they engage in this article is ridiculous.  First of all: leading with this garbage on your front page is completely arbitrary and libelous even.  You’re putting a blog’s opinion as your front page story, and calling this guy the “Most Hated Man in NYC.” What an utter insult to my intelligence, no wonder Metro is going under.

I wrote this a year ago on Feb. 3, before I had this version of my blog. The argument still applies, though now, I like Chuck Klosterman alot more now than I did when I wrote this piece.

* * *

I’ve been reading Chuck Klosterman’s Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs for roughly a year and I haven’t made it past the first two entries largely because he writes as if he’s an intellectual terrorist with the answers to the meaning of life. I fade in and out of his commentary and I only picked up this book because–I don’t really know why–probably because someone recommended it. Though I’m pretty sure it’s not because of my usual reason for picking up a new writer that being I’ve liked an article they’ve written or something. It’s not that. He strikes that cord with me where I don’t like him or his style, but he’s hard to argue with and I generally agree with his perspective on things. Go figure.

Re-cracking it, my placeholder had a handwritten note, saying: “Remind yourself about Woody Allen-pg. 5.” Naturally, I went to the page and found Chuck talking about media transference where viewers in the real world compare their lives to characters of a show. Like a couple saying, “That’s like us,” when watching Monica and Chandler on Friends. Everyone does this. Looking down the page, I find the paragraph where he starts talking about Wood Allen. Which reads:

If Woody Allen had never been born I’m sure I would be doomed to a life of celibacy. Remember the aforementioned woman who loved Cusack and Coldplay? There is absolutely no way I could have dated this person if Woody Allen didn’t exist. In tangible terms, she was light years out of my league, along with most of the other women I’ve slept with. But Woody Allen changed everything. Woody Allen made it acceptable for beautiful women to sleep with nerdy, bespectacled goofballs; all we need to do is fabricate the illusion of intellectual humor and we somehow have a chance.

I thought about this and realized that this is quite true.

Last weekend, wearing my Clark Kent glasses and sporting hair that hasn’t been cut in a six weeks, I got three girl’s numbers. In the same bar. This is usually unheard of for me when I get all Metro-sexualled up. The latter style entails, shining the shoes, nice jeans and some ugly shirt from Banana Republic. I feel like this is defrauding my character though on certain occasions I don’t mind getting dressed up. In my own rebelliousness, I get pissed off when I get turned away from the bar because I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and I’m screaming at the bouncer for not allowing me to come in wearing that. Fuck, man, I dress up all week for work if I want to wear a t-shirt and jeans to go out than I think it’s none of your God damned business if I do. You should let me in because my money is the same as any of the other co-eds in the bar. My friends constantly berate me that I still dress like I’m in college. Though they now support the “the writer look,” by their definition that I’m testing out now. Apparently, this look is: glasses, some facial growth, polo over a long-sleeved colorless shirt and a Kangol cap.

Now this is where I disagree with Chuck: I’m not nerdy in physical features, I’m broad shouldered with a former swimmer’s body but apparently people tell me nerdy is the “in-look,” now. Look to Weezer front man, Rivers Cuomo to get a more tangible idea of the style and I definitely rock that look well. Though I tell you one thing, if I ever win an MTV Movie Award I certainly will put the glasses away and wear my contacts. I’ve got that outfit planned all ready. (Jesus Christ).

You see that’s what I’m talking about. That’s the Metro-sexual side to me. Though when I rock that look, the first thing I’ll always say or portray myself as is a geek, and I’m never afraid to admit saying that Battlestar Galactica is the best show on television, I read an average of ten comic books a week, and have no problem spending the weekend chained to my computer (with a steady diet of booze and coffee) writing away. I can’t dribble a basketball, throw a football properly or hit the cut-off man (anymore), but I can talk about all of those sports as well as someone who’s actually played them. The only athletic achievement in my life was being an state champion swimmer in Connecticut and quit to focus on being a “student” at the number seven party school in the nation (circa 2001), and pursue a career in writing.

So, my question to you is: what is more appealing, the geeky exterior or the prepped up metro-sexual who is obviously trying wayyy too hard and going against his nature? With the geek look, I’m subscribing to a stereotype; the metro-sexual, I’m a hypocrite. So, even though looking the part of someone who really does love film and comic books more than anything else (except Guinness), gelling the hair and wearing what every other guy in the room is wearing, the only difference being in look is our faces, wreaks of hypocrisy to me. Though looking the part of my attitude makes the thoughts and observations I’ve had for the past displays me as a walking, talking, hypocritical oxymoron or what a delusional sycophant might call: A well rounded person.

Holy crap, I’m having an identity crisis.

*   *   *

See? I’m a small, small person.