You're So Vain

Allow me to begin with an admission that I'm sure some of you would call me on as you read this post anyway. I am a self-centered person. I know this about myself and I do my best to avoid it at all costs, although it is simply the nature of the beast. It's not that I'm a bad person, or even a blatantly selfish one, but I am the kind of person that assumes you're talking about me when you look at me, giggle, look back, whisper to your friend, and then giggle some more. I have a tendency to assume that things are about me when they might not be, but I'm sure I'm not the only one with this problem, and I think I speak for all of us egocentric individuals when I say that sometimes the reason we think someone is talking about us is because they're talking about us. It's not even conceited, it's just plain fact sometimes. That being said, I would like to come to the aid of the most tormented man in the history of passive-aggressive female musicians.

Dear Carly Simon, you are a devil in disguise. A devil I say. Millions of women all over the country are using your song "You're So Vain" to attack those who they feel have wronged them. I will hand it to you, the song is well written and easy on the ears, and I'll even go so far as to say your voice runs through my head whenever I see clouds in my coffee. But stop and read your lyrics for a second. Let's be frank Carly, it simply doesn't make any sense. For the sake of argument, let's say that I am the "you" in "you're so vain." I am, in fact, by the strict law of the English language, the subject of that sentence. Now that "me" could be anyone, and I'm not being vain here, I'm simply implying that the word "you" must refer to someone, and for all intents and purposes, we're going to make it me. Now Carly, you're saying that I, or whoever the song is aimed at, is quote-unquote, so vain. But am I really? Is it wrong of me to figure that it must be about me seeing as you're very clearly stating my name through the pronoun "you?"
Now I guess you could say, "Doug, see how vain you're being, always assuming that 'you' must mean 'Doug'?" But how wrong you are! If you and I had had an intimate and failed relationship on the grounds of my being to selfish, and within a month, between the crying phone calls, and hurtful Facebook wall posts, a song came out by you speaking very, very clearly about a particular someone who was "so vain," I think it's fairly safe to say that that song is in fact about me.

So yes. I do think that song is about me. Don't I, don't I. And for the record, Carly old pal, if you send Elton John to my house one more time telling me you want to talk, I will punch him. Square in the throat. After all the late night walks and all the early morning make-up pancakes, it's over, so I'm sorry, but if you're going to keep complaining, cry me a river, build yourself a bridge and get over it.

And for the record, you're so vain, you probably think this blog post is about you. And it isn't. So there.

Just Sit Right Back and Hear a Tale...

First and foremost do yourself a favor right now and hum the tune to the Gilligan's Island theme song. Got it? Okay now go right a head and sing the words to Amazing Grace. Ready to have your mind blown? Now sing the words to Amazing Grace to the tune of Gilligan's island. You have just self-introduced yourself to the world of Gilligan's Island conspiracy.
So now that we know that Amazing Grace is obviously secretly hidden in that classic TV theme, you might be wondering, "You're right Doug, my mind is literally blown out of my skull! But what does it all mean?" Take a minute to think about the lyrics to everyone's favorite hymn. With all that wretch saving and lost getting going on it's almost as if Gilligan's Island might have some underlying religious context going on, and as your official purveyor of secret knowledge, it is my job to reveal to you exactly what that context is.
Let's begin by thinking about the situation described in the Gilligan's Island theme. How lost can one really get after a simple three hour tour? I guess it depends on what you happened to be touring. Let's say you were touring, I don't know, the River Styx. I'm thinking three hours of rough waters would get you pretty lost in the abysmal depths of hell. And that, my friends, is exactly what happened to The Fearless Crew.
You see, Gilligan's Island plays itself as a hysterical romp with a deserted group of zany characters and brilliantly unfortunate situations. This isn't Lost, this is a fun loving, zero brain power required half hour of television. Or is it?
Each and every character on this show is on that island for a reason. Think about it folks. It's a parable. The seven deadly sins, epitomized by a very specific group of ne'r-do-wells, are trapped on this "deserted island" to show the viewing population of America the errors of their ways.

Character Breakdown. Hold on to your pants.

Ginger: A movie star in the 60's, much like today, couldn't get to the top just by talent alone. I think it's safe to assume that Ginger has had her fair share of "casting sessions" with certain key directors, thus ensuring her fame, her entrapment on the island, and her spot on the charts as the Lust incarnate.

Marianne: There are three women on Gilligan's Island. One of them is to old to matter in terms of sex appeal. Between the other two, it's perfectly clear that Ginger takes the place as the island "tigress" and Marianne gets to sit back and watch. But that gets to a woman, and Marianne is at any given moment so filled with Jealousy that she takes her spot representing that deadly sin itself.

The Professor: If you had the ability to make a radio out of a coconut and some twine, wouldn't you have a little bit of narcissism too? This Proud little man might not be smart enough to just fix the damn hole in the boat, but he's certainly positive he can do just about everything else--and everyone around him knows it.

The Millionaire: If this were any more obvious it would probably hurt your brain. What kind of opulent, extravagant old man isn't just a big ol' pot of Greed.

His Wife: This one's a little trickier. One might think about Greed, or maybe Jealousy, but really ponder it for a minute. Her husband's wealth has done everything for her for as long as they've been married. She doesn't do much, because she doesn't need to do much. Mrs. Howell is pure and unadulterated Sloth, and she couldn't be better at it.

Skipper: Okay here's where thing get a little confusing. You might have thought ahead about this and realized, "Wait...The Skipper's the only overweight one, and the only really angry one... he must be one or the other... man Doug I'm lost, enlighten me." I certainly will. The Skipper is, quite simply, both Rage and Gluttony. That's right folks. That's all 7 of the deadly sins. Which leaves one definitive character, crucial to both the plot line of the show, and the hidden meaning.

Gilligan: Who else can I think of in religious context that wears all red, punishes the evil by keeping them trapped in hell, and laughs at the suffering of others? That's right people, Gilligan is the Devil. Every time they thought they'd make it off that island Gilligan would "accidentally" cause some major fluke in the plan, once again literally damning everyone to that island. And if he is the Devil, and they are really in Hell, then i guess it really is "Gilligan's Island," isn't it?




See that little blob over in the corner of your room?

That's your mind.

My Fear of Flying

Let me begin by stating my thesis right out in the open for all of you so that nobody gets lost in the incredibly complex logic that will follow shortly. I, Douglas Joseph Alfred Vitus Dame, am terrified of insects. Now I know how hard it is to believe that this manly man has any fears at all, but I'm only human, just like most of you, and insects are my kryptonite, so to speak. For years and years I've cowered in fear of any approaching house flies, avoid the area of the kitchen with the fruit fly Hotel Banana, and ran, yes literally ran from anything that even remotely resembles a yellow jacket. For years I have done the invisible crazy dance trying to kill with my bare hands the very bane of my existence. For years I have struggled with this crippling phobia, not sure why it happens but knowing that if that bug that I can't see buzzes just close enough to my head for me to hear it one more time I swear to Chuck Norris I will napalm my room and everything in it.
But a striking revelation occurred to me the other day that hasn't alleviated my fear, but has at least made sense of it. After almost 19 years of searching for an answer-needle in the fear-haystack of flies, I discovered the source of my fear. Allow me to present this startling conclusion to you with a brilliantly drafted contradiction argument.
Imagine if you will that I'm hiking through, let's say, the Adirondack mountains, and I encounter a cougar. And I'm not talking the purse wearing bar hopper here, I mean the giant, man eating, and very often hungry cougar. Let's say this fella is about 8'10" nose-to-tail, probably near 196 lbs. So here I am, and here's this giant, man eating, and very clearly hungry cougar. Am I scared? No sir. Because I know the mind of a cougar. I know what they want from me and I know how to communicate with them. This cougar is thinking one of three things.

A) Oh look a woodland creature I haven't recently devoured whole and used the leg bone of to pick my teeth, what a wonderful opportunity to savor a rare delicacy in this part of the mountains. I think I'll start with the jugular just to soften him up a bit, and then maybe move on the the lower thigh...

B) Oh look a human being. Despite my obvious physical prowess in the fields of maiming and dismemberment, something about me is terrified of him for some reason. I feel the best course of action here may be to slowly back away to avoid a swift punch in the nose.

or C) Oh look a new forest pal to play with! I will love him and squeeze him and call him Doug.

Given these options and using my brilliant human power of deduction and reasoning, I can rationalize that the odds of option C are slim to none. That being said, I still have two very clear cut mind sets for this here cougar. Now if he were to begin his stalk towards me, I would know that he was going with option A, at which point I would spread out my overcoat (thank god I planned on going streaking after my hike!) and confuse the predator into thinking that I have turned into some kind of a puffer fish-esque danger, at which point the cougar would back down and move on to his next hypothetical massacre. If of course he backed down before I had done anything, I would know he had taken option B and that I was safe until the next highly logical mountain lion attacked me.
Can you see the logic and predictability in this scenario? You like it don't you. The sense of control, the idea of knowing your opponents options, the sweet, sweet relief of seeing exactly why the enemy has targeted you and what you can do to escape. Take it all in and feel the security of a mature, predictable assailant.
Now imagine the fly. Arbitrarily choosing his target, he zooms menacingly through the space around my head, his goal unknown. He seeks not to satiate his hunger for we people are not food to him. He seeks not to fight me for he knows my power over his mortality. Why then, why does he circle my skull over and over and over again, leaving after i swat him away only to return once more? why does he fly in the most unpredictable of patterns? Why does he insist on landing on me and not the guy next to me who obviously doesn't have a problem with the buzzing anyway?
I cannot get into a fly's head. I can't figure them out and break down their next move. A giant puma might be a little more deadly, but at least I have a chance of figuring out his modus operandi before he makes his move. With a fly, I have nothing. I'm in the dark, he's broadcasting messages in German for all I know. What it boils down to is that I hate flies. I hate the sound they make, I hate their little demon faces, and I hate their incessant need to circle me, and only me. But most of all, as is on par with my fear of the government and bank tellers...

I don't trust 'em.

Reality TV vs. Doug Dame

I openly admit to watching Survivor. Even after the first season, I enjoyed watching human nature at its most basic level, the hardships and difficulties of life in the wilderness, the alliances and backstabbing, and even the occasional confrontation, brought on by the high stress environment and tense atmosphere of constant challenges to stay on the island. I watched every episode of that show, enthralled with the new concept of "reality television."Flash forward 10 years and here I am stuck with nothing on TV but 55 different reality TV shows and maybe the news. And even there, all the news can talk about now is who was just voted off of the most recent dating/makeover/survival show last night. It doesn't matter what day of what season, here in America some poor sap's 15 minutes of fame is ending every hour on the hour, as are the hopes and dreams of all the junkies following along at home who "really though he had it in the bag."

Look at the television right now, I dare you. If there isn't a reality TV show on somewhere

call me, and I will buy you a sundae, I promise. Its like the black plague of television out there.

And the thing is, they never end. Even after Surreal Life was over on VH1, Flavor Flav managed to score another deal based on his relationship with Brigitte Neilson, spawning Strange Love.When, obviously to everyone's surprise, their love life came to a flaming crash, he wound up with Flavor of Love, and then a

sequel to that when that little romance failed. Off of his show came New York, and all of her seasons of soul searching, which then led to a Real Chance at Love. That's 6 seasons of television based on one ridiculously mind numbing concept.

And then the plot lines run up and no one character on any show stands out as the most likely to succeed in that shallow, shallow end of the gene pool, they throw out a Charm School.

Yes, Charm School, where all the annoying wastes of space from every other show get together to try to learn to be respectful, humane versions of their once wild selves. Thing is, in order to score the next deal for another VH1 show, they know they need to be even more of an out of control 7 year old than they usually are.

So on this show about straightening up some wild and crazy girls, they're spitting in each other's faces down to the last episode.

I think I have a solution to it all, not only to end the never ending stream of these shows, but also to give reality TV its one last hurrah. It's called a "An Actual

Shot at Love." Each week, 15 assassins will be tasked with eliminating as many stars of VH1 shows as possible. The assassin with the lowest headcount is kicked off the show. The final showdown features the greatest two assassins, in a house filled with their previous kills, each hunting the hosts of all those so called bit of "entertainment." That's right , Ricky Lake is up for grabs, and only one assassin can win.

Tune in next week, when all the assassins get together with Dr. Phil to work through some of their "daddy issues."

A Cinimatic Masterpiece

All right all right, enough of the nerd stuff. No more Pokemon I promise, I'm starting to even annoy myself. On to bigger and better things, and in this case, something so big and so much better that it frightens me just how awesome this idea is.

Ladies and gentlemen, gentiles and Jews, children of all ages, you are about to be given a special sneak peek at the movie event of the century. More dramatic than Slum Dog Millionaire, hotter than Twilight, more action packed than the last six Vin Diesel flicks combined. A roller coaster ride of love, hatred, laughter, tears and more than a little bit of true cinematic magic. People of the world, prepare to be the first to bear miraculous witness to the next movie classic of our time.

Jesus 2.0

The place: Bethlehem.

The time: Zero B.C.

The scene: Cut to a long horizon shot. The heat blurs our vision and a few trace chords of a string quartet tread lightly across our ears, barely noticeable, but swelling with anticipation. Slowly, a woman with child makes her way over the hill, she is pained, obviously close to the birth of her child. She limps her way over the dunes, the sparse grass whipping at her heels and the wind blowing the sand into her shrouded face. The music pulses as she moves closer to the camera, slowly, laboriously, as if ever fiber of her being is funneling into every step she takes. Suddenly, she stops. The chords hold as she looks up, staring into the sky. Her knees begin to quake and in one miraculous moment...

BLAM! The bearded Son of God roundhouse kicks himself out of his mother's womb, flies to the camera, stares right at the audience and says-

"Bring it on sinners."

I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. An aviator clad, leather jacket wearing, nun chuck toting Jesus Christ blasting his way through the New Testament with a righteous fury never before seen on screen. Just imagine the possibilities!

Jesus is wandering through the desert, denying himself any food or water for forty days and forty nights. Suddenly, hard rocker Satan appears in a cloud of fire and brimstone.

"If you're so high and mighty, turn this stone into a loaf of bread! I triple-headed-dog dare you!"

Pow! Jesus flies across the desert in one fell swoop, throwing off his robes and cracking his knuckles. The devil whips around just in time to see the Messiah's bo-staff of Holy Might flying through the air right before he gets nailed right between the horns and flies a good hundred feet into a cliff face. Jesus charges up with a quick prayer before Satan even starts to recover, and walks off into the sun set to continue his journey.

This thing is gonna hit the box office like a Mack truck full of communion wafers. What's not to love! Chuck Norris can bring the thunder as the title role, I figure we can get Robert Pattinson to sign on as John the Baptist to pull in some of the teen girl demographic, the Indian guy from Harold and Kumar has a nice fan base so we can throw him in there as Joseph. All the older women eat up anything Merill Streep's in, so there's our Mother of the Lord, and we can throw in Jessica Alba for good measure as the other Mary, the hooker one.

It's an all star cast people! And it'll be nominated for every award there is! Donate to the production now, while it's still in development and you'll receive your free commemorative Jesus 2.0 rosary bead set, regularly $19.95! Get on board this upcoming film giant while there's still time!

Pinco, You Cheap Little...

This is just a quick update on my last post about Mr. Pineco and how the Japanese need to start working harder on new Pokemon.

If you're following along with the narrative of my PokeQuest, after I met that little guy in the woods I went about through the game still mad about his very existence, but eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to go catch one just to see what the little bugger could do. So I hiked my butt back over to the woods (no bike yet, it was a slow walk) and I wandered in the grass for a while. I had to fight a couple hundred useless little worm things, conveniently names Wurmple--lame, until I eventually found another Pineco. Apparently although pine cones are fairly common, their eye-sporting poke-counterparts are not. Nevertheless I wore him down, paralysed his little cone head and caught the thing.

Know what powers Pineco has. Go ahead. Guess. I'll give you a minute.

You think about it a little? I'm willing to bet whatever you thought of isn't this lame. The pine cone Pokemon has this power line up.

1. Seed

2. Sap

Yup. That's it. The pine cone can only use seed and sap, two things that natural pine cones have in abundance. Real creative guys.

Seriously Guys?

Hello world! Sorry for that 4 week hiatus you just had to suffer through without a single word from the man with the baby foot. Life gets pretty busy every now and then, ideas run dry and an odd galactic occurrence happens--I have nothing to talk about. This will happen folks, a brilliant new thought every day is a hard standard to keep up, but that long break was just to much for all of us. So here I am, back again, chock full of deep introspective thoughts about the world around us.

In a week from tomorrow, I will be embarking on an epic journey. Yes my friends, I, Doug Dame, am going to Disney World. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm pumped. I haven't been since 5th grade and I can already feel the magic. But every rose does indeed have its thorn. You see, Disney is not just a leisurely stroll away from here in Fitchburg. Its on the opposite end of the east coast. And so I used my brilliant deductive prowess to arrive at the conclusion that it would be a long ride getting down there. And so I headed out to the local GameStop to pick something up for myself to ease the breadth of this long trek southward.

After only a few hours with my new Pokemon game I was hooked. No matter how old the craze gets, and no matter how obsessed the elementary school crowd may or may not be, the Pokemon franchise makes some quality games. Something about watching cute little animal things beat the living daylights out of each other just pulls on some natural guttural part of every living soul, drawing you into the game. One more battle, you say, just one more, not fully realizing the sweet nirvana contained in this tiny virtual world. The music is damn catchy too. But after a little while longer with the game, I started to think less about the game itself and more about the actual Pokemon. I had started to see the lack of creativity in the new species, but I was putting it all behind me until one fateful moment.

Walking in some tall grass in the woods, I encountered Pineco. Any guess what Pineco is? Yup, its a pine cone. Not even a pine cone with a face, mind you, the thing barely has a pair of eyes peeking out from between the seeds. This isn't like Taurus the bull, at least that was clever, even if the Pokemon was really just a three tailed bronco. This is a pine cone, names Pineco. They didn't even add letters! The took them away! I paid 30 dollars for a simplified pine cone on a pedestal!

Soon it all became abundantly clear. Luvdisk the heart-shaped disk fish, Girafarig, the giraffe with a ball tail, Skitty the kitty, all of these Pokemon were just basic things in the world, give or take a few letters! Know what Seviper is? A snake. How about Slugma? You guessed it! A slug!

I'm aware that when we were kids, Pokemon were still stupid puns made on things in the real world, but I felt like

there was more effort applied back then. I mean maybe Geodude was just a rock man, but at least there was a

real pun there, he wasn't just called Stonewitharms. And so what if Likitung was just a monster with a long tongue, at least it was creative.

Don't get me wrong, I'm loving my game, but I'm just worried that with the way things are going, our children might very well be playing Pokemon Off-White with creatures like Desko and SeeChair. I just don't want to see the happen. Let's fight for the children.