Been a while. It's also been a good summer. Did you think I was bound to stay indoors writing the entire time?

Dolt. On to new business…

There's a term I use amongst a select group of friends to describe individuals who are unruly, uncouth, and unnecessary, especially in the context of the professional realm. That term is "toolkit." Now a "tool," in the vernacular, is, according to Wikipedia, "someone who is being used by an establishment willingly (as a sycophant) or unwillingly (as one who blindly conforms)."

A toolkit is a tool to the 10th power. These are the type of people that upon meeting, I instantly
wish that their mother had received some sort of debilitating kidney punch that rearranged their interior anatomy during the course of pregnancy. Of course, that might be a moot point if such an assault were the cause of their offspring's behavior. Recently I encountered a prime toolkit at my office in the form of an ostentatious twerp affectionately known as "Punch the Intern." He was deemed such by some of my co-workers, because they always stated that they wanted to "punch the intern." Eventually it just sorta segued into a full-blown clandestine alias that is fitting in both aesthetic and physical manifestation.

Whether or not this kid was a sycophant or blind conformist has yet to be determined. But he did make me "syc" to my stomach, he was blind to the fact that everyone around him hated his guts, and I found him easily molded into an obedient little lapdog. In short, whatever his major malfunction, I (and everyone else) found him more obnoxious than an Amway rep on cocaine.
Now Punch, as I mentioned, was not a full-time employee. He was an intern on borrowed time (thank God), here for the better part of the summer before going back to school.

Of course, being that this is my company we're talking about here, we're talking about another "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer. Only in this case, instead of being the average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-grad, this "brilliant" Ivy Leaguer was a below average wet-behind-the-ears-greenhorn-undergrad.

This does not translate to a good experience. No sir. See, at that stage, you feel ready to take on the world, full of p!ss and vinegar, unfazed by the world outside your collegiate bubble. And, since Punch was still actively attending, he was still perhaps a little overconfident in his supposed abilities.

Now, if you take that last sentence and replace the word "overconfident" with "cocky," I think that'd be a more accurate assessment. That being said, it is entirely possible that Punch is just naturally conceited; it may have nothing to do with his overpriced/overrated education. That's hard to determine without really spending a great deal of time with him, something that I didn't feel up to doing. Whatever the impetus behind his Dom Deluise-sized ego, the fact remains that he was a Grade-A toolkit, possibly the biggest I've encountered to date.

I'll spare his university the embarrassment of acknowledging it by name, because I would be downright ashamed to have such a monstrous a$$hat attending my hallowed halls. So I'll christen it with the pseudonym "Asshat U." As it turns out we have two other full-time employees, both recent grads of Asshat U.

This is important… please remember this.

In any event, Punch started and immediately proved himself to be outright irritating. I'm not sure if it was the six inches of hair that was gelled upward into an absurd top fade, the ridiculous colored shirts he wore that screamed "I am either metrosexual or I just enjoy clubbing so much that I have to wear the same effete color combination every day of my life," or the fact that he always wore a tie.

Let me clarify something… I have worn a tie twice since I interviewed here. Once on my first day, and once again when I had a meeting afterwards for another organization. If you want to put a silk noose around your neck, turn the reins over to me and I'll gladly find some silk rope for ya. This offer is only extended to Punch, as he deserved some good mangling.
Anyway, fashion (non)sense notwithstanding, Punch also proved himself to be the illegitimate hybrid of a concubine and an encyclopedia.

A fucking know-it-all.

This was complemented, naturally, by the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing. I'll give him this much, he showed zeal and passion for the job (which really led me to question his sanity), but that enthusiasm gave way to a cocktail of carelessness and cockiness. He impressed his superior by virtue of his dedication, but in turn rubbed all of his co-workers the wrong way by being pushy and abrasive.

Case in point: one of my co-workers was on the phone with a vendor when he stormed into her office and began asking her questions while she was still talking. Screw business etiquette, that's common sense. Just wait until their done and come back in a few minutes, right? Apparently the laws of rationality don't apply to interns with spiky hair.

There was also the silver incident in which a vendor sent coins to us that were priced higher than what was initially paid for on the order. He raised a huge stink about this and actually read the fine print on the back of the order itself over the phone (quite loudly, no less). Normally I'd see no issue in quarrelling with such price shifts. However, anyone who follows the precious metals market must know that the cost of silver has fluctuated wildly over the last year and will probably continue to do so. We have never had a problem signing off on invoices when it comes to coin prices; it's an unstable market at best. But rather than query one of us about it, he jumped the gun, chewed out the vendor and then blabbed to his manager like a good little stoolie. I wanted to put his face through a wall, because when someone sets a precedent, everyone has to follow. Now all price discrepancies must be documented in writing (not that anyone has adhered to this).

Then, the ultimate atrocity… Punch wound up training his own replacement. Green as he was, barely 21 years old and not even here for three consecutive months, he was still entrusted to educate his successor. Go figure that one out, kids, 'cause I'm still lost. In any event, as I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, Punch didn't know anything about the job when it came to brass tacks. So how do you think his replacement felt when she found out a week later that everything she learned was a fallacy? I remember commiserating with a co-worker of mine about how we should have intervened and told her well in advance not to listen to him.

But that's not even the crown jewel on this legacy of idiocy. See, it just so happens that Punch and his replacement share the same surname. Now in order to protect the innocence of his ill-fated understudy, I must go against all standards I have set at LSS and give Punch a second alias. To further complicate matters, I've chosen to use his pseudo alma mater as his namesake, and therefore designate him as Johnny Asshat. His unlucky (yet fortunately unrelated) replacement will go by the name of Janie Asshat. I feel bad calling her that since she is anything but an asshat, but for the sake of posterity, we must maintain consistency here.

So this is the capper, the granddaddy of 'em all, the coup de grace in this rapidly growing legacy of absurdity… Before leaving, he stuck his nameplate next to hers outside her cubicle. This led to Sempai Mike and I referring to them as the "Wonder Twins," and frequently quoting SuperFriends. To Janie's credit, this failed attempt at a joke lasted all of one week as she pulled his plate down herself. Bravo, Janie. Buck the system and your mock etymology.

The last item on that hitlist is really what convinced me that he is a prime example of your average toolkit. Aside from being equal parts arrogant and ignorant, he also assumes the role of "that guy" by coming up with lame jokes that only he finds amusing. Even Janie didn't crack a smile at his gag.

Then again, I don't think many people cracked a smile at him during his entire tenure. I think everyone agreed that they'd much rather crack his ribs first. Preferably with a wrench, just to offer some ironic accentuation to the whole "toolkit" title.

"Poetic justice is a wrench to the ribs." Sounds Zen, yet prolific. I like it.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I fell in love with a sweet sensation,
I gave my heart to a simple chord.
I gave my soul to a new religion.
Whatever happened to you?

Whatever happened to our rock 'n' roll?
Whatever happened to my rock 'n' roll?

I have to say that for all the bitching I do about the people I work with, for all the ridiculousness and absurdity that comes with the territory, I have been able to make pretty good friends with a handful of folks, the least of which not being my former boss Mike. While we no longer work with together, he's only down the hall, and we still continually share our musical finds with one another. Mike, like myself, is a music junkie. Not an aficionado, not an enthusiast, a junkie. There is no 12-step program for us, and if this is a disease, please keep the remedy to yourself. We want no part, our ailment is glorious, and we hope it's contagious.

In any event, Mike is the main reason why I had to turn in Kilgore for his 60 gig cousin, as my beloved iPod was near his full capacity of 30 gigs. Mike's collection is far more extensive than mine, and his knowledge of the scene and music history unquestionably puts me to shame. I have no trouble admitting this fact; he is the Sempai, I am the Kohai.

I've learned a great deal from Sempai, but one thing that sticks out is how much contemporary rock n' roll, for the most part, sucks.

Note I said "rock n' roll." The blues on speed. 4/4 beats. Two guitars, bass, drums and vocals. I'm excluding progressive mind-benders like the Mars Volta and Coheed & Cambria. Melody-heavy alt-rockers like Comes With The Fall and Dredg should also be excused before passing judgment.

Dirty, sexy, crunchy style rock n' roll.

Somewhere in the 80's, rock took a real ugly turn down Hair Metal Blvd. All those bands that have wound up on numerous mail order "Monsters or Rock" compilations took the absolute worst of SDRNRU (Sex, Drugs & Rock N' Roll University) and put their own dipshit spin on it. As AquaNet and Covergirl stock skyrocketed, the genre known as rock was on life support at the hands of its own retarded offspring. This led to a string of one hit wonders, over-saturation on radio and MTV, and the upheaval of college radio and the indie scene. If nothing else, the one good thing that came of this sad point in time was the musical counterculture of the early 90's.

In fact, the only new band to emerge out of the 80's that actually "got it" was Guns N' Roses. No one can deny the raw bad-ass nature of Appetite For Destruction. Many took to calling them the next Rolling Stones, and few fans or critics were hard-pressed to disagree. Sadly, Axl's ego took center stage. It wasn't long before people were talking more about the no-showing madman behind the mic and less about the music.

Straightforward rock n' roll really hasn't been the same since.

Now I grant you, over the past few years, a handful of old school hopefuls have emerged and at the very least turned a couple heads. A few bands like Buckcherry have gone the full-blown trashy route in attempts to channel the spirit of their most beloved SDRNRU alumni. Others, such as the Strokes, have made an attempt to go about things in a more understated manner, musically speaking. Then there are those bands like Jet who draw heavily from their favorite forefathers and make sure their tunes are short, memorable and above all else, hook-heavy.

However, no one has seemed to leave a lasting taste in our mouth beyond the scope of a year or two at the most. Tried and true veterans like Aerosmith, AC/DC and the almighty Rolling Stones themselves have managed not only to maintain a significant level of public interest, but they've also been fairly consistent as far as releasing new material.

This might not be saying much, though. Their last releases, while enjoyable, did not stack up to their all-time classics. Then again, not much does, so it may be unjust to compare Honkin' On Bobo to Rocks, Stiff Upper Lip to Back In Black, or A Bigger Bang to Beggar's Banquet. Still, these purported torchbearers of ye olde rock have been relegated by mainstream radio to the same treatment as most other bands. You'll hear their new single for anywhere between five months and a year before you never hear it again. Soon it becomes just another memory, another half-assed notch in the gun belt terrestrial radio.

This may be the central problem. Rock is not supposed to be mainstream. Rock n' roll was founded on the precept that this was "the devil's music," and those damned long-haired hooligans would blast it until the wee hours of the morning, waking the neighbors. Once upon a time, Elvis Presley couldn't shake his hips on TV. Nowadays, that sorta stuff is so tame, it's laughable. Heck, even in the heyday of hair metal some twenty-odd years ago, 10 seconds of any given video was more risqué than Presley's memorable swagger.

It's hard to derive the origins of this juxtaposition from counterculture to the norm. I suppose a good chunk of it could be attributed to classic rock radio and its seemingly daily play list. I used to enjoy New Haven's 99.1 WPLR. Nowadays, I get nauseous just thinking about it. If I have to hear "All Right Now" by Free one more freakin' time, I'm liable to unload several rounds of buckshot into my car radio. Perhaps another part is the fact that so many of these grizzled vets just refuse to throw in the towel when their time has come. There are a few exceptions to the rule (see the artists just three paragraphs prior), but seriously now, there are some guys playing clubs who are overweight, bald and easily past their prime. A pal of mine and me saw Blue Öyster Cult several years ago at Toad's in New Haven (a couple years after the memorable "cowbell" skit on SNL), and to say that it was laughable would be the equivalent of saying current gas prices are "a little expensive." It's hard to take a genre seriously when it's clear that so many are yearning to cling to their former fame so feverishly. Beyond that, it's just flat out over-saturation… a turn of phrase that has come with the aging of those blasted Baby Boomers. Hair metal definitely had a major hand in underground credibility, and I'm sure MTV probably had a hand in there somewhere as well.

Point is that rock just doesn't feel… Well, that edgy anymore. It's become overblown and overexposed. Think of when Blair Witch hit and it was this huge indie success. Stupid as it was, the phenomenon became so popular that it spawned a sequel. A real crappy sequel. Now imagine if the filmmakers just kept churning out sequel after sequel. That's kinda what rock has become. And anyone who has had any affinity to anything ever considered "underground" knows what it feels like when the masses latch onto your beloved obscurity. You feel like it's not that cool anymore (for reference, see ECW. See also, Metallica).

There is, however, light at the end of the tunnel. A handful of bands have come to my attention that really keep the good flame alight and put a smile on my dirty dog face. There seems to be two schools of thought right now: those who stand as a new generation of straight ahead rock n' roll, and those who are unabashed about their status as "throwbacks." Both parties seem to be doing quite well. The former classification consists of bands like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (who are quoted at the opening salvo of this piece), the White Stripes, the Duke Spirit and Nine Black Alps. In the second lot, you've got the obvious culprits like the Darkness and Silvertide, but also lesser known contingents like Damone and Wolfmother. And I'm sure there are many more that have yet to be unearthed.

Now that's not to say that the aforementioned bands and whatever other newcomers may trot down the pike are going to overtake the current musical landscape and give birth to a rock n' roll renaissance. Quite the contrary, I think mainstream music is only going to stagnate further, and true music addicts are going to have to work harder for their new tunes. That's alright by me, I'm up for the challenge. It's fun, and you never know quite what you'll unearth along the way. And again, because of that aforementioned underground mindset, part of me really doesn't want things to change right now. There's enough slick production out there to ruin what could be scores of really great albums, and unfortunately most cats are so young and inexperienced (or just plain wowed with stardom) that they don't know enough to say "no" to someone trying to overtake their product. Having said that, I'll stay in the subterranean passageways of music for now. If nothing else, I'm just happy that solid rock does exist and hasn't become a Waterworld-inspired myth along the wavelengths of dry land.

And as I mentioned, I'm sure there's more to come, some of whom may even reach that delta into the mainstream, plunge in headfirst and come out on the other end with some integrity intact. I look forward to seeing it happen someday. So, for those young bucks out there interested in breaking ground, here are a few lessons you may want to take heed of. Granted, I'm no musician, but even so, I like to think that I've squandered enough money on CD's and enough of my spare time drifting along melodious currents to have something of a grasp on the situation here. Strap in.

- Take from your influences, don't copy them directly. It's one thing to try and get a taste for a band's flavor as opposed to outright ganking copyrights. Seriously, Buckcherry fell flat real quick because they're just a cluster of haphazard Aerosmith wannabes with no real balls to 'em. There's not a lot of originality to their music or to their lyrics, so without daring to be something different, they were destined to peel out, because simply, they're just a carbon copy.

- Know your blues. Blues is the basis for all music, especially rock n' roll. Blues begat country music, which then discovered drugs and gave birth to rock. Blues also made love to Latin music and birthed jazz. Did we mention that the blues' bastard lovechild, rock n' roll, also got aggressive and angry, transforming into metal? And yes. Blues developed a beat, and fathered funk, disco, R&B and hip hop. Blues is everything in music, especially rock. Know your pentatonic scales, and for the love of Christ, listen to Robert Johnson.

- Know your punk. Punk is another offshoot of a blues offshoot… more accurately, it was a response to an offshoot, taking aim at overblown rock n' roll and telling it to kindly p!ss off. The one element of rock that punk took with it was simplicity. The best songs, and in many cases the most memorable songs, tend to be of a simpler nature. No need for elaborate solos or orchestration. A few chords, some catchy riffs, and a good dose of rebelliousness. A lot of the bands I mentioned above carry traits of both the blues and punk in equal doses, and they seem to blend it all well.

- Leave the mistakes in. Don't be a damn perfectionist. Perfection is boring, don't go into something all crazy strong-style thinking you've gotta be dead-on. Rock isn't supposed to be this pristine little evocative snapshot of artistry. It's supposed to be down and dirty, loud and bawdy. So quit with the overdubs and massive production already. So you hit a raw note. Leave it in. Get visceral for fuck's sake. Let it all flow out and have fun with it. Even Eddie Van Halen laments about how "Eruption" could've been better, and every time he hears it, he always thinks about that one mistake. And how many people love it for what it is? Besides, you may just stumble onto something really slick, and then you have every right to trademark it vis a vis your stupidity.

- If you're gonna be a throwback, be unabashed, but not retarded. I think it's safe to say that groups such as the Darkness and Wolfmother have proven that it's OK to be somewhat kitschy with the music while having a sense of humor about yourself. To paraphrase This Is Spinal Tap, it's really such a fine line between stupid and clever. It's OK to have fun with it, but the second you try to put on the façade of being a "serious artist," the game is up. I just remember that VH1 special about Velvet Revolver from when it was just the guys from GN'R doing auditions, and the band was known simply as "the Project." One guy brought in a demo of a song that he called "Stripper Girl." Now if you really think for one split second that anyone is gonna take a song seriously with that title, the Behind The Music gods have clearly passed you up hoping you'll go to rehab before your first gold record.

- If you're gonna do a cover on a record, make it obscure. I can think of very few covers that surpass the original. Part of the problem is that so many bands seem intent on taking on well-established staples of radio or popular music. You can't reinvent the wheel kids, so leave that part to Mr. Goodyear. Thing is, covers are kind of essential in a way. Lots of the best bands ever to play made legit hits out of cover songs. The Stones, Zeppelin, Cream, Aerosmith, the Doors, cripes man, even the damned Beatles made big time hits out of little known tunes. Most people to this day haven't the slightest idea that "All Along The Watchtower" is a Bob Dylan original, not a Jimi Hendrix creation. Chew on that for a while. If Hendrix had tried "Like A Rolling Stone," I'm willing to bet that while it would be fiery as Hendrix could be, it still would pale in comparison to its basis. Even though they fall under the umbrella of nü metal, we can still see the logic with Korn and how everyone up and groaned when they did "Another Brick In The Wall."

- Don't believe your own press. Please. That ruins the experience for everyone. Egos ultimately don't do much good in the world of rock n' roll, so as much as you can, try to stay humble. I know it's gotta be tough with people offering you all sorts of free stuff, booze, broads, narcotics, firstborn children, stock options, the Brooklyn Bridge, etc. But once you adopt the attitude of "I'm better than you," you're automatically putting yourself at a plateau above that of a fan. In essence, a fan is a music lover. All musicians should be music lovers. If you put yourself on any level higher than that, I guarantee you'll lose touch with everyone. The fans, your bandmates, and likely yourself as well. It's bad for business, no two ways about it. Then people give you the reputation of being "difficult" and refuse to work with you… Yngwie Malmsteen, Ritchie Blackmore, Eddie Van Halen, Dave Mustaine, and of course, the granddaddy of 'em all, Monsieur W. Axl Rose. All are incredibly talented individuals who systematically bought into their own hype and meticulously obliterated their bands starting at the foundation. Reputations in all circles were tarnished, possible beyond repair. Just stick to what you love doing and you'll be good.

And that's really what it's all about when you look at the big picture. Like any genre, the face has changed dramatically throughout the years, but at the end of the day, it's still good ol' rock n' roll, and it's still lurking out there. Hail, hail, we salute you.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Ladies, we gotta talk.

Now look, I adore the fairer sex. I think you gals are aces, and life sure would be dull without ya, for better or worse. Despite the hell that some of you have put me through over the years, I bear no grudges. For serious.

Moreover, I'm a modern sorta gent, and I believe in equality amongst the sexes. So I'm all for you X-chromosome types goin' out there and gettin' corporate. Lord knows enough of the world has been destroyed by ignorant, greedy white men that we could probably use some capable, intelligent females in power to counteract such stupidity on our part.

However… something happens to some o' you ladies when you don that business garb and get a position with just the slightest shred of power. It's the type of transformation that I don't think even Robert Louis Stevenson could've envisioned when penning Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

I'm not one to throw around the term alpha bitch, but dang, there are some women out there who that phrase most definitely applies to in the workplace.

Guys, get over here with me, come sit by the campfire and let's roast some goddamn S'Mores, I think this is one topic that we can all agree on. Doesn't matter what sect of the male species you fall into… stud, nerd, playa, nice guy, scumbag, manwhore, whatever. Every red-blooded heterosexual male will agree with me on this post.

Heck, there are even some females that will agree with me on this. My mother has worked in HR for 18 years, and has stated on numerous occasions that she would rather work with men than women, because too many women just get obscenely power-hungry when it comes to titular advancements and authority.

Not to get all 5th grade on ya, but my mom thinks I'm right. She also tells me I'm cool. And if Penny says so, then by God, it must be factual!

But I think even outside the scope of HR, anyone out there that works in any sort of professional environment will have to concede on this one… I've seen it a great deal over the last year and change I've been at my job. When my new boss got transferred over to our division, she immediately clashed with my then-program manager. It wasn't so much like oil and water as it was like wicks and sparks… downright volatile. Within 6 months, my program manager was essentially ousted. About a month later, the only other female on our team transferred to another team. Since then, our group has been all dudes with the exception of the boss lady. For the most part, we's cool, but like every boss, once in a while she manages to get on your nerves. Just how it goes.

But she is not the impetus for this post. No, true believer, much to the contrary, this was prompted by one of my coworkers… well, two actually, but one seems more an accessory and the other the instigator. Although it may be uncharacteristic, I am reluctant to divulge any details about either individual. Far be it from me to ever hold back, especially when it comes to those whose ego cups runneth over, but lets just say that I'm subscribing to the old "discretion is the better part of valor" motto.

So this is basically the breakdown: a couple weeks ago, one of my coworkers arranged a lunch with one of our regular vendors as an outing and break from the monotony of the day to day grind. Two of my other coworkers were not invited to the affair, simply because they almost never say yes to anything of the sort. So it was more of a logistical thing than anything else. I probably would have invited them anyway, but that's me. I'm not the one planning, I'm just happy to be here, ya dig?

Word got back to one of the ignored individuals, who just happens to be of the female persuasion. Immediately, she began grilling someone who works under her, asking if we talked about her at all during the meal.

Come again?

That's right. I shit you not, dear reader. She wanted to know if anyone was talking about her or the other uninvited party during our outing. Well… no! Why would we have any reason to? Just because you don’t get the in doesn't necessarily mean you're the hot topic of conversation. There was just so much ego involved, I was on the verge of wretching.

She then lamented (translation: whined) that she felt the snub was incredibly "unprofessional." The ultiamte irony of this situation is the fact that these lunches are a very covert operation that we are really not supposed to engage in… so her absence from the affair is actually a shimmering act of professionalism on her part. But nay. Nay, I say. Not in the eyes of ye green-eyed she-demon in 5" heels. To her, there is a free lunch, she was left out, and come hell or high water, she will make it known.

Then to boot, she threatens to withhold business from the vendor who hosted the affair. Well, how professional of her. Nothing like sacrificing good business at the expense of your own petty vendetta. I love it. The capper to it all (at the time) was the fact that she engaged her aforementioned associate in an e-mail exchange in which she finally ended the conversation with (and I'm quoting verbatim, mind you), "Whatever, I don't want to talk about it anymore. They can all go to hell for all I care."

Mature.

But wait, it does get better. She then took to the oh-so "professional" habit of scowling, sneering and just looking plain disgusted when passing the folks that organized the affair.

Also mature. And reasonable, too.

I won't get into the ugly details that followed (the e-mail war between her and another co-worker, the correspondence that was passed around to other folks in the division and our sister division, the horrid picture from her college days that was retrieved with a quick Google search, etc.), but needless to say she has not earned many friends, and has essentially isolated herself from most everyone in the company.

What's my point? My point is simply this would not have happened with a guy. The average dude would abide and not let this become some over the top 90210-stylized high school drama. His attitude would've been, "If they don't like me, screw 'em," and that's it. There would've been no little e-mail fracas, no dirty looks in the hall, no unnecessary 'tude, none of the above, mon frere.

Reason being? Most guys don't get off on power trips.

Yeah. I said it. Take it for what you will, accuse me of stereotyping, but I'm telling ya, my experiences with some women in the business world are akin to my experiences with some women in the dating world: ugly, painful, and oftentimes gut-wrenching. What is it about a title that gives you ladies such an inflated opinion of yourself? What is it about authority that makes you believe you have the right to talk down to and demean other human beings? Is it a chemical imbalance of some sort? Is it the overwhelming urge to break out of the 1950's Donna Reed mold that so inaccurately portrayed your finest capabilities? Is it the years of existing in a predominantly patriarchal society?

If is the latter, let me say on behalf of men everywhere, we're sorry! If we had any idea the way you'd react, we never would've made those decisions at the meeting! Please back off, we made a mistake!

Seriously, gals, y'all need to chill out. This individual in question is the same one who is dumping a week's worth of work on her associate while she's away rather than working to get ahead of herself before leaving (like most of us do). I'm not saying she's an accurate sample of the population by any means, but this sort of self-opinion seems to be typical of a lot of my experiences in the workplace, from waiting tables right on up to the executive post… never had a problem with another guy, though… even the ones who preferred to wear high heels themselves.

Look, let's make a pact… we'll put the toilet seat down and cook dinner once in a while, and you spare us the dragonfire when cubicles ajoin. I think it's a fair trade.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So last night at the gym, I couldn't help that the eyes of many cardio-heads were glued to the flatscreen monitors in front of them, airing David Blaine's latest inane stunt on ABC.

Let me set the record straight: I don't care about David Blaine. But I've come to three rock solid conclusions about the man.

1 – He is not a magician. He's not even an illusionist, for Pete's sake. The scenarios he cooks up are out there, I grant you… but there's no hint of "magic" in them at all. Look, if it were Harry Houdini cooped up in that oversize snow globe, he would've amazed the audience by pulling one of his trademark nigh-impossible escape routines. That was the beauty of his shtick… it came off as a sort of magic even without card tricks or optical illusions. Blaine just cooks up zany ways to destroy his body stunt by stunt. That's not magic, that's stupidity.

2 – This is not entertainment. I've read some quotes by people who have stated that his exploits are representative of the human spirit and it's resilient, oftentimes unbreakable nature. I beg to differ. I hardly find a man's repeated attempts to kill himself humorous in any way… I find it sad. The only thing I find sadder is the infatuation that people have with this guy. Sure, I know there's no doubt that he's going to draw attention to himself like the class clown… the only difference is that he's moved up from whoopee cushions to feeding tubes. Pardon me if I don't feel inclined to give the baby his bottle on this one.

3 – The man is a masochist. Seriously, why does he do this over and over? Is fame really worth that much damage to your body? How many people do you know who wake up in the morning and think, "Gee, what could I possibly do to damage my liver this week?" This might be the most disturbing thing about his popularity to me… the mere fact that everything he does seems to find him in the hospital for a number of weeks following the spectacle. Not only that, but the lengthy amounts of time he spends involved in these bizarre concoctions severely prolongs the pain he inflicts on himself. I'm truly convinced that the man just has no love for himself and genuinely wants to do extreme harm to his being.

Either that or he'll do anything for a buck. I haven't quite decided. So, taking these three items into account, the question begs to be asked… People, why in the name of God are you paying any attention to this genetic defective?

This goes beyond dumbass reality shows that are phonier than a politician's smile. There are people out there cheering a man who is trying to kill himself. There is something seriously wrong with the human race when this sort of demented tomfoolery could ever be regarded as entertainment.

Maybe it's me, but I really don't think we should be encouraging him like this... unless he finally manages to off himself, then I'm all for it. The less of this rot on TV and in the public eye, the better. Why can't more "celebrities" have death wishes?

I just might have this cat figured out all wrong… Shit, I hope he becomes an inspiration to self-loathing public figures everywhere!

Natural selection, people. I'm justified here.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So Mission: Impossible III is upon us. Be still, my heart.

Hey, sorry… I just don't like too much John Woo in my diet. I prefer, y'know, plotlines and the like.

In any event, what's captured my interest about this undeniable cinematic stinkbomb isn't the fact that they made a sequel to M:I2. I pretty much learned that after they made a sequel to the first installment that they'll spin anything off for a few dollars more. No, what has grasped my attention is the fact that the antagonist is portrayed by Academy Award Winner Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Rewind and read the last eleven words in that paragraph.

Hoffman has been doing an amazing job as the requisite character/supporting actor for-freakin'-ever now. Didn't matter whether he was in Cold Mountain or Almost Famous, whatever film we're talkin' about was immediately improved tenfold just by virtue of his presence and performance as soon as his unmistakable mug was featured on the screen. The guy knows his stuff and it shows.

But now, having won an Oscar for Capote (which I have yet to see but am looking forward to tremendously), he's reduced to your standard issue action film bad guy cliché, which, incidentally, no one has been able to duplicate since Alan Rickman was featured in Die Hard. Period.

On the opposite end of the genre spectrum, but similarly bad-looking, Robin Williams's latest vehicle RV opened this weekend (see what I did there?). Watching the previews for that makes me dread the day I have children, as I'm sure I'll have to sit through many, many horrible family films, much like I forced my parents to do. And Disney not being what it once was, I'm not looking forward to that day…

It should also be duly noted that Williams is another of those select thespians to receive an Oscar.

So is Robert De Niro. Didn't stop him from making Showtime.

Jodie Foster has an Oscar under her belt. But she still made Flightplan.

I won't even get into Jon Voigt's career.

At this rate, I'm waiting for Meryl Streep to catch top billing in Breakin' 3. The Oscar has long been touted as the highest honor in cinema… yet at the same time, it has also proven to be something of a kiss of death for said honorees. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about that much-coveted Oscar that drives so many people to accept such horrible roles.
I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the individual, no question. Some people (especially celebrities) exercise less discretion when planning their career moves than most. That being said, I have to give Cali credit for having the best drugs available, because that's the only reason I can think of Susan Sarandon having anything to do with Elizabethtown. I have to say that when it comes to mass mediart, we are in a major lull, here, people. I'm dead serious. I think contemporary film, music and television, by normal standards, is not only disappointing, but downright repulsive.

I think a recent text message courtesy of my buddy Vas, intended solely to break up the day and catch a laugh, says it all:

"There's motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane!"

They made a horror move about snakes on planes. It doesn't get much better/worse than that, ladies and gentlemen. We are officially an honest-to-goodness teenage wasteland awash in our own fecal matter and bile, because we pay to see this rot. And when we don't shell out the $8.50 in the theaters, we gladly head over to the local Blockbuster for a lazy Friday rental. One way or another, every movie, no matter how bad, is gonna make money somehow.

White Chicks made money. Think it over.

Now I realize that you have to work yourself up the ladder no matter what your path in life. Even Renee Zellweger was brandishing those Oscar-worthy chops in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3, and nominee Jake Gyllenhaal was Bubble Boy long before even Donnie Darko opened the door for him to break out the cowboy hat and spurs.
But when you reach the top and retrograde as bad as some of the films that I've mentioned in prior paragraphs, I personally feel it's time to reexamine your career path or just exit gracefully altogether. Personally, I don't think I'd be able to degrade myself like that, no matter how much debt I'm in.

There's such a fine line between artist and whore, isn't there?

Now I understand that for some, there comes but one highwater mark in life; one opus that stands apart from everything else, and you're left with nowhere to go but down (for reference, see: Appetite For Destruction).

(See also: Alexander, Jason, Louis-Dreyfuss, Julia and Richards, Michael.)

Well, maybe it's me, but I feel that once you reach that pinnacle of artistry, the very least you could do is stick to it and try to make sure that your work is of a similar caliber if not superior to all things prior. But paychecks talk and critics balk, so at the end of the day, I'm sure plenty of these acting types are just thinking about their next car, jet or private estate, isn't that right, Mr. Jamie Foxx, Academy Award-winning star of Stealth?

It's the same reason that Kiss has been on tour forever. Because there's big money in it. It's too bad the music sucks.

Much like the scripts.

And the motherfuckin' snakes on the motherfuckin' plane.

Now if they decide to take Academy Award-winner Jon Voigt and Academy Award-winner Jamie Foxx and make those snakes anacondas and that plane a stealth bomber with a mind of its own… Now you're talkin' quality entertainment.

Just don't bill it as cinema, 'kay?

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.