Waldo: I hardly knew ye.

Growing up, I had a vast collection of "Where's Waldo" books. This was my home school version of Geography class. It would later lead to problems in school when my teacher asked me to find the state of Wisconsin on a map. After exhausting my search I gave up, citing the fact that although one state looked like it had the red and white colored hat, it lacked the glasses. Another day, another F on the report card. That teacher just didn't understand the cultural phenomenon that is Waldo. I couldn't recognize my own country on a map, but man was I good at picking out an odd looking man in a crowd of people.

Waldo really was an odd looking individual. Close your eyes and it doesn't take long to picture a slightly homosexual looking Jeff Goldblum decked out in red/white stripes and sporting a pair of glasses. What kind of fashion sense does this guy have? But it wasn't just Waldo. On every page there were crowds of people wearing eerily similar outfits. Waldo "impersonators" if you will. They were solely responsible for throwing you off the trail, making you think you found Waldo, only to make you look foolish when it was revealed that you still had searching to do. In other words, these guys were dicks. Some would wear larger hats with the same colored stripes. Others would wear striped overcoats. And others still wore glasses with square rims instead of the traditional circular optics. Waldo must have had a lot of sway in this society to be able to influence that many people. (Coming soon: Queer Eye for the Waldo Guy) And am I the only one who's concerned about the cane? Why is he handicapped at such a young age? Is it a bone deficiency? Does he walk with a limp? Dear Waldo creator, please write an origin story. Thanks.

In each and every Waldo book, the objective was simple: find Waldo. Perhaps I'm in the minority of people who desperately wanted to know why. Why should I find Waldo? What the hell did he do to merit this kind of investigation? To me, it always felt like Waldo was just trying to get away for a while. We all need a vacation, don't we? Instead, no matter where he went, there were thousands of probing eyes waiting to shout out his name. "Ooh let's go to a medieval castle" -FOUND. "How about a middle eastern marketplace" -FOUND. "A glacier in the south pole?" -FOUND. Poor Waldo just couldn't catch a break. You don't need to ask a celebrity what it's like being constantly bombarded by the paparazzi day in and day out; just ask Waldo. Angelina Jolie ain't got nothing on him.

Still, I kept looking for Waldo and pondering these sorts of questions. What did Waldo do for a career? He must have been massively successful in order to afford all of the trips he took. I like to assume he was a playboy billionaire. His parents made their fortune as oil tycoons, but due to a fatal car accident, he was left with their fortune. Now, in order to grieve with his loss, Waldo travels the globe in search of solidarity. I think that would make a good movie.

There could also be a deeper meaning to these books, aside from just killing time and enteraining your children with A.D.D.. Perhaps the Waldo books serve as a cautionary tale for the future. Something every setting has in common is that they are all severely overcrowded. Just take a look at this picture:

See? There are wayyyyyy too many people in one area. Where the hell are they? Every place can't be Disney World on the fourth of July. It appears in this image they're selling vacuum cleaners in one area and boots in another.... WHAT!?!? This many people for boots??!! As you can see, not many people are even buying these items. There's no identifiable line anywere. Everybody is just standing in the way. If only they would move, I could warn Waldo: "WALDO, GET OUT! THEY'RE REALLY SHITTY LOOKING VACUUM CLEANERS. YOU'RE WASTING YOUR ENTIRE SATURDAY! NOOO!"

Another movie idea: A wacky school teacher named Waldo has just killed one of his students who always spoke out in class. Scared and on the run, he seeks refuge across the globe. Due to his increasingly growing popularity and influence, he convinces droves of people to wear disguises to throw off the cops. Will they find him and bring him to justice? It's up to you, dear viewer, to ask yourself this question, "Will you find Waldo?".

Hollywood, I'll be in touch.

These are just things I ponder sometimes...

Duck.... Duck..... Duck!

I miss playing Duck, Duck, Goose.

Ahh those were the good old days. A time when we would all be content just sitting around a circle tapping each other on the head. They were simpler times indeed. Times when a game of tag could occupy three hours of every day and give you a great nights sleep every night. Sometimes I try to relive these days by going out on the street and touching people at random while notifying them that they are indeed "it". Results haven't been positive thus far, and have resulted in numerous restraining orders and psychiatric appointments. However, I have now built up an immunity to pepper spray so it's not all bad.

There should be nothing wrong with a group of twenty-somethings all getting together to compete in these activities again. The next time somebody asks you to help fill out a game of basketball or football, notify them that you applaud their leadership but would much rather engage in a rousing game of tunnel tag! The look they give you is one only reserved for us true revolutionaries.

Duck, Duck, Goose was also a fantastic sport (yes, a sport. It's coming to the olympics soon). This was a game that taught kids at an early age how exclusionary it is to be a goose. Nobody wants to be a goose. We all want to be ducks. If someone calls you out as being a goose you have to defend yourself by tackling them as quickly as possible, thus proving that you are way more duck than they could ever be. Tip: If there's a girl you have a crush on, make sure you make her the goose every single time. You'll revel in the time you get to spend grabbing for each other.

Why bring this up now, you ask? Well it just so happens that I saw a pack of ducks swimming today as a tight-nit group. Off in the distance on the lake, a goose. A smart, yet cautionary game this Duck, Duck, Goose turned out to be. So what did I do with this pack of happy looking ducks? I fed them bits of bread of course. The goose got nothing. Just as well. Have you ever tried approaching a goose? They hate humans... and I think they're plotting something sinister. We've tried to appease them by allowing them to have their own brand of vodka, what else could they possibly want? Keep a keen eye, that's all I'm saying.

Also, I just want to say that feeding the ducks brought a certain level of glee to my heart. It really is enjoyable knowing that you helped some kind of creature gain some sustenance for the day. This will probably make me a good candidate for fatherhood. Some day I will have little ones relying on me to be fed. And when that day comes, I will place them gingerly in the tub and start throwing bread crumbs at them. Ahh, I can't wait for that day to be here.

It's 3 A.M. I Must be Lonely

I have to admit, that title is a little misleading. It's actually 12:30 in the morning. I just wanted to use a lyric to a Matchbox 20 song that I like because... well because I can. That, and any time I hear the letters "A" and "M" together, I instantly go to that song. Not sure why. I'm sure there are a lot of other perfectly acceptable references coinciding with the morning hours, but I honestly can't think of any because now this damn song is stuck in my head. And this isn't even the direction I wanted this post to go. If it wasn't for that damn song, this might have been the best freaking blog posting ever put out into the blogosphere by a human being with fingers! (Go, run on sentence, go!)

Yes, it's 12:33 now but I'm up typing when all I really should be doing is sleeping. This stuffed penguin lying next to me should be in my arms right now... and yes I'll admit to sleeping with a stuffed penguin. I tried a live penguin once but my bed turned a wreck and he stole my wallet. If you're reading this Wobbles, thanks for charging two tons of anchovies on my VISA.

12:36 now and no immediate plan to shut it down, so I may as well go with it. The reason I opened my blog and started typing in the first place has to do with this peculiar thing thats been happening to me for years. It's something always unexpected, something that always happens at night, and something that is really really intriguing to me, albeit uninteresting to others.

Many people are born with inherit abilities. They develop these abilities to turn them into skills. These skills help them succeed in life. Take for instance a boy that grows up with a love for baseball. On the field, he can show early signs of having a knack for the game. After years and years of practice, drive, and a little bit of luck, he can turn these skills into a career in the major leagues. There are human beings capable of throwing a baseball over 100 miles an hour. Think about that. 100 miles an hour! That's five times as fast as old people driving to church! And this guy can throw a ball that fast. Crazy.

Another example: take for instance the kids who are on the national spelling bee. They're really really good at spelling. They can spell words that I have never even heard of. Words like Hepaticocholangiocholecystenerostomies (yes, this is really a word. It's a medical term). In our spelling bees, we had to spell words like "bear" (due to an unfortunate error, I spelled "bear" B-E-E-R. This led to many meetings with the principal and a good deal of counseling. Still not sure why). My point is, these kids are just talented at spelling. It's what they do good.

So what's my skill. What's my ability? If there are people throwing a baseball 100 miles an hour and kids spelling words that even God would have trouble spelling, then what can I do? I'll tell you. I have the ability to turn street lights off by either driving and/or walking underneath them.

Yup.

That's it. That's my ability. I can turn street lights off by being in their general vicinity. And you know what? This doesn't even work for all street lights. It's completely random. So not only does my ability suck, it's unreliable! It's not like I can point out the lights that will turn off. I can't point to one and say "Hey, we're going to go dark in 5...4....3...2....now." My ability really really blows. There's no purpose or reason for it. Yet this happens all the time. Lights just turn off when I'm near them. Maybe one day I'll find that this is actually a really beneficial power to have. Maybe I'll be getting mugged in an alley somewhere and when the mugger gets close to me, the street light shuts off, thus helping me escape under the shade of darkness. Unless there's a full moon that night. If that's the case, "so how would you prefer my money? are twenties good with you?".

If there's a practical use for my magic, I'll be sure to post it here. Until then, I'm just a guy with a useless ability. Man can walk on the moon. I can sometimes make street lights go off. Sigh.

F.Y.I. It's now 12:58

Blocked? Where's the fiber?

Before becoming more active on this blog, I have slowly been conditioning myself to write down any kind of creative thought that enters my skull. If you've read any of these postings, you know all too well that these ideas are few and far between (pity party, please form a line to the left). Until these notes, I would sit at my laptop wanting so badly to jot something down. Each attempt would yield unfruitful results. The harder I tried to force my fingers on these keys, the harder it became to form a coherent thought. Looking back at some of the drafts during this time I found one titled, "World Travelers Beware" which only included the line, "Seeing the world is overrated." One sentence. One cynically driven sentence. Following that, blank space for the words that could have been but never were just sat there, eagerly anticipating the slightest black marking.

I wonder what I could have added to such a wonderfully developed thought? Even now, I don't know what drove me to try and write a blog with this underlying theme. Do I believe that seeing the world is overrated? Ehh, not really. Perhaps what I wanted to say would have addressed the fact that there are certain places in the world I wouldn't ever want to visit. (Kids! Get your bags packed, we're going to Mary, Turkmenistan!)

Writers block is a bitch. When somebody asks you a question, and you're not too sure how to answer it, what do you do? You come up with some BS kind of answer, of course! It may take a second to spew and spurt the BS out but you can take comfort in knowing that you said something. Writers block is like this, but you can't wiggle your way out of it. There are no life lines. No asking the audience. Naturally when this occurs in a written environment you will start writing your BS. If you can just conjure up something, then maybe, just maybe, you can turn that something in to a bigger something. Then you look down at your screen to find what you conjured up was along the lines of, "Seeing the world is overrated". Crap. Backspace, backspace, backspace.... blank slate.

This is when the bizarre, bat-shit insane ideas come out of the woodwork and an inner dialogue follows. For instance:

Hmm. Maybe I can write about a cactus.

Okay, develop that.

What about this cactus makes it special?

Hmm... special... special... Special K!

Okay, so this cactus enjoys eating cereal. Wait, why is the cactus eating cereal?

Because it likes cereal.

But cactus' don't eat cereal.

This one does.

So it must have facial features then, right?

Yes.

So if it has facial features this means it has eyes and if it has eyes then it can wear sunglasses.

Okay, so the cereal eating cactus is wearing a cool pair of aviators when... what?

What's going to happen to this cactus to make this story worth while?

Hmm. Maybe a bird lands on it?

What kind of bird?

It really doesn't matter, it can be any kind of bird, we can just say bird and people will understand.

So the bird lands on the cactus. Does it get hurt?

Yes.

Yes, it hurts itself and this upsets the cactus.

The cactus, being the hip cool Special K eating cactus that he is, would never dream of hurting a bird. Now we have a depressed cactus, what do we do with that?

Well he's gotta make amends to the bird somehow.

But how?

Well cactus' haves spines, right?

Duh- that's why the bird got hurt in the first place!

Well what if he offered to shave off his spines so that the bird would have a safe place to land?

This is assuming, naturally, that the cactus is capable of shaving.

Jesus, I don't even need to shave that often. This cactus really is special.

So he shaves off his spines to benefit the bird. What does he do with his spines?

I know! Let's have him make a bird nest out of his spines so that the bird also has a place to live to go along with a place to land.

Brilliant.

This means that the cactus took basket weaving classes at one point.

What? Birds don't take basket weaving courses.

Yes but they were born knowing how to make a nest out of grass and sticks and what have you.

Yes... but this is a cactus.

Oh, right.

Duh. Cactus' wouldn't have a clue unless they took the appropriate classes.

Glad we're in agreement. So the bird is happy and the cactus no longer feels guilty.

And they lived happily ever after?

I don't know, that's an awfully cliche way to end a story.

True.

How about, "It was at this moment that the cactus learned a lesson. Sometimes it takes more than sunglasses to make you cool. Sometimes it takes friends. And the bird... well he learned that sometimes you have to be careful where you land. Landing on a cactus can be risky, but through risks come great adventures. The end."

Love it.

BOOM! Talk about non-sequidor. What does that story have to do with anything? I suppose it shows the gory aftermath of particular cases of writers block. Did I have writers block before writing this, or did I plan it all? You're free to take a guess. A little piece of advice for all you writers out there. Your writing is never finished, it is only published. Best of luck.

Toy Story 3: Beyond Infinity and Back Again

When I first heard of a third Toy Story movie being in the works, I was admittedly a little skeptical. Sure, Pixar has had such a masterful track record in the past, so why should one worry? The studio that captured audience imaginations everywhere with the original Toy Story has never had a serious misstep. I've always felt that Cars and Ratatouille have garnered more of a niche following more so than its other works, but both were equally fantastic and inspired. But this was different. This was Toy Story... a film that when it came out in '95, instantly became a part of my storied childhood. I really didn't want to see the tarnishing of a film franchise with a "cash in" second sequel that played down to an audience. Now that I have seen one of the most anticipated animated movies in a decade, I can safely say that the brilliant minds at Pixar have done it again. The saga that is Toy Story continues to be held in high esteem.

I found it pretty shocking to realize that the first time we were introduced to Woody and Buzz, I was eight years old. I remember seeing it in the theaters and just knowing that it wasn't your standard run-of-the-mill animated flick. There was a certain magic and originality so evidently present that you couldn't help but take notice. Just as the original spoke directly to me as an eight year old, this third (and most likely final) chapter speaks just as much to me at 23.

Just as time has gone by for us, the clock has also been ticking for the characters we know and love. Andy is no longer the same person we see playing with his toys in the opening flashback minutes. Just like everyone else, he has grown up. Woody, Buzz, and others have been cast to the toy chest to collect dust. The bedroom, almost a character itself, has seen its array of changes. When Woody calls a staff meeting, only a few beloved toys are still around to hear what he has to say. Just as the posters and wall hangings begin to be stripped as Andy heads off to college, the toys have been stripped over the years as well.

As I just mentioned, Andy is heading off to college. As moms are prone to do, his forces him to make a decision about what to do with his old toys. A dilemma ensues as he has three choices: trash them, hide them away in the attic, or donate them to Sunnyside Daycare. Unable to permanently part with his toys, he banishes the majority to the attic, while also deciding to bring Woody to college with him. But, thanks to the fact that we still need a plot to fill 90 more minutes of film, the toys are mixed up and end up being given away to the daycare center by mistake. Not wanting to abandon his plastic counterparts, Woody follows suit.

At the daycare we meet Lotso (as in Lotso Hugging Bear). Just like a wal-mart greeter, Lotso is there to welcome the new batch of recruits and to show them the ropes. It's sort of like the toys going off to their own version of a nursing home. There are areas for relaxation and pampering, as well as a place for broken toys to be repaired. That's right, there are plenty of spare parts and batteries to go around. It all seems too good to be true, and for our heroes, it is. You see, they are being used as toddler fodder. Instead of getting the kids who play with their toys in a nice manner, they are thrown to the hyperbolic wolves, the wee ones that enjoy mashing their toys against a wall or pulling apart their arms and legs instead of hugging them. If this torture goes on any longer, Buzz and the gang will end up looking worse than the toys in Sid's yard, so they decide to make a break for it. We find that getting out isn't easy, and what they're going to do once they get out (now that they're orphans) remains up in the air. You'll just have to see it yourself to find out their exact fates.

Toy Story 3 is a tour de force of creative filmmaking. Nothing can match the originality and creativity of the first film, but this one comes damn close. The screenplay, written by Michael Arndt, is bulging with so much depth, humor, and emotion that, at certain moments, it pulls at our heartstrings. The film isn't afraid to get dark either, with one of the most spectacular looking action sequences taking place on the way to the incinerator.

There's so much to love here. The voice acting is top notch once again with the old cast of favorites returning, as well as notables like Michael Keaton as a Ken doll. The moments between Ken and Barbie are some of the funniest in the film. I also loved the little twist they pulled with Buzz lightyear, first restoring his factory setting, and then making him a spanish speaking space ranger. Also the Sunnyside jailbreak sequence contains some of the most clever and ingenious plotting placed in an animated flick. Oh yeah, and the ending made me tear up. Between this and Up, I might have even needed a tissue or two. The film isn't just about toys trying to find their home. It's about anybody that's ever felt lost, abandoned, or plain just forgotten about. I believe there are a lot of people who can connect with this message, which is why Toy Story is so good at appealing to a mass audience. The kids may come for the talking cowboy and space ranger dolls, but the adults will leave with the understanding of how important it is to love, and be loved in return.

Toy Story 3 is smart, it's funny, and it has got a huge heart. In a summer full of mediocre movies, Toy Story 3 stands out as a hugely entertaining and emotionally charged piece of filmmaking. It's also the best movie of the year.

Leave Your Bumper Stickers at the Door

Good people, there is a growing trend that I have been witnessing more and more on public roadways. Something so heinous it threatens the very fabric of safe driving everywhere. Something so distracting it's truly a marvel that all motorists aren't climbing out of ditches. It's something that makes me sick to my stomach. It induces shivers throughout my entire body. It's worse than all world wars, flu pandemics, human genocides, and christmas cards combined. I am speaking, of course, about the white decals peppering mini vans and SUV'S everywhere alerting the public to how many family members are in that particular drivers family.

Upon googling them under the precise phrase "white car decals with family members", I was redirected to www.familystickers.com. What I discovered here is not for the faint of heart. But before I go into that, let's discuss what the hell these are in the first place.

We have all seen them. On any given day, you'll find yourself engaged in a pleasant, peaceful drive. The sun is shining. You're humming your favorite song (mine would be something by The Wiggles). The gentle breeze rustles your hair (or scalp, for all you baldies out there). Then BAM! A minivan pulls in front of you flaunting these white decals on their rear window. These white decals account for each and every member of their family. There's one for mom, dad, and however many children they may have. There are even ones for pets. All right, hold on one minute. Why must people feel it necessary to show off how great their families are? Is it to sadden all of the motorists on the road that don't have families? Are they trying to make everyone else jealous?

"Ohh look at my family. I have not one, not two, but six children! This is proof that I can procreate (but not proof that you believe in protected sex). And my dog! Ohhh, look at my dog! His name is Ruffles. I bet you wish you had a dog this awesome. And my wife. Just check out the rack on my white stick figure wife! You wish you had a wife this stacked! And these kids. Oh, these kids! One's a soccer star and the other's allergic to peanuts!"

A few thoughts:

1) What happens if your family splits up? It must feel really painful having to pull mommies sticker off the family car when she decides to leave you for Samuel, the scoliosis prone balloon salesman.

2) When you cut people off on the road, do you really want those behind you to say things like, "That asshole! That's it. I'm following them home to kill one... two... three of their pet sparrows! Oh, and their two perfect looking children too!"?

3) Can anybody obtain these stickers or is there some kind of authentication process? Can I create my own fake family? I think I'll give myself a wife holding a bag of money, and two boys depicted as rich baseball stars. Drivers behind me will be so jealous.

4)Do you have to keep buying them to update your family? Susie's 26 now but on the back of your car she's still wearing curlers in her hair and drooling with a box of crayons in her mouth.

5) Morbid thought: If a family member passes on, does the company sell the red circles with the line going through it as well?

6) From a race standpoint: Where the black stickers at?

Here are some examples of what can be found on the website:

Oh, my God. When did the government start issuing drivers license's to turtles? I blame this on global warming. If we keep polluting the waters around us, more and more turtles will take to the road to drive gas guzzling cars with the mentality "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

Somebody please contact the humane society. This dog is extremely malnourished. And its neck may be broken.

This family is really sporty and talented... except for the mother who's only good at folding her hands and standing on one leg (try it. it's actually very difficult) or their youngest, who's only good at shitting their pants (with years of training, she too may be able to master the ancient art of hand folding).

Well, folks. I could just go on and on with example after example. Here's the bottom line: I really don't like cars with these stickers. There are probably worse things on the road like texting or nail painting, but they don't bother me as much. I never would have thought that I would harbor such hostility for little white sticks on the back of glass. And if you're reading this and happen to have these on your cars... may God have mercy on your soul.

Dick Clark's Rockin New Years Eve

It appears this is my first posting in the year 2010. That's inexcusable. I'm blaming this on you, 2010. You must be an incredibly dull year so far for me not to write anything. Oh, how far we (as a society) have progressed since the year 2009. Still no flying cars. I hear-tell Toyota is in the process of pioneering this technology. Their premature ambitions have only yielded par results, however. The flying is still non-existent. But the automatic acceleration... now that's something they've gotten good at. Orville and Wilbur (not the popcorn man and the pig) would be proud... I think? (Note to self: develop television sitcom entitled Orville and the Pig)

2009, you wouldn't even recognize 2010. People gather in the masses now to view moving pictures in a place called a cinema. Sure, you had them back in '09 as well, but now everything is three dimensional. This means that pre-teen girls can feel three times as pathetic trying to make out with an emo-werewolf/vampire type thing. Is it just me or does anybody else think that in the future, scientists may discover that 3-D causes side effects such as eye sweats, pupil confusion, face displacement, or brain amplification? Note: People experiencing pupil dilation for more than four hours should consult an optometrist or else risk an onset case of Stevie Wonderfication. It should also be noted that the Twilight movies already cause all of these side effects, even without being 3-D. Oh, and cancer. Twilight causes cancer. Alert the authorities.

Another miracle product of 2010 is something known as an iPad. Sure, iPods existed in your day, but this is something completely revolutionary. It's 10 times as big as an iPod. And if you're a midget, they're 100 times bigger! Disclaimer: Not actual midget approximations.

Apple is also releasing a new iPhone. Sure, it's a lot like the old iPhone, but now it includes a video camera capable of connecting you face to face via a phone call! It also includes voice recognition software. Say a name of a contact and your phone calls that person. This is terrifying. Hear me out with this hypothetical:

You're dating a girl named, say, Jessica Hiddlepot. It's been a pretty long-term relationship but things are starting to get dicey. So, you end up cheating on Miss Hiddlepot. You're with your mistress, who knows of your infidelity, when her name comes up. "Oh, you're such a better kisser than Jessica Hiddlepot. She utilizes her teeth muscles way too much." Then boom! Your phone hears your voice, recognizes the name, and calls up the neglected girl. Not only does she have to hear you making out with a girl with less tooth muscles, she gets to see it! This can create all kinds of difficulties in your relationship, as you may have guessed, and the fact that Jessica has muscles in her teeth is just the beginning.

Technology is scary. And so is the year 2010. Time to go hide in my glow in the dark sleeping bag and re-play those nostalgic 2009 moments over and over again. Oh, and exercise my teeth. They're starting to atrophy.