Hey, if you still check this blog, you are uncool.
Why?
Because several months ago I moved to a newer, younger, hotter, better and more sexually-active blogsite here!
If you can't do links, the full web address of my new blog is:
http://dustincharles.wordpress.com/
Please stop checking this one, you're just embarrassing yourself. Go bookmark the new one, and tell your friends to do the same.
Cheers,
Dustin
http://twitter.com/ocdustino
http://dustincharles.wordpress.com/
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Poor Excuse
Run-On Sentence: so clearly i am just a lazy, unmotivated person, HOWEVER i have a somewhat legitimate excuse for not writing here much...for the one or two people in the world that haven't had me whine to them about it, i sliced up my middle finger on my right hand pretty badly several weeks back, and typing has been a painful chore that's been beyond my ability for quite some time. just recently i've gotten to the point where i can kind of type without use of my injured finger or causing myself pain, but not for long.
Supplementary Sentences: so when i'm back to full typing/writing strength, you'll know it. in the meantime, here's a picture of my life-threatening finger injury.
1,000 Words:
this is an older shot of the wound, about a month after it happened. numbness on one side, extreme pain, and the total inability to put any weight/pressure on it. fun times. it's really cut into my calligraphy training.
cheers,
dustin "nine-digit" heveron
Supplementary Sentences: so when i'm back to full typing/writing strength, you'll know it. in the meantime, here's a picture of my life-threatening finger injury.
1,000 Words:
this is an older shot of the wound, about a month after it happened. numbness on one side, extreme pain, and the total inability to put any weight/pressure on it. fun times. it's really cut into my calligraphy training.
cheers,
dustin "nine-digit" heveron
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
An Apology From Mark Cuban
In a rare piece of legitimate reporting, we here at Heveron Industries managed to hack Mark Cuban’s blackberry and download this important document — an apparent apology — right from the King Douche himself.
Note: For those of you blissfully unaware, Mark Cuban is the owner of the NBA team, The Dallas Mavericks. He is famous for writing the world’s most blindly self-centered, close-minded blog, being almost totally ignorant about how professional basketball works, yelling at refs even though he is not a coach/player/assistant, consistently displaying a total lack of any discernable sportsmanship, and wasting roughly 11 million dollars in luxury tax to have aged point guard Jason Kidd do his best coma impression for 82+ games a year. Oh, and he also punched a camera man for no reason and yelled obscenities at a player’s mom…on Mother’s Day weekend. A real class act. His apology is presented below.
“Dear To Whom it May Concern,
Hi, my name is Mark Cuban (but don’t worry, I’m not actually Cuban — since I didn’t come to this country on a piece of driftwood and I don’t work for minimum wage at a Denny’s kitchen in Miami. By the way, I’m a huge racist). In light of recent events, I thought it would be a good idea to let the world see into my thought process about why I act the way I do. Normally I would just say you should read my blog to see my thoughts written out, but we both know that my blog is far too one-sided and ignorantly written to actually be capable of conveying any real thoughts or emotions. Hell, if I posted something eloquent, sincere and balanced on there, people would probably assume it was someone else writing it, like a sort of April Fool’s gag or something that I had written up by a secretary. And then once I had that secretary explain what the word “eloquent” means, I’d fire her for even suggesting the idea in the first place. And of course all my secretaries are female, because I don’t think women are capable of any task more complex than doing laundry or taking dictation — unless you count getting pregnant and raising a family as a job (which I don’t. By the way, I’m a huge sexist).
So why am I the way I am? Why am I a bitter, ugly man with a chip on his shoulder as big as the trustfund that I didn’t have to work for? And what business do I have being involved in professional athletics of any sort? Well, as with most things, I suppose it all comes back to my childhood. As a perpetually out of shape white boy who only grew to 6’3”, I was never very good at sports growing up. I was mocked on and off the field, bullied in the locker room, made fun of in classes (mostly by my teachers), and just generally disliked for being such an unbelievable jerk. And I was often picked last for doucheball (a sport played exclusively by us rich kids who have never had the sense of what a hard day’s work is, or any sense of gratitude of values — it’s how we get so good at being douches in our adult lives). So naturally when all the odds said I’d never be able to play professional sports, and my grades were too low to do anything meaningful with my life, I decided that the best solution would be for me to do what rich people had been doing for years — just throw obscene amounts of money at something and yell at people to improve my self esteem. And that’s just what I did. Sure, everyone knows that despite all of that cash, I’m really little more than a glorified season ticketholder, but that doesn’t keep me from acting like I invented the F-ing NBA and the sport of basketball in general.
As far as my temper, well I’ve never really been clear on how basketball actually works, but I’ve found a pretty good trick that’s really helped me over the years. All you have to do is just watch your team’s coaches and players during the game, and when they get a little mad about something, then you get way, way madder! It sounds so simple, I’ll bet you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it yourself. For instance, when our marquis player, Dirk Nowitzki (I think he’s from Mexico, because I think all foreign people come from Mexico. By the way, I’m still a huge racist), gets upset about a call, and maybe has an angry look on his face and expresses his anger to one of his teammates, then I know that’s my cue to go batsh*t crazy and start flipping out on everyone within earshot and arm’s reach. Everyone will be so caught off guard by how psycho you can act that they’ll never even realize it’s because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and that you have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Of course that’s the subtler route, and might be hard for beginners. If you want an easier example, just wait till the end of the game. If you’re at the home court and your team wins, they always shoot off fireballs or confetti or something like that. So when the game ends, if they don’t shoot off anything, then that’s when you start screaming every swear word you can think of, and shoving everyone who’s anywhere near you (this included pregnant women, the elderly, other people’s mothers and below-the-line workers such as cameramen and concessions salesmen). And when you’re at road games, just do it vice versa. When those confetti cannons shoot off, that’s your cue to shoot off just as loudly.
That brings me to another popular question I’d like to address. The question I get all the time is, “why — out of the league’s 32 teams — are you the only owner who feels the need to sit courtside and act like a megadouche instead of sitting up in the owner’s box on the club level that’s reserved for exactly that sort of thing, where you’d at least be able to keep your childish antics out of the public eye?” And the simple answer is, I’m not allowed. Like all rich people, I don’t have any idea where my money actually comes from, or where it goes, so I have a bunch of people I pay to tell me those things. And the one condition that all those people stipulated in their contracts was that they be allowed to watch the games in the owner’s box, without me there. I think it’s because they probably just want some time together to talk about how much they like me, how great of an owner/boss I am, and how much they like it when I explode into a violent rage for no reason and fire them. I didn’t have the heart to deny them that special time together, so I fired the person who suggested it and then let the rest of them sit in the owner’s box without me. It’s probably more appropriate that they sit there anyway, since they know way more about what it takes to run an NBA team than I do — although I do get to take some credit for some decisions…after all, whose idea was it to make a massively-uninformed trade and spend 11 million in luxury tax PLUS the cost of his contract for 35-year-old point guard Jason Kidd? That’s right, baby, it was all this guy — Mark Cuban. In fact, I still remember the day after that trade, as I was listening-in to all my employees’ conversations with the Watergate-style phone taps and bugged offices that I’ve implemented over the years, I heard all of them saying that the trade was ‘Pure Cuban’ or ‘exactly the kind of move you’d only see Mark Cuban make’ or ‘like some sort of sick joke that only that nimrod from the front office would push for.’ I never did look up what ‘nimrod’ means, but I’m pretty sure it’s Icelandic for ‘wise chief who makes wise decisions and slays many seals. With wisdom.’
Anyways, I guess I’m gonna mosey on to the NBA commissioner’s office and bitch about a legitimate non-call for a couple hours, rather than explaining to my team and coaches what exactly a hard/intentional foul is, because that’s the only solution I can come up with.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot this was supposed to be an apology letter.
You’re sorry.
There, now it’s all apologized up. Man, I bet even more people love me now.
Happy Tuesday and go Mavs (also, if anyone can tell me what ‘Mavs’ is short for, I’d be really thankful. So thankful that I might not even fire you on the spot for making eye contact),
Mark Elizabeth Cuban"
"And just to show that I still respect Mother's Day, here's a picture of me and my mother (Mrs. Cuban) from Mother's Day Brunch on Sunday. See? We still care about each other. Now you know that Mark Cuban loves his mom almost as much as his drinking problem."
Note: For those of you blissfully unaware, Mark Cuban is the owner of the NBA team, The Dallas Mavericks. He is famous for writing the world’s most blindly self-centered, close-minded blog, being almost totally ignorant about how professional basketball works, yelling at refs even though he is not a coach/player/assistant, consistently displaying a total lack of any discernable sportsmanship, and wasting roughly 11 million dollars in luxury tax to have aged point guard Jason Kidd do his best coma impression for 82+ games a year. Oh, and he also punched a camera man for no reason and yelled obscenities at a player’s mom…on Mother’s Day weekend. A real class act. His apology is presented below.
“Dear To Whom it May Concern,
Hi, my name is Mark Cuban (but don’t worry, I’m not actually Cuban — since I didn’t come to this country on a piece of driftwood and I don’t work for minimum wage at a Denny’s kitchen in Miami. By the way, I’m a huge racist). In light of recent events, I thought it would be a good idea to let the world see into my thought process about why I act the way I do. Normally I would just say you should read my blog to see my thoughts written out, but we both know that my blog is far too one-sided and ignorantly written to actually be capable of conveying any real thoughts or emotions. Hell, if I posted something eloquent, sincere and balanced on there, people would probably assume it was someone else writing it, like a sort of April Fool’s gag or something that I had written up by a secretary. And then once I had that secretary explain what the word “eloquent” means, I’d fire her for even suggesting the idea in the first place. And of course all my secretaries are female, because I don’t think women are capable of any task more complex than doing laundry or taking dictation — unless you count getting pregnant and raising a family as a job (which I don’t. By the way, I’m a huge sexist).
So why am I the way I am? Why am I a bitter, ugly man with a chip on his shoulder as big as the trustfund that I didn’t have to work for? And what business do I have being involved in professional athletics of any sort? Well, as with most things, I suppose it all comes back to my childhood. As a perpetually out of shape white boy who only grew to 6’3”, I was never very good at sports growing up. I was mocked on and off the field, bullied in the locker room, made fun of in classes (mostly by my teachers), and just generally disliked for being such an unbelievable jerk. And I was often picked last for doucheball (a sport played exclusively by us rich kids who have never had the sense of what a hard day’s work is, or any sense of gratitude of values — it’s how we get so good at being douches in our adult lives). So naturally when all the odds said I’d never be able to play professional sports, and my grades were too low to do anything meaningful with my life, I decided that the best solution would be for me to do what rich people had been doing for years — just throw obscene amounts of money at something and yell at people to improve my self esteem. And that’s just what I did. Sure, everyone knows that despite all of that cash, I’m really little more than a glorified season ticketholder, but that doesn’t keep me from acting like I invented the F-ing NBA and the sport of basketball in general.
As far as my temper, well I’ve never really been clear on how basketball actually works, but I’ve found a pretty good trick that’s really helped me over the years. All you have to do is just watch your team’s coaches and players during the game, and when they get a little mad about something, then you get way, way madder! It sounds so simple, I’ll bet you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it yourself. For instance, when our marquis player, Dirk Nowitzki (I think he’s from Mexico, because I think all foreign people come from Mexico. By the way, I’m still a huge racist), gets upset about a call, and maybe has an angry look on his face and expresses his anger to one of his teammates, then I know that’s my cue to go batsh*t crazy and start flipping out on everyone within earshot and arm’s reach. Everyone will be so caught off guard by how psycho you can act that they’ll never even realize it’s because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and that you have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Of course that’s the subtler route, and might be hard for beginners. If you want an easier example, just wait till the end of the game. If you’re at the home court and your team wins, they always shoot off fireballs or confetti or something like that. So when the game ends, if they don’t shoot off anything, then that’s when you start screaming every swear word you can think of, and shoving everyone who’s anywhere near you (this included pregnant women, the elderly, other people’s mothers and below-the-line workers such as cameramen and concessions salesmen). And when you’re at road games, just do it vice versa. When those confetti cannons shoot off, that’s your cue to shoot off just as loudly.
That brings me to another popular question I’d like to address. The question I get all the time is, “why — out of the league’s 32 teams — are you the only owner who feels the need to sit courtside and act like a megadouche instead of sitting up in the owner’s box on the club level that’s reserved for exactly that sort of thing, where you’d at least be able to keep your childish antics out of the public eye?” And the simple answer is, I’m not allowed. Like all rich people, I don’t have any idea where my money actually comes from, or where it goes, so I have a bunch of people I pay to tell me those things. And the one condition that all those people stipulated in their contracts was that they be allowed to watch the games in the owner’s box, without me there. I think it’s because they probably just want some time together to talk about how much they like me, how great of an owner/boss I am, and how much they like it when I explode into a violent rage for no reason and fire them. I didn’t have the heart to deny them that special time together, so I fired the person who suggested it and then let the rest of them sit in the owner’s box without me. It’s probably more appropriate that they sit there anyway, since they know way more about what it takes to run an NBA team than I do — although I do get to take some credit for some decisions…after all, whose idea was it to make a massively-uninformed trade and spend 11 million in luxury tax PLUS the cost of his contract for 35-year-old point guard Jason Kidd? That’s right, baby, it was all this guy — Mark Cuban. In fact, I still remember the day after that trade, as I was listening-in to all my employees’ conversations with the Watergate-style phone taps and bugged offices that I’ve implemented over the years, I heard all of them saying that the trade was ‘Pure Cuban’ or ‘exactly the kind of move you’d only see Mark Cuban make’ or ‘like some sort of sick joke that only that nimrod from the front office would push for.’ I never did look up what ‘nimrod’ means, but I’m pretty sure it’s Icelandic for ‘wise chief who makes wise decisions and slays many seals. With wisdom.’
Anyways, I guess I’m gonna mosey on to the NBA commissioner’s office and bitch about a legitimate non-call for a couple hours, rather than explaining to my team and coaches what exactly a hard/intentional foul is, because that’s the only solution I can come up with.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot this was supposed to be an apology letter.
You’re sorry.
There, now it’s all apologized up. Man, I bet even more people love me now.
Happy Tuesday and go Mavs (also, if anyone can tell me what ‘Mavs’ is short for, I’d be really thankful. So thankful that I might not even fire you on the spot for making eye contact),
Mark Elizabeth Cuban"
"And just to show that I still respect Mother's Day, here's a picture of me and my mother (Mrs. Cuban) from Mother's Day Brunch on Sunday. See? We still care about each other. Now you know that Mark Cuban loves his mom almost as much as his drinking problem."
Friday, May 1, 2009
Today’s Top Ten Twilight Teachings
I have read the entire Twilight series. I even saw the movie. In theaters. For the most part, I chalked these activities up to the duties of being an elder brother to my high-school-aged sister, however I’ve since realized that Twilight and its subsequent books have valuable lessons to teach all of us, not just the Pattison-crazed teenagers. Since most of you are dense and unenlightened, I will spell out these important teachings for you now…because like I just mentioned, you are too slow-witted to figure them out on your own (I had to say it again because you probably forgot why I was telling in the first place — that’s how moronic you are).
On an unrelated note, I just read someplace that belittling other people improves your self-esteem and helps you lose weight — all while putting on valuable muscle, so I’m trying that out. At least I think that’s what it said. I only read at a third-grade level, so I’m not really sure. But I digress (anyone know what that word means?!).
Today’s Top Ten Twilight Teachings (and every day’s — I don’t think this will be an ongoing thing, I just wanted to add to the alliteration by throwing “today’s” in front).
1) You are only as young as you feel. And look. Subsequently, you are only bound by rules and laws that apply to however old you feel/look. For example, I used to think it was illegal to date 17-year-olds if you were older than 18. However, thanks to Twilight, I now know that it’s NOT illegal to date 17-year-olds as long as you look 17 or act 17 or are in high school! Even if you’re 18! Even if you’re 20! Even if you’re an undead creature with no soul pushing 90-something! It’s all good in the hood as long as you still resemble that picture on your temp driver’s license.
2) Immortals are sharp dressers. It’s a rule that the older you get, the better dresser you are, and the cooler you become in general. Observe our society: whom do we turn to when we need to know the next hot fashion trend or a when we need a guide to this season’s “in” look? The elderly, duh! So it stands to reason that if someone lived for centuries ad nauseam, that they would just endlessly adapt to current trends and fashions and gadgets — just like all octogenarians do as they age. Whoops, I lost track of time, I need to run to the local senior citizen center so I can get a sneak peak at 2010’s hot looks.
3) Vampires love baseball. Well not baseball in general, just the Cubs. Mostly because frozen-in-time vampires from the 1800’s are the only people still around who remember the last time the Cubs won a world series.
4) Vampires aren’t affected by girls on their periods. Even intrinsic, demonic bloodlust has its limits. …Yeah, I even grossed myself out on that one, so I’m just gonna go ahead and stop that one there.
5) Vampires can’t ever be seen in the sunlight because it would blow their cover. Unless they need to plan an impromptu trip to Phoenix in the spring just to get away from it all. All vampires look like they're covered with a million tiny diamonds that glisten and flicker and shine when they're exposed to direct sunlight, so the only time they're allowed someplace sunny is when they just really, really need to go to Phoenix for a few days. Or if they're attending an outdoor Bette Midler concert, since most of her fans would be covered in sparkly sequins anyway, and they'd fit right in.
6) Stephanie Meyer isn’t a very good writer. Good come-up-with-a-story-person, but not really much for prose. Next time, pay a ghostwriter. Or an editor who will cut out about 450 pages’ worth of “he’s so dreamy, he can’t possibly love me…even though he says he does. Oh, I'm so insecure!” inner-monologues over the course of the series.
7) Vampires are anorexic and/or bulimic. Eating disorders are real and serious, not just some imaginary teen fiction fare like Italian vampire regimes and the swine flu. All through Twilight, we see that the vampires don’t let themselves eat human food, just so they can maintain the ridiculous standards of vampire attractiveness forced upon them by the liberal vampire media and its unhealthily-pale, malnourished and sickly models. And when they do eat, they just puke the human food back up later. Not cool. My personal philosophy is that everyone should eat what they want, when they want, as often as they want. If you’re worried about getting out of shape because of it, just go exercise a reasonable amount. I thought vampires would’ve figured out something that simple by now.
8) Vampires can only spend money on gifts. Over the centuries, the Cullen family has accumulated a vast amount of wealth and untold treasures. But just like their curse of not being able to wear any clothing that isn’t a shade of white/gray, vampires can only spend their money on gifts for each other, or other people. For instance there’s a car this one girl vampire really, really wants for most of the books, but instead of tapping into her family’s vast riches and buying it for herself like an adult, she’s forced to wait until one of her adopted siblings buys it for her. Mo’ money, mo’ problems. Even in vampire world.
9) It’s totally cool to sneak into a random girl’s bedroom and watch her sleep all night — as long as you don’t get caught and you can’t read her thoughts. I always thought this was a felony, but it turns out it’s actually just a really good way to get to know your crush. Personally I prefer social-network stalking (have you updated your facebook or twitter or blog or linkedin in the past sixty seconds? I have!), but Twilight taught me that if you have a crush on someone and you really like them, then it’s much quicker to watch them sleep at night. All night. Every night. Just imagine how much you’ll have to talk about when you finally get introduced! It’s more informative than an eharmony profile, and way less expensive!
10) The best way to handle a rough breakup is to fall into a coma, or to pursue near-suicidal hobbies. Nothing says “hey young female readers who are still trying to figure out how to cope with life, this is the example you should follow” more than having your female lead completely go mental after her first real breakup. The specific way to carry out this technique — known as the “Meyer Method” in most psychiatric wards across the country — is to first dive headfirst into a sort of living coma where you neglect all your family, friends and loved ones and basically just shut out the entire world while you cling desperately to the shattered remains of a high school relationship that lasted less than a year. You’ll know you’re doing step one properly when you can’t remember entire chunks of your life, food has no taste, the world has no colors, and you go for months on end without smiling or engaging in a full conversation with another human. The second part of this can’t-miss reconciliation technique is to regularly put yourself in any and all life-threatening situations you can think of, in the hopes that you can have an imaginary conversation with your ex-boyfriend for a few fleeting moments as the byproduct of your broken and shattered psyche. This is particularly effective if you’re a somewhat frail and uncoordinated teenage girl, as it’s easier to create potentially deadly situations out of everyday circumstances. Base jumping, Russian roulette, unprotected sex with someone carrying the AIDS virus — anything goes as long as it results in your battered mind producing some sham interaction with your former high school fling.
Welp, that's all the knowledge I'm legally allowed to share with you at this point — and I'll tell you what, if there's one thing I can't call Stephanie Meyer out for, it's being long-winded. Because good Lord, I certainly take the cake on that one.
Ok kids, the Heat are up by 31, forcing the second most interesting game seven of the first round of NBA playoffs, so I’ma run to the gym and share my vast knowledge of teen vampire drama and pointless NBA stats with all the women who are about to shut me down. It should be a good night.
Peace, love, and rock!
Dustin
"Well you certainly don't FEEL 17 when I hold you like this. You feel more like 19 or 20. That probably makes it ok."
On an unrelated note, I just read someplace that belittling other people improves your self-esteem and helps you lose weight — all while putting on valuable muscle, so I’m trying that out. At least I think that’s what it said. I only read at a third-grade level, so I’m not really sure. But I digress (anyone know what that word means?!).
Today’s Top Ten Twilight Teachings (and every day’s — I don’t think this will be an ongoing thing, I just wanted to add to the alliteration by throwing “today’s” in front).
1) You are only as young as you feel. And look. Subsequently, you are only bound by rules and laws that apply to however old you feel/look. For example, I used to think it was illegal to date 17-year-olds if you were older than 18. However, thanks to Twilight, I now know that it’s NOT illegal to date 17-year-olds as long as you look 17 or act 17 or are in high school! Even if you’re 18! Even if you’re 20! Even if you’re an undead creature with no soul pushing 90-something! It’s all good in the hood as long as you still resemble that picture on your temp driver’s license.
2) Immortals are sharp dressers. It’s a rule that the older you get, the better dresser you are, and the cooler you become in general. Observe our society: whom do we turn to when we need to know the next hot fashion trend or a when we need a guide to this season’s “in” look? The elderly, duh! So it stands to reason that if someone lived for centuries ad nauseam, that they would just endlessly adapt to current trends and fashions and gadgets — just like all octogenarians do as they age. Whoops, I lost track of time, I need to run to the local senior citizen center so I can get a sneak peak at 2010’s hot looks.
3) Vampires love baseball. Well not baseball in general, just the Cubs. Mostly because frozen-in-time vampires from the 1800’s are the only people still around who remember the last time the Cubs won a world series.
4) Vampires aren’t affected by girls on their periods. Even intrinsic, demonic bloodlust has its limits. …Yeah, I even grossed myself out on that one, so I’m just gonna go ahead and stop that one there.
5) Vampires can’t ever be seen in the sunlight because it would blow their cover. Unless they need to plan an impromptu trip to Phoenix in the spring just to get away from it all. All vampires look like they're covered with a million tiny diamonds that glisten and flicker and shine when they're exposed to direct sunlight, so the only time they're allowed someplace sunny is when they just really, really need to go to Phoenix for a few days. Or if they're attending an outdoor Bette Midler concert, since most of her fans would be covered in sparkly sequins anyway, and they'd fit right in.
6) Stephanie Meyer isn’t a very good writer. Good come-up-with-a-story-person, but not really much for prose. Next time, pay a ghostwriter. Or an editor who will cut out about 450 pages’ worth of “he’s so dreamy, he can’t possibly love me…even though he says he does. Oh, I'm so insecure!” inner-monologues over the course of the series.
7) Vampires are anorexic and/or bulimic. Eating disorders are real and serious, not just some imaginary teen fiction fare like Italian vampire regimes and the swine flu. All through Twilight, we see that the vampires don’t let themselves eat human food, just so they can maintain the ridiculous standards of vampire attractiveness forced upon them by the liberal vampire media and its unhealthily-pale, malnourished and sickly models. And when they do eat, they just puke the human food back up later. Not cool. My personal philosophy is that everyone should eat what they want, when they want, as often as they want. If you’re worried about getting out of shape because of it, just go exercise a reasonable amount. I thought vampires would’ve figured out something that simple by now.
8) Vampires can only spend money on gifts. Over the centuries, the Cullen family has accumulated a vast amount of wealth and untold treasures. But just like their curse of not being able to wear any clothing that isn’t a shade of white/gray, vampires can only spend their money on gifts for each other, or other people. For instance there’s a car this one girl vampire really, really wants for most of the books, but instead of tapping into her family’s vast riches and buying it for herself like an adult, she’s forced to wait until one of her adopted siblings buys it for her. Mo’ money, mo’ problems. Even in vampire world.
9) It’s totally cool to sneak into a random girl’s bedroom and watch her sleep all night — as long as you don’t get caught and you can’t read her thoughts. I always thought this was a felony, but it turns out it’s actually just a really good way to get to know your crush. Personally I prefer social-network stalking (have you updated your facebook or twitter or blog or linkedin in the past sixty seconds? I have!), but Twilight taught me that if you have a crush on someone and you really like them, then it’s much quicker to watch them sleep at night. All night. Every night. Just imagine how much you’ll have to talk about when you finally get introduced! It’s more informative than an eharmony profile, and way less expensive!
10) The best way to handle a rough breakup is to fall into a coma, or to pursue near-suicidal hobbies. Nothing says “hey young female readers who are still trying to figure out how to cope with life, this is the example you should follow” more than having your female lead completely go mental after her first real breakup. The specific way to carry out this technique — known as the “Meyer Method” in most psychiatric wards across the country — is to first dive headfirst into a sort of living coma where you neglect all your family, friends and loved ones and basically just shut out the entire world while you cling desperately to the shattered remains of a high school relationship that lasted less than a year. You’ll know you’re doing step one properly when you can’t remember entire chunks of your life, food has no taste, the world has no colors, and you go for months on end without smiling or engaging in a full conversation with another human. The second part of this can’t-miss reconciliation technique is to regularly put yourself in any and all life-threatening situations you can think of, in the hopes that you can have an imaginary conversation with your ex-boyfriend for a few fleeting moments as the byproduct of your broken and shattered psyche. This is particularly effective if you’re a somewhat frail and uncoordinated teenage girl, as it’s easier to create potentially deadly situations out of everyday circumstances. Base jumping, Russian roulette, unprotected sex with someone carrying the AIDS virus — anything goes as long as it results in your battered mind producing some sham interaction with your former high school fling.
Welp, that's all the knowledge I'm legally allowed to share with you at this point — and I'll tell you what, if there's one thing I can't call Stephanie Meyer out for, it's being long-winded. Because good Lord, I certainly take the cake on that one.
Ok kids, the Heat are up by 31, forcing the second most interesting game seven of the first round of NBA playoffs, so I’ma run to the gym and share my vast knowledge of teen vampire drama and pointless NBA stats with all the women who are about to shut me down. It should be a good night.
Peace, love, and rock!
Dustin
"Well you certainly don't FEEL 17 when I hold you like this. You feel more like 19 or 20. That probably makes it ok."
Monday, April 27, 2009
No One in the Cyrus Family is Even Remotely Attractive
It’s a foggy morning in LA by the ocean, and I started today like I start most of my Mondays — looking through Brandi Cyrus’ myspace page (she’s Miley’s older half-sister). Now Brandi might only be 50% related to teen star Miley, but she certainly got 100% of the ugly genes that are floating atop that family’s genetic pool like fermented, mutant algae. Misshapen, asymmetrical faces, hair like a bad wig, and the world’s worst tooth-to-gum ratio on record are just some of this family’s trademark looks. Now I realize that I’m not the most handsome man in the world…wait, scratch that, I just got a phone call from HMI (Handsome Man International) informing me that I actually AM this year’s “Most Handsome Man in the World” so I guess that means I’m extra qualified to call out the Cyruses and the achy-breaky effect their faces have on mirrors. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against unattractive people in general (Tori Spelling), I just think that if you have the kind of face that makes babies reflexively burst into tears (Howard Stern), then you shouldn’t be plastering that face all over my tv/movies/internet/city. Luckily, we live in a society where men are primarily judged by what’s on the inside, not the outside, so I’m gonna be just fine for years to come — well after my stellar, boyish looks fade into the wise, rugged handsomeness that comes with age — but women aren’t that lucky. Sorry ladies, I don’t make the rules, I just alienate people by pointing out said rules. You’re welcome.
In other news, my continued quest to completely and utterly destroy my liver, leaving nothing more than a shriveled, mangled ball of vodka in its place (yes, you heard me, a ball of vodka. I’m not sure if it’s possible, but I’m gonna keep trying anyway) came to another sad defeat this weekend. I pulled out all the stops, too: had friends in from out of town, attended another friend’s going away party — all the usual tricks for manually forcing your liver to shut down — but nothing seemed to work, and I sit here before you on Monday morning decked out in full University of Michigan attire (PJ pants, hoodie) as a broken, defeated man. Oh well, there’s always next weekend. And since technically my “next weekend” starts today, I had better get my gameface on asap.
I had a friend point out to me the score of the Ohio State Suckeyes’ spring game the other day, and how massive the attendance was. I think she said the score was something like 23-3, Gray beating Scarlet. Now while I love any excuse to salvage football out of an otherwise baseball-laden season, I couldn’t really understand why she was so excited about the score. Because she told me about it as excitedly as if it were an actual game, but the thing is, IT’S NOT. To me, if one side really houses the other in the spring game, that just says to me that either your defense is way worse than your offense, or that your A-Squad is way better than you B-Squad — which is how it’s supposed to be, I’m pretty sure. So if you’re excited about the score of that game, it either means you don’t understand how football works (a definite option with this girl), or you’re legitimately surprised that your first team is significantly better than you second team. Either way, not a good sign. You know what the score of the Michigan Wolverines’ spring game was? Neither do I. Because it doesn’t matter. Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved to attend the game and see how our boys look for this season, but since I live 3,000 miles away and I’m not being recruited to play football for U of M, seeing that game in person isn’t really an option. The only score that should matter for OSU football players at this point in the season is that 2.0 they need to maintain in order to achieve academic mediocrity and athletic eligibility. And no, I’m not bitter about losing the last several meetings between these teams, who do you ask?
Final thought: people don’t need to be afraid of computers taking over the world and enslaving humanity for quite some time, because until they can build a computer that can run a proper grammar-check without getting a couple dozen items wrong, we have nothing to worry about. Once that paper-clip stops auto-changing “your A-Squad” to “you’re a-squad,” that’s when we should start nervously looking over our shoulders.
My day = twittering (like a boss), writing, showering (maybe), resume-ing, calling the folks to wish them a happy belated anniversary, and getting too geeked out about the season finale of Heroes. Oh and continually name-dropping Alec Baldwin as if he knows/cares who I am after seeing a bad movie with me.
Seacrest out,
Dustin
In other news, my continued quest to completely and utterly destroy my liver, leaving nothing more than a shriveled, mangled ball of vodka in its place (yes, you heard me, a ball of vodka. I’m not sure if it’s possible, but I’m gonna keep trying anyway) came to another sad defeat this weekend. I pulled out all the stops, too: had friends in from out of town, attended another friend’s going away party — all the usual tricks for manually forcing your liver to shut down — but nothing seemed to work, and I sit here before you on Monday morning decked out in full University of Michigan attire (PJ pants, hoodie) as a broken, defeated man. Oh well, there’s always next weekend. And since technically my “next weekend” starts today, I had better get my gameface on asap.
I had a friend point out to me the score of the Ohio State Suckeyes’ spring game the other day, and how massive the attendance was. I think she said the score was something like 23-3, Gray beating Scarlet. Now while I love any excuse to salvage football out of an otherwise baseball-laden season, I couldn’t really understand why she was so excited about the score. Because she told me about it as excitedly as if it were an actual game, but the thing is, IT’S NOT. To me, if one side really houses the other in the spring game, that just says to me that either your defense is way worse than your offense, or that your A-Squad is way better than you B-Squad — which is how it’s supposed to be, I’m pretty sure. So if you’re excited about the score of that game, it either means you don’t understand how football works (a definite option with this girl), or you’re legitimately surprised that your first team is significantly better than you second team. Either way, not a good sign. You know what the score of the Michigan Wolverines’ spring game was? Neither do I. Because it doesn’t matter. Don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved to attend the game and see how our boys look for this season, but since I live 3,000 miles away and I’m not being recruited to play football for U of M, seeing that game in person isn’t really an option. The only score that should matter for OSU football players at this point in the season is that 2.0 they need to maintain in order to achieve academic mediocrity and athletic eligibility. And no, I’m not bitter about losing the last several meetings between these teams, who do you ask?
Final thought: people don’t need to be afraid of computers taking over the world and enslaving humanity for quite some time, because until they can build a computer that can run a proper grammar-check without getting a couple dozen items wrong, we have nothing to worry about. Once that paper-clip stops auto-changing “your A-Squad” to “you’re a-squad,” that’s when we should start nervously looking over our shoulders.
My day = twittering (like a boss), writing, showering (maybe), resume-ing, calling the folks to wish them a happy belated anniversary, and getting too geeked out about the season finale of Heroes. Oh and continually name-dropping Alec Baldwin as if he knows/cares who I am after seeing a bad movie with me.
Seacrest out,
Dustin
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Report: James, Williams & Literacy Lead Cavs to Big W Against Pistons
Cleveland, OH — The former NBA champion Detroit Pistons dropped their second straight playoff game to the hosting Cleveland Cavaliers, as LeBron James (Cleveland’s super-athlete small forward), Mo Williams (The Cavs all-star point guard) and Literacy (the ability to read, understand and communicate in the written English language) all combined to give the Cavaliers a huge 94-82 victory today at Quicken Loans Arena in Cleveland. Ohio-native James gave Cleveland his usual support with 29 points and 13 rebounds, while Literacy made it possible for the Cavaliers to comprehend concepts ranging from who was on the starting lineup, to what hotel/roommate assignments were, to what time the game was scheduled to start, and everything in between. LeBron James — who is currently in his sixth season in the NBA — has had a long history of working with Literacy on and off the court, and many believe Literacy was directly responsible for James’ graduation from St. Vincent-St. Mary High School located in nearby Akron, Ohio. Literacy has become a staple of the Cavaliers’ media interactions as well, with both LeBron and Cleveland Head Coach, Mike Brown, making sure Literacy is prominently featured in their on-court interviews and postgame press conferences — frequently using teleprompters and statistics printouts to assist in making their points.
“Everyone knows this is a team that centers itself around Literacy” Coach Brown told reporters, “that was my philosophy even when I was an assistant coach, and it will continue to be as long as I’m in charge of this franchise.”
Point guard Mo Williams, who the Cavs acquired this year in an offseason trade, agreed with Brown, adding, “Literacy really allows us to read what’s going on, and make adjustments accordingly. [It] really opens up a lot of options for us compared to some of the alternatives.”
When asked his thoughts on how Literacy would affect them in Game 3 — scheduled back in Detroit — LeBron shared that, “Detroit’s never had an understanding or respect for what [Literacy] can do, and that’s a big part of what’s keeping them from reading the writing on the walls. I think there’s a good chance everything’s going to go right over their heads.”
As usual, any trace of the Cavs and Literacy were long gone by the time the Detroit Pistons’ press conference began.
Reporting for the Los Angeles Gazette Times Tribune Dispatch Herald Informer Chronicle Examiner Register Times Post Journal, I’m Dustin Heveron.
“The LA GTTDHICERTPJ, your number-one source for acronyms.”
"I'ma fowl'd! Refs be giving 'Sheed mah points or da Rip beet me on teem bus! Cheetoes is yummers! Boom!" -Rasheed Wallace, on the complex internal collapse the Pistons have suffered this season.
“Everyone knows this is a team that centers itself around Literacy” Coach Brown told reporters, “that was my philosophy even when I was an assistant coach, and it will continue to be as long as I’m in charge of this franchise.”
Point guard Mo Williams, who the Cavs acquired this year in an offseason trade, agreed with Brown, adding, “Literacy really allows us to read what’s going on, and make adjustments accordingly. [It] really opens up a lot of options for us compared to some of the alternatives.”
When asked his thoughts on how Literacy would affect them in Game 3 — scheduled back in Detroit — LeBron shared that, “Detroit’s never had an understanding or respect for what [Literacy] can do, and that’s a big part of what’s keeping them from reading the writing on the walls. I think there’s a good chance everything’s going to go right over their heads.”
As usual, any trace of the Cavs and Literacy were long gone by the time the Detroit Pistons’ press conference began.
Reporting for the Los Angeles Gazette Times Tribune Dispatch Herald Informer Chronicle Examiner Register Times Post Journal, I’m Dustin Heveron.
“The LA GTTDHICERTPJ, your number-one source for acronyms.”
"I'ma fowl'd! Refs be giving 'Sheed mah points or da Rip beet me on teem bus! Cheetoes is yummers! Boom!" -Rasheed Wallace, on the complex internal collapse the Pistons have suffered this season.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Can You Smell BMS? (Dustin's Summer Movie Preview '09)
I love…
Love
LOVE.
…blockbuster movie season (BMS…known as summer to those of you who don’t live in a place where it’s summer 24/7). Although I enjoy almost all genres of cinema, I particularly like the stereotypical, big budget summer blockbuster movies with their shiny FX, barely-there plotlines and their “hottie du jour” starlets. Maybe that statement gives you a glimpse into what sort of shallow, easily-entertained person I am. Or maybe that’s just my way of reverse psychologying you into thinking I’m actually deep by saying I’m shallow. Boom, reverse psychology’d (like a boss).
I was thinking about firing up my weekly review of some of the mega-hits I’m excited for this BMS, but I may be too poor to see all of them in the theater and I think they frown on it when you spend your unemployment money at the Arclight Cinemas. Boom, recession’d (like a boss). That said, here’s a list of the movies that I will definitely be Netflixing (aka Blockbuster Online-ing…but that’s too many syllables) six months after their theatrical release and why I’m excited about them (or not, if I think they’ll be bad).
— MAY —
Battle for Terra: Weak CGI + made by a Canadian production company = flop.
Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: Matthew McConaughey makes this exact movie every 8-12 months with a slightly different premise and a slightly different female lead. But the exact same level of yawn.
X-Men Origins, Wolverine: I’ll see it, you’ll see it (and apparently some of you interweb pirates already HAVE seen it), it won’t be that great, but hopefully it won’t be as bad as X-2 and X-3 were (minus Kelsey Grammar as Beast, which was still my fave part of that entire trilogy).
Star Trek: Because the Star Wars fans are too rabid to let George Lucas do a true Star Wars reboot, AND because Star Trek fans all secretly know how truly awful the original Star Trek shows and movies were, this movie has been made. I’m only going to see some hot aliens and Sylar from Heroes (season finale next week! And just as it’s finally starting to get good again, too).
Next Day Air: I heard the working title for this movie was “Madea’s Pothead, Slacker Nephew Who Makes Poor Decisions for 90 Minutes at the Risk of His Dead-End Job.”
Angels & Demons: Great, now I have to see The DaVinci Code (but might be worth it to have an excuse to read the books).
Terminator Salvation: Say what you will about Christian Bale being an asshole (you wouldn’t be wrong), the Terminator series being overplayed (you wouldn’t be wrong), and Linda Hamilton being hot (you wouldn’t be right); but I am PUMPED for this movie and all the preliminary signs point to this movie actually being good (maybe even the second-best Terminator movie behind T2).
Night at the Museum 2, Battle of the Smithsonian: And so Ben Stiller drifts slowly into the low stakes world of family-friendly, safe comedies just like Cuba and Eddie and other before him. I’m down with anything that gives Ricky Gervais more work stateside, though.
Dance Flick: Thankfully not made by the same D-bags who are endlessly peddling the Scary Movie franchise of feces, the Wayans Bros. might have enough latent comic ability to make this fly. Or it could be White Chicks 2: Sports Brahs.
Up: Disney, Pixar, adorable premise. You know the drill, let’s just cut Mickey his check for $300 million right now and go home.
— JUNE —
Land of the Lost: Will Ferrell is that strange combo of someone who is commercially hilarious AND actually hilarious (unlike Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, Tyler Perry, and most everyone else who’s making comedies these days), plus you mix in Danny McBride in the role he was meant to play (i.e. any sort of sidekick comic relief character) and a remake franchise that’s actually worth remaking, and baby, you’ve got yourself a stew going.
The Hangover: Watch the trailer, become a believer. Zach Galifinakis and Co. are all hilarious, and this one has the cult classic sharpied all over it. Hopefully it’ll make enough money for people to take a chance on this sort of movie again in the future (about the same time I’m ready for my leading feature debut).
My Life in Ruins: My Big Fat Greek Wedding “star” capitalizes on the huge trend of making movies about average-looking, middle-aged women and their love of Greek heritage. Oh, wait.
Imagine That: This is the kind of movie Ben Stiller will be making in a few years if he stays on the path he’s currently on. Now ask people if they like this Eddie Murphy or the old school Eddie Murphy better. You’ve been warned, Ben.
Year One: Superbad with an amped up budget, plot, and a bigger/better star than Jonah Hill? I can smell the quotability from here.
Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen: The first movie about my favorite robots in disguise was one of the only truly successful 80’s reboots in my book, and the sequel should be as large as Shia’s Lebeouf’s head has gotten since last summer. And to quote myself from last year’s movie preview, Spielberg as producer should keep Michael Bay’s tendency to suck at *ahem* bay.
— JULY —
Brüno: Picture an even wilder, even more shocking version of Borat. I’m as afraid as I am ready to laugh. I just hope America gets the joke at some point.
I Love You, Beth Cooper: Hayden Panettiere? Sold. Boom, pedophile’d (like a boss).
Harry Potter and the…Blah blah blah, aren’t these guys like, out of shaman school yet? Yeah, I’ll keep seeing these movies…if only so I can avoid reading the books to see how the series ends.
G-Force: I was actually excited for this movie for .2 seconds when I thought it was a remake of a Japanese cartoon show I liked as a child. But I lost my erection as soon as I found out the “G” in G-Force stands for gerbil. Yeah, gerbil force.
Funny People: I’ve never really thought Adam Sandler was that funny, and he’s doing his best to prove me right beyond the shadow of a doubt in his latter years.
— AUGUST —
G.I. Joe, The Rise of Cobra: I have a basement full of decapitated action figures and half assembled heli-tanks (half helicopter, half tank. You heard me) that says I have to see this movie. And in no way is that depressing.
Julie & Julia: A chick flick, best-selling novel adaptation and supposed Oscar-contender slated for a summer release? That means one of two things: 1) either this movie blows beyond fixability or 2) Meryl Streep lost a bet. Either way, avoid at all costs.
Inglorious Basterds: Sure they spelled it wrong, but Brad Pitt plus an excuse to swear in public for most of August and September is a good enough reason for me to support a film.
The Post Grad Survival Guide: Alexis Bledel is hot, but I’m secretly afraid of going into this movie and having them show Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 instead. And I’m not sure anyone would be able to tell the difference.
…And there you have it. Those are the 90-120 minute godsends that are going to help me pass the time once the basketball and hockey seasons are over and I’m going through withdrawal until football comes back into my life. Let’s hope they get the job done.
Eating pizza (like a boss), Seacrest out.
-Dustin
Love
LOVE.
…blockbuster movie season (BMS…known as summer to those of you who don’t live in a place where it’s summer 24/7). Although I enjoy almost all genres of cinema, I particularly like the stereotypical, big budget summer blockbuster movies with their shiny FX, barely-there plotlines and their “hottie du jour” starlets. Maybe that statement gives you a glimpse into what sort of shallow, easily-entertained person I am. Or maybe that’s just my way of reverse psychologying you into thinking I’m actually deep by saying I’m shallow. Boom, reverse psychology’d (like a boss).
I was thinking about firing up my weekly review of some of the mega-hits I’m excited for this BMS, but I may be too poor to see all of them in the theater and I think they frown on it when you spend your unemployment money at the Arclight Cinemas. Boom, recession’d (like a boss). That said, here’s a list of the movies that I will definitely be Netflixing (aka Blockbuster Online-ing…but that’s too many syllables) six months after their theatrical release and why I’m excited about them (or not, if I think they’ll be bad).
— MAY —
Battle for Terra: Weak CGI + made by a Canadian production company = flop.
Ghosts of Girlfriends Past: Matthew McConaughey makes this exact movie every 8-12 months with a slightly different premise and a slightly different female lead. But the exact same level of yawn.
X-Men Origins, Wolverine: I’ll see it, you’ll see it (and apparently some of you interweb pirates already HAVE seen it), it won’t be that great, but hopefully it won’t be as bad as X-2 and X-3 were (minus Kelsey Grammar as Beast, which was still my fave part of that entire trilogy).
Star Trek: Because the Star Wars fans are too rabid to let George Lucas do a true Star Wars reboot, AND because Star Trek fans all secretly know how truly awful the original Star Trek shows and movies were, this movie has been made. I’m only going to see some hot aliens and Sylar from Heroes (season finale next week! And just as it’s finally starting to get good again, too).
Next Day Air: I heard the working title for this movie was “Madea’s Pothead, Slacker Nephew Who Makes Poor Decisions for 90 Minutes at the Risk of His Dead-End Job.”
Angels & Demons: Great, now I have to see The DaVinci Code (but might be worth it to have an excuse to read the books).
Terminator Salvation: Say what you will about Christian Bale being an asshole (you wouldn’t be wrong), the Terminator series being overplayed (you wouldn’t be wrong), and Linda Hamilton being hot (you wouldn’t be right); but I am PUMPED for this movie and all the preliminary signs point to this movie actually being good (maybe even the second-best Terminator movie behind T2).
Night at the Museum 2, Battle of the Smithsonian: And so Ben Stiller drifts slowly into the low stakes world of family-friendly, safe comedies just like Cuba and Eddie and other before him. I’m down with anything that gives Ricky Gervais more work stateside, though.
Dance Flick: Thankfully not made by the same D-bags who are endlessly peddling the Scary Movie franchise of feces, the Wayans Bros. might have enough latent comic ability to make this fly. Or it could be White Chicks 2: Sports Brahs.
Up: Disney, Pixar, adorable premise. You know the drill, let’s just cut Mickey his check for $300 million right now and go home.
— JUNE —
Land of the Lost: Will Ferrell is that strange combo of someone who is commercially hilarious AND actually hilarious (unlike Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, Tyler Perry, and most everyone else who’s making comedies these days), plus you mix in Danny McBride in the role he was meant to play (i.e. any sort of sidekick comic relief character) and a remake franchise that’s actually worth remaking, and baby, you’ve got yourself a stew going.
The Hangover: Watch the trailer, become a believer. Zach Galifinakis and Co. are all hilarious, and this one has the cult classic sharpied all over it. Hopefully it’ll make enough money for people to take a chance on this sort of movie again in the future (about the same time I’m ready for my leading feature debut).
My Life in Ruins: My Big Fat Greek Wedding “star” capitalizes on the huge trend of making movies about average-looking, middle-aged women and their love of Greek heritage. Oh, wait.
Imagine That: This is the kind of movie Ben Stiller will be making in a few years if he stays on the path he’s currently on. Now ask people if they like this Eddie Murphy or the old school Eddie Murphy better. You’ve been warned, Ben.
Year One: Superbad with an amped up budget, plot, and a bigger/better star than Jonah Hill? I can smell the quotability from here.
Transformers, Revenge of the Fallen: The first movie about my favorite robots in disguise was one of the only truly successful 80’s reboots in my book, and the sequel should be as large as Shia’s Lebeouf’s head has gotten since last summer. And to quote myself from last year’s movie preview, Spielberg as producer should keep Michael Bay’s tendency to suck at *ahem* bay.
— JULY —
Brüno: Picture an even wilder, even more shocking version of Borat. I’m as afraid as I am ready to laugh. I just hope America gets the joke at some point.
I Love You, Beth Cooper: Hayden Panettiere? Sold. Boom, pedophile’d (like a boss).
Harry Potter and the…Blah blah blah, aren’t these guys like, out of shaman school yet? Yeah, I’ll keep seeing these movies…if only so I can avoid reading the books to see how the series ends.
G-Force: I was actually excited for this movie for .2 seconds when I thought it was a remake of a Japanese cartoon show I liked as a child. But I lost my erection as soon as I found out the “G” in G-Force stands for gerbil. Yeah, gerbil force.
Funny People: I’ve never really thought Adam Sandler was that funny, and he’s doing his best to prove me right beyond the shadow of a doubt in his latter years.
— AUGUST —
G.I. Joe, The Rise of Cobra: I have a basement full of decapitated action figures and half assembled heli-tanks (half helicopter, half tank. You heard me) that says I have to see this movie. And in no way is that depressing.
Julie & Julia: A chick flick, best-selling novel adaptation and supposed Oscar-contender slated for a summer release? That means one of two things: 1) either this movie blows beyond fixability or 2) Meryl Streep lost a bet. Either way, avoid at all costs.
Inglorious Basterds: Sure they spelled it wrong, but Brad Pitt plus an excuse to swear in public for most of August and September is a good enough reason for me to support a film.
The Post Grad Survival Guide: Alexis Bledel is hot, but I’m secretly afraid of going into this movie and having them show Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 instead. And I’m not sure anyone would be able to tell the difference.
…And there you have it. Those are the 90-120 minute godsends that are going to help me pass the time once the basketball and hockey seasons are over and I’m going through withdrawal until football comes back into my life. Let’s hope they get the job done.
Eating pizza (like a boss), Seacrest out.
-Dustin
Sunday, April 19, 2009
I Need a Desk (and by “Desk” I Mean Job)
I think alcohol sapped all my hilarity last night. Eh well, might as well get my write on anyways — being bad at stuff has never stopped me from doing anything before (isn’t that right, basketball, soccer, and relationships?).
Jaden Smith ruined The Day the Earth Stood Still. Not intentionally in the same way as Keanu’s underacting or the weak ending, but just ruined nonetheless. Jaden’s character (Jacob — what is it with poorly-written Jacobs in films these days? I’m looking at you, Twilight screenwriter) is just really, really poorly written. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, here’s a spoiler-free synopsis from someone who just watched the dvd this afternoon as a hangover cure (not a particularly effective one, in case you wondered): Jacob is almost 100% unnecessary as a character, he is an absolute brat — beyond what’s believable even by America’s standards of brattiness — he is a jerk to his single-parent stepmom, and he does not serve a purpose to the main plot aside from showing that American children are intolerant D-bags. His acting isn’t great, but he’s also like 10 years old AND working alongside Keanu Reeves (who also has the acting ability of a 10-year-old), so I’m willing to let it slide. Basically, the movie would’ve been significantly improved if that character had just been reduced or written out entirely. That said, I actually enjoyed the movie a fair amount and thought it was a decent remake.
As an aside, I’d like to point out that I honestly don’t think Keanu Reeves is that bad of an actor — I don’t think he’s particularly great, either, I just think that (like most actors) he serves a specific purpose and plays that certain kind of part well. He did a good job in this movie, and he knows kung fu.
On from a criticism to just the opposite. I saw Paul McCartney live for the second time in my life at the Coachella Music Festival this weekend. The level of talent that man possesses is unreal. At 60-something (I think around 65?), that man jumped around onstage, switched between a half-dozen instruments and played an almost three-hour show — all without missing a note. Like seriously, he didn’t even go flat once during the whole show. He shared some heart-warming stories about former bandmate John, former wife Linda…and didn’t share stories about former wife and current gold-digger, Heather Mills (who is an all-around crazy B and unsavory person). I know his shows are pricey, but seriously anyone who has even the slightest respect for and enjoyment of music owes it to themselves to see Paul live. His backing band is über talented (especially the righteous drummer who sings the majority of the harmonies and lays down sweet beats with only one rack tom and one floor tom — nobody needs more than two rack toms and one floor tom, no offense to the greatness of Neil Pert, but come on). Even the Beatles-DJ who opens the show for him and gets the crowd pumped up is awesome. This is the second time I’ve seen him put on an epic concert, and both shows were ridiculously phenomenal, so it wasn’t just like I got lucky with a good performance. The fact of the matter is that even though he still looks like he’s in great shape, and you couldn’t see any evidence of it in his show, he is still pushing 70-years old and he simply won’t be performing much longer. You MUST see him. You won’t regret it, and bootlegs aren’t the same. Anyone who doesn’t want to see Paul McCartney is a communist who should be shot execution-style on a stack of country-music albums.
I don’t care for Boston that much, but I do like Bill Simmons’ writing, and his observations are usually pretty spot-on and entertaining (remind you of anyone you know? …It’s me. You’re supposed to be reminded of me. Jerk).
So I’m going to be an extra in the movie Alvin & the Chipmunks 2: The Squeakquel this week. I’m equal parts excited and frightened. I’m excited because “acting” is going to pay for my food this week, but scared of what being associated with the A&TC franchise is going to do to my self-esteem. I’m sure it’s a violation of my contract, but I am planning on keeping my camera phone hot so I can twitter my humiliation globally so all of you can share in my official defeat as an actor (LA 1, Dustin 0).
Ok, tomorrow begins the no-holds-barred showdown between me and the recession (so far Recession 1, Dustin 0), and I’m predicting a big W for team Dustin — speaking of wins, how awesome is it that the Cavs AND Jackets are both in the playoffs against Detroit-based sports teams (although it looks like the Cleveland Cavaliers are more likely to win the Stanley Cup than the Columbus Blue Jackets with the way the CBJ played the first two games)?
For now though, I need to decide if 11:41pm is too late to have lunch, and see if I can get back the hours that the Mythbusters marathon has stolen from me today (Mythbusters 1, Dustin 0).
Much love to the Dustin Nation (the Dustination?), we’ll talk again soon.
Dustin
60+ years old, 60+ feet high — but Paul doesn't need screens to be larger than life. Rock on.
Jaden Smith ruined The Day the Earth Stood Still. Not intentionally in the same way as Keanu’s underacting or the weak ending, but just ruined nonetheless. Jaden’s character (Jacob — what is it with poorly-written Jacobs in films these days? I’m looking at you, Twilight screenwriter) is just really, really poorly written. For those of you who haven’t seen the movie, here’s a spoiler-free synopsis from someone who just watched the dvd this afternoon as a hangover cure (not a particularly effective one, in case you wondered): Jacob is almost 100% unnecessary as a character, he is an absolute brat — beyond what’s believable even by America’s standards of brattiness — he is a jerk to his single-parent stepmom, and he does not serve a purpose to the main plot aside from showing that American children are intolerant D-bags. His acting isn’t great, but he’s also like 10 years old AND working alongside Keanu Reeves (who also has the acting ability of a 10-year-old), so I’m willing to let it slide. Basically, the movie would’ve been significantly improved if that character had just been reduced or written out entirely. That said, I actually enjoyed the movie a fair amount and thought it was a decent remake.
As an aside, I’d like to point out that I honestly don’t think Keanu Reeves is that bad of an actor — I don’t think he’s particularly great, either, I just think that (like most actors) he serves a specific purpose and plays that certain kind of part well. He did a good job in this movie, and he knows kung fu.
On from a criticism to just the opposite. I saw Paul McCartney live for the second time in my life at the Coachella Music Festival this weekend. The level of talent that man possesses is unreal. At 60-something (I think around 65?), that man jumped around onstage, switched between a half-dozen instruments and played an almost three-hour show — all without missing a note. Like seriously, he didn’t even go flat once during the whole show. He shared some heart-warming stories about former bandmate John, former wife Linda…and didn’t share stories about former wife and current gold-digger, Heather Mills (who is an all-around crazy B and unsavory person). I know his shows are pricey, but seriously anyone who has even the slightest respect for and enjoyment of music owes it to themselves to see Paul live. His backing band is über talented (especially the righteous drummer who sings the majority of the harmonies and lays down sweet beats with only one rack tom and one floor tom — nobody needs more than two rack toms and one floor tom, no offense to the greatness of Neil Pert, but come on). Even the Beatles-DJ who opens the show for him and gets the crowd pumped up is awesome. This is the second time I’ve seen him put on an epic concert, and both shows were ridiculously phenomenal, so it wasn’t just like I got lucky with a good performance. The fact of the matter is that even though he still looks like he’s in great shape, and you couldn’t see any evidence of it in his show, he is still pushing 70-years old and he simply won’t be performing much longer. You MUST see him. You won’t regret it, and bootlegs aren’t the same. Anyone who doesn’t want to see Paul McCartney is a communist who should be shot execution-style on a stack of country-music albums.
I don’t care for Boston that much, but I do like Bill Simmons’ writing, and his observations are usually pretty spot-on and entertaining (remind you of anyone you know? …It’s me. You’re supposed to be reminded of me. Jerk).
So I’m going to be an extra in the movie Alvin & the Chipmunks 2: The Squeakquel this week. I’m equal parts excited and frightened. I’m excited because “acting” is going to pay for my food this week, but scared of what being associated with the A&TC franchise is going to do to my self-esteem. I’m sure it’s a violation of my contract, but I am planning on keeping my camera phone hot so I can twitter my humiliation globally so all of you can share in my official defeat as an actor (LA 1, Dustin 0).
Ok, tomorrow begins the no-holds-barred showdown between me and the recession (so far Recession 1, Dustin 0), and I’m predicting a big W for team Dustin — speaking of wins, how awesome is it that the Cavs AND Jackets are both in the playoffs against Detroit-based sports teams (although it looks like the Cleveland Cavaliers are more likely to win the Stanley Cup than the Columbus Blue Jackets with the way the CBJ played the first two games)?
For now though, I need to decide if 11:41pm is too late to have lunch, and see if I can get back the hours that the Mythbusters marathon has stolen from me today (Mythbusters 1, Dustin 0).
Much love to the Dustin Nation (the Dustination?), we’ll talk again soon.
Dustin
60+ years old, 60+ feet high — but Paul doesn't need screens to be larger than life. Rock on.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Being Really, Really Productive, You Guys
I have invented a word.
The bird isn’t the word that I’ve invented.
Oh, before I venture any further, let me quickly plug one of my fave modern-day bands, House of Heroes, by letting you know you can download a FREE song of theirs here and buy their ultra-cheap ($2.49, American! Cheaper than a ShamWow!), recently released EP here. Ok, done plugging, back to the nonsense.
Inventing a word isn’t an entirely new thing for me, since I invent words pretty regularly, the only difference is that this word isn’t a derivative of an obscenity, or slang, or innuendo for anything. So that makes it special AND appropriate for posting on the internet (because we all know what a clean and family-friendly environment the internet is).
The word came to me as I realized my life was missing a couple of vitally important functions. One, new pictures of me aren’t taken and posted on facebook as frequently as they used to be. This is a shame because I’m really, really good looking, you guys. I’m also really, really hilarious, and I oftenruin improve pictures by being really, really hilarious in them.
Exhibit A:
My first thought was that I simply needed to take more pictures in general and to keep my camera on my person more often. However, I quickly realized that while this might help things a bit, it’s not a perfect solution because I wanted more pictures OF me, not more pictures taken BY me (I’m very self-centered and egotistical, to briefly recap the last 25 years of my life).
Exhibit B:
That means I needed someone else to be taking pictures of me. Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, because in this situation you usually just hand your camera to theleast attractive most talented of your friends and have them take it for you, but if you want a lot of pictures of yourself, this strategy doesn’t fully work either because your friend taking the picture is also usually really unpopular busy and has to leave the party early to go home and whack it study. This is especially brutal because nothing’s worse than missing classic late-night pictures like these.
Exhibit C:
And then it dawned on me. To fully realize my dream of having a lot of pictures taken of myself, without totally pissing off my circle ofsuckers friends, I’d need someone from outside that circle to take the photos. The solution came to me that I could pay some kind of personal assistant to take pictures of me, and they’d have to like it because I was paying them. And they couldn’t leave because I was paying them. Just like a relationship with a girl. I thought about hiring a normal photographer, but that wouldn’t be ideal because photographers are usually too arsty and concerned with what makes a “good picture” vs. what I want, which is just someone to take a bunch of pictures of me all the time.
So the word I came up with is Narcissistant. It’s an employee who works just for me, whose only job is to go around and take photos of me and post them on various websites, college cafeteria corkboards, high school newspapers, singles chatrooms, and anywhere else where the environment would be improved by displaying a photo like this one.
Exhibit D:
I don’t know how much a Narcissistant makes annually, although I’m almost certain that the payment would involve money or a close facsimile. Full benefits (wink) and a nice retirement package are all included, plus there are a ton of perks! Like for instance, I would acknowledge you in public places on a semi-regular basis, you would probably get to be friends with me on facebook, and you might even get to drive me home after I’ve had too much to drink! And that’s just the beginning, I’m sure there a ton more that I haven’t even thought of yet!
If you want to apply for this incredibly awesome, exclusive and perky job, then I probably won’t stop you! Just send me your resume, and try to be more attractive than a 7.5 on the traditional 10-point scale of hotness. Dustin Heveron Inc. is an Equal Opportunity Employer (no dudes, no old chicks, no weirdos, and no religions that I think are made up or lame — example: sikhs or scientologists). Apply today!
Seacrest out,
Dustin
The bird isn’t the word that I’ve invented.
Oh, before I venture any further, let me quickly plug one of my fave modern-day bands, House of Heroes, by letting you know you can download a FREE song of theirs here and buy their ultra-cheap ($2.49, American! Cheaper than a ShamWow!), recently released EP here. Ok, done plugging, back to the nonsense.
Inventing a word isn’t an entirely new thing for me, since I invent words pretty regularly, the only difference is that this word isn’t a derivative of an obscenity, or slang, or innuendo for anything. So that makes it special AND appropriate for posting on the internet (because we all know what a clean and family-friendly environment the internet is).
The word came to me as I realized my life was missing a couple of vitally important functions. One, new pictures of me aren’t taken and posted on facebook as frequently as they used to be. This is a shame because I’m really, really good looking, you guys. I’m also really, really hilarious, and I often
Exhibit A:
My first thought was that I simply needed to take more pictures in general and to keep my camera on my person more often. However, I quickly realized that while this might help things a bit, it’s not a perfect solution because I wanted more pictures OF me, not more pictures taken BY me (I’m very self-centered and egotistical, to briefly recap the last 25 years of my life).
Exhibit B:
That means I needed someone else to be taking pictures of me. Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, because in this situation you usually just hand your camera to the
Exhibit C:
And then it dawned on me. To fully realize my dream of having a lot of pictures taken of myself, without totally pissing off my circle of
So the word I came up with is Narcissistant. It’s an employee who works just for me, whose only job is to go around and take photos of me and post them on various websites, college cafeteria corkboards, high school newspapers, singles chatrooms, and anywhere else where the environment would be improved by displaying a photo like this one.
Exhibit D:
I don’t know how much a Narcissistant makes annually, although I’m almost certain that the payment would involve money or a close facsimile. Full benefits (wink) and a nice retirement package are all included, plus there are a ton of perks! Like for instance, I would acknowledge you in public places on a semi-regular basis, you would probably get to be friends with me on facebook, and you might even get to drive me home after I’ve had too much to drink! And that’s just the beginning, I’m sure there a ton more that I haven’t even thought of yet!
If you want to apply for this incredibly awesome, exclusive and perky job, then I probably won’t stop you! Just send me your resume, and try to be more attractive than a 7.5 on the traditional 10-point scale of hotness. Dustin Heveron Inc. is an Equal Opportunity Employer (no dudes, no old chicks, no weirdos, and no religions that I think are made up or lame — example: sikhs or scientologists). Apply today!
Seacrest out,
Dustin
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Writing Blogs (Like a Boss)
So that happened.
Had a lovely visit back to the motherland of Ohio, managed to do some relaxing and had plenty of fun (and food). I saw a ton of people, but as usual, didn’t have time to see everyone that I wanted to (next time, gang). And the trip back to LA was one of the best flights I’ve had in a long while, so that’s nice.
In other news, facebook has been kind of jacked up all morning, so that does not rock.
In other, other news, I had some good ideas for good things and new projects this weekend.
In other, other, other news, I shoot tequila (like a boss).
There are some days where I think it’s a damn shame that no matter how much time I spend at the gym trying to accidentally rub up on hot chicks, that I’ll never be big or strong enough to be a legit superhero. It’s like my ideal profession, and all I’m lacking are resources, superpowers, know-how, and the ability to fight/protect/save anyone. So close. If any of you are professional (but slightly crazy) geneticists currently conducting radical, ethically gray (but slightly crazy) experiments, please let me know — as I’m very interested in being bitten by radioactive animals, or fusing unstable DNA into my system, or anything else that might give me an excuse to run around in spandex in my free time.
I am not jealous of people who edit video or film for a living. Don’t get me wrong, it takes a great deal of skill to do it well, and the process is vitally important to making movies, television, etc. look their best, but it’s got to be one of the most tedious, thankless jobs out there. So props to anyone who does that for a living. Or for fun. Or for the opposite of fun. Although if you purposely do things that are the opposite of fun, you probably have bigger problems than being an editor.
Well in case you couldn’t already tell, I’m pretty much out of anything interested to say about my life (like a boss), so I’ma peace out to the gym and see if I can’t make some productive things happen today.
Deuces,
Dustin
P.S. Veronica totally peed herself at a nice restaurant in Venice Beach the other day (well maybe not, but tell me this picture doesn't mislead you into thinking just that).
Had a lovely visit back to the motherland of Ohio, managed to do some relaxing and had plenty of fun (and food). I saw a ton of people, but as usual, didn’t have time to see everyone that I wanted to (next time, gang). And the trip back to LA was one of the best flights I’ve had in a long while, so that’s nice.
In other news, facebook has been kind of jacked up all morning, so that does not rock.
In other, other news, I had some good ideas for good things and new projects this weekend.
In other, other, other news, I shoot tequila (like a boss).
There are some days where I think it’s a damn shame that no matter how much time I spend at the gym trying to accidentally rub up on hot chicks, that I’ll never be big or strong enough to be a legit superhero. It’s like my ideal profession, and all I’m lacking are resources, superpowers, know-how, and the ability to fight/protect/save anyone. So close. If any of you are professional (but slightly crazy) geneticists currently conducting radical, ethically gray (but slightly crazy) experiments, please let me know — as I’m very interested in being bitten by radioactive animals, or fusing unstable DNA into my system, or anything else that might give me an excuse to run around in spandex in my free time.
I am not jealous of people who edit video or film for a living. Don’t get me wrong, it takes a great deal of skill to do it well, and the process is vitally important to making movies, television, etc. look their best, but it’s got to be one of the most tedious, thankless jobs out there. So props to anyone who does that for a living. Or for fun. Or for the opposite of fun. Although if you purposely do things that are the opposite of fun, you probably have bigger problems than being an editor.
Well in case you couldn’t already tell, I’m pretty much out of anything interested to say about my life (like a boss), so I’ma peace out to the gym and see if I can’t make some productive things happen today.
Deuces,
Dustin
P.S. Veronica totally peed herself at a nice restaurant in Venice Beach the other day (well maybe not, but tell me this picture doesn't mislead you into thinking just that).
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