For Grammy

It takes a special kind of strength and kindness to be a Grandmother, the kind of Grammy that has that sense of warmth all around her being. A glow of kindness that radiates inside and around everything she does. And that touches all those beings that are lucky enough to come into contact with her.  Someone who is so patient, understanding and kind, that she won’t bat an eyelash at a 17 year old bearded crazy person who put on a dress and full make up to try to cheer her granddaughter up, she’ll just look up, roll her eyes and laugh.

A person so generous and kind and understanding, when his heart is completely shattered to pieces, he’s completely down on his luck and has nowhere else to turn, and is clearly on drugs, doing pushups in her living room at 4 in the morning, still has the generosity to offer him a place to sleep on her couch. She accepts him for all his strangeness and bravado. Laughs at every extremely inappropriate joke that would make most Gram’s hit him over the head with her cane. Simply put she is the very definition of what a human being should be, someone who loves unconditionally, who accepts all with open arms and a warm smile on her face.  She lets you become a part of her family, invites you for holidays when your family is away. Always with that glowing warm smile and her wonderful laugh and manner, she’s the type of person that will renew your faith in humanity when it is tested.

Grammy was all of that, and so much more. She was the sturdy backbone of her family who doted upon her Daughter, Granddaughters, and Great Grandchildren. She always had a warm hello, for whatever chucklehead decided to show up at her house that day. And believe me, I was and still am to some degree a giant chucklehead. We wandered in and out of her house at all hours of the night, and never once did she complain, or scream, or, thank god, call the cops. She always accepted us for who we were and was a Grandmother to all of the weirdo’s that decided to hitch themselves to her granddaughters, and I was SO LUCKY to be one of those wierdo’s.

 And for her patience, grace, and acceptance, I will forever be so so greatful, because what she didn’t know, that it was partly due to that acceptance that I was really able to always be comfortable just being me. And for that there is nothing I can do to repay her but to just say “Thank you”. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your family, when I certainly didn’t have any right to be. Thank you for letting my friends and I be invaders in your home, and for accepting every single one of us for who we were. And helping us learn from you what it means to be a Grandparent, and a true human being. I love you. And whatever corner of the universe you’ve gone to is now the grander because you are there, just as we were when you were here.

“So if you love someone, you should let them know, the light that you left me will everglow”.   

“The Muppets” or “How Felt Puppets Can Restore Your Faith In Humanity”

Let’s face it, the human race as a whole is a cancerous pile of excrement. Myself included. There’s no getting around the fact that all of us are in this life to serve ourselves and ourselves alone. We destroy our planet with aerosol cans and plastic bottles purely for conveniences sake. We hunt other less intelligent beings for food without regard of their own right to life. And we get from place to place using the fossilized remains of the former inhabitants of our planet, and this fuel has become such a necessity to our lazy daily lives that countries will kill women and children to obtain possession of it. And even though they have the resources to render it obsolete and save those same lives, those in power think it better to fill their own pockets, making life on this planet a less likely option for future generations. For which I am truly frightened for.

It’s a bummer man. And It’s the very reason that I became an extreme film addict in the first place. Some of us escape our fates by using drugs or alcohol to shut their brains off for a time. I prefer to let mine wander the silver screens in search of better endings. To take myself back to simpler times when I knew not of the troubles and tribulations of the human race, a time where life was filled with the possibilities of success, true honest friendship, and the promise of greatness to come.

Part of my brain has a defense mechanism that programs it to believe that characters on screen exist, even though my cynical adult brain revels in humanities downtroddeness. I can put myself in the roles and believe that I am living their stories. And when I’m in that world, at least for 90 minutes, or in the case of Peter Jackson 12-13 hours, I believe this planet can actually be a good place, and hope seeps through that makes me realize that we, the human race, can overcome anything when we work together. However unfortunately seldom that is.That’s why ever since I saw a sunlit helicopter shot reveal a banjo playing felt frog who spoke of the mysteries of rainbows I’ve been in love with Kermit the Frog and The Muppets.

This title screen still gives me chills

I can’t remember when I first saw “The Muppet Movie” if it was in an actual theater or Magnetic Video Corporation’s original VHS tape, which my father, in all his infinite wisdom, found a necessity to purchase with his first wave of tapes when he brought home that boxy machine. I just remember watching and KNOWING that I wasn’t just watching a puppet movie, that there was something MAGICAL about that frog. He seemed alive. And by the end of the movie, I was transformed, I was dreaming their dream with them. “Life’s like a movie, write your own ending. Keep believing keep pretending, we’ve done just what we’ve set out to do.” Words that gave me a life’s philosophy before my tiny brain could even grasp the concept of life philosophies. (My two other philosophers being Winnie the Pooh and Jeff “The Dude” Lebowski, more on those in future blogs).

It’s one of those rare movies that I consider a PART of my life. I feel that I am a better human being because of it. It has taught me things that I never could have learned from a book, valuable life lessons about friendship, loyalty and perseverance that have helped me navigate through this strange and amazing occurrence we call life. I watch it whenever I get sick or whenever I’m sad, Paul Williams amazing soundtrack is part of my permanent IPOD rotation, and when I was lucky enough to marry an amazing woman, “Rainbow Connection” was the song that I chose to be my dance with my mother. That’s how much that film, Kermit the Frog and The Muppets, mean to me.

Call me childish and stupid, but Kermit is one of my personal heroes. Even though my adult brain can process the theory that he’s just a piece of felt, something inside my heart convinces me that there something MORE inside that puppet, something that feels to me kind of like a soul. He’s a born leader, even though he never wanted to be one. He cares deeply for his family, even though they squish him, and electrocute him, and generally make his life a living hell (as families often do), He always tries to do what’s best for them, and holds his head up proudly that he’s a part of them. Pigs, bears, animals, and whatevers, He gives all he has to them unconditionally, which is what all great leaders should do. All things being equal, I would follow that frog into battle.

Yep. Right up there with Bruce Wayne and Peter Parker

After the unfortunate passing of Jim Henson (the first famous person that I ever wept for) the next few decades were not kind to The Muppets. They went from the height of quality of Children’s entertainment, to kitsch, jokey interpretations of classic storytelling that drove the characters into the ground (save for the only true Jim Hensonless classic The Muppet Christmas Carol, which is required viewing for the holidays). Gone was the classic irreverence that was The Muppets, and the true nature of these characters that we had grown to love. The world’s cynicism took over children’s entertainment. Shrek and his Dreamworks ilk took the world’s children by storm and hammered the comically sarcastic nail in the coffin of that great frog and his friends. The world had changed, today’s kids wanted a more sophisticated form of entertainment. Or so we all thought.

Enter Jason Siegel. Of whom I admittedly was not a big fan of before he decided to take on the task of bringing these beloved characters back to the forefront of pop culture where they belonged. I had seen his breakout film “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” and had thought it was a hilarious and thoughtful portrayal of a man’s complete breakdown after a bad breakup But it didn’t exactly make him the most qualified person in the world to take on these characters. Sure we had the puppet musical at the end, and Siegel’s professions of love for the characters, but The Muppets do not belong in a Judd Apatow universe. The best of the Muppet movies take place in a world without cynicism, and I feared that Siegel would take the purity of these characters and just make the movie a series of pop culture jokes, which would completely not represent what the character’s were in their prime. So I waited and hoped that Sigel and his gang of merry men would be able to bring my beloved Muppets back with the respect they deserved.

Believe it or not, this dude SAVED The Muppets!!

And needless to say, I was floored. Not just by his appreciation and respect for the characters. But the fact he used the film as an opportunity to comment on the state of the entertainment industry and the cynical nature of humanity, and as Jim Henson before, Siegel, Director James Bobin, and song composer Brett McKenzie made us believe in dreams again. And brought us back to those simple times when we were young, the world was innocent and reminded us of why we love The Muppets in the first place. And in my opinion, humanity owes them all a great debt, because to make a simple film about hope in these times, is a rare thing indeed. But I am a Muppet fan and may be biased.

Now, there are some fictional places that I would love to visit. The dark noirish LA streets of Dashell Hammett, Marvel’s super being inhabited version of New York, and the Full House of well...Full House to name a few. But there is only one that I would move into immediately if I could and that’s The Muppets version of Smalltown USA. A place where people break out into musical numbers at the drop of a hat. A School that teaches you practical lessons like how to work on cars. Feist and Mickey Rooney stop by for a song cameo and be on their way, And, most importantly, a grown man can hang around with Muppets way into his thirties and no one would think it was weird. And even better The Muppet can be his brother.

Gary, Walter, and Mary as characters are something of a miracle the represent humanity at its best. Living in a cynical world where even the Muppet’s themselves have become victims of the times, these three come into their world and give them something they haven’t had in ages, hope. The world has forgotten all about them and in they all have tried to carve out places for themselves in it. But sheerly through their fanbyoic glee, these three, Walter especially, make Kermit and the gang rediscover their love of performing and realizing that the world really does need them now more than ever.

We live in a technologically dependant society, where humanity is both always connected, but in ways disconcerted by social media, reality television and the Internet. And if you would have asked me before the release of the film, I would have said that in this day and age there is no way children could connect with the “vintage” comedy or corniness of the Muppets. But then, something amazing happened. People actually went to see it.

Best movie of 2011. Sorry "The King's Speech".

Box office numbers are usually not something I care about because to be honest with you most of my film watching habits have grown greatly askew of the popular culture of today. But that weekend, I was watching those numbers like I’ve never been before. And I did shed a tear when the film became a hit. Guaranteeing that the next generation and generations to come would be able to share the zany, corny, and heartwarming sense of hope that these characters can bring.

And now, thanks to these brave filmmakers, we have a sweet little film that I can be proud to share with my son. A film that will, hopefully, bring him a sense that the human race are not all cancerous piles of excrement, that if we all can work together, we can accomplish amazing things. And I have a new song to cherish that I sing to him everyday. It’s called “Life’s A Happy Song”, and due to the magic of The Muppets and this movie, I can actually believe that it is true. 

Life's like a movie, write your own ending, keep believing, keep pretending, we've done just what we've set out to do.  Thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you.

"Dreamscape Is Awesome" or "Peeing Your Pants Isn't So Bad, Just Ask Dennis Quaid"

Peeing your pants. One of the greatest fears known to mankind. There was a time in my youth that I was so fearful of urinating in my undergarments that I would literally go to the bathroom three or four times before leaving on road trips of any length. It’s hard to really pinpoint the reason for the severity of this fear. I mean, dogs urinate everywhere when they feel like it, and does anyone really hate dogs?? Hell Adam Sandler said that peeing your pants was cool, and he’s the most reliable box office draw in the country right?? Come to think of it, a valid second opinion might be warranted, especially after “Jack And Jill”. But, whatever darkness brought upon us by the mighty deities that knows our hearts has sought this fear out. And I, for one, mean to end it right here…or something.

So I’d like to take this opportunity to make a public admission. Hello, my name is Shawn…and I am an ex-pants wetter. WHEW! That feels so much better. HEY!! There’s nothing wrong with it, its just a fact of life that we as human beings have to accept happens sometimes. It may not be the preferred method of bladder release, but it does happen on occasion, and I, for one, want to not be portrayed like Casey Anthony every time I make boo boo onsies.

Life is stressful enough to navigate without having to deal with the judgmental laughter of bratty little boys and girls searing in your skull. And as I continue to age like the fine wines of France, Italy, or, New Jersey, accidental bladder release is going to become a sad and sorted fact of my elderly life. And without Missus Garret there to console me in my damp underpants, I will have to surf this problem alone, pun definitely intended. Therefore, it is my mission to make accidental bladder release socially acceptable. So socially acceptable, in fact, that Brad and Angelina will be showing up on the red carpet in his and hers designer French Connection adult undergarments. I will begin by quoting the words of the iconic Mexican resistance leader Che Guerva “VIVA LA PEE PEE!!” Which I am sure he must have said at one point. Being heroic and all.

That being said, I would like to narrate now to the public the harrowing tale of my first real remembered experience of pants wetting. Or, how Dennis Quaid’s perfectly feathered hair, Underrated Character Actor David Patrick Kelly, Nunchucks with FREAKIN’ maces attached to them, and a man in a Giant Rubber Snake Costume caused me to severely loose control of my bladder. Or, in layman’s terms, the reasonings for my undying nostalgia and worship for a small little sci fi gem of the 80’s Joseph Ruben’s “Dreamscape”





"With A Title THIS Bendy It's gotta Be Good!!"



Ah!! The 80’s, or 1984 specifically, was one of my all time favorite years in the history of my cinematic education. The film release schedule of that year reads like a laundry list of awesome. “Ghostbusters”, “Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom”, “Gremlins”, “The Terminator”, and my personal favorite “The Last Starfighter” to name a few. But I digress, back in this magical land of the past, our local theater, the one we went to all the time as a family, was an amazing movie palace called the Will Rogers Theater. It was HUGE with white stone pillars in the lobby and crimson red carpeting as far as the eye could see. The smell of canola oil and old must seeped through your nostrils as you walked through the lobby up to the grimy glass counter to get your three day old popcorn and box of seven chocolate almonds for $2.50. And when I wasn’t there watching amazing stories unfold in front of me, I was dreaming my own with my favorite characters under the tent bed in my room. Cinema was my religion; The Will Rogers was my church.

For me, the week long wait until Friday Family Nights was excruciating. All week long I would scour the local paper, trying to guess what sights my dad was intent on sharing with us that week. Legend has it that I taught myself how to read by outsmarting my family, who were trying to get me to go see whatever re re-released Disney classic was out by telling me we were going to see “Star Wars” yet again. But in my desperation and longing for truth, justice, and the American way, I constantly leered at each show time to teach my feeble little four year old brain to learn the correct times so I could call them out on their heinous fabrications. Even then, I knew I was an addict, and I needed my fix. The good stuff. Kind of like Pookie from “New Jack City” but with movies instead of Crack. RIP Pookie.

Then there were the best days. Secret Saturdays, I’d call them. Days when my mother and sister were distracted by the random baby or wedding shower that was spearheaded by one of my aunts that week. These were the days that my cinematic education underwent a dramatic change, where THE REAL lessons took shape. These were the days of wine and roses, the days of Chuck Norris, Charles Bronson, William Girdler, and George A. Romero. The days where dad took me to the movies he REALLY wanted to see. Films of questionable moral content for someone so young. They started out small with the random “Godzilla” re releases that popped up on TV or at the Will Rogers. But slowly the films became darker, and way more interesting. Viewings of films like “Grizzly” and “The Terminator” followed suit as I creeped my way toward adolescence. And it was these Saturdays that cemented my addiction to genre film and mine and my dad’s eternal bond as cinematic renegades. And for this, I will be eternally indebted to him.

I’ll admit that I’d seen scarier films than “Dreamscape” when the film popped on my radar one sleepy afternoon. Maybe it came to me while watching the latest episode of “Son Of Svengoolie” or “Robotech”, or maybe I saw the amazing Drew Struzan poster artwork at the Rogers or in the paper. Whenever it came calling I do remember noticing that snake man right away. Being a fan of all things monster, I called dad in and we both shook our heads in agreement. We knew this was one we wanted to save for our special day. The ones we DIDN’T tell mom about. Because she was under the assumption that films like these would give me nightmares, little did she know that dad and I were pros. We’d seen much grimmer visions then the ones that Dennis Quaid and his band of merry dreamers had for us. We could take it, we could take ANYTHING.



"See How AMAZING This Thing Looks??"



For those uninitiated with the unfounded glory that is “Dreamscape”, its plot was somewhat borrowed by Christopher Nolan for the Oscar Nominated Best Picture “Inception”. Dennis Quaid, and his awesomely feathered hair play Alex Gardner, who after leaving his job as a government employed psychic has made a nice niche for himself in the gambling industry by betting on the ponies and blowing out the hot licks on his neck strapless sax while shirtless. But, his sexy 80’s paradise is cut short when his ex mentor Paul Novotny (cinematic treasure #1 Max Von Sydow) comes calling on him to procure his participation in his new research, psychic dream projection. This, believe it or not, was a novel concept in ’84, Fred Krueger notwithstanding.

Novotny hopes to use his research to help patients that suffer from chronic nightmares, which would be all fine and good except for shadowy government agent Bob Blair (cinematic treasure #2 And Academy Award Winner (FINALLY) Christopher Plummer) who seems to want to use the research, Alex, and his new buddy, the mildly psychotic and strangely introverted Tommy Ray (cinematic treasure #3 the great David Patrick Kelly) for some nefarious purposes involving The President Of The United States (final cinematic treasure #4 Mr. Green Acres himself Eddie Albert) who, it seems, has been having some troubling nuclear fueled end of the world nightmares himself, for plots convenience I’m sure. Wacky dream antics involving cheating wives, unfinished skyscrapers, and burned corpses all vie for the attention of Dennis Quaid’s Vidal Sassoon VO1 hot oil enhanced head. Because if it don’t look good, he don’t look good.



"I Know, I'm Awesome, And So Is My Hair"



“Dreamscape” is one of those great old 80’s indie flicks that capture the spirit of its bigger brother Spielberg/Lucas flicks perfectly. It’s the kind of film that goes down your gullet like a glass of milk warmed to perfection by your mom with love to help ooze you to sleep. And, it’s fun, breezy and light on calories and trans fats so it’s good for the genre fan’s soul. The cast that they managed to pull together for this thing is nothing less then amazing, including two of this years Oscar nominees Plummer and VonSydow (who really needed to be nominated for a better film). For me, Quaid has always been one of Hollywood’s all time best and underrated leading men, and he doesn’t fail to entertain here. He’s the perfect combination of cocky and heroic without seeming too dickish. In my opinion if he were a little older at the time he would have made an amazing Han Solo or Indiana Jones (so SUCK it Ford, but know I love you).

David Patrick Kelly has always kind of scared the crap out of me. If you’ve seen “The Warriors” you’d likely know why. This man has been one of the most reliable creeps in the history of cinema, and can pretty much play weird better then any one else in recent memory (so SUCK it Depp, but know I love you). When he first appears in this movie you can obviously see that if Quaid and he had to get down the fist to cuffs, Quaid could defiantly pound him into the pavement. But there’s something beneath the surface about Kelly, some magical crazy power that makes him one of the most frightening humans alive. Whether he’s playing full on bat crap Luther from “The Warriors” or being slightly comedic bat crap Sam The Sleazebag in “Ford Fairlane” he’s always held the patent for extreme creepy, no matter what guise his creep wants to take shape in. And it is his total bat crap crazy character of Tommy Ray…that brings us back to our original story…already in progress. (so SUCK it Patrick Kelly…but know that I will always stay at least 3000 yards away from you at all times.)



"Seriously This Dude Is Creepy...EVEN JUST EATING A SANDWICH!!"

When I think back on that horrible…horrible day…I really wish I hadn’t chosen to get the large soda. But, the Will Rogers had GREEEN RIVER SODA. For those unfamiliar with Green River, it’s a brand of soda that was only brewed in Chicago that you couldn’t get in too many places back then. Its lime flavored sweety sourness called to me every time I could get a hold of it. And you can directly trace my obsessive love for it back to the Will Rogers Theater. It was there that I first touched tongue with its awesomeness, and it was only there that I could get it. They didn’t sell it in any of the little convenience stores in my neighborhood. And even if I was able to get it elsewhere, bottled, it didn’t even come close to the sticky flatness that the years of wear and tear that the carbonator at the Rogers had experienced helped transformed it into. Something similar to crack cocaine, but in mildly carbonated beverage format. Hence the large. And again, RIP POOKIE!!



"My Chilhood Obsession, And The Reason For My Dampness"



Everything was all fine and dandy, that is until Cory “Bumper” Yothers showed up, who I assume is the gingerfied brother of reality TV’s Tina Yothers, or actually her posing as a red haired boy to get more work during hiatuses of “Family Ties”, which may also be possible. You see in the film his character, a sparky little tyke appropriately named “Buddy” is having recurring nightmares about a “Snakeman” a large man with a giant, fake looking, cobra snake head that is attempting to murder him in his dreams (visions of Kruger plums dancing in your head). The Snakeman was so extremely gnarly that it caused one of the non feathered psychics to loose his mind. But Quaid’s hair does not know pity, or remorse, or fear, so it brilliantly decides to persevere. And follow the lesser known Yothers into his nightmare to deal with the beastie.

So basically I was WAY sucked into this thing by this point. The gingered Buddy with his generic blue jeans and baseball cap somehow started to remind me of a more pathetic and way more red haired little me. I was, for the first time I can remember, putting myself IN the character. And what I was experiencing was true, nightmare enduing fright. I can’t express why or how. But I knew that if this thing could get this ginger douche bag…somehow, I knew it would come for me. And in my DREAMS no less, you see this was before Freddy for me, so I wasn’t aware that Chuck Russel, after torturing me by writing this, would a mere half decade later give me the tools to fight back, as a wizard master, a ghettofied strong man, or someone who could bring other people into their dreams. I knew not of Hypnocil. (Strange how this film shares the same writer and basic same plot of Nightmare On Elm Street 3?? HMMM??) I had to sleep EVENTUALLY. And I knew that when I did, I was a goner. This Snakeman was going to get me, no matter HOW fake it looked. For posterity, what follows below is an accurate transcript of my bladder battling it out with my inner monologue.

Just then, I had a little tingle that told me. ”PSST..Hey…kid…you probably should grab your dad and get to the restroom pretty soon.” “Remember all that soda you just sucked down??” “Not a good idea when you’re sitting in the middle seat in the middle row of a PACKED theater.” I glanced down the row to the right, a sea of legs about thirteen seats thick, to the left, about 19 fathoms wide. Not very good options, I could hear the crowd screaming “DOWN IN FRONT!!” jeering as we passed them down the LONG isle towards the men’s room. That would be SO embarrassing. “Little punk kid, can’t hold down his soda..he’s like a little girl.” “Why’d you get the large soda, your bladder’s not that big…what were you THINKING??”. And just then..”WAIT a SECOND!! Plummer wants to kill the President?? I KNEW there was something off about that guy!!”. I could hold it. Dennis Quaid’s hair was in danger. I had to make sure that it made its way out with its bounciness firmly in tact.



" It's Kind Of Scary Right??"



That was when that creepy guy from “The Warriors” showed up in President Oliver Douglas’ dream. I remembered hoping that Arnold The Pig would walk away from this one unscathed. Warriors guy was dressed in a ninja outfit. All black, this guy meant business, although he was really bad at karate. Quaid’s hair was gonna mess him up. Take that Warriors guy. Then, another tingle, this time with a little more urgency, “KID….don’t mean to be a jerk…but if something doesn’t happen soon…there might be trouble... Just putting it out there.” I looked up at my dad, he noticed me looking and whispered “Everything ok big buddy (dad’s pet name for me)?? Cool movie huh??” All of a sudden I felt really ashamed. He had asked me earlier “Are you SURE you want the large soda? You’re not going to be peeing all during the movie are you??” Hey, I was like nine years old, practically a man. Of course I could handle that large soda. It was puny to me in my giant manliness. Maybe it was too big for my sister, but me, no problem. I was a man, a man whose enormous bladder knew no borders or boundaries.

He had asked me. I could have relented. But the temptation of a giant bucket of limey slightly carbonated yumness was too great. I knew the risks going in. And now I was going to have to suffer the spoils of fools. I was going to have to hold it like I had never held it before. It would be difficult, but all great adventurers have to battle their inner demons, this would be my ultimate battle, and I would emerge victorious. “WOAH!! Warriors Guy has nunchucks with MACES on them!! Quaid’s hair could be in trouble! This is awesome!!” “Man…I need to get me some nunchucks. Maybe I could go to that karate store at six corners and get some. How much do nunchucks cost?? Probably like $1000 dollars. Maybe I could make some with sticks and string??”



"NUNCHUCK'S WITH FREAKIN' MACES ON EM!!"



“KID!! DANGER!! DANGER!! THERE’S DEFINITELY GOING TO BE SOME WARM LIQUID INVADING YOUR PANTS IN THE NEAR FUTURE!! RAPIDLY TRAVERSE TO THE NEAREST RESTROOM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!! THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!! Large soda…stupid kid. What was he thinking?? That thing was like a bucket. Green River…..yellow river’s more like it. My bladder was on its last legs, and apparently extremely pushy, not that I could blame it. But it had to be near the end, I couldn’t leave now, this was the best part. “Awesome!! Crispy zombies in the subway train. President Oliver Douglas and Quaid’s hair better high tail it pronto!!” “Awww man, here’s Warriors guy, he’s gonna get it now!!” “Wait?? What the?? AAAAUUUUGGGHHH!”

That was when it happened. “Auuuuggghhh!!” was what came out of my mouth. A statement often lamented by Charlie Brown and his freakishly verbose gang of Peanuts. Although, when the cry was heard from them I expect they were much dryer, except for maybe Linus. Warriors Guy, one of the creepiest men ever, was turning INTO the snake man. It caught me off guard, I wasn’t prepared at all. “I WARNED You…now look at yourself…stupid kid..”. Immediately I felt a warm sensation in the bottoms of my Hulk branded Underoos. Followed by an emotional combination of disappointment, fear, shame, and embarrassment. I cursed Green River Soda, Quaid’s hair, Warriors Guy, Arnold The Pig’s dad, nunchucks, and especially f*ckin’ Corey “Bumper” Yothers, that ginger douche bag.

All I could do was sit, with my hands folded…as I began to sob uncontrollably. Knowing that it was my own fault and no one else’s. Dad looked down on me…”Are you ok?”, he said with an almost psychic sense of the travesty that just occurred. I looked back up at him, so ashamed…and just frightened beyond belief. “This is it. Everyone here knows that I just wet my pants. They’re going to tell EVERYONE!! Kids at my school are going to make fun of me. Mom will say ‘I told you so, you’re not big enough to see those movies!’ And worst of all I’ll HAVE TO THROW OUT MY FAVORITE PAIR OF HULK UNDEROOS!!” I was mortified. Dad knew it.



"Take That You Creepy Douche! You Are Now Officially Oliver Douglas' BITCH!"

He went to pick me up to leave. But I sobbed louder as people started to stare; I shut my mouth almost immediately. I was now going to have to live at the Will Rogers, so that no human on earth would ever know the mystery of my shame. I could live in that chair; feed myself from the little bits of popcorn and Milk Duds that stuck to the floor. I would be all right, as long as I kept my butt firmly bolted to that movie theater seat. No one would ever know. It wouldn’t be so bad.

Then, just then the curtain came up, the movie had ended, Quaid’s hair had ultimately proved itself to be victorious. The patrons started to cattle their way through the doors. Until it was just myself and my father, sitting in our red velvet squeaky prisons, defeated. I never wanted to go to the movies again. And I KNEW I could never again show my face at the Will Rogers. It was the end of all things joyful, the end of childhood…the darkest day I had ever known.

But then…Dad took off his windbreaker, looked directly in my eyes, and said something amazing. “Time to go!!” “You can take my jacket and tie it around yourself so you don’t get cold”. It was around 65 degrees; definitely not jacket weather, no chance of me getting chilled. But suddenly, a ray of light shown from the heavens on that windbreaker, its blue greeniness shone like starlight as he gently placed it down on my legs. I then began to realize the sacrifice that my father was willing to make for me. There was no way that Jacket was going to make it through the day. Sure we could wash it. But like so many other traumatized veterans of foreign wars, it would never be the same. From then on, it would always be known as “The Pee Jacket”. And it would have to be burned, completely demolished. For our good, and the greater good of mankind.

I never saw that jacket again. I do not know what became of its tattered moistness. But I do know that that night we didn’t speak a word about what happened. We just drove straight home, and when we arrived, Mom said “How was your movie?” Dad commented “Fine”. Mom shot back “Hope fully it was not too scary!” Dad retorted “No...not at all. Shawn, go upstairs and wash up for dinner Big Buddy!” and I shot up those stairs like Wally West on his fastest day. I was sure that Mom was going to catch me and then…my sister would do a Letterman top 10 list of pants wetting jokes. But no…everything was all clear, and we continued on like it never happened. That horrible moment erased from existence. (Well until now anyway!!) And I felt closer to my father at that moment then I ever had with any other human being. We were bonded, for life, not just as father and son, but as partners. Our team had been through the ringer, but had survived in overtime as we just managed to win the big game. My respect for his managerial style and his character grew a Grinch like 10 sizes that day. And I’ll never forget it.

So…what life lessons to be learned from all of this folly??

THE ABS'S OF MOVIEGOING (As quoted by Shawn Lynch)

1)      RESTROOM BEFORE THE SHOW!!! ALWAYS!! NO EXEPTIONS!!

2)      The “SMALL” soda is always big enough. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quarter more.

3)      And, most importantly,

ALWAYS SIT IN THE AISLE SEAT!!

So check out “Dreamscape” if you’re a fan of fun 80’s sci fi flicks, and realize the great time it truly can be. And kids…if one of your fellow brethren accidentally wets themselves, go easy on ‘em. Because remember. IT CAN ALWAYS HAPPEN TO YOU!!!



"My Church, May You Always Remain Awesome In My Memory!"



"Dreamscape Is Awesome" or how peeing your pants isn't all bad!

Peeing your pants. One of the greatest fears known to mankind. There was a time in my youth that I was so fearful of urinating in my undergarments that I would literally go to the bathroom three or four times before leaving on road trips of any length. It’s hard to really pinpoint the reason for the severity of this fear. I mean, dogs urinate everywhere when they feel like it, and does anyone really hate dogs?? Hell Adam Sandler said that peeing your pants was cool, and he’s the most reliable box office draw in the country right?? Come to think of it, a valid second opinion might be warranted, especially after “Jack And Jill”. But, whatever darkness brought upon us by the mighty deities that knows our hearts has sought this fear out. And I, for one, mean to end it right here…or something.

So I’d like to take this opportunity to make a public admission. Hello, my name is Shawn…and I am an ex-pants wetter. WHEW! That feels so much better. HEY!! There’s nothing wrong with it, its just a fact of life that we as human beings have to accept happens sometimes. It may not be the preferred method of bladder release, but it does happen on occasion, and I, for one, want to not be portrayed like Casey Anthony every time I make boo boo onsies.

Life is stressful enough to navigate without having to deal with the judgmental laughter of bratty little boys and girls searing in your skull. And as I continue to age like the fine wines of France, Italy, or, New Jersey, accidental bladder release is going to become a sad and sorted fact of my elderly life. And without Missus Garret there to console me in my damp underpants, I will have to surf this problem alone, pun definitely intended. Therefore, it is my mission to make accidental bladder release socially acceptable. So socially acceptable, in fact, that Brad and Angelina will be showing up on the red carpet in his and hers designer French Connection adult undergarments. I will begin by quoting the words of the iconic Mexican resistance leader Che Guerva “VIVA LA PEE PEE!!” Which I am sure he must have said at one point. Being heroic and all.

That being said, I would like to narrate now to the public the harrowing tale of my first real remembered experience of pants wetting. Or, how Dennis Quaid’s perfectly feathered hair, Underrated Character Actor David Patrick Kelly, Nunchucks with FREAKIN’ maces attached to them, and a man in a Giant Rubber Snake Costume caused me to severely loose control of my bladder. Or, in layman’s terms, the reasonings for my undying nostalgia and worship for a small little sci fi gem of the 80’s Joseph Ruben’s “Dreamscape”

COUNT YORGA VAMPIRE!!

Vampires, vampires, vampires. Lately all you hear about is Vampires. All this negative fury over the “Twilight” films has taken away from the reasons we love those crazy fanged coffin dwellers in the first place. If you’re an over 18 horror fan, it’s considered part of your birthright to sound off against poor ole Edward and his broody clan. We hear it every day in every horror media outlet, “blah, blabbedy, blah, blah, ‘Twilight’ sucks, it’s the worst thing to ever happen in the history of horror, blabedy, blah blah”. To me its like we’ve all become cranky senior citizens who are screaming at the top at our lungs for those damn emo teenagers to “get the hell off our lawns” while they snicker at us from behind the bushes, waiting to set that poop filled paper bag on fire.

“Twilight” is an easy target for our venom. It’s over soapy, it’s melodramatic, it’s told from the perspective of a REALLY selfish and unsympathetic teenage girl, and it’s got, in my opinion, the worst written dialogue in the history of literature, but in all honesty, it’s far from the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I’d watch any “Twilight” movie 24 hours straight rather then subject myself to one more viewing of “Big Momma’s House”, and they’ve made THREE of those f’n things.

Now, I’ve already gone on record on saying that I believe that this whole “Twilight” thing could be spun in a positive light by introducing Team Edward and Team Jacob to some of the great vamp and wolfie classics of the genre, so I’m going to take this opportunity to do just that.

  

“In Some Cases, the Title Literally Says It All!!”

Ah the seventies!! The DECADE of the vampire, Sir Christopher Lee was still suckin down on the townsfolk as the quintessential Dracula in Hammer Films ongoing series which was at the height of it’s popularity in the 1970’s, Ingrid Pitt was the premier female blood sucker in a separate kind of series of female vamp films from the House Of Horror, there were even crazy things like “Dracula: The Dirty Old Man”, “Legend Of The Seven Golden Vampires”, “Blacula”, heck even Drac’s Doberman Pincer Zoltan got his own movie. So if you complain about the volume of vamp flicks today, you should have seen the all the free love those fanged fiends got back in the 70’s! It was during this craze in the year of our lord 1970 that the great AIP Studios unleashed one of the gems of this subgenre, a little film called “Count Yorga Vampire”. 

After some appropriately creepy narration about the nature of myths, “Count Yorga” abruptly begins in the midst of a heated séance. Three groovy swingin’ 70’s couples (including one of cinema’s great “that guy’s” Michael Murphy) have engaged the services of the Count to contact one of the girl’s recently deceased mother (who just happened to be ole Yorgi’s gal pal imagine that??). Needless to say poop gets real and soon after the spiritual spookiness, one of the couples kindly offers the Count/Medium, and his Dracula cape a ride home back to his giant gothic castle right in the middle of Los Angeles (property taxes must be a BITCH!!), and are introduced to his gnarly Harvey Dented man servant who doesn’t talk much, but looks VERY rapey. 

However, on the way out the Samaritan’s bitchin’ red Mystery Machine becomes trapped in what can only be described as “Mega Mud From Hell” from which apparently, there is no escape. So they do what every normal human being stuck in a pool of mystically summoned evil mud would do, light some candles, pull up the PBR’s and get groovy baby, yeah!! (I apologize, but Austin Powers references still topical…right??). But their post coital bliss is ruined when Yorgi, out of the blue, totally c*ck block’s  and coldcocks our hero, power flinging him from his van and then proceeds to dine on his poor defenseless girlfriend. I think we’d all agree that why these old school type villains never just kill the hero after knocking them unconconcious is one of the great mysteries of life, up there with Stonehenge, and the whereabouts of master thespian Steve Guttenberg.

“This is what you get when you offer caped strangers a ride home!!”

Due to an extreme case of needing to keep the plot going, our turtlenecked troubadour remembers nothing about the previous night’s events, and the mud has conveniently dried up so they depart for a seemingly happy existence. However, all is not well in the City of Angels, as it seems our raven haired heroine is feeling surprisingly ill. She’s having these hunger cravings and feeling sick in the sunlight. She goes to her trusty physician Dr. Hayes (other reliable “That Guy” Roger Hayes). Who runs a series of tests and tells her to get some sleep. But, who knew that that kitty could be the cure for what ails ya??  The boys soon find her chowing down on Garfield and, very unexpectedly, our Doc immediately cries Vampire.

 “Cat, the other, other, OTHER white meat”

And, in another startling twist, he ACTUALLY calls the police TWICE!! But they dismiss him as nutball, so he and our heroes are forced to do combat with Yorgi, first in a game of wits, kind of like an all night slumber party, to see if they can keep the good Count occupied until daylight to prove his vampirism (first time I’ve ever seen this tactic used, conversation as a literal weapon), and when all else fails, they do themselves a Cushing and break some FREAKIN chairs, use utensils to make crucifix’s and finally good old fashioned fire to ward off the undead, kind of like the vampire killer version Home Depot!! Will our heroes defeat The Count and save their life partners from an eternity of bad hair days, and tanlessness?? You’ll have to see to find out.

Man, I LOVE these seventies vampire films. Especially those that take place in the 21^st century, because to me what’s done so well in these films is the merging of the old culture of vampire lore with modern sensibilities, which being made in the seventies make them into a kind of groovy time capsule. So what you get is the gothic horror mixed in with increasingly cynical modern times, fabulously dated hairstyles and clothes, and that to me makes magic. Like when in the film the count has one of his chicks turn off the hero’s alarm clock so he doesn’t wake up until after dark, that’s freakin GENIUS!! Man That Yorgi thinks of EVERYTHING!! Dracula never had to deal with mechanical waking devices, so nicely done Mr. Yorga.

This being a low budget affair, we have to accept that a few things are going to have to be sacrificed for our amusement mostly. First this film looks BAD, it’s definitely got that grimy 70’s feel, but there really isn’t a single imaginative shot in this whole film. And as good as DVD restoration is you can’t make up for a film stock that looks like fly paper. Secondly, again still very amusing, it’s blatantly obvious that was no money in the production budget for exterior sync sound so we have several scenes of our characters walking about LA just like they walked out of an American dubbed Shaw Brothers film.  And thirdly, I won’t even talk about the special effects or lack thereof because, no, this flick lives and dies by one person and one person only.

“Be sure to stick around for Yorgi’s version of ‘If I Were A Rich Man”, eat your heart out Topol’”

Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you the great ROBERT QUARRY. This dude oozes vampy charisma all over the faces of most of those seventies vamps. In fact, in my humble but admittedly sometimes misguided opinion, Quarry’s Yorga is only second to Lee as the best Vampire of the seventies. Quarry’s performance is intensely low key, sophisticated, and most of all oddly sexy, which is astounding considering his old age and flab. Quarry needs to be on target to make this flick work, and he takes all the greatest hits from Lugosi and Lee and also makes the performance his own, which is no small feat considering the sheer volume of vamp performances of the period. When I found out that Yorga was supposed to take on Vincent Price’s Dr. Phibes in a supposed AIP team up film, I wept and wished that I could Marty McFly back to Nicholson and Arkoff and offer them my first born child and some blood for the greenlight, but sadly, no jigawatts were available.

In closing, I’d highly recommend grabbing your nearest available tween/teen, and instead of trying to convince them of the horrible abominations that the Twilight films are, try this as an opener. “Hey you young person, those ‘Twilight’ films sure are dope and or rad, I have something that you might think is equally dope and or rad that is also involving vampires!! Why don’t you try watching this!!” 9 out of 10 tweenagers and teenagers have been clinically proven to laugh out loud quite hysterically then say “S*crew you old man/woman, I’m not down with your conformist old timey films, this ancient vampire’s hair isn’t disheveled in any way and he doesn’t have stubble of any kind!! So don’t tread on me bruh!!” But if you can reach that one, poor lonely horror nerd, who longs to be different from the crowd, you know the one like you, in the back of the class not paying attention and reading old Steven King novels, who won’t have a girlfriend/boyfriend until they’re in their late teens, early twenties. You would have done the genre and the human race in general a great public service. And for this we thank you.