IS STEVEN SODERBERGH OVERRATED?

So I finally watched "The Limey" last night. Everyone I've talked to told me that it's great. And of course, it's by critically-lauded indie director Steven Soderbergh, whose movies I will watch. Anyway, I really liked the movie. Cool puzzle-box structure, and use of old clips from Terrence Stamp flicks. Apparently, the man was always intense-looking.

"The Limey" also helped brought up a question, one which I've been loathe to ask until I'd seen more of Soderbergh's flicks: Is Steven Soderbergh overrated? His first three flicks and "The Limey" tell me no. I enjoyed "sex, lies, and videotape," "Kafka," and "King of the Hill." In fact, the lack of commercial success for the latter two indicates he might actually be UNDERRATED. But there's also "Schizopolis" and "Ocean's Eleven," movies that had some strengths. However, I wouldn't describe either of them as masterpieces. I think of these movies and say to myself, "That Soderbergh fella might be OVERRATED."

To date, the only Soderbergh flicks I haven't seen are "The Underneath" and "Julia Robertvich." I'm not sure whether to consider "Full Frontal" one of SS' movies, or just something he took a week off to film. But "Solaris" comes out in a few weeks, and I am anticipating that as much as "Gangs of New York."

But seriously, what do film buffs out there think of Steven Soderbergh?

CLASS-LESS ACTION?

That's it, I'm filing a lawsuit. Constant exposure to television during the brunt of my lifetime has left me hopelessly superficial. Television has told me what kind of women are "beautiful," and therefore, worthy of attention: flawless skin, a body skinny enough that it could be used as a spare axle on my car, and a completely shallow personality. Damn you, mass media! I am only average-looking, and unlikely to crack the upper-middle-class income bracket, monetary-wise! Clearly, I shall never find anyone who can live up to the hopelessly high standards which the mass media has imprinted on me. It's all their fault! How was I to know that watching all that television could harm me psychologically?

Between the TV networks, the fashion industry, and Hollywood, and all the damage done to me, I think $8-10 billion is a fair settlement. Hey, if inner city kids could sue McDonalds for making them fat, why can't I sue television for making me a jerk? At least those kids could all be thin twenty years from now...

MADE IT TO WORK!

Had to drape a plastic bag in front of my face in case I vomited. It probably made me look like a f*ckin' racehorse, or worse, one of Michael Jackson's kids, but hey, I made it.

Today is my last "official" day at the social register. I can still come in next Monday or Tuesday, but my boss will be gone and there won't be much to do. I'm weighing the opportunity to make a little cash and cause a little chaos, versus staying at home and sleeping.

At any rate, I give it 48 hours until I'm depressed from being unemployed again.

A CALL TO HARM:

As many of you probably know, I have been suffering from a strange and terrible malady for the past two weeks or so. At first, my nausea, dizziness, and stomach cramps while on any kind of moving platform only occured periodically. Recently, however, I have been experiencing them nearly every day. I can only conclude that my condition is getting worse.

There may come a time in the near future where the pain will become unbearable. When it does, I may not have the strength to end things on my own. While I don't know a lot of you very well, I doubt that a lack of familiarity would discourage many of you from killing me if requested. I only ask that you make it as quick and painless an end as possible. Allow me to pass from this world with some dignity. ...Okay, after I die, you can do weird stuff to me. But only AFTER. Deal?

Mmm... More TV Nostalgia...

Top 5 Shows That Ran for a Long Time, or are Still Running, When They Should Have Been Cancelled Many Moons Ago...

(Disclaimer: Since I didn't/don't find many of these shows interesting, there is every chance that I don't know anything about them. What, you expect this page to be informed?)

(5) Ally McAlly. All I know is that Futurama did a parody of it called "Single Female Lawyer." I will miss Futurama.

(4) NYPD Blue. This year--a shocking new storyline! Dennis Franz becomes an alcoholic again! I've never watched this show, but from the commercials I've seen, Dennis Franz seems to jump back on the wagon every other year. Could his life be that bad? Anyone remember the movie "Arthur," starring Dudley Moore? He managed to stay off the hooch, and that was AFTER he sobered up and discovered he was married to Liza Minnelli! If Arthur could do it, Dennis, you must be some kinda wuss...

(3) The X-Files. For four years, this was the most riveting and consistently suspenseful show on television. Unfortunately, it ran for nine years.

(2) Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. Watched the entire first year. 28 episodes = 28 rapes/ sexually related crimes. What have I been conditioned to think since then? Penis bad!

(1) Any ideas, people?

HAS JOHN ALLEN MUHAMMED BEEN GETTING A BAD RAP?

The other day I’m reading the Post, and Beltway sniper John Allen Muhammed’s ex-wife Mildred claims that the 12 or so shootings were meant as a decoy. See, John Allen was really planning to kill HER. Why? Because Mildred has custody of the couple’s children. John Allen was eventually going to snipe his ex, make police think she was just another of the sniper’s random targets, then claim custody of the poor little orphans.

But before we label John Allen Muhammed, and his teenage sidekick John Lee Malvo, a pair of sick psychos and cowards, let’s remember something about John Allen Muhammed: He did all this so he could be with his kids. One might even say he loved his children so much, that he was willing to engage in this murderous rampage, and risk astronomical jail time and/or the electric chair, just to be with them.

John Allen Muhammed, I’m fairly certain from his photograph, is a black man. In this sad modern age, when too many of our African American men are abandoning their children like radioactive waste, isn’t John Allen Muhammed as much a symbol of inspiration as of sociopathic behavior? I think so. Hey, I call it as I see it, and here I see a man who seriously wanted to take responsibility for the acts his dick perpetrated. And that’s more than Michael Jordan and Bill Cosby have been willing to do lately (Feel free to applaud.) Why make them media darlings, television stars, while ignoring John Allen Muhammed?

To demonstrate J A Muhammed’s potential as a television personality, I’ve written up this quick pilot for a television show starring him.


“The Beltway-mooners.” Starring John Allen Muhammed.

(LAUGH = indicates when audience “Laugh” sign is activated.)


(INT. Cramped lower-class apartment in Washington.)

(Front door opens. Enter JOHN ALLEN MUHAMMED.)

John Al: I’m home, Mildred! What’s for dinner?

Mildred (Enters from off.): The usual. Honey, graham crackers, and vitamin supplements.

John Al (Excited): I gotta show you somethin, Mildred! It’s gonna make us a lotta money! (Takes a stack of cards out of his coat pocket.)

Mild: TAROT cards?

John Al: I’m gonna tell people their fortunes!

Mild: Sure you are. (Takes top card off deck, mocks a reading.) “You will soon be relieved of your money by an idiot.” (LAUGH)

John Al: Wrong, Mildred! The first thing I’m gonna do is write on ‘em that I’m God!

Mild: God? John Allen, you couldn’t find religion if you used a telescopic rifle sight. (LAUGH.)

John Al: Heh heh heheheh. (Has taken all he will.) One of these days, Mildred. One of these days—POW! Right to the Holy Land! (LAUGH.)

(Knock at door. Mildred goes to answer.)

(Mildred opens door. It’s MALVO, John Allen’s friend/ sidekick.)

Mild: Hey, John Allen. I don’t know if you ordered any blanks, but here’s one at the door. (LAUGH.)

(Malvo enters.)

(Mildred exits.)

Malvo: Hey Joh-nee!

John Al: Hey Malvo, you notice Mildred actin’ differently lately?

Malvo: Well now that you mention it, I overheard her talkin to Ethel the other day, and she kept sayin how you were gonna forget your anniversary today.

John Al: She said THAT?! She thought I would forget our anniversary? She actually thought I would forget a thing like that?!

Malvo: You forgot, didn’t you?

John Al: …Yeah. (LAUGH.) (Snaps his fingers.) Waitasecond! I got a plan, Malvo, but I’ll need your help!

(They exit.)

(EXT. Man pumps gas at an outdoor station. BLAM! He falls.)

(EXT. Different man. He gets out of his car to walk into a restaurant. BLAM! He falls.)

(EXT. Woman at an outdoor strip mall, HOME DEPOT in bg. She’s helping her husband load stuff into the van. BLAM! She falls.)

(INT. John Allen and Mildred’s apartment.)

(Mildred is doing housework while a radio blares in bg.)

Radio: Police have now identified the TWELFTH victim of the “Beltway Sniper…”

(John Allen bursts through door, looking anxious…)

John Al: Mildred, I gotta talk to you!

Mildred: Stay away from me, John Allen!

John Al: But I gotta explain somethin to you…

(Suddenly, door bursts open again. It’s the cops! They quickly surround John Allen and point guns at his head…)

Cop: Don’t move, John Allen Muhammed! You’re under arrest for fourteen shootings in the D.C. and Maryland area!

John Al: Wait! Let me show you all why I did it!

(John Allen Muhammed takes a large, rolled-up paper from his coat, lays it flat against wall. It’s a map. It shows all the shooting locations—they are all marked with red dots. John Allen Muhammed takes a pen, connects the dots. They form the letters M-I-L-D-R-E-D on the map.)

John Al: Happy Anniversary, Mildred!

Mild: Oh, John Allen Muhammed! You do love me after all!

(The cops cuff John Allen Muhammed. They are about to lead him away when his wife presses up close to him…)

Mild: I’ll wait for you, John Allen Muhammed.

John Al: Thanks, Mildred. But I might be going away for a long, long time.

Mild: I don’t care. Anyway, it’s the least I can do since I called the cops on you.

John Al: Baby, you’re the greatest.

(Applause. Fade-out.)

(Don’t you love a happy ending?)

Mmm... TV Nostalgia...

5 Shows that shouldn't have been cancelled:

(5) Northern Exposure. It was like Twin Peaks' kinder, gentler younger brother.

(4) News Radio. I guess they had to can it after Phil Hartman died. That was a real shame. Now we'll never know how many bad movies he had left in him.

(3) Homicide: Life on the Street. Only "Nirvana Unplugged" could fit more angst into an hour.

(2) 120 Minutes. The only good thing on MTV ever. World's greatest time slot: Midnight to 2 am on Sundays. But if not for 120 Minutes, I would never have heard Belly, Dinosaur Jr, Jawbox, Buffalo Tom, Helmet, Sonic Youth, The Psychedelic Furs, Paul Westerberg, Magnapop, or the Lemonheads. It should still be on, but last time I checked, MTV needed the time slot for something a little more music-oriented, like "Road Rules." MTV sucks...

(1) ???? Ideas, anyone?

Undies? More like FUN-dies!

I didn't feel like travelling very far this weekend. Luckily, I live just a few blocks from Kings Plaza, and Sears was having one of those holiday-Let's get rid of our junk-sales. Bought some new socks and undies--or "Men's Foundation," as they're called.

I've got two uncles who also live in the city. They each visit about once a week, so they wash their clothes in the downstairs washer. Hey, why not? I'm mean, they're visiting anyway, right? Unfortunately, everyone's clothes tend to get mixed up at times. I can't tell you the number of times one of my uncles has had to return a pair of either of my... "foundations."

So like a lot of people, I write my name on my undies. Permanent marker; a strong blue or black. But I realize that it can be embarrassing to find you've swiped a set of someone else's unmentionables. My solution: Not only do I write my name, but I try to inscribe an entertaining message on each of my tightey whiteys. I find it relieves the tension.

Past messages have included:

"You've stolen PHIL's undies! Please wash them before you return them."

"Si tu nombre no es PHIL, no se pone esta ropa."

"Boy, PHIL can really wear 'em out, can't he?"

And those are the tasteful ones.

I've already started marking up the new ones. My favorite so far is:

"I'd give anything to be panties!"

It's just my way of doing my part to make the world a happier, funnier place. ...Yeah, I'll go take another walk.

In case you haven't been paying attention to the news recently, Bubonic plague has been sighted in New York City for the first time in over a hundred years! And guess who was the first to get an interview with it? That's right--WHEN BLOGS ATTACK SOME MORE!

Interview with Bubonic Plague:

WBASM: Okay, last year Anthrax reappeared out of nowhere. Now it's you guys. Has New York become the hotspot for comeback diseases or what?

Bubonic Plague: (Laughs) Maybe. No, the thing is, we never really stopped working. We've just been on the road a lot.

WBASM: Where have you guys been touring?

Bub Pl: We did some shows in the Balkans. We did Surat, India just a few years back. Fans can log onto http://www.ento.vt.edu/IHS/plague.html#bubonic for information on our recent tour.

WBASM: Thanks, I'm sure they will. Man, I saw some pictures the other day of some masoleums from a few hundred years back. You guys could really pack the house!

Bub Pl: Right, the Dark Ages tour.

WBASM: It's been a while since you've done a large venue like that. From what I've read, it's been smaller outbreaks lately. Do you prefer the smaller venues?

Bub Pl: There's no reason we couldn't still do large shows. I mean, I'm sure the fans would show up. But, uh, it's just, like, so much more difficult now than it was during the Dark Ages tour to get the venues. More complicated. Now you've got sanitation standards, garbage collection, regular bathing, that kind of thing. We did a big show in Surat, but, you know, the access is so much easier in other countries sometimes.

WBASM: So tell me, guys. Why, after over a hundred years, did you decide to come back to New York City?

Bub Pl: Well, after all the terrible sh*t that went down on 9/11, we just wanted to get out and show our support.

WBASM: You did a small show yesterday. How did that go over?

Bub Pl: We left the audience practically sh*tting itself. (Laughs.)

WBASM: And the way Bubonic Plague works, you practically shit blood and hemorrhage from within, right?

Bub Pl: Yep.

WBASM: Sounds like an amazing experience. Okay guys, before I stop the interview, I just want to ask: What do you guys want to say to everyone out there who thinks Bubonic Plague is a has-been disease, that you aren't nearly as lethal as you once were?

Bub Pl: Uh, well, just let us do our thing.

WBASM: Thanks, fellas.

End interview.


Bubonic Plague will be checking this site regularly. Post any questions you have for them in the comments area.

I still felt sick today, so I didn't go into work. I decided not to risk another bout of stomach cramps on the Q-train. Instead, I perused one of the manuscripts from my second job, that of part-time reader for a major metropolitan literary agency.

I'm halfway through, and it's pretty good so far. It's about this guy whose father is recently diagnosed with Huntington's Disease--sort of a combination of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. The author realizes that he, too, may ultimately inherit the disease. He spends the novel coming to terms with both his life and his father. It's better than it sounds.

Here's to Samantha Morton, who played Hattie--one of the most memorable mutes in recent cinematic history--in Woody Allen's "Sweet and Lowdown." Let's all bask in her oh-so-Hattie Hattieness!

!Ay yi yi! Una Chiquita Muy Mal!


So I'm on the Q train this morning when suddenly, I felt intense stomach pains. I was on the verge of doubling over and lying on the floor like a bum (albeit a clean bum with a full array of teeth.) Somehow, I made it to work.

Where did the attacks come from? All I had this morning was a banana. It must have been an EVIL banana! There's one in every bunch!

So I rewatched Woody Allen's 1999 movie "Sweet and Lowdown" yesterday, and I realized something important: Mute girls are so cool! They're absolutely adorable. It isn't so much that they can't nag you, not out loud anyway. It's how much more expressive their faces and body language are, in order to compensate for the inability to speak. Even in "The Piano," I found mute Holly Hunter kinda sexy in an older woman-kinda way.

But while I find mute girls absolutely adorable, I realize others might prefer blind girls. Or deaf girls. Could someone actually think blind girls are cuter than mute girls? I have to find out! Let's play...


...BLIND! DEAF! Or MUTE!

It's pretty straightforward. Just answer the following question:

If your mate could have one of the following handicaps, which one would it be? Would she be...

(A) Blind
(B) Deaf
(C) Mute
(D) Other (Please describe.)

Girls can play too! Everyone's a winner!

The Days of Whinin' Vegans:


Okay, why does Phil X hate vegans so much? I've been giving that question a lot of thought this weekend, and I've come to the conclusion that vegans defy the normal pattern of human evolution. That makes them the equivalent of sewer monsters, or Shakers. Either way, making them extinct is the best option.

Ignore all the self-righteous crud they spew: Human beings are the most advanced species on the planet. We have evolved past the point of having to eat less-evolved species. Blah-blah-blah! Look at the pattern which the human species has followed. Would you say that, compared to a thousand years ago, humans do LESS work now or MORE work? Less, you say? Shows how much you know. Au contraire (literally, "on the contraire"), we do MORE work now, only with less effort. Example: I traverse God knows how many miles a day on the subway and on the bus. I spend so much time on the MTA, my children will likely be conceived and born on the Q-train. While I don't have to walk those miles on foot, a la my caveman ancestors, I still traverse those miles. I still cover a lot more distance than my Cro-magnon granddaddy. I get more miles under my belt, with less sweat.

So if we follow my argument, that the trend of human evolution actually points to MORE work done with LESS effort in the long run, then isn't human destiny not to eat less meat or no meat, but to devour MORE meat with LESS effort? I think so! And I believe that, if not for vegans, mankind would have acheived that destiny by now. Remember The Jetsons? They had, like, entire steaks compressed into tiny pills. We should have that by now! I want to be able to chew a single tablet, and simulate devouring an entire rack of lamb! Am I the only one who thinks that would be really cool? Huh?

You Can’t Keep a Good Blogger Down!

That’s right, kids! “When Blogs Attack!” has returned, with more venom than ever!


If Being Vegan is Wrong, I Don’t Wanna Be Cooked, Part II

I attended club on Thursday, like the good social butterfly that I am. At some point during that evening, “R” stumbled through the door, with terrible news from the vegan front.

“Ze vegans, ze vegans! Ze have zeezed ze cafeteria!” uttered “R” in his French accent. He immediately fell into a chair. “Hand me ze wine!” he said. “For I am French, and if I do not get soused every ten mee-nuts, I run ze risk of becoming so-ber!”

After downing a bottle of cheap Merlot and a handful of croissants, “R” recounted the story. “Ze vegans,” or the vegans, had indeed taken the cafeteria. Now no one would be served meat. Clearly, the vegans were planning to starve out all the omnivores.

“Zees is outrageous!” shouted Le Croix, shaking his fist in the air. “Ze vegan scum vill vipe our faces in ze stink of rotten meat!”

“Clearly it is their plan,” I said. I was one of the few American within our cadre of rebels. I had come to the city to study cartooning at the university, but the professors heaped far too much praise on Pepe Le Pew, and I became disillusioned. Eventually, I, like many students, fell in with the anti-vegan resistance. If you look up at the ceiling, you can still see the hole through which I fell.

“But what can we do about it?” I asked.

Pierre, our leader, stood up, his red face revealing either rage, drunkenness, or a combination of the two. But he could hold the attention of a crowd with the best of them, especially when he started waving his pistol blindly.

“Ze vegans vant to destroy all ze meat, eh?” said Pierre. “Zen let us help zem destroy eet. And vat is ze best way to destroy meat? Ze fire!”

We knew what Pierre was driving at, and within an hour, a small team gathered at the cafeteria, torches and fire batons in hand. We had no intention of setting fire to the entire building, merely the kitchen. Soon the rear of the red-brick oblong was ablaze. All of us gathered in the streets could smell the cow, pig, and chicken meat starting to broil. We salivated in our shoes. Some of us began passing around the jerky, which would not contain us forever.

The vegans, however, could hold out for even less time. As with most vegans, even the smell of cooked meat made them nauseous. Soon windows were smashed open from inside. The front doors flung apart. The vegans escaped from the cafeteria, many of them immediately doubling over and retching, with painful groans boiling up from deep in their gullets. The resistance cheered.

“Viva le resistance!” we shouted in unison.

After the last of the vomit-stained vegans ran from the cafeteria, we stormed inside. We gorged ourselves on the meat from the kitchen, most of which was merely blackened cajun-style. It was a great night, not only for the resistance, but for art and intellectualism in general. As long as we breathed, men would be free to eat meat! Many of the writers gathered with us in the charred-out frame of what had been the cafeteria, recounting that fateful night, when young men became brave soldiers. They paused only to think up a French word for “vomit-faces.”


TOMORROW: Where did Phil X’s hatred of vegans originate?