Random thought about Dana Carvey

Did anyone else ever find him that funny? I mean, fine, I'll give people Garth from Wayne's World. I'll even give you Wayne's World 2. Hell, some of his stuff from Saturday Night Live wasn't too bad. I preferred Phil Hartman, but I can't have my cake and eat it too.

But what's this with the resurfacing of Dana Carvey? He was at the MTV Movie Awards, a prestigious event if there ever was one, doing a little sad banter with Mike Myers in their Wayne and Garth garb. And now I see, via Myspace's annoying ads that he has a HBO special coming this Saturday the 14th.*

Did I go back in time when people gave a damn about Mr. Carvey? I'm rubbing my eyes to see if I've been dreaming, but no I haven't. A guy who hasn't been funny in about 15 years is back.

And yes, I did watch The Dana Carvey Show, which was more funny for his supporting cast (such as Steve Carrel and Stephen Colbert).

So does this mean a new Wayne's World movie will be made? Maybe a Clean Slate 2: Electric Bugaloo will be next. Then ultimately a new Master of Disguise film. I can't wait because I'll probably be there with a spork in my hand, ready to poke my eyes out.

*A terrible, terrible movie too.

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I've been on CHUD.com

Yeah, I will be restating all the blogs I write on there here as well. I will also try to think of witty stuff to write on here as well. Stuff that might not fit in as well on that site.

What that might entail, I don't know. But when it comes to me, I shall let you know first.

-James

P.S.: Read all the previous posts before this one. Some funny stuff that I wrote and I know a lot of people want to comment but can not due to CHUD not having that option on the actual blogs but instead in the forums.

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Do I need a title for my blog?

I've been mulling that over for the past few days. A ton of the other bloggers do have some fantastic titles for their blogs. You know who you are.

But then again, some other grand blogs on here don't have a title; they tend to go the route that I have gone. Thinking of a witty title as often as possible. Most succeed better than I, and for that I'm very grateful. Grateful for the fact that it has my mind going back and forth between a permanent title for this here blog.

So I wonder, what constitutes as a great blog name? Devin's Advocate just resonates, as does Nick's Nice Hard Slap. Sam Strange is a fantastic name in itself, so that isn't hard to ruin. So what is it? Is it the man or is it the blog? I think it is a mixture of both man and blog (sorry, I had to say it again because it sounds so ridiculous saying that out loud, as well as in written form).

I've been thinking of using Seagal and the Love/Hate Machine, but I think that works better as a band name (touring soon, brought to you by Matador Records). I've also been in a Bogart kick as of late, so I thought about The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of... but then I thought that might sound a bit on the fluff side. A little bit feminine, not that there's anything wrong with that. Then I had a weird dream about a blog named To Blog or Not to Blog, That is to Blog!, but then I figured people would think I was a pretentious fucker (which I am, but I'd rather them find that out with the articles and not the title).

So I'm torn. What do I do? Do I keep on figuring out titles for my blog or do I go one step further and become the ultimate in blogging by figuring out a name for this blog? Let me know. Comment on my new thread, which will be in the usual forum spot of the simple James' New Blog area.

Lame, I know. But let me know, I'd appreciate it.

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Wedding Fun and Alice Porn

It's 100 degrees here in New York City and feels like Satan took his balls and rubbed it on the sky and then tea bagged the whole of humanity.

Anyway, back from the big wedding event of the summer between our good friends Eli and Lindsay. Eli is actually pretty famous in the world of politics. He's Executive Director of MoveOn.Org and a hell of a guy. He also kills me in Scrabble and introduced my girlfriend and I to the card game SET.*

Lindsay is a firecracker who is both badass and quaint. Hard to explain why that is, but she is. It's definitely a good thing. So celebrating their happiest time (but hopefully happier times are to come) was a thrill for us.

Plus going away, even if it wasn't anywhere exotic, was still a blast. We went to Great Barrington, Massachusetts, which for a small town actually had a movie theater that showed classic films. It was going to show Arsenic and Old Lace, one of my favorite films. And then that got me thinking about New York City, and why our reperatory houses here suck big time. Unless I'm missing out on some secret society that plays movies underground for all to see, I don't get much out of the few and far between the theaters here in the city.

I'm jealous of the New Beverly Theater. You guys in LA get some of the coolest people to present double features, with trailers mixed in, like the good old days. My gal bought me the Japanese import of Grindhouse, which is amazing not only because it's 6 discs, but I get to watch the film the way it is supposed to be watched.

I'm also jealous of Austin, Texas. And I mean all of that city. I love the sights. I just love that they have more great theaters pound for pound in such a small area. I must either visit and/or live there in the next year. All of the Alamo Drafthouse theaters sound delectable. Never knew I'd call a theater delectable, but I just did.

And here's the main reason anyone clicked on this blog. All about the Alice Porn. Finally checked out Alice in Wonderland porn version from the 70's that Subversive Cinema put out on DVD. It was a trippy experience, especially that it was also a musical with dance numbers. And that it wasn't so bad, it was actually pretty campy and the one complaint I would have with the film was that it didn't have enough porn within it. But I have a bit of a crush on the star, Kristine DeBell now. Even though she hasn't done anything since the 80's (actually, since 1990 to be exact), I forgot that she was one of the featured girls in Meatballs. But yeah, a fun time, with some catchy songs and couldn't stop laughing when Humpty Dumpty's penis was actually a strap on that you see plainly falling off when he falls off the side of the wall.

Good times.

*SET is a card game where you need to continuously match colors, number of items, shapes and patterns as fast as you can. Addictive as all hell and once you get going, you just can't stop. And it's inexpensive to boot. So look like a genius and buy a pack. It'll impress your stupid friends and make your smart friends want to stick around.

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Go ahead. Make my day.

Been watching the new Dirty Harry collection that just came out. So fantastic a set. Lots of cool extras and Best Buy had the cool exclusive file folder from the Scorpio case. Such a geeky thing to have.

But I hate when people actually speak to me about Dirty Harry movies and swear to their almighty god that Harry Callahan speaks those lines in the original Dirty Harry.* It truly boggles my mind that these so called purveyors of film don't even know about the films they love to preach about.

These are the same people who say Frankenstein when speaking about the monster.

The same people who also swear that Bogart utters the line, "Play it again, Sam." in Casablanca.

The same goes for who think Nic Cage is still a good actor. Sad but true people!

So I'll be away at a wedding over this weekend in Massachusetts (exciting!), probably hanging out with Moby (friends with the groom) and watching tons of movies with my girlfriend and a few other people in the dorms (yes, the wedding is at a college). If it's amazing enough, I will write about it. If not, I will only write about the movies.

*It's from the Clint Eastwood helmed Sudden Impact.

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Is it wrong to be happy with someone else's death?

Death. The high cost of living. That's something I heard from Neil Gaiman once. Actually, it was a title of the comic book, but I'm straying from the original concept of this blog.

I asked a question in the title of this blog. Is it wrong to be happy with someone else's death? What am I necessarily talking about in this situation? Well, I'm not the richest kid on the block. To be honest, I work a shitty job at Best Buy counting things. You heard me right, I count stuff in the store. It pays very well and I work Monday to Friday in the wee hours until about 2 p.m. everyday, so it gives me enough time to fight the urge to pass out while watching as many movies as I can. It wasn't always like that, but again I'm straying from the intent of this article.

Not having much money, I learned how to stretch a dollar out. I would buy stuff on clearance. Half off sales. Close out deals. All that fun stuff. This was up until I found out the beauty of The Salvation Army. The graveyard of cool old shit. The other day, as I've been enjoying my long needed vacation*, I said to myself, "Let me check out my neighborhood Salvation Army to see if they have any clothing, records, books or trinkets."

I'm a big lover of trinkets.

But even more so of weird kitschy clothing and books I wouldn't be able to find anywhere else. So while I was perusing the shelves of their books, fingering through multiple copies of The DaVinci Code, James Patterson's usual array of nursery rhyme crapola and self help heaven, I found two books that caught the eye of this here writer.

One was Hollywood and the Great Fan Magazines, a fantastic hardcover from 1970 by Martin Levin. It culls together old fan magazines from the 30's and 40's that people made, delving into the lives of the stars of yesteryear. Think of it as a print version of Perez Hilton. But cuter in concept. I loved reading about the love life of Errol Flynn, but it wasn't the love stories I have heard from others.

The second book was one that I was actually thinking about the other day because one of my co-bloggers here, Adam Campbell, wrote a fantastic blog about The Cocoanuts and the Marx Brothers in general. The book, another hardcover, was 1971's Why a Duck?, an overview of the Marx Brother's movies, with pictures from the actual movies. They love telling you that they weren't publicity shots, but instead are somewhat blurry because it looks as if they took a camera to a movie theater's screen. But it's still a fantastic little collection of quips and Groucho Marx's introduction that makes it worth the $4.99 price tag.

I'll be perusing the Salvation Army more often to let you fine folks know what dead people's families didn't want and left behind for me to buy. If you have any other stories of great finds, let me know. I'd love to know what else dead people haven't the room for in their coffins.

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PSA's and the wonder of childhood

I have tons of weird childhood memories. Stuff that just rushes back to me, or is mentioned to me by my girlfriend that she also liked or disliked. Such as the infamy of the 80's PSA's. You know which ones. The commercials that were supposed to stop you from doing drugs, not be racist, breaking eggs with a frying pan. Learned it by watching you and all that fun stuff.

So there was one PSA for years that I remembered about racial equality. One with a catchy tune that I could've sworn, later on in life, was the 'rap/bebop' guy from The Barenaked Ladies. I remembered the lines, "Doesn't matter if you're black or white, or purple or green or red with polka dots on your head." My friend Tommy also remembered it and knew for a fact it was the guy from BNL*.

So as I perused the internet and Youtube to be exact, I found The Ballad of Gordo, which is the music video/PSA that ran while I was youngling**. Which is in fact the full Barenaked Ladies band doing the song. A rush to my childhood, before I was wronged in various ways. When TMNT was the biggest cartoon around. Which also brings to the forefront the classic, "I'm not a chicken, you're a turkey."

If I was more tech savvy with this blog, I'd be posting the videos up on here, to make everyone happy. Nothing brings more joy than PSA's that probably made more kids do drugs than stay off of them. But right now, I'm at a loss and am probably looking at the proper way to post a video, but I'm lazy and need to pass out in a few minutes. Maybe tomorrow I'll go out of my way to search the video option.

* BNL = Barenaked Ladies.... the hippest way to call them.

** Not a word, but I know Obi Wan loved saying it in Revenge of the Sith.

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Seagal: Love/Hate Relationship

Warning: This is a long article. About a kid's dreams, my own, being shattered. I know Vern from Aint It Cool would be sad for me. Enjoy!

There was a time in my life that I liked crappy movies. I had a soft spot for films that starred the likes of Michael Dudikoff, Jean Claude Van Damme, Steve James and even Billy Blanks. Yes, Tae Bo Billy Blanks. But there was one man that I loved in the movies. One guy who I couldn't wait to see in his next film. An action star like no other. And one that spurned me and has made me hate him with a passion you wouldn't believe to this day.

That man, my friends, is Steven Seagal.

When I first saw this god amongst men on celluloid, it was in the middle of the night when I was 9 years old. We had HBO as our only cable channel and the only programs I was allowed to watch were Fraggle Rock and the occasional children's film. Never Ending Story, Time Bandits, Monster Squad... all those classics. As I was saying, in the middle of the night one night during our summer vacation, I couldn't sleep. I was a chubby one, so I snuck upstairs to get some cookies. As I ate Oreos and drank some milk, I flipped on the tv and a movie was on. Above the Law was on and I was a changed little boy. This film was just fantastic to my 9 year old eyes. Here was someone who wasn't the buffest guy, just beating the living crap out of people without even trying. Breaking someone's hand with such ease, it was just amazing to me.


The next day, I woke up early and was mimicking his movements. Very slow at first but then I'd let them have it. My mock opponents were being destroyed, just as Steven Seagal did to his own villains the night before. I had to know more about this mysterious man. These were the days where there was no commonplace internet. So the library was my only source of knowledge. I perused the magazines and film books and found out a little more about this man of many facets. I found out that he was actually a legitimate bad ass and knew martial arts. He was almost a hero to me. But remember folks, there was only the one movie I saw him in. How could he get any better than Above the Law ?

The next year came Hard to Kill. Hard... to... kill. What an orgasmic title for a movie! He's not invulnerable, not at all. But he's such a presence in the world of action films that he would be almost impossible to kill. I snuck in to see this film and it was everything I wanted and more. He gets shot up to the point where you think he's dead. His wife is killed. But what of his son? But wait, they hid him in intensive coma care and he's been there for years, asleep. Kelly Lebrock, before she looked like a train, is the sexy nurse to his aide. William Sadler, Death himself, is the villainous senator. It had everything going for it. Even his character's name, Mason Storm, is so cool. How could he top this one?

I had to know more about this man. But he was a bit of a recluse. Never appearing for interviews. I remember hearing about announced interviews with him on television, but then he would cancel at the last moment, dashing my hopes to see him speaking outside a film world. Why wouldn't this man just show me the way he was, not the soft spoken, tough talking, kill you in two seconds type of guy he portrayed in the movies?

The next film in this man's repertoire was Marked For Death. First he was so badass, he was above the law, then he was so hard to kill and now... marked for death? What the hell kind of trouble could our hero be in now? A DEA agent, in Colombia tackling drug lords. His partner was killed and deep down, he blames himself and therefore retires. But if there's one thing I've learned from cop films is that the hero never retires. Then there's a shootout with Jamaican drug kingpins, one of which is named Screwface. How in the world could this film end? Just take it back to Jamaica, where Screwface has run away to and ultimately beat the drug kingpin at his own game. The memories are starting to choke me up a bit right now, actually.

He was cranking out the movies in rapid fire motion and being a fan of his meant eating every little bit of it up. It's when I found out that his next film, Out For Justice would be filming in Brooklyn, New York that I almost had a heart attack. My hero, filming a movie in my backyard? I couldn't believe it. I had to go meet him. But I was a pudgy nervous kid who was scared half to death to meet this god amongst men. So I decided to talk my friend Rick into coming with me to meet him, only because he was pudgier and more scared. What better duo than that?

We would travel the streets of 18th Avenue and 86th Street, looking for him. We saw the other film crew walking around. I even got to meet William Forsythe, who later in my years would be one of my favorite actors. But at such a young age, I was only looking for one man and one man alone. Seagal had to be found. It took us days, asking different members of the film crew where Mr. Seagal could be. They'd tell us (they were very nice) and we'd go to where they told us to go, but we would find out we just missed him. This enigma had to be solved and I was the one to find the key!

Finally on a special day, we were walking up 18th Avenue and we saw the giant 6 foot 4 inch frame of Steven Seagal wearing sunglasses, walking up the block with a bottle of water in one hand and a script in the other, speaking to a female around 19 years of age. I was shaking in my Keds so my friend Rick somehow gets the guts within him and walks over to Mr. Seagal. I of course wag my tail behind me and run over behind Rick. We walk over to this massive man and my heart is racing. My brow is sweaty and I'm wiping it so I don't look like some sick kid who is going to infect Steven Seagal with retardation. My friend Rick is the first to speak.

Rick: Hello Mr. Seagal. My friend James and I are huge fans of yours ever since we saw your film Above the Law. Do you mind if you gave us your autograph?

I didn't even care about an autograph. I just wanted Steven Seagal to acknowledge that I was alive and meant something. He looked down at us, pulling his shades down just enough so we could see his eyes. My throat clenched up. What was this man about to say? I had goosebumps thinking of the possibilities.

Steven Seagal: How about you take your fat ass and move out of my way before I break you in half, scrub! Beat it! Before I beat you!

We promptly moved to the side as he continued to walk by, with his script and female in tow. My friend Rick was shaking but then was excited that a celebrity threatened his life. He was that type of kid. What did it matter to him? My heart was broken. Shattered into millions of pieces. And why? Because Steven Seagal noticed my friend and threatened his life and not mine! That was supposed to be me that would get the might of the gods thrown down upon me. Not this Rick kid. I couldn't believe it and when I finally stabilized, Mr. Seagal was gone.

Forever.

Did I mention how much I hate Steven Seagal?

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Vacation?

While I was putting my dirty clothes from the past month or so in the washing machines at my local laundromat (or laundermat, as some would have you believe), my mind started to wander. It might have been because of the whirring of the machines. Maybe the shuffling of little old ladies. Or the drowning sound of The Insider on CBS. But it made me have to leave and run back to my apartment to escape that existence.

At least until the dryer part occurs.

But I also have to return one of my favorite movies to Blockbuster that I had bought for 4 for $20. Yes, the infamous used DVD sales that Blockbuster throws at me and all of us. All of the time. About 20% of my collection is from sales such as those. And I've had people scoff at me when I tell them I buy movies from Blockbuster. Scoffing? At me? Since when did buying used DVD's become passe?

The film I must return though is Hollywood Shuffle. Reason being? When I finally got a chance to open it (it's a problem that I have. I'll buy a ton of DVD's and let them sit for a week and finally start to catch up with the watching) it had not a scratch, but instead the disc was cracked right through the middle.

Um... what? How the hell do you crack a DVD in half? And then return it to the store. And then the employees just let it sit there, for years probably, collecting dust, until finally a schlub like me decides to finally purchase the fine Robert Townsend film, a film that I've wanted to own for years. Jeri curls and Keenan Ivory Wayans. It angers me to no end. It's happened a handful of times, and I've found a few gems throughout my horrible experiences. Like one of my favorite creature features, Squirm.

So I must go back today, while the dryer occurs. I will run to my neighborhood Blockbuster and ask them the following, "When I bought this last week, I did not have the chance to look to see if my disc was placed in a buzz saw. Next time I shall, but please let me peruse your used section once more and continue my addiction. Thank you."

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I will be posting all of my blogs from CHUD onto here as well

This was my introductory one on CHUD. Enjoy, comment, all that fun shite.



Hello all. James here, new blogger on Chud. Well, no shite, but I thought I'd be formal and introduce myself. Living in New York City in the borough of Brooklyn (or as the 'cool kids'/ Spike Lee says, Crooklyn ), I see a lot and I hear a lot. About what, I really don't know. A little bit here and a little bit there. But now I'm rambling, so what was I going to talk about?

I helped my uncle today with the unloading of his apartment. You see, he had a fire last week on Memorial Day (what a memory!) and he's been devastated by the amount of damage. A bit depressing, I know. But it's real life folks! He was the person who I got the whole collector adage from and since then, I've accumulated a DVD collection at around 1400. But it had me thinking about the devastation that a fire could do to someone's life, per se.

Luckily, his life is intact. But right now, all his memories are skewed from left to right. He sees this happy place as a citadel of burden. Of pain and non-virtue. It's quite sad, considering my uncle tends to be the happiest person in my entire family.

As I sit at my brother's computer, celebrating my belated birthday with my family, even after all that's happened, he still went out of his way to get me a present. He's mad, I know. But once more he gave me stuff I could collect and put on a shelf and start conversations with people who come by my new apartment. I would have started on a brighter note if life gave us those notes.

Family is fighting like cats and dogs. *sigh* Things are starting to get back on track already.

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