My Choice For Top Underrated Movie Villain

Hannibal Lechter. Darth Vader. The Terminator. The Joker. Ben Wade (3:10 to Yuma). These are the characters that stand out to us as the archetypal villains. It is their disarming charisma, eccentricities, sociopathic tendencies, and calculating genius that captivate us as an audience.

And while I acknowledge the actors who played these roles and their stellar performances, I would like to recognize one who never shows up on any of the lists. Many of you don't recognize the actor's name (Christopher McDonald) who played him, but I assure you he is one of the most underrated villains of our time:

Shooter McGavin in Happy Gilmore.

What other villain has delivered a deluge of classic lines that we quote to each other all of the time?

Shooter McGavin [SM]: I eat pieces of sh** like you for breakfast.
Happy Gilmore: [laughing] you eat pieces of sh** for breakfast?
SM: No... I...

SM: I was down on 18 the other day, looked to my left, and there was two fat naked bikers having sex in the woods…how am I supposed to CHIP with that going on, Greg?!

Sm: Yeah, right! And Grizzly Adams had a beard.
Lee Trevino: Grizzly Adams did have a beard.

SM: I had to hit it off of Frankenstein's Fat foot here.

SM: Damn you people. Go back to your shanties.

SM: Let's get one thing straight, this is Shooter's tour. I've worked hard my whole life, paid my dues, and now it's Shooter's turn. And Shooter's not about to let his reign at the top be spoiled by some freak, sideshow, clown.

Here are two things to consider about the extent of his villainous-ness:

1) Would we have cheered so ardently for Happy Gilmore to win, had the anti-Happy not been there? Would the plot have been so riveting and compelling without Shooter? Do you remember the dialogue that takes place between the Joker and Batman at the end of The Dark Knight, when Joker is hanging upside down and babbling on and on?

This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object...You won't kill me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness, and I won't kill you, because you're just too much fun. I think you and I are destined to do this forever.

Can't you see Happy and Shooter having this face-to-face? No? OK, fine.

2) Any time you see Christopher McDonald in other movies, you and everyone else you're with will invariably point and shout in recognition: "It's Shooter!!" This is the rule 100% of the time, without exception. If that's not evidence for an unforgettable performance

Christopher McDonald should get a lifetime achievement award. End of story.

Read more...

My Pops, Tom

A week late, but I've been tardy posting as of late.

So I had the typical 18 November phone conversation with my dad -- the same one I've had for the past ten years:

JD: Hey dad! just calling to say happy birthday!
D: I appreciate the phone call and you thinking of me. But I would prefer not to think about getting older...

And such it is with my dad. He doesn't like the spotlight and is perfectly content to do his own thing. I think a lot of people are surprised to find that I attribute a good deal of my own personality to him: some sarcasm, a tendency towards introvertedness, willing to let others make their own choices and not take control of the situation. I guess hands-offishness is the technical term I'm looking for. Encouraging might be another. All of these are great things, in my opinion.

Dad also instilled in me a thirst for knowledge and books, and an appreciation of music and culture. He always has his nose in a new book, is watching some documentary/history channel thing, is always looking for something new. When we (me, Jen, and Juli) were kids we would travel a lot as a family, get out and see how things were outside of the country, etc. Invaluable experiences that he and Shigeko facilitated. Now I think they're in competition to see who can dote over their grandkids more. So far it seems like they're dead even.


Now he's on a Bob Dylan kick. Has a bunch of albums, some books, and went to a concert in Canada the other week. Love it. I guess the lines at the border coming back from Canada were long; Homeland Security was being thorough and it was taking a while. The border guard asked my dad what his business in Canada was.

Dad: Went to a concert.
BG: The Bob Dylan one?
Dad: Yeah.
BG: I was there, too. Alright, go ahead.

Gotta love it.

Happy birthday, dad!

Read more...

Jones Soda Blows -- Photo of the Week 24 Nov 2008

With the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I hope all of you get to enjoy time with your families and continue those traditions that bring you together, create memories, etc.

Here's one tradition that should not go on: Jones Soda and their holiday vintage flavors: Cranberry Soda, Pumpkin Pie Soda, Wild Herb Stuffing Soda, Turkey & Gravy Soda...

And, most disgustingly, Brussel Sprouts Soda.

These pictures were taken the night before my friend Rye got married. We were bored, and I admittedly ended up trying some. I do not possess the command of the English language required to describe the flavor. The only comparable sensations I can think of come from two separate episodes of "Man vs. Wild" with Bear Grylls. Anybody see the episode where Bear is dehydrated, disembowels a camel, takes its dung, then squeezes and drinks the fluid?



Also, there is another episode where Bear finds a snake and eats it -- standard fare for the show. He then takes the empty skin of the snake, pees into it, ties up this tube of his own urine and slings it over his shoulder, thinking that he might "need it for later." Sure enough (go to the 4:05 mark or so):



On the "Disgusting Things Frat Boys Are Likely To Drink At Some Point" scale, I would place Brussel Sprouts Soda between "Drinking a wild animal's urine" and "Drinking your own urine" -- it's basically the same as the other two, but with carbonation!

Now if you'll excuse, I need to go have an experiential-recall-induced vomit.

Read more...

Why I Would Suck As a Diplomat

Remember that integrity thing I was talking about earlier? Why don't you just go ahead and toss mine out.


The other day I was talking with my sister Jen on the phone, doing some catching up. She told me she just got back from running 13 miles. An immediate alarm went off in my head.

JD: Wait, Jen. Are you--? **deep breath** ...Are you training for a marathon?

Jen: Yeah. I was thinking about running one at the end of February.

**Insert crotch-punched-feeling here**

See, for the past few years, I have slowly been getting boxed in on the Endurance Sports Front. Various family members and friends have -- unsuccessfully -- attempted to persuade me to run marathons or other distance races. I was always against long-distance running. All that self-discipline, goal-achieving, and sense of accomplishment was for snobs. Being the stubborn person that I am, the more people suggested I participate, the more I dug in my heels.

Jen was my last hope. Although Jen ran a half-marathon this year, I felt like she had yet to cross over to join my sister Juli and her husband Ben on the endurance sports side. Yes, 13.1 miles is more than I've ever run and is extremely admirable, but the operating word there was "half." She was still with me; not with them.

It all changed with that fateful phone call. With that conversation, I became the pariah of my family; I am the North Korea/Iran to my family's international community. I am isolated, becoming marginalized, and my family is tightening the grips on me. Am I being passively coerced into doing a marathon?

I'm afraid I might go against everything I've preached for the last few years and choose to run a marathon. Something tells me I would suck at the negotiating table in international politics -- I'd buckle before the other guy even said anything.

It's all politics.

As for everybody else that contributed to the pressure, you know who you are.

Folsom, CA -> Sacramento, CA. Bring it.


Endnote: My family has never tried to manipulate me into doing this -- This must be my competitive side kicking in.

Read more...

Memories From The Grudge -- Photo of the Week 17 Nov 2008

With Halloween having recently passed and the release of Saw V -- the latest iteration of a movie series that easily falls under the "Survivor"** classification -- I present this week's photo.

The whole Halloween season reminded me of a very simple fact that I readily admit: I don't do scary movies. I just can't handle them. Especially ones with freaky children. I think deep down for a very long time I always knew this, but the manly side of me would never fess up to it.

But it all became glaringly apparent a few years back when some friends and I went and saw The Grudge in the theater.

My friend Casey is an emotional guy. It usually manifests itself in hypercompetitiveness, but it also translates into the amplification of emotions while watching movies. In the case of The Grudge, that emotion was FEAR. Granted, had I not sat next to him, I still would have been scared. But sitting next to Casey sucked me in emotionally and multiplied my fear threefold.

Afterwards, my roommate, Rye, wanted to drive his girlfriend home, but I wouldn't let him leave me alone. Casey's wife, Jenna, just made fun of us for being scared.

And I think as a way to rub it in, Jenna rented The Exorcism of Emily Rose some time after that. You can imagine how the dialogue went as I was over at their apartment late one night:

JD: Well, what're our options [of things to do]?
**Casey remains silent**
J: I rented The Exorcism of Emily Rose. We should watch that.
JD: Oh no no no. I'm not watching that thing.
C: Come on, man. You gotta stay and watch it with us.
JD: No freakin way. Who has to drive home by himself after it's over?
C: Fine, fine. How about this. We watch it in the middle of a huge field in the middle of the day.
J: Okay, that's lame! No way we're watching it that way.
JD: I am not watching that movie. Period.
C: Well, I can't watch it by myself!
JD: You'll have Jenna here with you, dude.
C: She can't protect me!

I think Jenna -- understandably annoyed at our cowardice -- ended up having to send it back to Netflix, unwatched.

*The "Survivor" stamp is derived from the TV show and can be applied to anything -- athlete , celebrity (Paul Walker, Keanu Reaves), business (McDonald's), country (Canada) -- that held very little to no promise from the outset and should not survive, but somehow continue to defy intelligent reasoning by attaining some measure of "success" (based on no merits of their own, mind you). Saw V? Really? In a country that claims a literacy rate of 99%, I ask: How is this possible?

Read more...

Running Concert Diary

Went to the Beastie Boys concert about three weeks ago. Time to check a life goal off of the list. I should probably set some real ones now.

Some famous writers have a "mailbag" of some sort, where they answer question from readers. I don't have one of these. I did, however, get a text question regarding the concert from a reader and will open with that:
Q: Well, did it change your body and soul?
JD: Yes, it did. I will attribute part of it to seeing the Beastie Boys live, but I will pin a larger part of my nirvanic experience on the contact high I got from the kids around me toking weed.

That mailbag was exhausting. While I'm at it ("it" = copying better writers), I will follow Bill Simmons' running diary format and take you through the "Get Out and Vote" concert I went to on 28 Oct.

6:59 -- Dave and I are sitting in the bleachers, waiting for the 7:00 start time; Dave is mid-sentence when Beastie Boys Mike D and MCA come out to MC. I'm halfway to the stage taking pictures with my camera before Dave realizes I'm gone.

7:00 -- Mike D and MCA introduce the opening singer, Santogold, with the obligatory "we're on the same tour, so we have to say she's super-talented, even though we've never listened to her music ourselves." Out walks a woman with two backup singers dressed in bug-eye sunglasses and shiny gold suits, like you would see alien invaders wear in old crappy sci-fi movies. Dave leans over to me and asks how much I want to bet that the backup singers are Santogold's two best friends from high school riding the gravy train. I chuckle my agreement.

But wait: Doesn't having a "gravy train" imply you've attained a level of success?

This is all a means to an end, I tell myself.

7:17 -- Santogold is still on stage and announces her next song. What is she still doing here? Weren't we courteous in tolerating her three songs? She is quickly becoming the Jar Jar Binks of this concert -- the annoying, unwanted sidekick whose presence the audience grows to hate.

7 freakin' 40 -- The excruciatingly long set -- 40 minutes -- ends to token applause containing undercurrents of resentment that Santogold took so much time.

Means to an end.

7:55 -- Norah Jones calms my nerves with her performance. I drift off to sleep and dream that her voice and Sarah Mclachlan's fight each other for my affection.

8:03 -- Norah spouts some politically-charged comments, and I am surprisingly OK with it. Hell, with that voice, she could advocate crystal meth usage, Tom Cruise for President, and nuclear war, and I'd agree with everything she had to say.

8:25 -- Jack Johnson walks on stage to huge applause. Also, this is apparently the universal cue for everyone to light up their joints. I didn't get the memo.

Which reminds me of one of my friends from high school who hot-boxed his cat once. Afterwards, the cat careened its way back to his parents' room. Five minutes later, his parents called him into their room: "Tim!" "Yeah?" "Why does the cat reak of dope?" "...because we hot-boxed him."

8:48 -- I notice that the guy in front of me, who is about the same height but weighs about 230lb, has been completely motionless with his hands in his pockets since Jack Johnson has started playing. I've seen roadkill move more than this guy. I'll be checking in with him later.

9:05 -- Sheryl Crow walks on-stage in a tightly tied black trenchcoat that screams either "I am completely naked under here" or "I am selling cheap watches out of this thing." She looks seriously haggard, as if she hasn't slept or eaten since she and Lance Armstrong broke up. Rough year for Ms. Crow.

9:28 -- I consider yelling out "home-wrecker!" in between songs but decide not to. Sheryl decides to spout political drivel at us, using cliched phrases like "you can make a difference! I know you can!" Spare me.

Besides blinking, Roadkill remains unmoved.

9:42 -- The percentage of Sheryl's set has shifted to 85% political rant, 15% music. I could see her pursuing a political career filled with pointless rhetoric and little action.

Means to an end...

10:06 -- Still have this sneaking suspicion that in between some songs, Sheryl will spout off some more political drivel and then tag on, almost as an aside: "Hah... funny thing... a portion of the ticket proceeds will actually go to my next botox treatment since I have missed my last two. Anyway, the next song is 'Every Day is a Winding Road.' Sing along if you know the words!"

10:10 -- I've been here for 3+ hours. What did I come here for? I can't remember anymore. Dave reminds me that I came to see the Beastie Boys.

10:15-11:15 -- Beasties enter to "Sure Shot," bring the house down, and I spend the next hour screaming every word to every song.

Roadkill remains unchanged the entire time. Unbelievable.

Read more...

Still Holding Strong

I like to think I'm a man of commitment and integrity. When I say I'm going to do something, I make an effort to follow through and do it.

I was recently put to the test.

In order to alleviate boredom when things get slow on a weekend shift at work, we change the channel on a couple of the TVs in the office to watch football, movies, etc. A week ago, during a particularly slow Sunday shift, my shiftmates decided to watch Titanic on TNT. I suppose this isn't anything extraordinary, considering the movie grossed more than the GDP of most African countries.

However, I promised myself long ago that I would never watch this movie, because I loathe it like Seinfeld loathes Newman. It's weaselly. It thinks more highly of itself than it should. And it keeps showing up at my door, wanting attention that I don't want to give it.

You know the opening 30-minutes of Saving Private Ryan? And how you as the viewer are completely drawn in, your eyes glued to the screen because you are entirely engulfed by the brutal reality of it all? Titanic is the antithesis of Saving Private Ryan for me. I'm repulsed by it. Somewhere between Kate Winslett getting naked and a love story crammed with more cliches than a "Grey's Anatomy" script, I developed a less-than-zero desire to see this movie.

And so when faced with the choice of watching Titanic or 4+ hours of boredom (the commercials for movies on TV are ridiculous), I chose boredom. At least I kept my integrity.

But seriously, that ship took forever to go down. I kept looking up at the TV, hoping the movie would be over. It kept dragging on.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wipe up the venom I just drooled all over my keyboard.

Read more...

Inside Jokes

In college, roommates are a roll of the dice. They can become best friends because you share all kinds of experiences with each other -- shooting ducks with paintball guns, playing Mariokart until 3am -- just to name a few. The flip side to that, of course, is you can end up getting your own personal Newman.

Aside from a roommate who had a semi- to completely disturbing obsession for "That 70s Show" -- the irony of this was his uncanny resemblance to the Fez character in the show* -- I was incredibly lucky. My college roommates are still my best friends. We laugh and reminisce about experiences, and still share those inside jokes/handshakes/greetings that bond us together and annoy outsiders.

Here's one inside greeting that never really panned out.

A few years ago, one roommate, Tim, was telling me about how his dad meets with some Japanese businessmen at a big meeting every year. At the end of the meeting, his dad always asks the businessmen where they want to go eat, and they always yell in Engrish "Fuh-wuckas!!!" (Fuddrucker's). It was a funny story, and we both had a good laugh.

Me: "Oh man, that's funny..."
Tim: "...yeah... Hey, we should do that."
Me: "Yeah, sure... Wait, do what?"
Tim: "We should yell that to each other as like a greeting when we see each other on campus or walking home or whatever."
**Substantial Pause**
Me: "You mean yell 'Fuh-wuckas!!!' really loud? When other people are around?"
Tim: "Yeah. C'mon, it'll be sweet."
Me: "OK. Fine." (my common sense had apparently decided to check out at this point)

A few days later, I spotted Tim on my way home from campus about 50 yards ahead of me. I looked around, hoping that no one was around, but had no such luck. Oh well. "Fuh-wuckas!!!" I yelled. Tim continued walking; everyone else in the vicinity turned to stare at the crazy Asian yelling weird phrases.

He is up there a ways; maybe he didn't hear me, I thought. . "Fuh-wuckas!!!" I yelled again. Nothing from Tim. People around me started taking out their cell phones to text their friends about the kid with Turret's that just walked by.

I got to the apartment and walked in to see Tim sitting on the couch, pretending to watch TV while trying to shield his face from looking at me. I held out my hands as an appeal for explanation. Tim continued to try to ignore me. "Timmy, what was that?? Did you not hear me? I bet our neighbors have called the mental hospital to tell them one of their crazies escaped."

"I'm sorry, dude. I was too embarrassed. I just couldn't bring myself to turn around or reply."

"Wasn't this thing your idea?"

"Yeah... again, sorry."

The betrayal was akin to Caeser being stabbed in the back by Brutus.

*So much so that my other roommate, White Josh, accidentally called him "Fez" to his face a few times.

Read more...

Mr T Motivates -- Photo of the Week 10 Nov 2008

Got a pretty good response to the last motivational poster I posted. I enjoyed this one.

Also, I'm tired and didn't have time to find much else. Apologies.

Read more...

My Bridge Day Adventure

After missing the Elton John Concert, my friends and I continued, albeit despondently, to "Bridge Day" in Fayetteville, WV. Bridge Day is the one day a year that base-jumping is legalized in West Virginia and 200,000 people of lesser courage (ie myself) watch others of greater courage (also read: "lesser sanity," "greater testicular fortitude," or "inferior common sense") throw themselves off of an 876 ft bridge and let gravity and a parachute take care of the rest.

These guys jumped for hours and we just watched. You would think the redundancy of watching people jump off the same bridge would get old after awhile. But it didn't. It's like watching "24": If you've seen one season of Jack Bauer escaping captivity, defying authority for the greater good, torturing some bad guys, getting angry and snarling/yelling out some intimidating lines, sabotaging his personal relationships because of his maladjustment to societal norms (see the afore-listed items for reasons why), etc, you feel like you've seen all of the seasons of "24" (because in essence, you HAVE). But you still keep watching -- despite the repetition and predictability.

The day was interspersed with me shooting the fall foliage (I still feel effeminate using that wording), and the abundance of material for people-watching. WV is an absolute GOLD-MINE for this, and my one regret (besides letting my friends purchase two sausage biscuits for $1.50 at a roadside cafe) is not doing an extensive photo essay on the people we saw. Think men with braided beards down to their stomachs; think men with short cut-off jean shorts sporting rainbow lanyards; think my name next to "Pulitzer." It would have been timeless.

Then again, I guess I shouldn't say too much about people-watching -- these three were my travel companions:



We got bored walking the trail from the river back to the bridge, so we had a leaf catching competition. It got intense. The slideshow below does a good job of capturing it.



But back to manly things. Base-jumping. It is steadily gaining popularity, but definitely outside of the mainstream sports we have in America. I think if the organizers created some traditions -- something that we love about our sports here -- base jumping would catch on a little faster. Here are some ideas I have:

• (More) Drunk Fans: I don't think this one needs to be explained.
  
• Ceremonial first "toss" from the mayor: Baseball has someone famous throw out the ceremonial first pitch to open games. Why don't they have the mayor of Fayetteville ceremoniously push the first base-jumper off of the platform, just to get things started? Or toss a base-jumper midget...? This one may need refinement.
  
• Fantasy Leagues: No other phenomenon than Fantasy Leagues has so many people supporting teams and players they would otherwise have been indifferent to. Don't ask me how the scoring would work for a Base-Jumping Fantasy League. I'm just throwing out ideas here.
• Streakers: The occasional streaker never hurt any spectator sport.
• Overpriced Food: Overpaying for unhealthy food is an American sports tradition. The vendors at Bridge Day were selling unhealthy food, but it was way too reasonably priced. This needs to change.
• Costumes: Uncle Sam (below) had it right. Patriotic, tacky.
  

Read more...

My Public Defacement -- Photo of the Week 3 Nov 2008

...and clear, runaway leader for Photo of the Year, I might add.

Context: This photo was sent to my sister by her friends who were riding the University of Utah line of TRAX (public transpo system in Utah). Click the photo to get a larger view.

The humiliation. The crushing blow to my self-image. The instant I saw this I collapsed and pulled a Nancy Kerrigan: "Whyyy?!? Whyyyyyyy?!?" I wouldn't be surprised if Tonya Harding herself -- who happened to be riding the TRAX, was consumed by jealousy of my celebrity amongst the narrow BYU Independent Study-demographic -- hired Jeff Gillooly to do the job with a permanent sharpie.

I'll tell you why I find this offensive and reprehensible. First of all, my mustache doesn't grow like that: We all know it would never get that long. Second, I'm offended that the person didn't draw in a Fu Manchu beard. Where's the racial stereotyping? Why did they see fit to give me a creepy cowboy mustache from the 19th century? If they chose to go that route, they could have at least put in the extra effort and drawn in a hat, a trenchcoat and me brandishing some six-shooters. I'm deeply offended.

"I'm sorry, I can't be your huckleberry."
I think what hurts the most is that if someone would
have put in a little more effort, I could have
been running with Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer. Lame.

But in all honesty, this picture makes me laugh every time I see or think about it. I hope to get back to Utah soon so I can dress in the same shirt, take a textbook with me, and sit right next to the poster for like an hour. Just to see if people notice.

Thanks to Jenny and Steve for their vigilance against defamation and vandalism.

Read more...