The Webmasta's Blog

The Psychological Distance of Facebook

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 08:28:51 -0800

I can't tell you how many of my comments have been deleted. Simple, innocuous, goofy comments that were deleted after I responded to a 'friend' post on Facebook. And every time it happens, it reminds me of every awkward social situation I've ever been in where I've inadvertently said the wrong thing. The douche chills are bad enough for me to want to delete my Facebook account, throw my computer into a fire, and punch myself in the penis.

This is what I do. I overreact.

It's hard enough trying to understand someone's intent by looking at their face, it's even harder when you add the psychological distance created by a Facebook post. It's like talking to someone with their back turned to you. All you get is the raw, unfiltered message without the emotional cues provided by reading a person's face. Then add the fact that people are far too open on Facebook and you get a recipe for disaster.

Facebook is full of people I have no psychological connection to, posting (what I do not perceive at the time are) very personal updates that I, as a reader, don't understand the context of. I make a humorous anecdote, free of offense. The person deletes the comment and my computer gets ever closer to the fire. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

As of late, any time a comment of mine gets deleted, I remove that person from my Friends list. It sounds extreme, but I don't want to take the chance of having a similar situation in the future, at least with that individual. Plus, my doctor told me I had to stop punching my penis.

It's these types of experiences that make me appreciate Twitter. If Facebook is like talking to a room full of people with their back to you, Twitter is standing on a street corner with a megaphone. It's all about the one-way communication.

This may explain why I like to do stand-up comedy. I have the mic. I'm talking. The audience just listens.

Come join the one-way communication.

If you're bolder, try my fan page.

Operation: Plan and the Genius of C.H.O.M.P.S.

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 14:28:11 -0800

From 1979-1983, I probably saw C.H.O.M.P.S. twenty times. I remember it vividly from the early days of cable. Since WGN and TBS had very little programming, they would fill the airwaves with these low-budget, family friendly movies they could get on the cheap. It's here I saw movies like C.H.O.M.P.S., Super Fuzz, and The Big Bus.

However, before today, if you had asked me what the plot of the movie was, I couldn't have told you. Nor could I have told you who was in it. Before today, C.H.O.M.P.S. was just a movie about a bionic dog played by Benji that could catch criminals and generally rip shit up. I also remember lots of close ups of C.H.O.M.P.S.'s face whenever his robotic brain was working. His eyes would glow and flicker with life. Then, the coup de grace. You could twist his head off and get at the electronics! It was bliss.

I recently had the great fortune to catch C.H.O.M.P.S. again for the first time in thirty years and to my great surprise it was filled with some of the greatest thespians the late 1970s had to offer:

Valerie Bertinelli plays Casey Norton, the spunky daughter of Ralph Norton, the owner of Norton Security. Valerie is at the peak of her hotness, a good 2 years from being ruined by Eddie Van Halen.
Conrad Bain plays Ralph Norton. When the producers found out that the Mr. Drummond took the part, I see them greedily rubbing their palms together, imaging the mountains of money this dynamo was going to earn them.
Wesley Eure (I think that's how you say it) plays the employee of Norton Security, Bertinelli's love interest, and the inventor of C.H.O.M.P.S., Brian Foster. His real name may seem unfamiliar, but if you see him you'd realize he's Will Marshall from Land of the Lost. Does this mean the Sleestacks are robots? Or maybe just that one smart one who could actually talk. I bet he was a robot. Did you know that episode was called 'The Stranger?' It was written by Walter Koenig, the dude who played Chekov on Star Trek. Isn't that crazy?
Jim Backus is Mr. Gibbs, the antagonist. He owns a rival technology firm that covets Foster's fanastic invention, but his many offers go rebuffed by Norton Security. Jim Backus is best known as Thurston Howell III from Gilligan's Island, but I prefer him from his earlier work in Operation: Bikini.
And a handful of other people who knocked around this and other crappy American International Pictures, making enough money to support their burgeoning coke habit.

At first glance, you may think C.H.O.M.P.S. is a piece of lazy filmmaking:

Slow motion and fast forward used liberally to simulate faster-than-normal speeds
Use of the Six Million Dollar Man NA-NA-NA-NA-NA sound effect.
Lots of closeups of the robotic dog to hide the fact that special effects guys only built the head.
Wooden acting.
Wacky soundtrack with lots of tuba and trombone.
And a rival dog that follows them around and comments on the action. Yes. You heard that right.

However, I offer this as a counter. I propose that the writer and director knew what they were doing. They knew they were making a turd and were unapologetic about it. They embraced the idea of a robotic dog and endeavored to make it the most preposterous movie they could. How do I know this? Right at the end of the film, the writer drops a hint. It's when the crooks are overheard over the CB recounting their diabolical scheme to steal C.H.O.M.P.S..

The scheme's code name is "Operation: Plan."

Genius.

Stephen Hawking:Master Impressionist

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 22:38:03 -0700

What happens when, as a comedian, you get up on stage and sit perfectly still for 5 minutes and never say a word? You get Stephen Hawking: Master Impressionist.

Digg it.

Anvil: Life Imitating Art... I mean Spinal Tap

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 20:44:48 -0800

Anvil first burst onto the scene back in the early 80s with bands like Bon Jovi and Whitesnake only to be left behind on the path to rock stardom. I have to confess, being a fan of metal, I had never heard of Anvil until this movie came out. It might be that I live in the South. It might be that they are Canadian. It might be a little of both.

Besides just being the story of a real-life Spinal Tap, at it's heart there's a story of a pair of childhood friends who made a promise to each other: to be rock gods. Now at 50, we find the lead singer, Lips, and drummer Robb Reiner*, still pursuing that dream. And after a disastrous tour of Europe, they return home to record their 13th album,"~~Smell the Glove~~" "This is Thirteen." When Lips popped the carton and pulled out the CD, I would not have been surprised to see it "none more black."

While Spinal Tap stands as something of a monument to mockery, it's difficult to mock Anvil, especially as a person who knows what it means to pursue a dream that crushes your soul. I felt a horrible sadness for Lips as he talked about his depressing workaday life, only to see him become that rock god, if only for a few minutes a week. And that was when the tears came. Yes, I cried while I was watching Anvil. I found their infinite patience and positive outlook touching... in a goofy kind of way.

No, Anvil: The Story of Anvil is not a monument to mockery. It is a monument to the philosophical ideology: it's not the destination, it's the journey.

Or maybe it was "fake it till you make it." I may need to watch it again.

*Spinal Tap was directed by Rob Reiner.

Black Dynamite - A Nitpicker's Review

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 22:38:01 -0800

I am so bummed. So horribly horribly bummed. I wanted to love Black Dynamite. I really did. I wanted it to be a movie I would be excited recommending to friends unfamiliar with Blaxploitation. Sadly though, I cannot. But, that was the bad news. The good news is that any fan of the genre will like this movie, just don't expect to be able to share it with "outsiders."

The idea is as golden as Cleopatra Jones: make a movie that pays homage to the greatest Blaxploitation films of all time. It would be written, produced, directed and acted as though it was a legitimate 1970s film.

The plot is basically lifted from a number of Rudy Ray Moore films, including Dolemite, The Human Tornado, and The Disco Godfather. Like other famous pimps who preceded him, Black Dynamite is called upon by the authorities to bring down a criminal drug syndicate after his own brother, Jimmy, ODs on smack. And through some classic Blaxploitation reasoning, Black Dynamite also uncovers the terrible secret behind Anaconda Malt Liquor. Ultimately, he must use his CIA training and kung-fu mastery to kill his way up to the top until he faces "The Man" for his final vindication.

Along the way, Black Dynamite runs into other Blaxpoitation stalwarts like Honey Bee, his bottom bitch, a streetwise penny pimp named Cream Corn, and Bullhorn, a rhyme-spitting overweight pimp who is an obvious nod to Rudy Ray Moore himself. I even counted 2 boom mic shots. After all, back then it was all about the single take.

But Blaxploitation is far too broad a genre to attempt to pay tribute to in one film. I'm Gonna Git You Sucka did a great job because it stuck to the militaristic side. But, a slick talking pimp doesn't fit in a movie like Slaughter and Fred Williamson could never have played Youngblood Priest in Superfly. So when Black Dynamite begins the film as a kung-fu pimp and ends it as Rambo, it just seemed too incongruous... even for a Blaxploitation film! But that's me being nitpicky. I suppose you can attribute some of my initial dislike to personal preference. I am partial to pimps.

I hate cyclists, part II

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 08:49:49 -0700

Recently, I had a bit of a row with one of our neighbors. He was displeased with the amount of room that I allowed him and his cycling friends when passing them on the road. Since they were taking up most of the road, it was either that or tumble off the edge of a precipice. I jest, but that's the general truth. He rebutted with 'If I get hit, it's always the driver's fault.' Au contraire. He seemed shocked to learn that he is required by law to operate his bike in a safe, predictable manner.

So, I gave him this extreme example: If he was drunk and riding his bike and ran it up under the front wheel of a vehicle, not only would he get a DUI, but his insurance would be required to fix his mangled legs and the other vehicle's repair costs. His response was "Homina homina homina."

I told him that we should make a deal. If he and all of his friends would obey the law, I would give them as much of the road as they wanted. Apparently, they have not kept up their end of the bargain. For you see, I heard from a local cyclist (who agrees with everything I say, by the way), and he told me that his cronies have gotten numerous traffic tickets for running stop signs in my neighborhood! Huzzah to the local authorities!

In an area where there are clearly no minimum fitness requirements for our local law enforcement, it's nice to see them getting their rightful revenge on all you toned, riding Adonises. It's clear they are just jealous.

P.S.
My original 'I hate cyclists' has become a bit of a sore spot on the internet. It has jumped to the number one Google search entry for 'I hate cyclists'. Who knew that they spent so much time surfing the internet for people who hate them.

The Deodorant Recipe

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Wed, 13 May 2009 09:43:01 -0700

For those of you not familiar with Asheville, NC, it's like a little taste of Haight-Ashbury on the East Coast. It wasn't always like this. I guess it was just a logical progression from poor mountain folk to dirty hippies.

It's not often I get the opportunity to do gay rape jokes in front of a crowd lesbians, so I jumped at the chance. Every good comedian knows that misogyny and liberalism are a match made in heaven. I did my five minutes and after I was chased off the stage, I decided to belly-up to the bar and have a barbecue sandwich. While I was eating, a couple of hippy girls sat next to me and one said to the other, "I need to get your deodorant recipe."

Do I taste Everclear?

I thought, "This ought to be interesting because I have no idea where you would locate methlypolystearate at such a late hour."

As it turns out, the actual deodorant recipe consisted of Everclear (yes, the cheap-ass vodka), orange oil, and lemon oil. She went on to explain that her "recipe does nothing to prevent sweating, but it does kill the bacteria that causes the body odor."

Ewwww. But the real kicker is what she said next:

"Just remember, when you make it, be sure to add some denatured alcohol so it will taste bad. This will keep people from drinking it."

Ewwww! Really? If her deodorant recipe is so irresistibly tasty, I can't wait to try her homemade douche on a Caesar salad.

Nintendo... keepin' it real

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 09:11:00 -0700

What kind of a name is Wii? You play video games on an Xbox or a Playstation. Wii is something babies do in their poopy diapers. It’s also the sound a retard makes on the Merry-Go-Round.

Back when I was in the market for a new system, I took a long look at the Wii. Then I realized that any normal adult would die of sheer embarrassment from being caught waggling their Wiimote. I’ve always had a thing about playing games that made you look like you were giving $5 handies behind the 7-Eleven. Over time, the game play falls somewhere between Space Invaders and a Speak and Spell.

Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

But no system is complete without a good backlog to gaming titles. If you’re buying the Wii, don’t expect to play games like Call of Duty: World at War and Grand Theft Auto 4. Instead, you get Virtual Aquarium and Cooking Mama 2: Dinner with Friends. Hand to God. A real game.

When I play a video game, I don’t want to do virtual chores, I want to zip around the city in an expensive car and shoot an old woman in the face, then teabag her corpse.

It’s not that I hate Nintendo, I just haven’t been brainwashed to believe that every turd they shit into the consumer’s mouth is the greatest thing since anal bleaching.

Even back in 1986, I never thought their consoles were particularly inspiring. Sega, on the other hand, always had the raddest names for their consoles, as if buying one would make you as cool as the unit itself.

First, Sega came out with the Master System to compete with the Nintendo Entertainment System. Then they were followed by the Sega Genesis and the Super Nintendo Entertainment System.

Putting the word “Super” in front of something does not automatically qualify it as awesome in every possible way. If I decide to go around saying I have a “Super” penis will not change the fact that it’s 2 inches long and always points to the left.

Octo-mom, Nadya Suleman

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 11:12:04 -0700

I remember a day when a TV show about a family with 6 kids was considered fiction, and you thought, "Holy shit that’s a huge family!" And because it was unfeasible to think that that one woman could birth so many children, it took the merging of two separate families to make it happen.

Nowadays you have that kooky Nadya Suleman and her playground slide vagina, giving birth to the entire Brady Bunch at the same time. Her belly was so packed with fetuses that when she went for her final sonogram it looked like an MC Escher drawing.

But, I’m not being completely fair to ole Nadya. She actually had a c-section. If you can get past the Dr. Frankenstein scar and skin that looks like wet lasagna, I’m sure her vagina is absolutely delightful. You can look at the lips on her face and get a rough approximation of what you’re in for.

But can you imagine the horror show that was her c-section? I bet it looked a little like that scene from The Empire Strikes Back where Han Solo sliced open the belly of the tauntaun so Luke wouldn’t freeze to death. Except this time the entire Clone Army fell out.

Yeah. But why comedy?

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 14:54:07 -0800

As I get older, I realize I'm just one blip in the endless cycle that is earthly existence. I've always lived with a deep sense of dread, knowing that when my time is done, I will be forgotten like so many anonymous people. So everywhere that I've spent my time, I tried my best to make a mark. To leave something behind that people will remember.

I have had minor success, especially during my high school years. Only now, almost 20 years later, do I realize that I wasn't quite as invisible as I thought. It's amazing how many people remember me. But that was piddly high school crap. I wanted more.

I remember sitting in Government and Economics class attempting to write observational comedy like, "Why do birds get run over by cars? They have the whole sky, but when they need to cross the road they insist on flying 3 feet off the ground." It's no Seinfeld, but it's pretty snappy for a 16 year old.

That's pretty much where it ended. As with everything in adolescence, it was forgotten as flight of fancy. Not until this past year did the urge come back, and with a vengeance. My wife picked up Steve Martin's "Born Standin Up" for me and it sat on the bookshelf for months. When I finally cracked the cover I was consumed by it. How could a man who made me laugh so much growing up have been so unhappy doing it? Inconceivable!

So, right then and there, I made a decision. By the end of 2008 I would be on stage. Somewhere. Somehow.

I set to writing two to three jokes in a notebook everyday (a habit I have yet to stop). I crafted a full 15 minutes then threw it away. They were okay, but they weren't traditional stand-up material. It was more stories and funny observations, which is comedy suicide for a first timer. People will only listen to stories if they have some sort of vested interest in the parties involved. So, I rewrote the whole thing using the "attitude -> setup -> act-out -> punchline" method. After all, you need to understand the rules before you can break them.

After writing and rewriting for the next month, I was ready to go on stage. And I've been there ever since.

What keeps bringing me back is the laughter. It sounds corny, but when you can make a group of people laugh in unison at the same joke, you've done something special. The laughter is what makes a comedian's job easy. You get swept up and the jokes flow effortlessly. The high is indescribable.

It's when that laughter is gone that it becomes one of the most difficult jobs in the world (I know from experience). It's enough to make you put the notebook down and say "Fuck it all."

But not until I've made my mark.

Christmas and college football

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 15:10:01 -0800

Christmas is the National Championship of religious holidays.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. The anticipation begins for the big day that you've spent months preparing for. Everyone is talking about it and you can't turn on the television or radio without hearing about it. Everyone knows who is involved and is familiar with it even if they don't participate because you don't have to be affiliated with the teams to enjoy the action.

Hanukkah is the Gator Bowl. Some people know what it is and might even know what's at stake, but you don't necessarily tune in unless you're associated with the teams in some way.

Kwanzaa is the MPC Computers Bowl. No one but a select few know who's in it, where it's held, or even where it came from.

VOTE THEM ALL OUT

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 16:47:28 -0700

Regardless of your party lines, in November, vote out every single incumbent politician. What we have now is clearly not working so it's time for a wholesale change.

Today the DOW dropped 700 points and I cannot find a drop of gas anywhere within 250 miles of my home. I'm done with them all. They all have got to go. You hear me, you fuckups? Start packing your shit.

Write in Rudy Ray Moore for President!

My Name is Xenu

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 13:57:36 -0700

I have completely given up on My Name is Earl because of the huge Scientology connection. (Well, that's not entirely true, last season sucked ass.) They hide it cleverly with the whole 'karma' angle, but it is actually Scientology's "overt-motivator sequence." According to the "doctrine," when you do something bad then subconsciously it causes something bad to happen to you. They say it right on their own site:

"When one has received something bad, he also may tend to feel he must have done something to deserve it."

So, every time Earl crosses something off of his list, he's one step closer to being "clear." Think I'm kidding? Don't fool yourself. Here's a list of the Scientologists working on My Name is Earl:

Greg Garcia
Jason Lee
Ethan Suplee
Bill Suplee
Giovanni Rubisi
Juliette Lewis
Jenna Elfman

And those are just the ones I can confirm.

At least Christian themed TV shows are upfront about it. It's even obvious by their names: Seventh Heaven, Highway to Heaven, Touched by an Angel, Amen, etc.

I love fucking Dell

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 10:06:38 -0700

Here's the understatement of the year: Dell sucks.

Case in point: I tried to buy a camera from Dell. It was a great deal just under $100 for a $300 camera. Certainly not out of the realm of possibility. Woot.com sells them like that all the time (I ended up buying the same camera from Woot for about $150). Yet, Dell decided that too many people were getting this great deal and pulled the plug, refusing to honor the purchase. They certainly didn't mind charging me for the memory card that I bought with it. Bravo, douchebags. It all finally got resolved but not until I raised a stink with the FTC and the BBB. The squeaky wheel always gets the grease.

Unfortunately, my aborted order has etched me permanently into their mailing list. I have tried countless times to unsubscribe and the Dell site says that I am successful after each attempt, yet the spam keeps rolling in. And don't give me that "it takes 30 days to process" bullshit. I've been trying to get removed for 6 months. Contacting customer support is fruitless. Apparently issues regarding the Dell mailing list are not in any of their pre-canned scripts. So, I just tagged every article from Dell as spam and it is quietly filtered into oblivion.

Enter a good friend of mine who is helpless as a newborn kitten when it comes to computers. He asks for me to help him select a laptop. What's the first thing I tell him? DO NOT BUY A DELL. And guess what? He didn't.

So there you have it, Dell. That's the first of many well placed thrusts towards your wanton backside.

Myself as a teen, in cartoon form

nospam@example.com (The Webmasta) — Wed, 07 May 2008 13:00:58 -0700

Always one to follow internet fads, the latest one to catch my attention is people drawing themselves as a teen. There's some mighty fine examples here.

Here's mine:

'Nuff said.