Category Archives: Society

Idiocracy Alert: People who Text in Movies

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The wonderful picture above (just a teaser) can be found here. Well done, Oatmeal!

AMC Century City Multiplex, October 9, 2014, 11:30AM

My wife just went out of town for the weekend. Part of me was looking forward to being able to stay up late and watch horror movies. The other part of me freaked out a bit. After all, who is going to have breakfast with me and ask for back rubs? I love my alone time but I also love the SNGal. Oh well. I think that missing her but loving my boy-time is a good mix for a long-term marriage. No worries; besides, she’ll be back in time for game 4 of the ALCS (Go Orioles!)

Anyway, after dropping her off at the airport, I headed over to a local multiplex to take in a screening of, “Gone Girl.”

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This is me before the screening, both a little sad because I miss my Mrs, but also…because I was going to the movies.

Where, for the past 5 years (I’m not embellishing) at every single screening I’ve ever attended, some asshat starts texting in the middle of the movie. Granted, I was getting paid to see this film, but still, it was a film I wanted to see, and ended up loving it.

But a funny thing happened during the screening that literally has not happened to me since W was President. The lights dimmed and 7,234,248 trailers followed (because we all LOVE trailers and having all the major plot points spoiled, right idiots?), I got anxious. I looked around as a few people facebooked and instagramed. I thought it would be a matter of time.

However, as Ben Affleck described removing his wife’s skull…and as he gets home to discover that she’s gone…and the truth comes out…and hour goes by…and then the whole movie…

No one texted. No one talked. Everyone was super polite! We all laughed together, gasped together, we all became one as we allowed the film to hypnotize us. As well we should have.

I was tempted to shout, “Everyone, coffee on me!” but thought better of it.

Seriously, though, this was the first time in five f–king years that everyone behaved like adults in a Los Angeles movie theater.

I have written on this subject before here, and yap about it nonstop on my show. Have things changed?

Doubtful. A friend suggested that the morning shows usually are full of polite folks such as myself who are courteous and don’t believe the world runs on their feelings. Another said that folks in Portland, Oregon never text during movies. My sister-in-law said the same of chaps and birds in London. Is this an LA thing, then?

Highlights over the years:

  • Man on Fire, 2004, The Grove: dude’s phone goes off just as Denzel is putting two bullets in a bad guys. He starts yapping. We complain. His response, “It’s my wife, guys.” Thank you, Beta Male pussy, for an accurate snapshot into your marriage.
  • Saw 3D, 2010, Santa Monica 5: Hard-R-rated horror flick. Not only are there three under-17-year olds who won’t stop texting, there is also a family of five in the front row with a median age of 5. CHILD ABUSE.
  • Lincoln, 2011, The Landmark, Westwood: Just as the film begins, older dude starts texting. And looking at porn (not kidding). We ask him to stop. His response, “I’m a doctor, and I’m concerned about my patient, so I guess I’ll leave.” To his credit, the lying sack of shit actually got up and left. Maybe he wasn’t lying; maybe he really was concerned about his patients WHILE looking at naked girls. Whatever.
  • Guardians of the Galaxy, 2014, Downtown Disney AMC: Flat-topped idiot starts texting. Won’t stop. We ask management to intervene. They do. He stops. 20 minutes, he starts again. I leave and get the manager. They come back and ask him to stop. This happens two more times. I don’t know if I enjoyed the movie. This asshole prevented me from knowing either way. HAPPY, PRICK?

All of us polite folks can’t stand it when someone starts texting, but let’s face it; the biggest reason most of us are afraid of saying something is that we don’t want to get a bullet in the head. Los Angeles is known for it’s retarded gang culture, and it is true that someone who doesn’t care about other people just might be a sociopath being willing to put a bullet in your head.

So, the solution is to get management involved (as quality control is their responsibility) but even if you are successful, you still lose overall, because you are knocked out of the film’s hypnotic hold. You miss a scene, a detail here in there, you’re thinking about your recent confrontation that you didn’t want, and the movie experience is ruined. All because some inconsiderate jerk had to find out if his selfie got any likes on instagram.

We continue to have an epidemic of morons who don’t give a shit about other people. All id, no guilt. They shave their balls at the gym (true story), they text during movies, they talk on their cell phones while driving even though it’s against the law, and their instagram profiles are chock-full of selfies.

What to do? I say shame, because shame works. At the moment, we ask nicely to not text or talk during the movies. Fucktards do it anyway. Time to switch tactics. Short of throwing them out (like Alamo Drafthouse does, which would be nice), and calling them out for what they are (which is impractical) I say that an animated talking duck walks out before the movie starts and says the following:

“If you text during the movie, you are a selfish idiot who can’t stop facebooking or checking the score. You literally cannot sit still for 90 minutes and enjoy something. You do not care about other people’s experience, only your own. You are distracting people but you don’t care. You suck. To everyone else, please enjoy the movie.”

Call them out. Seriously, we have to stop coddling people, folks.

For the first time, I have hope. With the IPIC opening up in Westwood, the Alamo Drafthouse coming to Los Angeles, and my recent experience, I see now that I am not alone. Time will tell.

 

A Day in the Life of a Hollywood “man”.

I recently found this online somewhere, from a blog from someone I’ll call, “Robert.” I thought it was interesting enough to share with you all.

This Saturday morning, I’m going to go to the gym. I, of course, will not do so without first telling everyone about it on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Because everyone needs to know that I’m going to the gym.

Once I arrive at the gym, I will be sure to “check in” at the gym via one of the previously mentioned social networks, so that everyone knows where I am. On the way to the locker room to change, I’ll be sure to take a phone call from a “friend” and ignore the signs asking me to not talk on my phone while in the locker room. How dare they tell me what to do?

Then, I will jump on the treadmill and yap on my cell phone even though there are signs asking me not to, and when I’m done talking, I’ll text and surf facebook to see if anyone “liked” my status, and be crestfallen if no one does. I’ll be sure to only walk or do a light jog and not hit the weights because I have no doubt that steady state cardio is the way to weight loss, and I can eat anything I want and just work it off in the gym.

I'm AWESOME

Also, I’ll be sure to wear sunglasses, and if I do use a machine, hog it even though people ask me to alternate, and I’ll also be sure not to wipe off my sweat. I’m going to do this because I can, and no one has any right to tell me what to do or how to behave.

Then I’m going to go to the locker room, walk around buck naked with my balls hanging out while I head to the shower without flip flops. I’ll be sure to hock loogies while I’m in there, and yap some more on my cell phone once I get back to my locker. I’ll also remember to have a carb-filled “recovery” drink waiting for me and admire myself in the mirror as long as possible in front of the other guys. I might even consider shaving my balls at the sinks if I feel like it.

Then, I’m going to get into my car to get out of the parking garage, and spend 5 minutes with a line of cars behind me because I can’t figure out the ticket thing, even though I’ve been coming to this gym for over a year.

Then, I’ll get on the highway and not check my blind spot because I’m trying to update my facebook status while going 90 in a 65. But don’t worry, I won’t hit anyone. It’s very important that everyone knows what I think about the latest political opinion of mine that I got from a pundit on MSNBC. My opinions matter because they are as real as furniture.

Then I’ll go to the movies. I’ll sit in the middle of the theater and start texting. The previews will start and I’ll keep texting. Oops, I almost forgot to check in on Facebook. I’m cool for seeing, “Man of Steel.” The movie will start and I’ll keep texting. I won’t even turn the brightness down because how else will I be able to see my screen?

I’ll be sure to keep a running tally on how much this movie sucks on Twitter. Because my opinions are as real as furniture and as important, more important, than yours.

After the movie, I’ll go get a healthy lunch of a footlong subway sandwich and a diet coke.

Then I’ll get on facebook again and see if anyone has liked my status from before at the gym. I’ll also look at my ex-girlfriend’s page to see if she’s single yet. She has no right to be happy after dumping me. How dare she be happy?

I’ll go on facebook, again. I get invited to a friend’s house-warming party tonight, last minute, but they are in the process of getting married and are very busy, but is that my problem? Besides, there might be a better party to go to because in Los Angeles, it’s all about networking. I put my response as, “maybe.” They’ve known me since college, they’ll get over it.

Then, a girl I’ve never met who is really hot and has 3,234 friends on facebook invites me to a club opening tonight in Hollywood. Sure I’ll go to that! That’s awesome. Even though I have to buy a ticket for $100, so what? That sounds awesome.

I go home to my $2500 a month condo that my parents are paying for, take a shower and spray a liberal amount of AXE body spray all over my pube-less chest. I spend 10 minutes putting gel into my hair to get that, “No effort at all” look that I’ve perfected. I then take a selfie and put it on Instagram. I then delete it because I don’t want people to think I’m gay.

I drive to Hollywood and pay $20 for parking. I get in line and notice that it’s mostly full of guys wearing the same thing I am; a button-down Ed Hardy shirt, untucked, with jeans and loafers. Many of them are texting. I “check” myself in to the hottest club in Hollywood because I want people to know that I’m here because I’m awesome.

An hour, I finally get in. I only have $100 cash on me and they are only accepting cash for the ticket. I now have to use my AMEX that my rich father pays for. I get into the club and most people are standing. I see the girl who invited me. I try to talk to her but she’s texting and puts her hand up. I check myself in to the club “with” her but she doesn’t approve it on her wall. What a bitch.

I see a guy I work with at William Morris but I ignore him because he’s such a douche; he’s so nice, he’s, like, interested in other people’s opinions and actually gives sincere compliments. What a complete pussy. He’ll get no-where in this town, like he’s ever going to be assigned to a desk. I see Gavin, Paul, Gavin, Dakota and Becky from the office at a table. They invite me over and they give me a shot. For once, I’m getting somewhere.

An hour later I’m wasted and stuff. Is it an hour? No, it’s 2am. I blink my eyes and go get my credit card from the bar. I went to the bar? Awesome! I blink my eyes again when I see the, “$646.45” charge. Whatever; how else am I going to get girls to sleep with me unless I buy them drinks? That’s totally how it works. I write, “CASH” on the tip line, take my card and stumble away.

Whatever, I can totally drive, fuck you. I get behind the wheel of my Porsche Cayenne and ignore the asshole who suggests I get a cab. It’s not like I’m going to get a DUI. Piss off. I drive back to my condo and nothing bad happens. I think I may have dinged a parked car or something but whatever, he’s probably a Republican.

Once home, I don’t want to be hungover tomorrow, so I order pizza and eat the entire thing. I get on facebook and see if anyone likes my statuses. Nope. Whatever. I go to sleep.

I recently found out that the author of this post, Robert, was found dead and mutilated on the side of the 405s freeway near the 101N exit. A Tarbarian Devil Dragon was seen flying away, its jaws bloody with the entrails of a douche. When asked for the comment, the Dragon said, “There is no hope for the human race, but I do my best.”

 

 

 

 

 

Sex and the City: The Movie, part 1

I’ll admit, this was going to happen sooner or later. I put it off for a while. I always said I’d never do it. I made fun of my friends who did. But, now that I have this podcast and website, I guess I need to be well informed.

I’m going to watch the Sex and the City movie.

But what would be the fun in just watching it and not commenting on it, yeah?

Why not?

So, here is my running commentary. Enjoy!

Continue reading Sex and the City: The Movie, part 1

Seriously…

Madonna is trying to adopt another kid.

Another kid.

What a wonderful way to deal with pain. What a fantastic way to deal with the pain of a divorce. I know, I’ll just go to Africa and adopt a kid! Awesome! For the kid, there is an upside! He’s hit the jackpot!  But…he’s screwed as well.

On the upside, his new Mom is loaded! LOADED!

On the other side, all of the money she’ll throw at him will be well spent on the years of therapy he will require. Because we all know that having feelings of abandonment, sad memories of childhood and feelings of sorrow are best remedied by BRINGING A CHILD INTO THIS WORLD.

That seems to be working out just FINE for OctaMom, right, OctaMOM? Right? Because having 14 kids will totally fill the hole in your soul.

Seriously people, the only difference between that crazy idiot with 14 kids that we are ALL now paying for, and Madonna (and Brad Pitt’s Woman) is that the latter have money. That is the only difference.  The ONLY difference.  Don’t ever forget it.

People: Children are NOT dolls. They are NOT puppies.  They are not supposed to be there for you. YOU are supposed to be there for them.

If you cannot figure that out, you have no business being a parent. Leave it to the rest of us who are worthy.