True Itch

Unless you tend to fall on your head a lot, you know that for the last few years nothing has been more popular than vampires. Every summer the production studios release at least 12 movies that either star vampires or are written by vampires or are directed by vampires or are seen by vampires. These movies are based on a series of widely-read novels about vampires that were also written by a vampire. HBO airs a popular drama featuring vampires that is also based on a series of novels, but a series of novels that are entirely different from the series of novels that the summer movies are based on and that are written by an entirely different vampire.

There’s no escaping them. Vampires are in our gyms, our offices, attending our law schools and passing our immigration reform. But I don’t understand the appeal. They’re not scary. And it doesn’t help that nowadays vampires want nothing but to be accepted by the rest of society. What the hell is that? Talk about a generation of pansies. In my day, vampires didn’t give a damn if you liked them; you were getting drained of your bodily fluids whether you sent them a Facebook friend request or not.

Not anymore. Now they’re all like, “Why doesn’t anyone love me? I just want to be like a normal person. Then again, I’m bad for you. You don’t want me to bite you and drag you into my world. It’s too much drama. You should find a guy who plays in a band, or that nice Jewish boy who works in the deli. I hear his dad is a dentist. I know, that’s weird that I’d put in a good word for anybody related to a dentist, right? But they’re harmless. I actually try to see one pretty regularly. You wouldn’t believe what I get stuck in my teeth. Your phone? No, I didn’t hear anything. Well, if you have to go, you have to go. Nah, I’ll be alright. That’s ok, you don’t have to come over later. Do what you need to do. I should probably work on that paper anyway. Ok, see you later.”

You know what’s a lot scarier than vampires? Mosquitoes. They suck blood too, but their bites don’t do anything cool like make me immortal. And mosquitoes are unrelenting. At least vampires can be warded off with a garlic necklace, but you could marinade for a day and a half in “bug spray” and be lucky to only have 27 mosquito bites after walking to the mailbox and back.

And evil laughs and bad Transylvanian accents are nothing compared to that buzzing sound from a mosquito that is hovering just outside your ear. So I guess it’s not enough that their itchy bites are annoying, they have to sound annoying too.

Mosquitoes are what send us running inside, fearful of the night. They’re horrifying. So why aren’t there hundreds of best-selling novels about girls falling in love with mosquitoes? Ok, you’re right. That would be stupid. There should be hundreds of best-selling novels about girls falling in love with creatures that are half man, half mosquito. And not just novels, but movies and TV shows as well. We let vampires infiltrate every outlet of entertainment, so that would only be fair.

The hunky, brooding man-mosquitoes could be forced to stay inside during the winter months, thriving only in hot, wet environments. A swarm of lake-living man-mosquitoes could take up a territorial battle against a swarm of swamp-living man-mosquitoes, and the girl-bird who is the love interest of one of the lake-living man mosquitoes could be under the spell of one of the swamp-living man-mosquitoes, so the lake-living man-mosquito has to choose between saving the girl-bird or helping his swarm defend their turf.

Or maybe the protagonist mosquito could fly into a town that’s broken off from the rest of society, and instead of having blood flowing through their veins, the townspeople are filled with some sort of green ooze. Then after biting everyone, the mosquito goes back to his swarm and starts infecting the rest of his colony with a disease given to him by the mutant humans, instead of the other way around. The possibilities are endless.

If we want scary, suspenseful forms of entertainment that are based on even a fraction of reality, then this is the only way to go. When all the kids rush to the theaters next year to watch a big budget movie about sexy, angst-ridden, teenager mosquitoes, remember that you heard it here first.

The State Disaster Panel Hears the Annual Arguments

Membership Panel that Oversees the Doling Out of American Catastrophes Hears Each State’s Argument for Why It Should Not Be the Recipient of the Next Natural Disaster

Panel Chairman: Alright, I apologize for this meeting spilling over into a third day, but there are just so many of you. These things were a lot easier when there were only 13 colonies. Anyway, just to remind everyone, now that the oil mess in the Gulf looks to be under control, it’s time to decide which of you should be next on the quote-unquote, hit list. In the last five years, Louisiana has obviously dealt with a major hurricane and the BP disaster, so it has a pass for the next six months. Also, keep in mind that even though the final judging isn’t official, Michigan is most likely off the hook this year because of its economic woes, and Ohio will probably get off easy because by all appearances it has never recovered from its last disaster. Whatever it was.

We only have two of you left to plead your case, so hopefully we’ll be out of here before lunch. Florida, you’re up.

Florida: Well, I’m sure most of you are aware that due to the economic downturn, I’ve experienced plummeting home prices the last couple years. My tourism industry was hurt this summer as well due to tar balls washing up on a lot of my beaches. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as bad as what Louisiana experienced, but still. A lot of people forget, but I also suffered damage due to a handful of hurricanes that hit my shores the same year as Katrina. Again, not nearly as bad, but I don’t think ALL the sympathy should be reserved for New Orleans. And I’m still the butt of jokes for the 2000 Presidential Election. I mean, seriously. That was 10 years ago!

(Shout from the back) Are yous kiddin’ me?! Yous assholes just got LeBron James!

Chairman (banging gavel furiously): New York, we’ve had enough of your outbursts! You’re dangerously close to getting tazed.

Alright, you’ve made your point, Florida. Last but not least, if they’re lucky (laughter trickles throughout the panel members), New Jersey. State your case.

New Jersey: Ok, well, going off what my colleague Florida was just saying, for all of his confused elderly and NASCAR-appreciating citizens, I am the butt of far more jokes than he is. New Jersey is everybody’s favorite whipping boy. And now that reality show just got picked up for a second season. You all probably think that’s a perfect reason to pick me, but let me tell you, it’s humiliating. I don’t think I’m off base when I say that choosing me would be too obvious. Be creative! Be original. Think outside the box.

Panelist #12: Hold it right there. You made a very convincing argument right up until you said, ‘think outside the box.’ How about YOU think outside the box by NOT saying the phrase, ‘think outside the box.’ You’re back on the list.

(Just then Maine drunkenly stands on its seat, uses one hand to point an angry finger at the panel and its other hand to lewdly grab itself)

Maine: Oh yeah, well you’re back on this list!

Chairman (more gavel banging): That’s enough! We warned you last time, Maine. Security, remove The Pine Tree State from the proceedings. (Puts hand over mic and turns to panelists on his right) I mean it – this is the last year they’ll be allowed to bring in outside alcohol.

Panelist #3 (whispering to Panelist #8): Wow. I can’t believe Maine was the first to get thrown out. I thought for sure it would be Nevada.

Panelist #8 (whispering to Panelist #3): My money was on Wisconsin, but man, she can really hold her liquor.

Chairman: OK, let’s get back on track, people. Each of you has had a chance to speak, so before we adjourn to make our decision, let me just address some points of interest with a few of you.

Arizona – You should know right off the bat that you’re a leading candidate. You hate all your residents, anyway. You’re practically begging for some kind of disaster to occur. And good Lord, could you be any hotter? And we’re not talking about being popular or really attractive. We’re talking about the f#@*ing heat. How can you stand it? You really think it makes a difference that there’s no humidity? That’s supposed to make up for the fact that we have to breathe sand? I think if you were suddenly catapulted to the sun, not many states would openly weep. And you wouldn’t notice a difference.

California – I think we’re split down the middle on your fate. I mean, you have your regular slate of disasters – fires, mudslides, earthquakes. On the other hand, it’d be tough for a state to be more pompous. You’ve got your beaches, your movie stars, your overpriced… well, everything. And let’s not forget your weather is almost as obnoxiously nice as Arizona’s is obnoxiously hot. Then there’s the fact that you wouldn’t convict a celebrity for double murder if he molested your child at his fantasy ranch and then videotaped himself beating you alongside a bunch of police officers after a minor traffic violation. And, you know… committed double murder.

Kansas - Sheesh. Where do I start? Let’s just say you’re lucky Darwin’s not on this panel.

And New Hampshire - That little fling you’re having with a certain Canadian province that shall remain nameless? It’s not as secret as you think it is. Turns out one of our members got a hold of an e-mail you sent her and I don’t think your wife would be too happy with what you wrote. Not only that, but you are sick, man. Absolutely sick.

Let’s see… who else, who else? Oh yeah, Oregon – Waah, waah, waah, waah, waah. Come on! You didn’t even make a case for yourself. You just went on and on about ‘Can’t we all just live in peace and love and harmony? Why do we have to have disasters and suffering?’ Auuugggghhhh (mockingly sticks finger down throat). I swear, if Lewis and Clark weren’t already dead, I’d kill them myself.

And Georgia – The panel will definitely take into account that unfortunate incident that a few of our members had when they pulled into one of your truck stops along I-75 last year. What’s that? The owners of the truck stop didn’t know who they were? Well, maybe next time they won’t get so wide eyed at the sight of ‘out-of-towners.’

Ok, I think that’s it. Rest assured, we will factor in Maine’s complete lack of respect for this panel and for all of you. We’re going to talk it over, then let’s reconvene at 11 a.m. for the big announcement. Just a reminder, the next disaster on the docket involves millions of strains of the Ebola virus being dropped into your largest city’s supply of drinking water. Keep your fingers crossed!

It Only Gets Crappier From Here

So earlier tonight I heard my three-year-old son tell my wife, "Mom, we should go on vacation" (again). The kid has never paid for a single bite of food that he's put in his mouth and yet he thinks he needs a(nother) vacation. Every day for him is a vacation. I didn't have the heart to tell him to enjoy this time while he can because in a few years the highlight of his day will be finding a seat on the bus that's not covered in dried boogers.

Voicemail Message from the Double Rainbow

Voicemail Message Left By the Double Rainbow on YouTube for the Guy Who Videotaped It

“Dude. Uh…hey. What’s up? Sorry I missed you. I hate talking on these things.

“Uh… look, just wanted to let you know I appreciate your passion. Really, I do. I tend to get a lot of oohs and ahhs, but nothing like what you did. And my cousin, the Single Rainbow, barely even gets a nod of appreciation from adults. It’s usually just kids who come out of the house to take a closer look when he decides to make an appearance. He won’t admit it, but he’s super jealous. Always bitching about putting in twice as many hours for only a quarter of the gratitude. Blah, blah, blah.

“Anyway, uh… so that’s cool that I was able to make your day. But, seriously, you might want to consider taking down the video, if you can. I really don’t know how these things work. Do you even have the rights to your own video any more, or does it legally belong to the YouTube people? Maybe you can talk to them and work out a deal. I’ve become the butt of quite a few jokes lately. Plus… ah crap. Stupid beep. These things are never long enough.”

(Redials)

“Hey, me again. Sorry to drone on forever, but as I was saying… I’ve also become the new standard measure of joy for people, whether it’s a not-so-ordinary life event or the most mundane daily occurrence with the most inconsequential results. People are shouting my name every time a second bag of chips unexpectedly drops in the vending machine. It’s insulting, quite frankly. Not to mention that it’s a lot to live up to. I don’t need the attention. I kind of like to just hang out and do my thing.

“But most importantly, people are starting to figure out what you were doing. I mean, it’s pretty obvious. Sure, you never turned the camera on yourself, but the audio is pretty damning. But I haven’t been telling people. Believe me! I have not said a word. The whole thing freaked me out. I mean, there you were… doing what you were doing, and I couldn’t go anywhere. I’m frozen there until the sun is finished refracting through the clouds or the rain or whatever. I couldn’t move. You really put me in an awkward position. There’s no reason you couldn’t go back inside to do that. I know, I know, you got that place out in the middle of nowhere, with no one else around for miles, but then you put it on YouTube, so your whole goal of ‘more privacy’ is moot at that point. Damn it!”

(Redials)

“Ok, so I don’t want to go on and on, but if we can just forget about the whole thing, I think that would be best. I’m sure you don’t want people to still talk about it. I can only imagine your embarrassment. And I won’t ever be able to erase that image of you “enjoying” the glory of the Double Rainbow, but if everybody stopped talking about it, that would sure help.

“So… anyway… thanks again. It was cool until it turned creepy. Take it easy.”

(Click)

A Foul Run Afoul

The warm, summer breezes have ushered in new additions to the grounds of my abode – blooming flowers, lush grass, sprouting weeds, and a new companion. He joins me during the daytime hours on the screened-in porch, which serves as a gentle portal to the sun’s harsh rays beating down across the backyard. An escape from the heat while still communing with nature, the space is a welcoming enclosure for man and beast alike.

My first encounter with the unexpected visitor was complete with a proper greeting to my new-found friend.

“What the hell?! There’s a bird in here,” I said.

His presence brought forth a gentle reminder of Mother Nature’s transition of seasons, but I decided the winged guest would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings, so with the wave of my broom, I kindly escorted him out the door and wished him well in all his endeavors.

“Get outta here, bird!”

After a wink and a smile, I untied the wires holding up the doggy door that the previous home owners had fashioned in place, as that was clearly how my feathered neighbor had been coming and going.

Not quite a week had passed, however, when I noticed him again residing in the porch. The industrious creature was not swayed by the sealed doggy door. A careful review of the screens around the perimeter revealed a few gaps where the netting was not attached to the structure’s wooden posts.

I delighted in the prospect of the challenge before me.

“Damn it!” I yelled to no one in particular.

After hurrying to my toolbox, I crudely reattached each gap in the screens with my trusty staple gun. I didn’t want my airborne friend to feel unwelcome, I was simply looking out for him. I knew that in his own environment, he could thrive; soaring among the clouds and the tree limbs that danced across them.

Upon completing my task, I once again whooshed him out the door and hoped that he would continue to visit me whenever I ventured outside the porch and into the yard.

“Now beat it, you flying, disease-carrying rat.”

Mere hours later I gazed into the porch, admiring the work I had not planned on performing, but would nonetheless appreciate while sitting bird-free in my sanctuary.

Only it wasn’t bird-free.

His return left me feeling slightly deflated, but I wanted him to know I admired his persistence and determination.

“F*#k you, bird! Do you hear me? F*#k you!!”

It appeared he had now entered through one or multiple holes that either previously existed, or that he had created by continually pecking at the screen. I was forced to resort to the even cruder solution of applying duct tape to said holes. It was a move that ignored aesthetics and focused solely on eliminating the bird’s return. It was also a move that, an hour later, proved ineffective.

Admittedly I was a tad frustrated. I let out a quiet sigh, humbled by my failure to adequately secure the enclosure.

“That’s it, I’m buying a bb gun,” I told him. “I’m going to wipe the Earth clean of your species. Then I’m going to wipe out all species of birds. Maybe bats too. After that I’ll destroy every last flying insect I come across. Nothing with wings will exist on this planet ever again!”

I could sense that the bird now feared me. The way he looked me in the eye and relieved himself on my patio chair told me that he took my threat seriously. At this point, my wife provided me with a window into his refusal to retreat. Or should I say, ‘her’ refusal.

“I thought I heard some chirping in the rafters, so I took a peak up there,” Brigitte said. “There’s a nest and some babies.”

Suddenly the bird’s ambition was clear. And I ceased referring to it as ‘him’. She was a momma and she was taking care of her young. I felt my irritation soften.

“I think we’ll have to let her in, and we can’t move the nest or she’ll abandon the babies,” Brigitte noted.

With a family of my own, I sympathized with the bird and agreed we must let the mother nurse her young until they were ready to soar alongside her. However, thoughts of what may come weighed heavy on my mind.

“I’m just afraid that while we wait for the babies to leave, another one will get in here, build a nest, lay more eggs and before we know it, there will be bird shit everywhere,” I said.

Pondering this, my wife agreed that the situation presented quite a conundrum.

“Yeah,” she said.

So far, however, no other visitors have stopped by. And the momma and her babies have not been seen for a couple days. It seems they’ve taken to the outside world, and I’m actually starting to miss them and their melodic songs. Sure, I bought some rubber snakes to put in the rafters, but still.

Good luck, birds.

Where's My Mutant Bank Teller?

If you’ve turned on your TV for five minutes in the last two weeks, you’ve probably seen previews for a movie called Splice. The premise looks easy enough to understand – scientists, or at least two people who stole a couple of white coats, toy around in a lab until they create a being that’s half human, half Fox News correspondent. Then the Ann Coulter baby tries to devour its creators and wreak havoc for registered Democrats AND Republicans. No one is safe.

I’m not going to watch this movie and I advise that you don’t either. For one thing, it’s not an original premise. Humans creating things that come to life and turn on them has been seen since at least as far back as Frankenstein. And without knowing how it ends, I imagine most of the movie is pretty predictable. What do the main characters think will happen by tinkering with the DNA of someone from Fox, anyway?

I’d like to see a movie where people take some genomes here, some genomes there, and create a pig/bird/hippo human baby, then raise it and send it off to public school. They could show it playing soccer or t-ball with his peers, learning to ride a bike, participating poorly in spelling bees… or maybe it would do well in spelling bees. Who knows? Surprise us. Don’t have it become class president, though, or take the cutest girl to the senior prom. That’s a little too Teen Wolf or Encino Man. The movie needs to have some foothold in reality, and I imagine a kid with a beak and a curly tail would face just a little criticism from middle schoolers.

It may sound dull, but the movie should be devoid of any extremes. Despite the ridicule he’s sure to receive, I don’t want any scenes where the hippo kid loses control and takes a gun to school, or cries for 3/4s of the movie and then overcomes his adversity to get nominated to the Supreme Court (we’ve seen that already with Justice Scalia). Nothing that teaches valuable lessons or spins a heart-warming tale. Just show his family going to Applebee’s or visiting him at his telemarketing job. Life can’t be all about slithering on the ground and eating everyone you come across. At some point you have to renew your car insurance, no matter how many monkey paws you have.

And it absolutely should not become a super hero or super villain. We’ve definitely seen that before. Every theatrical mutant creature either wants to save the world or destroy it. Something about mixing the genes of people with the genes of animals creates a crazy amount of ambition. Give me a break! If there’s a half-man, half-horse running around, he’s not stopping bank robbers, he’s most likely driving the Greyhound I just passed.

But I get it. That’s not entertaining. Well, here’s betting that Splice isn’t either.

The Family That Scares Together...

I haven’t truly been scared by a horror movie since I was a kid. I haven’t been a big fan of them since, but that one certainly didn’t shy me away from them. I’ve seen my fair share, it’s just that most of them are pretty stupid and don’t leave much of an impression.

At least I thought they hadn’t. These days, though, I’ve been a little on edge (particularly at night), and I put all the blame on horror movies. Lately, whenever I come out of my bedroom after, say, 8:30 p.m. there’s a good chance my three-year-old son will be standing in the hallway staring at me. Since he’s supposed to be in bed, I always jump out of my socks. Or sometimes I’ll round the corner and he’ll be standing at the top of the stairs, which is even spookier.

Whenever he does this, I explain to him, “Son, you have to stop getting out of bed like this. You see, throughout history, children in your age bracket have been depicted as harbingers of evil in scary movies. They’re usually motionless, staring ominously into the darkness, much like you’re doing now. A lot of times they start out as innocent bystanders, happily playing with their toys or their dog, when one day they’re overcome by some demonic presence bent on destroying civilization. Other times they start off rotten and are sent to Earth by a malicious overlord who wants to harvest our souls for his own personal gain. Things never turn out well for those who get their souls harvested.

“There are rare occasions when an evil spirit will possess the child’s doll, but that’s not quite as frightening as the child becoming possessed himself. Sure, it’s a story line that’s been beaten into the ground, but it’s become tradition. A horror movie just isn’t complete without the freaky kid.”

He usually stares at me blankly, which of course worries me, so I’m forced to ask him, “Buddy, are you possessed?”

He typically responds by saying, “No, I just have to poop.”

Sometimes he’ll say he wants to brush his teeth. And other times he’ll want me or his mother to read him a bedtime story. I’ve yet to hear him say anything like, “The seas will run red with your blood.”

So, I should probably relax and not be so jumpy, but it’s tough. Too many damn movies.