Aaron R. Davis

Oh, Tim Burton.

Tim, I really used to love you. You made grand, silly little masterpieces about outsiders and outcasts who were both fascinating and terrifying to the contained little worlds they were thrust into. There was a time — roughly before 2001 — when I used to love the movies you meticulously crafted and then let float into the world. But that was, sadly, a long time ago now. Back before your terrible, uncommitted, almost arbitrary Planet of the Apes remake sent you reeling and into the safety of turning yourself into a brand name who repeated the same formula over and over and over again. Because why take a chance on doing something interesting when you can just give the audience the exact same thing repeatedly? Sadly, no one’s ever failed doing so.

While we’re at it, the same goes for Johnny Depp. I remember a time when people were constantly surprised that Johnny Depp could even act. Johnny, you were one of America’s most exciting performers for about a decade. And then you, too, decided it was time to stop being interesting and start going for large paychecks. Now, instead of being excited to see you in a movie, I dread the day when you’re actually in something I want to see again, because watching you sleepwalk your way through a decade of over-budgeted panto has been about as exciting as staring at ditchwater gleaming in the sun. Cynically going through the motions as Jack Sparrow over and over again, whoring your talent out for big budget, undirected weirdness … jeez, at least it took Marlon Brando two decades to become a parody of himself.

So now this two-man circle jerk of not-trying-very-hard has gone back in time to bring us a movie based on Dark Shadows, the old vampire soap opera that people my mother’s age have always tried to convince me was an engrossing drama, but is actually about as convincing and well-made as a high school play. And they’ve apparently decided to sell it as a fish-out-of-water comedy.

I know people who are rushing out this weekend to see it, many because they love Tim Burton and they love Johnny Depp. But I’m saving my money, because I already have a sense of what happens.

Here you go:

Johnny Depp plays a tall, skinny outcast with white makeup, weird hair, and black circles under his eyes. We see him in his element at first, probably in a very grand — possibly narrated — opening sequence that sets the stage. Then we see what made him an outcast and put him in a situation where his weirdness is amplified to extremes, because unmotivated eccentricity never stops being hilarious to Tim Burton.

This is always the part of the film, too, where we get long comments that pretty much amount to “Boy, suburbia is weird” or “Boy, families sure are a strange, loose collective of people who don’t seem to relate to each other very well” or “Boy, the 1970s existed once and all I can remember is the kitsch.”

Johnny Depp’s character will occasionally be wracked with eye-opening flashbacks that reveal ironic things about his character, or that he’s motivated by parental issues. Mommy or daddy issues, it’s actually always a toss-up with Tim Burton, which weirdly makes Tim more interesting than Steven Spielberg, who is always going to be pissed off at mom and worshipful of a remote father figure.

There’ll be two women, both weird in their own ways, but the blonde one is clearly the good one, especially if she’s a brunette who’s been dyed blonde. A brunette actress playing a virginal blonde hero in a Tim Burton movie is as powerful as a Jedi. Depp will be somehow torn between the two women, even though the darker one will turn out to be some kind of evil witch, yet sexually irresistible. Also, any attempt at expressing sexuality will be embarrassingly awkward.

Let’s see, what am I missing? There’ll be some big, shapeless monster, an impossibly kind old parent figure, a vacant-eyed fat guy who is evil (or at least truculent), a girl who’s rebellious and punky in the way girls who shop at Hot Topic always think they are and everyone will complain that the best gags were in the trailer and that the movie devolves into an over-the-top special effects action set piece at the end — before the cute, humorous ending in which everyone gets to live happily because they’ve accepted the weirdo for the broken man-child that he is. There’ll be a great Danny Elfman score, and if not a great one, than at least a loud and very busy one, but nonetheless, any emotion you experience while watching the film will in fact be created by Mr. Elfman and not by Mr. Burton. No matter what lazy thing she does or how much like a bag lady she looks, Helena Bonham Carter will be overpraised for her performance, because having absolutely no energy at all since Howards End is apparently a brave acting style. People will complain that Tim Burton feels like he’s not very committed to the source material, because apparently people forgot that’s also true of everything Tim Burton’s ever made that was based on any story, previous film, TV series, comic book or trading card series.

People will forget the movie ever happened until the next time a Tim Burton/Johnny Depp movie comes out, and people will be excited because they loved Sleepy Hollow, which was the last good movie they made together, back in 1999. Yes, when it comes to making forgettable, hollow, repetitive, Danny Elfman-scored pantomime, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp are certainly … people who do that.

There, saved myself, shit, how much do movies even cost anymore? Are they thirty bucks yet? Anyway, I’m saving up to see Prometheus, I don’t have time for this garbage.

Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at samuraifrog@yahoo.com

Nicole Alexandria

Wednesday I am going to turn the great elderly and decrepit age of thirty. My forehead shows the creases of time. My tits are already saggy. My energy levels are sustained only through a strict coffee regime. To commemorate the occasion, I created a bucket list of activities I will not longer be able to do based entirely on the air of adulthood and the weight of responsibility.

I started with roller coasters. I hadn’t been to Six Flags in about a decade. Once you start drinking, having sex and driving, the thrill of a high speed predetermined ride loses its appeal. I wanted to do experience it one last time before I develop a heart condition or back problems. I rode them like a champ. The slight nausea of a roller coaster had an interesting effect – the world started to spin, but not quite near the complete spinning room effect of a good night of binge drinking. It actually made me want to buy a beer so I could get to that full effect, but thankfully I’m old and wise enough to not spend $12 on a water-downed domestic in a plastic cup.

The next action to complete on my bucket list was a giant ridiculous tattoo that I can expect to regret entirely one day. I went with a full-colored squid and whale tattoo on my left shoulder. I hope to one day use it to attract the likes of a sailor or a pirate longing for a sign of the sea while docked on land. The significance of the symbol for me is relative in that I need a reminder to not waste my life in an eternal conflict of hate and anger with evenly-matched opponents. It symbolizes not becoming a monster when you fight monsters. But who knows if this would hold significance in a decade or two? It will be my symbol of youth and an homage to my generation.

The remainder of the list consisted of blowing my savings account on frivolous things. A day in which I called out of work just to go to the zoo. Sleeping on someone’s couch. A week in which I ate only chocolate cake for dinner just because I could. And taking a lover for the sole purpose of being able to say “I’ve taken a lover.”

Bam! I’m an adult now. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” 1 Corinthians 13:11. (Savor that moment. It will be the one and only time I quote the Bible in anything.)

So now that I’m an adult there is no greater thing I can imagine an adult doing then giving unsolicited advice to the young crowd. So here goes:

1) Be a terrible person for a while.

Be self-centered and stupid. Do it now while you still have the veil of youth and immaturity. I’ve had the most amazing drunken decade, resulting in the kind of life that allows me to tell amazing stories which people sometimes find hard to believe. I can only imagine that when I die it will all come together at my funeral like the ending of Big Fish. I even once went on a date with a circus clown. Grow up with your arms swinging. Make mistakes. Take beautiful meaningless lovers who break your heart. (Use condoms.) See the world and sleep on couches. Blow a paycheck or two. Learn what it is to experience everything. If you reach this age without knowing what pain, guilt, love, hate, regret feel like and how to say fuck it, you missed it.

You wasted your only chance to learn what consequences feel like for yourself before the great cage of responsibility and accountability takes over your life forever. Do it until the idea of doing it makes you groan or cringe. That means you evolved. This is what you want because nothing is really sadder then that one creepy old guy at a show or a bar still trying to be young. Or the old woman with wrinkles who still shops in the juniors department clinging to a youthful aesthetic trying attract men for attention. You’ll have actually grown up instead of pretending for so long that one day you wake up and realize your an adult and have yourself a midlife crisis buying a motorcycle or having an affair trying to gain what you missed.

2) Do not get married before the age of 30.

Think back to the idiot you were ten years ago. Or five years ago. Or three. If you reach the age of thirty and you don’t think you’re a completely different person you once were then you’re still a moron. Get that checked out. Put down the Jagermeister and maybe read a book or learn something. Would the person you are now really want someone who settled for who you were? You should be so much better now. Before you swear the rest of your life and half your money to someone else, maybe you should figure out who you are first. Learn how to take care of yourself because you can’t really expect to take care of someone else without that knowledge. Be with someone because you want to be and not because you need to be for survival. Give yourself some time to become responsible before you try the biggest responsibility towards another person you can take. You don’t have to stay single, but just wait to see who the man or woman you turn out to be is first after you’ve lived a little. Maybe the divorce rate wouldn’t be so high if people didn’t become trapped in a vow with a complete stranger who looks like someone you used to know.

3) Have the self confidence yourself to not give a goddamn fuck what other people think.

I am more vain at this age then I have ever been. I spent 26 dollars the other day on shampoo because I wanted to invest in me. Dressing nice or fixing my face represents how I feel to the world. You reach a point your quest for adulthood where you don’t care about the people who give you attention. Who has your attention becomes a far more interesting concept. The little physical flaws or differences you agonized over in youth mean little as you realize those who care about those things mean little. If I look good now, it’s because I feel good. I don’t want the world to see me as a frumpy disheveled mess because that isn’t indicative of who I am or who I want to be and I have the self confidence now to feel like I can pull it off. My opinion is the only one that matters.

4) Appreciate your parent’s music.

My mother used to play Jethro Tull’s “Auqualung” every time she cleaned when I was growing up and to this day it still makes me smell bleach. If you miss out on great bands like The Faces, David Bowie or Howlin Wolf you deserve all those “You don’t understand! Weezer used to be awesome! Listen!” arguments you will surely get one day from your kids. And also if you don’t like The Beatles, you shouldn’t reproduce. Even the communists and the fascists loved The Beatles you idiot.

5) Eat your fucking vegetables already.

I still have two days left. Maybe I can quickly tag a wall somewhere or take a road trip before I start looking at Life Insurance Policies and investing in fiber supplements.

Nicole Alexandria is off doing cool things like a boss that you probably never heard of while not giving a single fuck all day every day. You can contact her through Facebook.

Joel Murphy

[Editor's Note - This column originally ran on the site on May 11, 2011.]

If your family believes in God and follows the righteous path, when Judgment Day rolls around you can be confident that you and your loved ones will be called up to the pearly gates.

But what about your pets? Your sweet, cuddly, godless pets? What will become of them when those heavenly trumpets start sounding?

Luckily, devout atheist Bart Centre has already thought of that and he’s here to help. No need to worry about being up in Heaven with that “I left the curling iron on” feeling. Two years ago Centre launched Eternal Earth-Bound Pets USA, a company made up of 44 contractors in 26 different states that offers to round up those family pets left behind on the day of the Rapture.

Within 24 hours of the End of Days, Centre or one of his team of faith-less contractors will drive out to your family home and rescue your beloved pet. And all they ask in return is $135 for the first pet and $20 for each additional one. (If that sounds pricy to you, Centre’s website assures you that it is actually “a small price to pay for your peace of mind and the health and safety of your four legged and feathered friends.”)

Of course, like with any good deal, some restrictions do apply. Their service is limited to “dogs, cats, birds, rabbits and small caged mammals.” (If you are lucky enough to live in New Hampshire, Vermont, Idaho or Montana, they will also come rescue your horse, camel, llama or donkey.) Also, there is a time limit on this offer – the Rapture must occur within 10 years of the day you submit payment or else your contract is null and void.

While these limitations cover general concerns, there are also some more specific issues addressed in the FAQ section of the Eternal Earth-Bound Pets website. (The best part of the FAQ is the very first question: “Is this a joke?”) The FAQ takes on tricky hypotheticals like this one: “What if one of my family members are left behind. Will you still take posession of my pet?” Now, incorrect verb tense and misspelling of “possession” aside, this is a valid question. And here’s their well-crafted response:

That depends. When the rescuer arrives, if your loved one wants to retain possesion of the pet, the pet stays in the home. We expect in these circumstances that the pet will offer the family member some comfort and stability given the trauma of what has occurred. If the family member prefers, we will adopt the pet per our contract.

That’s really sweet of them to think about your sinful, forgotten family member in that circumstance. It’s also really great that they managed to find a completely different way to misspell possession. (Seriously – apparently Bart Centre doesn’t believe in God or spell check.)

However, while that scenario covers what happens if the black sheep of your family doesn’t get raptured up, there’s any even trickier hypothetical problem to consider. What happens if the person who signed the contract thought God was going to be calling him/her up on Judgment Day, but ends up getting left off the guest list? The website offers this disclaimer: “If subscriber loses his/her faith and/or the Rapture occurs and subscriber is not Raptured (aka is ‘left behind’) EE-BP disclaims any liability; no refund will be tendered.”

While the website does a great job covering all of these potential gray areas, I’m still a bit troubled by the whole concept. Why are our nation’s pets getting left behind on Judgment Day? I understand snakes not getting called up after those shenanigans they pulled in the Garden of Eden. We all know how angry birds can get over their never-ending war with pigs, and since wrath is one of the seven deadly sins, it makes sense that they aren’t making it in. And cats, with their belief in nine consecutive lives, are clearly Buddhists trapped in the continuous cycle of saṃsāra until they reach enlightenment.

But what about dogs? Their name spelled backwards is God, shouldn’t that count for something? And, more importantly, Hollywood assured me years ago that All Dogs Go to Heaven. They were so confident that this was the case that they even made All Dogs Go to Heaven 2. So unless Dom DeLuise and Burt Reynolds were lying to me (which seems highly unlikely), clearly something has happened between then and now to get dogs relegated to the naughty list. What happened? Was it all the poker playing?

Also, who’s to say that your pets actually need rescuing? Just because the Four Horsemen are reigning terror down upon the streets and the seas have turned to blood doesn’t mean that Fluffy can’t fend for himself. Have you ever seen The Adventures of Milo and Otis? Milo was able to take on bears, seagulls and all sorts of other perils all by himself (with a little help from Otis there at the end, of course).

So fear not, God-fearer. When the big day comes, your pets will be just fine on their own. It may be the end of the world for you, but for your cuddly little friend, the adventure is just beginning.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Aaron R. Davis

Over on my Blogger account, I’ve always talked on and off about politics. I’ll try not to delve too deeply into my political opinions here, because I don’t want to talk about them, specifically, but about ways of communicating with my fellow humans on the Internet.

Back in the days of George W. Bush, talking at length about his policies and why you thought they were destructive was a short route to becoming part of a circle of liberals on Blogger. I didn’t seek that out, but I did briefly become part of it. I’ve actually never really sought out any kind of acceptance whatsoever; I never thought to myself, Goddamn, if I could just be accepted by a group of armchair activists on Blogger I would be so freaking happy. I was just doing what I always do: writing my sincere opinions, talking about how I honestly felt and fielding the reactions in the same way.

For a while, I felt like I had really found a group of like-minded individuals. Sure, there was a lot of hate that came with it — you can’t write anything about politics online without someone disagreeing with you vehemently and venting it at you — but it was kind of intoxicating knowing that my opinions pissed off someone that much. That the mere act of stating an honest opinion could inspire that kind of unfocused, often-hilarious-to-read rage. It was a fun couple of years.

But during the 2008 election, that kind of honesty suddenly wasn’t welcome to the world of online liberals. I made the apparent mistake of being critical of Barack Obama and his ties to corporate business at a time when everyone was high on the idea of how cool it would make America look to have an African-American president. Sure, now liberal news sites are critical of every decision Obama does or doesn’t make, but in the year leading up to his election, it was somehow unconscionable to do the things that an informed person does with any politician anywhere: ask questions.

Someone I respected a lot at the time accused me of trying to derail everyone’s enthusiasm, like I was some kind of political Internet troll. Another person flat out told me to shut up and stop sowing doubt. I even had someone go off on me just for saying I wasn’t sexually attracted to Michelle Obama, because apparently to that man (and an embarrassing number of men), saying you’d sleep with a woman is the same as saying you think she has an admirable character. It was bizarre, and at the time it hit me like a donkey kick in the gut. It ended up being a valuable lesson, but one that it felt weird learning at the age of 32: that any group of believers, any group of fans, any group of like-minded individuals will eventually turn on the person who isn’t 100 percent with them. Room for doubts? Get out of here; you’re ruining everyone’s completely uncritical excitement.

It’s not just in the world of politics. I’ve had the same experience before with other groups. Hell, it was the basis of my column last week when I talked about fanboys attacking a film critic for daring not to be completely overjoyed about a movie they hadn’t even seen; they just didn’t want their excitement ruined and became little sexists in their fury. I’ve seen it happen in comic book stores, in online fan groups and all over schools and playgrounds. I’d just never had it happen to me before with a group of supposedly enlightened and forward-thinking adults.

It sucked.

Basically I stopped talking to those people, disappointed with their childish reactions to my honest questions. And they stopped talking to me. I was out of the circle. And if that was how they were going to react to critical thinking directed at a Democrat instead of a Republican, then I was glad to be outside.

Not everyone reacted that way, of course. There were still people who wanted to hear what I wanted to say. And I was never just trying to preach to the choir or write something just to have my back patted. I got my self-esteem kicked around enough as a kid that as an adult I’m genuinely surprised when I do anything anyone likes. But whenever I wrote about politics on my blog, I never got quite the same reaction again.

But you know what? It’s fine. Because I don’t want a reaction: I want thought. I want genuine opinions. I want to be engaged by people commenting, I want to have a discussion with the people who agree or disagree.

Unfortunately, on the Internet, that’s pretty much impossible. Like I said last week, everyone stopped expecting comments sections to yield interesting discussions a long time ago. Nowadays I’ll usually get some attempts at interesting points, and then some right-winger will come in who vehemently disagrees with whatever inflammatory thing I’ve said, and he’ll (and it’s always a he) start calling me names and attacking me for being a “typical” liberal. Which is especially annoying because although I consider myself socially progressive, I’ve never considered myself more than a political moderate … but to people on a rant, anyone even a step to the left of Rush Limbaugh seems to be an enemy of freedom. I finally had to go the step of putting up a warning on my comments section that angry, right wing, neo-conservative rants would be automatically deleted, because I’m not providing a virtual soapbox for people to just make themselves feel smarter by attacking me personally. If you want to attack my ideas or what I said, let’s do it. But if you’re going to be a child, do it somewhere else, because I don’t care and I’m not providing space for it.

One person took this personally and attacked me for being a “typical” liberal, and then went on to defend himself for not being a neo-conservative at all, but a libertarian. I deleted his rant without finishing it. I’ve always wished he could somehow know that I never finished reading his passionate defense of his libertarian beliefs. Because maybe then he’d know a little bit how it feels for me to keep explaining that I’m a political moderate only to keep being attacked for being a “typical” liberal.

Of course, the hilarious icing on the cake to all this is that when we talk about politics on our blogs — and I’m not talking about legitimate news and op-ed sites, but just men and women writing their political opinions on their blogs in their spare time — is that none of it really makes any difference, does it? It’s not like someone important is reading our opinions and making policy decisions based on them. We’re just blowing off steam; we’re frustrated at having no power in the system, so we find a way to just get out our feelings and opinions so that they’re not eating away at us. We have a tendency to imagine that getting into a passionate fight about matters of legislation is somehow intellectual trench warfare, as if two or more people in one tiny corner of the blogosphere refusing to ever agree about the bank bailouts is somehow actual life-or-death politics.

And that, in the end, is what it all comes down to for me: Live your beliefs. Own your opinions. Say what you think and don’t be afraid, but always be open to listening. Just don’t fool yourself that your opinions on the political issues of the day affect anything. (Unless of course you really are getting involved; this is a whole other discussion.)

And stop fooling anyone that yelling at someone in the comments section for not being completely won over by a political candidate is ruining the political process for anyone. Grow up.

Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at samuraifrog@yahoo.com

Ned Bitters

Nothing makes me happier than having something to be pissed off at. I think that’s why I continue to enjoy sports so much. Now, I can’t complain too much, as being a Pittsburgh fan of a certain advanced age has allowed me to experience an unfair amount of sports euphoria in my life.

I’ve seen my teams win six Super Bowls, three Stanley Cups, two World Series and a college football National Championship. I’ve rooted for some of the best athletes ever to play their sports. The sports karma gods blessed me by having my parents reproduce in Pittsburgh. Imagine if they’d have been fucking in Cleveland or San Diego way back when.

Yet I still find so many things in sports to be irritated about. In the past week I’ve screamed at my TV over the following sports-related items, each one of them highly overrated. [Please note that this irrational bitchiness is in no way a result of my Pittsburgh Penguins shitting their playoff bed by losing so embarrassingly to bitter rival Philadelphia. I assure you that my insane ass would find these items vexing even if I were nursing a Stanley Cup hangover.]

Hockey fans slapping the glass when the play is directly in front of them

If you watch hockey, you’ve seen these assbags. Two of the toughest athletes on the planet crash into the boards at a ridiculous rate of speed. They battle on razor-sharp, potentially lethal skates for the puck, pushing and kicking and banging each other with their shoulders and sticks. Throughout the game, they’ve used their legs and feet to block spheres of frozen, rock-hard rubber flying at them at 100 miles per hour. They furiously bang into each other for 60 minutes three to four nights per week. They will occasionally have the stones to drop their gloves and have an actual fist fight, knowing full well they could get knocked cold in front of 18,000 people.

But you, the pasty, twig-armed cubicle schlubb from Technotronics, Inc., are going to show these skating masses of testosterone and muscle how tough you are with your sorry-assed, limp-wristed slaps on a protective slab of 3/4-inch thick, highly reinforced glass. Uh huh. I know I’ve seen a badly shaken Zdeno Chara miss a shift or two after being terrorized by The Fan Hand.

Maybe you think you’re throwing the player off his game, which is even more laughable. He’s able to maintain his focus with 18,000 hostile people screaming at him and a 225-pound goon looking to check him back to Saskatoon, but it’s your feeble glass slaps that are going to throw Alex Ovechkin or Pavel Datsyuk off of his world-class game.

Now, if you do the glass slap with a smile on your face and you’re not too intense about it, then okay, you’re just having a little innocent fun at the ol’ hockey game. Hell, with what front row seats cost these days, you ought to be able to give Jaromir Jagr a handjob if you are so inclined. (Believe me, in the 90s I’d have shown up in Row A with two bottles of Jergens to reward the Great 68 for his world-class exploits.) So a smiling glass slap is cool.

But you faux badasses who pound the glass with rage are just ball-less turds who are showing your cocks in a situation where there is no way in hell you can get your ass kicked. We all see you making a fool of yourself. Well, almost all of us. The players are too busy being truly badass.

Athletes claiming they are “humbled by …” some sort of accolade

If you follow sports at all, you’ve heard athletes say this after being elected to a hall of fame or setting some record. “I gotta tell ya, just being mentioned with guys like Ruth and Gehrig is pretty humbling …”

Explain to me what it means when an athlete says this when he has just been recognized for doing something extraordinary in his sport. I always thought that being humbled meant that you were cut down to size. You hit four homeruns and bat .738 during a weekend series, then you quit dominating the Pittsburgh Pirates and fly across the state to Philadelphia, where you go 0-for-14 against Halladay and crew. That’s being humbled.

But some athlete will get named MVP or perform a feat that puts him in same company as Joe Montana or Michael Jordan, and he’ll say that he his “humbled” by having his name included in such company. He’s either lying or severely lacking in basic word use skills.

Just be honest and say what you are really thinking. “What’s that? Only Bobby Orr and Paul Coffey have done what I just did? That means I’m even more awesome than I thought. If I was an insufferably cocky bastard before, I’m taking swagger to a whole new level now. Okay, interview over, bitches. Now someone send me a clubhouse boy to wash my balls …”

Baseball players crashing into shit

Can we stop lauding Major League baseball players who separate shoulders or knock themselves senseless by crashing into a wall in the third inning of a June game?

I expect pro athletes to give 100 percent all the time, but they do not need to dive over railings or into dugouts or hurl themselves face first into outfield walls unless they’re at a crucial juncture of a post post-season game, and even then it might not be worth it. Risking long-term injury while trying to prevent a fourth inning double just doesn’t seem to make long-term sense.

If you’re on a 25-man roster, you’re one of the best baseball players on the planet. Even the shittiest major league baseball players have immense talent and are of great value to your team. That value is eliminated if you break your ankle sliding into the metal barrier to the stands while trying to catch that foul pop off the pitcher’s bat.

Bill James or some of those other stats gurus need to do a study that mathematically proves that it’s better in the long run to let a ball drop than it is to hurl your body into something made of steel or wood in attempt to gain one out. If superhuman Matt Kemp saves two runs by crashing into the outfield wall but suffers a shoulder separation that ruins his swing for the rest of the season, would those two saved runs be worth it to the Dodgers over the long haul?

Yes, I know teams miss the playoffs by one game, and all teams lose their share of one-run games during the course of a season, and perhaps a gave-saving, wall-smashing catch could have made the difference between October baseball and October golfing. But if the player who saves that one game ends up on the disabled list for a few weeks, chances are his absence from the lineup will lose you more games in the long run.

But most professional ballplayers, even if faced with statistics that prove that crashing into walls is folly, will continue to give 110 percent. Unless we can get fans in the front rows to scare the shit out of them by slapping the box seat railings and outfield walls.

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Marvel’s The Avengers Release Date: May 4, 2012 Director: Joss Whedon Writers: Joss Whedon Stars: Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Mark Ruffalo, Chris Hemsworth, Scarlett Johansson, Jeremy Renner, Samuel L. Jackson MPAA Rating: PG-13 HoboTrashcan’s Rating:

One of Joss Whedon’s greatest strengths as a director is his ability to create a sense of grandeur in his work.

Whether it’s The CW’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Serenity, the theatrical adaptation of Whedon’s cult hit Firefly, the acclaimed writer/director finds a way to make things seem epic. And considering Marvel’s The Avengers is a big summer blockbuster that’s been teased ever since the closing credits of 2008′s Iron Man, Whedon is absolutely the right man to make this movie feel important and give it the larger than life feel that you would expect for a team up of “Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

To make a movie like this work takes more than grandeur though. You need to find a way to spotlight all of the individual superheroes while also advancing the plot and giving the audience a memorable villain and a handful of great battle sequences. Whedon is able to deliver on all of these fronts. The movie has a nearly two and a half hour running time, but none of it feels wasted and even the scenes that simply involve characters sitting around a table talking feature snappy dialogue and have enough tension or excitement running through them to keep things from ever getting boring.

Much of the story builds on things we’ve already seen in the previous Avenger character films. The film’s MacGuffin is The Tesseract, an energy cube that was prominently featured in Captain America and originated in Odin’s (Thor’s father) war room. The Avengers‘ villain also comes from a previous film – Loki, Thor’s trickster brother who disappeared into the abyss of space at the end of Thor. He returns with a kick ass new staff and an army of aliens looking to snag the Tesseract and take over Earth.

Of course, all of this is simply an excuse to create a conflict big enough to bring The Avengers together. What we all want to see is Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, The Incredible Hulk, Black Widow and Hawkeye team up to take on a set of worthy foes. And seeing the interactions between these different personas makes the film so much fun to watch. It’s a real joy to see Tony Stark (Robert Downey, Jr.) and Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) bond over their love of science. Though it’s equally as fun to watch Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and The Hulk try to kick the crap out of each other. And Stark’s seemingly endless string of jokes at Steve Rogers’ (Chris Evans) expense provide consistent laughs throughout the film. Plus, there is actually a quite lovely and compelling backstory given for The Black Widow’s (Scarlett Johanssen) close relationship with Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner).

What’s also refreshing is that while all of the big stars are able to shine, there are also great moments in the film for minor characters like Agent Phil Coulson (Clark Gregg) and Agent Maria Hill (Cobie Smulders). And, of course, Samuel L. Jackson is given plenty of opportunity to shine as Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s worth mentioning too that Mark Ruffalo, who made headlines when he replaced Ed Norton as The Hulk, gives the most compelling and nuanced portrayal of Bruce Banner I’ve ever seen. I hope he gets his own spinoff film so that they might finally get The Incredible Hulk right.

One of the other great things about Joss Whedon is that, unlike a lot of directors today, the man knows how to shoot an action sequences. I’ve complained at length about the modern tendency to use shaky handheld camerawork as a cheap means of conveying action, which typically leaves me feeling cold and slightly nauseous. Whedon doesn’t resort to those cheap tricks. All of his action scenes are clearly stages and easy to track with, which makes them so much more fun to watch. There’s a scene late in the film where he uses one continuous shot to go from hero to hero showing you how each one is faring in battle that is truly amazing to watch unfold.

There are only two things that kept this from being a perfect film. One is a few minor inconsistencies and plot holes in the writing that left me scratching my head, the biggest of which involved the dramatic shift in how much control Bruce Banner had of his faculties when he morphed into the Hulk. The other thing is the 3D element, which like many films was a complete waste of time. It added nothing to the film. The best thing I can say about it is that, unlike Thor which had poorly-lit battles with the Frost Giants that became incredibly difficult to see when converted, the 3D in no way detracts from the film. It just doesn’t add anything either.

Overall though, The Avengers is a fun, funny film that actually lives up to all of the hype surrounding it. Once again, Joss Whedon created a grand stage and delivered a memorable, epic story on it. And the teaser clip that rolls after the closing credits and the inevitable success this film will have hopefully means Whedon isn’t done filming stories featuring Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Written by Joel Murphy. If you enjoy his reviews, he also writes a weekly pop culture column called Murphy’s Law, which you can find here. You can contact Joel at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Many people are expecting The Avengers to do monster numbers this weekend. And it should, considering it has a secret weapon – Samuel L. Jackson, the highest grossing actor of all time.

Thanks to Jackson’s insane work ethic and willingness to do literally any movie, Guiness now recognizes him as the top earning actor in movie history. Joel Murphy and Lars pay tribute to Jackson and preview The Avengers on this week’s show. They also discuss weird smells, confess some dirty little secrets and talk back to Siri. You definitely want to make sure to stick around for the whole show.

What is Lars now looking for in a lady? What is Joel’s dark secret from his past? Why is Samuel L. Jackson so awesome? The answers to these questions and more are in this week’s podcast.

This week’s music:

• Intro – “Giddy Up” by Tahuna Breaks
• End – “First of May” by Jonathan Coulton

Hobo Radio is the official podcast of HoboTrashcan, brought to you by The Podcast Network.

Joel Murphy

Because the people in my life love nothing more than attempting to prove me wrong and/or needling me, several people I know have asked me my feelings on Jimmy Fallon’s two most recent noteworthy moments -- Slow Jammin’ the News with President Barack Obama and appearing on last week’s live episode of 30 Rock.

In an effort to prevent the rest of you from forwarding me the YouTube clips, I’ll take this time to address both of these moments publicly. Yes, I’ve seen them and no, they did nothing to change my opinion that Fallon is a no-talent hack.

Jimmy Fallon isn’t funny. All he does is stammer through lines with no comedic timing and a look on his face that hints at a desperate need for approval. The stuff that works, either on his late night show or back on Saturday Night Live when he was a cast member, all succeed because of the people around him, not Fallon himself.

I think of this as the “Late Night Snack Principal.”

For those of you who don’t know, Ben & Jerry’s released an ice cream flavor called “Late Night Snack” that was made in honor of Fallon. According to the Ben & Jerry’s website, Late Night Snack is a vanilla ice cream mixed with “fudge covered potato chip clusters and salty caramel swirl.” I’m sure it’s quite tasty. But, while Fallon’s name and likeness are attached to it, he should get no credit for its success. Ben & Jerry did all the hard work. All Fallon did was put his dumb mug front and center on the container.

This is how he is with comedy. Like Ben & Jerry, the comedians around him do all the hard work and Fallon simply gets to stand there getting accolades that other people earned.

Think back to perhaps the most iconic sketch Fallon was in on SNL -- the infamous Blue Oyster Cult “More Cowbell” skit. First of all, how many of you forgot that Fallon was even in that sketch? (Be honest, you remember Horatio Sanz before you remember Fallon, don’t you?) What people remember when they think back is Christopher Walken’s deadpan delivery and Will Ferrel’s ridiculous gyrating. Perhaps you remember Chris Parnell’s disgusted facial expression throughout as well, which made the whole thing work.

If you happen to even recall that Fallon is in it, all you can remember is him stammering through his line and then laughing throughout the remainder of the sketch. At no point does he actually add anything, except another warm body to fill in as a Blue Oyster Cult member.

Now go back and watch him Slow Jam the News with Obama (which you can see below). Pay attention to the audience reactions during that sketch. The biggest reactions are for Roots frontman Tariq Trotter, who sells the bit with his melodic punchlines. He’s the glue holding it all together.

Obama also gets a lot of love from the crowd throughout, even though he’s essentially the straight man in the bit. When he first takes the stage, the audience goes nuts. He also gets a great reaction when he explains what POTUS stands for, thanks to that winning smile and some great comedic timing.

Then there’s Fallon, standing front and center looking like a middle school student delivering lines in a Christmas pageant. His voice is all wrong for the sketch -- he’s too white and awkward to be slow jamming anything. (And don’t try to tell me it works in some ironic way. If someone with a Barry White-esque voice was doing those lines instead of Fallon, it would be a million times funnier and you all know it.) Fallon is the least comfortable and least charismatic person on that stage, which is problematic since A) it’s his show and 2) he’s decided to put his big stupid head front and center in the frame.

Fallon also made a appearance on 30 Rock last week as the least compelling surprise guest on the sitcom’s special live episode. While John Hamm and Donald Glover absolutely killed it, Fallon showed up to play a young Jack Donaghy, robbing the character of all of the charisma and machismo Alec Baldwin brings to the role. Making matter worse, a cross dressing Fred Armisen absolutely steals Fallon’s scene simply by making funny expressions in the background.

So don’t try to convince me that Jimmy Fallon is a comic genius. I won’t buy it, no matter how many noteworthy clips featuring him surface on YouTube. He’s the vanilla ice cream in every bits Late Night Snack. Everyone else around him is the chocolate-covered potato chips.

Joel Murphy is the creator of HoboTrashcan, which is probably why he has his own column. He loves pugs, hates Jimmy Fallon and has an irrational fear of robots. You can contact him at murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com.

Aaron R. Davis

It’s a source of constant embarrassment to me how predictable nerd rage is.

I remember when I was in junior high and it was constantly impressed in me how childish it was to take your opinion of something so seriously that you took differing opinions as a personal attack. If you couldn’t take someone disagreeing with you about the merits of some piece of entertainment or another, then why should your opinion even be considered? An opinion so easily punctured is an opinion unconsidered and unworthy of note.

Flash forward to decades later, where the ever-fragile concept of Western Civilization has impressed into our brains the purposeless self-esteem builder that everyone’s opinion is equally valid. Now children are apparently so nurtured, so inculcated in their little nests, that the second they — as ostensibly grown individuals — encounter a differing opinion from their own on something as inconsequential as a movie or a television show, they crumble into puddles that can only scream slurs and weep as though they’ve been physically beaten. It’s a pathetic spectacle: something that we used to not tolerate from three year-olds, but which apparently is some sort of virtue on the Internet.

What I’m referring to this time is the outpouring of fanboy tears and predictable sexism towards Amy Nicholson, whose three-star review of The Avengers garnered a lot of nerd rage. In a typically embarrassing display, people who seem to actually have jobs and adult responsibilities got all butt hurt by the idea that a woman — a WOMAN — could give a professional, well-reasoned, interesting-but-not-100-percent-enthusiastic review to a film they were excited about seeing. And one based on a comic book with Joss Whedon at the helm. A flurry of comments followed that do a great job of illustrating why no one should ever read the comments section on anything on the Internet.

Read the review. I’ll wait. It’s a pretty good review and worth the read. Nicholson says one thing that I think is really insightful about superhero movies: “We know the villains of earth. Give us more about the villains — and heroes — of our imagination.” It’s good writing.

What really seems to be missed in most of the bizarrely wounded and disturbingly personal comments is that she liked the movie. She didn’t give it a bad review. She just didn’t adore it and give it the glowing, fault-overlooking knob-slob that apparently is all the fanboys want to read about this month’s pet nerd flick. She does the job of a film critic: she discusses what she thinks are the strong and weak points of the movie and whether it works as a whole. That’s what she’s paid to do.

What seems to bother so many fandamentalists is that she’s not a Marvel zombie, and so isn’t qualified somehow to review it. That’s a desperately pathetic argument that, like most arguments in comments sections, is designed to both soothe the commenter’s ego and make him feel smarter than the person he disagrees with. She seems as qualified as film critics get, though the idea that there are qualifications for film criticism has always seemed pretty nebulous to me. There is some little fuckwit in the comments who tries to take her to task for being “bias” (a hilarious misuse of grammar considering one the things he decides to take as an insult is her accidentally calling a character the wrong name), without actually noticing his own bias, which is that she’s biased in the wrong way or something. Apparently her stated preference for DC Comics over Marvel Comics somehow means her even being allowed to SEE The Avengers is some sort of crime. Or something.

Are there still people falling for this idiot idea that honest criticism of a subjective experience can possibly be objective? And if it was, why would you even want to read something so middle-of-the-road? There’s no useful objective criticism because it’s so gutless; it amounts to little more than “The people who would like this movie will like it and the people who wouldn’t will not.” Wow, what a bold stance.

But there are two bigger issues here for me.

The first is that the people rushing to the defense of this movie have yet to actually see it. There are some people in the comments who have seen the movie, but the majority have not. And they’re actually mad that someone who has seen The Avengers is somehow wrecking their enthusiasm for a movie they’ve already decided they love more than anything in the world ever. It’s the logic of a particularly stupid child: I love this thing I don’t have because I’m so incredibly happy with my idea of it, and everyone that ruins it for me is a booger-head.

These are the kind of people who are so desperate to have their arrested adolescences rewarded that the thought of a possible disappointment essentially shuts down their ability to reason. You know exactly who I mean; they’re probably that friend you have who is still upset over how Boba Fett died.

Remember back in 2008 when David Edelstein in New York Magazine didn’t like The Dark Knight and people who had not even seen the film were issuing death threats at him and calling for him to be fired? This is the exact same thing: if you don’t share the opinion I think I’m going to have, I’m just going to sit here and scream about it because somehow the idea that everyone’s uninformed opinion is equally valid really means that only mine is valid and anyone who disagrees with me is doing it to be mean.

It’s actually kind of scary the number of commenters who seem to think that The Avengers having a 96 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes instead of 100 percent is threatening to them personally.

The other problem, of course, is the rampant sexism.

Once again, the fantards go right to their default setting: women don’t love comics and action movies, therefore women should keep their mouths shut and let me enjoy my shit without trying to make me feel bad about it.

It’s a pathetic spectacle, made no less disturbing by its routine predictability.

I could go on in a whole second column about this point, but Christ, grow up. You already know it’s asshole behavior; you’re well aware of it, it’s the year 2012. The appropriate response to “I wish this film was more ambitious” is not “Stick to rom-coms, bitch” or “You have no business being a film critic if you’re going to act like this” (especially considering that the way she was acting was like a film critic). We all know this. All of us. There is no excuse for that behavior. You’d never respond to someone like that face to face, where you’d have to be held accountable for what you say, and you fucking know it. You. Know. It. It’s pathetic and sad, and it makes everyone who is a fan of anything genre look pathetic and sad by association. If this is really how you respond to a woman just for not liking something you don’t even know if you like yet, then you really just need to stick your head in a gas oven and breathe deeply until your head clears, because society does not need you in order to function.

Get over yourselves. It’s just a movie. Love it or don’t. You don’t need the validation of others. If you think you do, your problems run deeper than some critic didn’t love a movie you haven’t even seen yet.

But I like to think that’s why we have comments sections now. Because everyone stopped expecting them to yield actual discussion so long ago, they’re really only effective as a place for your inner toddler to vent his useless, ridiculous, hilarious, impotent anger. And those comments deserve to be ignored, like a toddler crying in the corner that he can’t play with his favorite toy just now. And the response of the reasonable should be the same as they would be to the toddler: just ignore it and let him cry; he’ll wear himself out soon enough.

Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at samuraifrog@yahoo.com

Nicole Alexandria

Through seven seasons of How I Met Your Mother, the once lovable dating antics of the main character Ted Mosby have grown stale. Many viewers are left rolling their eyes and saying, “I wish he would just meet her already.”

We watch season to season, date to date, wondering if each paramour will be the one that lasts, trusting the voice of Bob Saget telling us it will all make sense. The once lovable antics of a young 27-year-old single man in the city once could be laughed off as mistakes you get to make in your youth are now the douchy acts of a 34-year-old man being outshone by friends.

I would agree with those of you who hold that opinion completely, if it wasn’t a metaphor for my life.

I am Ted Mosby. Despite having a better rack, I am in the exact same position. I reached a point in my life where my friends all got married and are now having children. As I listen to their stories, I know I am not anywhere close to being in the same position they are. I read novels or go out to eat while they read children’s stories and bake cookies. I try a new bar that just opened in town while they tour day care centers and nursery school. The laughable stories I have about horrible first dates are the same I could have told five years ago are now foreign to my friends. Now light years ahead of me, they listen, roll their eyes and wonder when I’ll meet the one already. It’ll just happen when it happens, right?

For many people, you reach a point in adulthood when you just want to meet your partner already. Everyone tells you it will happen when it’s supposed to. Or they assume you aren’t trying hard enough or dating enough. Each year you keep getting older and instead of finding the great love of your life, you keep ending up with dates who aren’t right for you, no matter how much you think they are or want them to be. People start to assume you’re too picky or too self-centered while you go on dates whose name you won’t remember by the next episode.

You know exactly what you want and just haven’t found it yet, but all you want to do in the world is settle down with the one already. People start to wonder what is wrong with you while you’re friends lives lap you while you are stuck running in place. You start to be the least interesting character in your own life story.

Season seven of How I Met Your Mother has shown very little of Ted, letting its supporting characters advance light years faster than they have in any other season. Marshall and Lily are going to be parents any minute now. Although they were fortunate enough to meet early in life, the gang was able to stay together because they were all still transitioning into adulthood. Marshall finished law school, Lily found herself in art school and they had a memorable wedding. Followed by a grown up apartment and briefly a house in the suburbs, securing them spots as officially adults.

Our lovable self-proclaimed confirmed bachelor Barney tried to settle down with not only two recurring characters, but also rekindled feelings for Robin briefly, including almost getting her pregnant. Not only has Barney flourished with three potential women who are perfect for him, but he has done so without trying. At all. He’s stumbled upon them and even at times pushed it away as hard as he could for love to only shoot right back at him tenfold. Rubbing salt into an already open wound, it was revealed that Barney not only finds love before Ted, but he most likely will even get married long before as Ted supposedly meets the one at Barney’s wedding.

Robin’s character had a somewhat somber season after discovering she can not bear children, but has also been more empowered this season. She has been in control of her fate, turning down three men on their knees who would have given her all they had. Barney, Ted and Kevin all proposed to and were rejected by Robin in one season.

And then there is Ted. Does anyone remember anything interesting about Ted at all this season? I would dare say his most memorable episode is when an old girlfriend tells him indirectly to grow up and cut the shit. Hell he even had to admit to himself the great love of his life Robin is better suited for his best friend. Ouch.

I don’t have an old dirty comedian assuring everyone that one day I will finally meet someone and it will all make sense, but if and when I do, I promise not to tell my children about seven plus years worth of chicks I banged. (I’ll save that for the grandkids.) But until then cut Ted some slack.

It’ll just happen when it happens, right?

Nicole Alexandria is off doing cool things like a boss that you probably never heard of while not giving a single fuck all day every day. You can contact her through Facebook.