Monday, August 23, 2010

Friends...How Many Of Us Have Them?

Welcome to your two-fer boys and girls. It is not often that I feel the urge to write multiple entries in one day. The earlier blog was just for fun..to spread the good word about Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. This one is a little different. Was I listening to Whodini today and just had to talk about one of their most famous songs? Nay nay. I was reading everyone's status updates. I have 184 friends on facebook, and I check everyone's status every chance that I get. I like to be involved, I like to know what is going on. I feel that if people feel the need to share events or sayings or quotes or links....that I should at least view/read them. In doing so over the past week or so, I have seen a pattern emerging. It is one that makes me physically ill to read.

One of the few things that I pride myself on is the lengths I will go to for my friends. If you are truly a friend of mine, I will do anything for you. I will bend over backward and kiss my own ass if that is what is required. I have been asked for a place to stay during hard times in a relationship, I have been asked to borrow money (both small sums as well as large), I have been asked to help move (everything from furniture to a body), even perform their wedding for them, and if within my power...I did it. No questions asked, no repayment of favor required. These are things you do for friends.

What I DO NOT deal well with....is psychic vampires. To quote the late, great Anton LaVey, the term psychic vampire means "a spiritually or emotionally weak person who drains vital energy from other people". These can be people that may have been your friend 20 years ago, but have turned into nothing more than an acquaintance, at best in the present. They come out of the woodwork praying on "what was", looking for handouts. You let them in...whether out of your general kindness, your memory of "what was", or general non douchebaggery. You want to help your "friend", so you do what they ask...say it's lend them 50 bucks until they can get their next paycheck. But this leads to more and more favors of increasing degrees. Where do you draw the line? When is it that you are no longer helping a friend, but claiming them on your taxes as a dependent?

The recurring theme in people's status that brings me here is complaining about "friends". They always call them "friends", even when you can tell from the writing that the term is used as loose(ly) as a 2 dollar Thai hooker. People that are only showing up when they need things. People who talk shit behind your back, yet smile in your face. These, true believers, are not friends. These are not people that you need to keep in your life. These are not people that you need to waste your time or energy on. Whodini stated it best in 1984 when they said, "Friends is a word we use everyday, Most the time we use it in the wrong way, Now you can look the word up, again and again, But the dictionary doesn't know the meaning of friends."

I have friends. I have acquaintances. I have "people I know". The latter two categories receive my kindness, as long as it is returned in kind. My friends receive my friendship unconditionally. I could not see a friend for 10 years, and the day I did see them would seem like they had been around all along. I can pick up right where we left off. My friends are treated as if they were family. And as with family, friends will fight. True friends will work past the fight and continue to be friends. If you have true friends in your life, you have riches beyond money. If you put up with fair weather "friends", you are broke beyond belief.

I want you all to take a look at your "friends". Look long and hard at each and every one and ask yourself.... is this person truly my friend? Do not accept any reasoning...they are, or they are not. Life is too short to deal with psychic vampires. Note your true friends, and share the good times and bad with them. Do not let fair weather friends bring you down when you have real friends that would never do anything to intentionally make you sad. To my true friends (you know who you are), I thank you for being my friends. You know that I would do anything for you, and I know you would do the same for me. And for Whodini...I don't need the dictionary to tell me anything...I KNOW the true meaning of the word "friend". For all of you with friend issues in your status updates...hang in there, even when the fair weather friends are bringing you down...know that your true friends are there to lift you up. Until next time all....Stay Salty.

-Salty Dog



Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People

Welcome back, dark passengers. Many of you know of my love of crappy movies. I have a large selection of Troma films, from Toxic Avenger, to Redneck Zombies, to Chopper Chicks in Zombietown. You see the pattern here..movies that you would all run away from, just by reading the name. I was first in line to rent Snakes on a Plane when it hit Lackluster Video because I knew that it was Snakes on a Plane. It wasn't "Oh look, it is a new Sam Jackson film, this should be great!" No, it was exactly what it said it was...Snakes on a Mother F'n Plane.

Nothing drives me to these films more than a good title. Zombie, From Beyond, Mutant, Giant, Alien, these are all words that will immediately catch my attention. I know that these movies will not be the cinematic tour de force that Titanic, Avatar, or any other one word James Cameron movie were...but they always turn out to be fun movies good for a laugh or two. I understand that these movies will be horribly made, badly acted, and a budget less than my kids school lunch bill for the year....but I keep coming back for more! Let me bring you up to speed on the masterpiece that was my latest foray into the world of Less Than B Movies.

Patton Oswalt is one of my favorite comedians. For those of you who don't know the name, he was the voice of Remy in Ratatouille, he was Spence on King of Queens...got the visual now? Patton Oswalt has a bit about how he has written 4 screenplays and sold them to major studios. But there was one that he DIDN'T write, that he wanted to discuss with the audience....Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. So, since it was SUCH a funny bit, I decided that I would procure this film, and watch it in its entirety.

My friend Bill (many of you know him as well....Bill Winters) came down to Virginia to attend the greatest concert of the last 20 years (Fresh Fest) with me. Bill has heard the same bit from Mr. Oswalt, and was equally as intrigued. Upon his arrival in Virginia, the mailman had delivered Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. We looked at the disk...looked harmless enough, but we had to wait for the right moment, the proper state of mind, for the planets to allign properly....for us to watch this masterpiece! Fresh Fest ended, we were wired for sound, we drank a couple of 40s of Old English 800, and were mentally prepared (or so we thought) for Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. My friends....let me tell you...NOTHING can mentally prepare you for this film. But.....it was all that I had hoped it would be!

The narrator for the film is trapped inside the wall of the room, behind a painting of the bed. He states that he has been there since he died. Okay, I am already confused, but going along for the ride. There is nothing in the room of this abandoned house except...you guessed it...Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. The bed is sleeping when we first see it. How do we know it is sleeping? It is snoring!! There are a series of deaths, I will not go into any detail, for I do not wish to ruin the film for all of you. Each death is labelled. BREAKFAST, LUNCH, DINNER, and...wait for it..JUST DESSERT. The fantastic part about this film is that the bed is the best actor out of them all! I believe his character. I feel his pain. I want to help him and destroy him at the same time! Never has such an awful film driven me to such feeling!

I recommend you all go to Netflix (or your local video provider) and rent Death Bed: The Bed That Eats People. If for no other reason than to read the description on the box. Someone worked long and hard to make this film, and for it not to be viewed by everyone in America is a tragic waste. So until next time true believers....Stay Salty.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Lost Generation

Welcome back, my dark passengers. I have taken some time off due to my busy schedule of doctor appointments and concerts that I was attending. It is the latter that brings my fingers to keys tonight. I posted a question on Facebook the other day about what fad you fell into, that you would rather forget ever happened. Some of the answers scared me, some intrigued me, and some I could associate with.

Overalls with one strap on and one strap off...yeah, I did it. Cross Colors outfits..I saw them everywhere. Acid wash jeans, for the young ones...just google this stuff. There are so many more fads/trends from my youth and teen years that I could go into here. Born in 1971, I AM a child of the 80s. We even had a cool name for our age group...we are Generation X! VH1 did not one, but TWO week long series about the decade that I came of age. We are (not unlike the generations before us) a memorable generation, to say the least.

What the hell am I on about? Where am I going with this? Who really cares what I have to say about anything anyway? I am sure that at least one of these questions has crossed your mind while reading this...or any of my other blog entries. So as I eluded to earlier...I am a big concert goer. Some of these concerts are full blown, all day festivals. Wednesday brought me to the Rockstar Energy Drink Mayhem Festival. This was an awesome show....but it was also the reason for my blog.

As I strolled around the Virginia Beach Amphitheater, I ran into a 13 or 14 year old girl wearing a Poison tshirt. No, young ones, the shirt itself was not poison...it was a concert shirt from the 80s band Poison. This shirt was brand new...let me say that again...band from the 80s...shirt brand new. Where would a person find a shirt like this in new, unused condition? Does this child even know who the band is? Does the child KNOW that it is a band even???? I cruise around further and see matching..yes I said matching...Ernesto Che Guevara shirts. Again, on 13-14 year olds! Do they know that his first name isn't "Che"? Do they know that "Che" isn't even a name? No...damned Hot Topic sales people! So I continue on.....


What to my wondering eyes should appear? The massive group of Korn fans...my favorite group of creepy little self loathers....the emo kids. I am so disgusted by this group of kids that I own a shirt that says "I wish my lawn was emo so it would cut itself!" The emo kids are running around (or moping around) in their skinny jeans (see the Fast Food blog), stupid piercings, androgynous look, fake tattoos, black cloud hanging over their head, and almost as much hatred for themselves as I have for them all. This whole "emo thing" is their fad...their generations defining moment...something they will look back on and say "what the phuq was I thinking?!".

Where did these kids come from? How do their parents let them out of the house looking/acting like this? I have a 10 year old and 6 year old son. If they EVER dressed/acted like this, I would club them like baby seals. So, Generation Emo...how will you be remembered? You won't. You are a lost generation. You either dress in "retro" clothes from good ole Generation X (having no idea what you are actually wearing), or your guys are wearing girl's pants and trying to say that they are still heterosexual. My recommendation to you is simple....wake up!! I am fortunate to have sons...but I know people that have daughters. They are going to check you out on Facebook when you come calling for their daughters. They are going to think that their daughters are dating other girls...and UGLY ones at that! Stop making me want to beat you over the head with your own Gene Simmons platform boots. Shut up....be happy! There is absolutely nothing in your life that is THAT BAD! So go home, wash the makeup off of your face son, wash your damned hair and get it cut, get some pants that fit you (and don't look like you just painted them on), pick a color that isn't black and maybe....just maybe...you will find out what it is like to kiss a real girl someday!

Okay kiddies...the ride has come to a halt. I need something to drink after that one. If you see these kids in your area, please feel free to slap them in the back of their greasy heads and tell them it is from me. Tell them to wake up and make the choice...live for something, or die for nothing. Until next time, true believers... Stay Salty.

-Salty Dog