one lump sum

Pie is Pastry: What?

2008-11-03T13:16:00.001-08:00

The first is the best pie I’ve made to date. It’s a mostly classic shoofly in a traditional butter crust. But rather than cutting the molasses with boiling water, I used espresso. It totally owns face. Please note Admiral Ackbar (who thinks this pie is a tasty [re]treat).

The second is an open window cranberry/orange zest. I’ve yet to taste it, but it’s rather pretty and presidential.

Pies are Pastry: Yes

2008-10-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

I’ve been making pies (as you well know).

Please view visual documentation.

This is an open-faced apple with an apricot glaze nestled in a cream cheese crust. I tried to create rose petals with the apple slices and the lip of the crust is comprised of overlapping cookie-cut maple leaves. This was a labor intensive and time consuming pie – the baking time alone was nearly two hours.

I think I’ll continue to keep you photographically updated with subsequent pies.

Please excuse the Sedaris nature of the photo. Perhaps uniqueness will surface in later photographs.

Also: Aretha Franklin should lose weight.

An Update

2008-09-21T16:50:00.000-07:00

Never before have I felt a sadness like this.

Also, I've been baking pies.

You Know, Muppet Stuff

2008-08-14T14:18:00.000-07:00

You Know, Geek Stuff

2008-08-12T18:34:00.000-07:00

Fallen Tree or The Scales Of Magic

2008-07-29T18:25:00.000-07:00

The Hagermans – Mister, Misses, Marissa, and Chad – were our neighbors and I was seven or eight. A gigantic thunderstorm ripped one of their trees from its rooty foundation. This tree - an ancient giant – unexpectedly found itself positioned vertically. Massive, beautiful, barky, and outside it intended directional nature.

As the storm subsided and the sun resurfaced with a ray-filled vengeance, Marissa, Chad, and I found ourselves convening around the newly fallen tree. A true grown-up surely views a displaced tree as an inconvenience – a new and undesired chore – but that’s not what we, as children, found in our exploration. We entered the canopy and discovered a world we were never intended to find. Something from above fell to us. A chloroform angel. The place where birds sleep.

For hours we played in our tent of veiny, translucent green heaven. Swinging from branches we laughed and loved. Not a moment was wasted in our truly jungle of a gym.

It was magical.

It was perfect.

And then Mister Hagerman brought the chainsaw. Time to clean up, what he saw as, the mess. It makes complete sense. You can’t leave a fallen tree lying around your yard, killing the grass as it slowly dehydrates.

But logic and magic have nothing to do with each other.

And now I wonder at what point do you grow into logic/ out of magic? The two can’t co-exist.

I never want to view beauty as a responsibility.

‘Cause that day was magic.

Perfect.

Neat.

2008-07-23T16:01:00.000-07:00

This guy is okay. Banksy.co.uk

A Reminder

2008-07-16T14:18:00.000-07:00

Thrifty Friends,

Don’t forget about Joss Whedon’s temporarily free online musical starring Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion. You’ll have to pay for it soon, so catch it now.

http://www.drhorrible.com/

An Open Letter

2008-07-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Hibachi Grill Houses,

I believe you consider yourself a spectacle, but I deem you little more than cheap-sparkle. You are loud, overly-flamboyant, and rarely produce anything edible/not soaked in oil. You make me uncomfortable, you make my ears hurt, and you upset my tummy.

I, as a student of various arts, appreciate an entertaining show of skills - but your focus lacks any genuine ability. Your cooks are rarely versed in knife-skills, and to make up for this they bang utensils on various kitchen appliances in a futile attempt to distract me from their own talent deficiencies. You aren’t fooling anyone and you’re giving me a headache to boot.

Have you ever heard the old adage “empty barrels make the most noise”?

Stop flipping that bowl of rice in front of my face. Though I wouldn’t, I can do that on my own time – it’s not difficult. On second thought: continue to flip, because I have no desire to eat that oil-soaked shit.

Being able to do something doesn't mean you always should. Example: I can walk on stilts, and even though that’s a moderately exciting circus skill, I never utilize it to serve my guests food because that would be stupid.

You are stupid.

And I doubt you’ll heed my complaints. You don’t need me – I’m not your intended patronage - this i realize. Your cliental rarely exceeds that of direly ill-informed, non-voting republicans, and Wal-Mart shoppers.

I hate you.

A Few New Things I'm Enjoying

2008-07-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

Book: Gifts, by the always intriguing Ursula K Le Guin (my personal favorite living science fiction/fantasy writer), is a young adult novel. It’s a nice simple read that stays true to Le Guin’s interesting ideas on language and unique societal perspective. And, as always with Le Guin, it’s brimming with whimsically unique turns of phrase that make you pause and appreciate. This would be a great plane or beach read.

Music:

Movie:
Full of fairytales, love, and truly great animatronic work.

More Stupid Mushy

2008-07-09T18:11:00.000-07:00

I was jogging not two-point-five moments ago and I came to two (two*) realizations:

Awareness (the first) – I don’t hate anyone or anything. I know (what about Brooke Hogan?)! But it’s true, and that makes me like myself even more.

This thought-string was initiated via my iPod featuring Get Set Go.

Recognition (the second) – Erin recently wrote that she tends to lean towards non-fiction reading adventures in hopes of glimpsing answers to her questions. And that makes me happy, cause I read much fiction with the want of questions (though I have no answers).

Differences are nice.

So is Hellboy.

*intentional (though for no reason)

This Thing

2008-06-28T13:57:00.000-07:00

This commercial fucks me up every single time it plays. I don't need the nuisance of tear-glossed eyes as I’m trying to enjoy Michael Ian Black’s witty quips, Gordon Ramsey screaming at some douche, or Galactica nuking some toasters. Seriously guys – this ruins the mood.

Y To Zzzz

2008-06-25T16:51:00.000-07:00

This may irrevocably damage my geek-cred, but still I share: I typically wait for the trade papers (I can hear the gasps of communal disappointment). Aside from Buffy Season Eight, I have very few reasons to make the Wednesday treks to the comicbook store.

I know. Please don’t judge too harshly.

Now that that’s outta the way…

I finished Y: The Last Man. It was beautiful, surprising, heart-wrenching, hilarious, poignant, and irreverent. It was everything it needed to be and nothing I expected. I often say that stupidity transcends it potential incarnations – and the opposite of that is obviously just and true. Brian K. Vaughan has taken a medium that typically garners little to no respect and created an epic story with profound literary merit.

I eagerly suggest that you all read it.

Also, I identify with Y more than other character I’ve ever followed. Our similarities, at times, are frightening. So reading Y will better you with its brilliance and it’ll be like spending quality time with me. Win win.

From Erin

2008-06-24T02:45:00.000-07:00

Things To Buy Me (Soon)

2008-06-19T14:11:00.001-07:00

The Heights of Existential Crises

2008-06-17T18:18:00.000-07:00

A little bit over a month ago my quarter-life/existential predicament reached a point of personally epic heights. Having nowhere else to go (and certainly unable to subside), it simply plateaued. As I looked out surveying this unforgiving wasteland of over-thought, sleepless nights, and too many tears I felt a transformation of anti-Kafkaian proportions. Rather than the continued worries and self-doubt, I quietly and without doubt or thought resigned to becoming the best me.

I’ve adopted a stricter work-out regimen (guess who’s lost 60 lbs now). I’ve picked up the banjo again. I polished up my resume. I’ve been dating outside my pre-existing social circle. I’ve pursued various creative endeavors. I’ve been planning my time around things that make me happy and better. And I’ve been cutting out the people and things that hold me back/offer me no real substance. I’m really happy with where I’m headed.

It feels good.

I’ll leave you now with a top ten list of things (besides myself) that I’m currently loving:

1. The Weepies
2. The new Bare Naked Ladies Kids’ CD
3. Mighty Muggs
4. Leonard Cohen’s Book of Longing
5. Ursula K Le Guin’s newest book
6. The Darjeeling Limited (finally saw it)
7. My tennis ball herb garden
8. Running shorts (I know this will surprise many of you)
9. Persepolis
10. Missing Whitney Alper, Kate Beyer, Courtney Burford, and Jessie Tharp.

Mighty Muggs Can!

2008-06-09T18:27:00.000-07:00

A Belated and Condensed Chronicle of San Francisco

2008-05-31T13:33:00.000-07:00

The Ferry Building is where good food goes to worship the good food god. Seriously amazing eats.

Grace Cathedral has the most incredible stained-glass I’ve ever seen.

My new pair of partially-custom Levis make me look even more handsome than I already am.

The vibrations of Trolleys are the opposite of an enjoyable derrière encounter.

Muir Woods is a truly religious experience. Babbling brooks, twisted bark, ancient trees, willowy moss. The trees hug each other so tightly that the sky disappears. The canopy becomes a cathedral with columns of decayed tree-giants leaning on and supporting each other. You’re completely embraced by nature... it wasn’t that great.

Greens is my new favorite restaurant. Fresh pea ravioli and jasmine tea = ridiculously tasty meal.

The pattern of the rivets on the GG Bridge is oddly inspiring.

“… but then I thought maybe one blue soda will suffice.”

I went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. That’s right friends, the same aquarium from Star Trek IV. Jealous?

Monterey Bay is lined with savage, wrinkled, jagged rocks - a typically beautiful (albeit cliché) bay line. But then you have these tiny purple flowers everywhere- this unexpected, insanely vivid violet covering every free inch of land.

I committed a felony. I’ll leave you to your guessing.

The Things That Make Me

2008-05-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

Aside from James and Aunt Patti, I don’t think any of you blog regulars have seen me cry. It’s not something I do particularly often. But every once in a while I come face-to-face with a thing that brings me to tears. Either through sheer beauty, or the truth it shares, or the hope it offers – it’s meaning can vary and usually does. And I’m not talking about experiences or people or places. I mean things – books, paintings, songs, sculptures, shows - that act as a mirror of sorts. They illustrate what I’ve been or light where I’m headed. Path markers. I only write about this because I found, or rather I was given, a new one of these things a few weeks ago.

· At the age of nine Aunt Patti took me to a Monet Exhibit in Boston. We walked into an eight-walled room with a different giant lily adorning each wall. For the first time I understood the meaning of awe. I cried.
· In 10th Grade Honors English Mr. Howie had us read Steinbecks ‘Of Mice and Men’. When it was over I sat in my bed and cried.
· I don’t remember what grade – but it was high school. On Christmas day Ryan, James, and I went to see ‘The Royal Tenenbaums.’ I realized something doesn’t have to be considered high art to be powerful. I cried.
· Sophomore year of college Jenna introduced Trevor and me to ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’ We’d watch it in my bed at obscenely late hours. ‘Buffy’ has taught me much and made me cry. Many times.
· In World Lit. Dr. O had us read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s ‘A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings.’ Opening with “the world had been sad since Tuesday,’ I cried.
· Junior year in Golden Bear South, Jenna sent me Bright Eyes’ ‘Bowl of Oranges’ and I heard, put into words, exactly what I want out of a relationship. I cried. A lot.
· Professor Herr had us read Atwood’s ‘Cats Eye.’ I cried at the end of nearly each chapter.
· Last summer’s trip to Italy - Aunt Patti, Jim, and I were introduced to many of Bernini’s sculptures. The understatement of his ‘David’ is perfect. It made me cry.
· Last year in Pittsburgh. When I was at my lowest I went to the Andy Warhol museum and experienced his ‘Silver Clouds.’ It was the exact light, silly reminder I needed. I cried.
· A couple weeks ago Maura shared Leonard Cohen’s ‘Bird On a Wire’ with me. I’ve listened to it non-stop since. It made me cry.

Shuffle

2008-04-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

There are few things as discreetly intimate as sharing iPod headphones. It’s sweet and simple, close and innocent.

Unless you’re watching a snuff film on the iPod - I guess then it’s just scary.

With Apologies

2008-04-14T14:52:00.000-07:00

In this order, because I’m going for a natural progression of themes and ideas.

1. Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude” (since you already own it)
2. Sherman Alexie’s “The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven”
3. Gregory Maguire’s “Wicked”
4. Ursula K. Le Guin’s “A Wizard of Earthsea”
5. Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale”
6. Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle
7. Toni Morrison’s “Beloved”
8. Amy Tan’s “The Joy Luck Club”
9. Virginia Woolf’s “Mrs. Dalloway”
10. Albert Camus’ “The Stranger”

Mudd Season

2008-04-08T12:17:00.000-07:00

Jenna has a porch.

Fucking manly.

Only took five years to take our first picture.

And one less forced.

More of the studly.

If Not, Winter

2008-04-07T16:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve been reading a bunch of Sappho lately. For those of you ignorant, Sappho was a musician, poet, and artist living around 630 B.C. Total lesbian. Total outcast. Total genius.

Naturally she wrote on papyrus, so large chunks of her lyrics are missing – undecipherable, decayed, or simply lost through time. In fact, out of thousands of Sappho poems, I think we’re only aware of one in its entirety.

I think this is what I love so much about her. Granted, her poetry beautifully stands on its own splendor. It’s gorgeous and powerful and moving. But it’s the missing pieces that I find so enticing. Not because there’s nothing there, but because something once was.

And that’s not simple semantics.

Knowing something is intrinsically incomplete despite original intention is fundamentally human. And its not something that can be created at will. Only time can allow that fade. It’s so simple and it’s so real. It’s simultaneously basic and complex. It means everything and nothing. It’s pretty cool.

Here’s one of my favorites to wet your appetite (Anne Carson, the translator, uses the brackets to indicate missing fragments):

] frequently
] for those
I treat well are the ones who most of all
] harm me
] crazy
]
]
]
] you, I want
] to suffer
] in myself I am
aware of this
]
]

A Note

2008-03-30T17:22:00.000-07:00

In 25 years I’ve done little right and accomplished nearly nothing, but I did one hell of a good job in choosing the people I spend my life with.

Guesses?

2008-03-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

Rainy Day Braveheart
Double Husk-Husks and
Misses chickens and beehives.

***

Please don’t leave me friend.
I’ll always need you.
If just to watch The Challenge.

***

We’re probably done.
But I thank you much
For the antiquing and fun.

***

I’d say I love you.
Though we don’t talk lots
I’d marry you happily.

***

Impressive patience
And such loyalty
Some of your many virtues.

***

Seven silly years
Of drama and joy.
Our bond's beyond all I know.

***

My Bart Simpson art
Will always best yours.
Friend, good luck with the weight loss.

***

You’ve shown me so much
You’ve given me more
I hope one day to repay.

***

Our Star Trek talkage
Is so staggering
When I look at my phone bill.

***

I love you despite
No common interests…
Maybe one – do you have wood?

***

You will be okay
In a couple years
Assuming you get counseled.

***

A fish market and cigs
Plus a mind for Lit
With corresponding crises.

***

I’m better because
You’re in my life. Please
never doubt your decency.

***

I am less off course
Than I was before.
Though seemingly more bemused.

Fire Dancing

2008-03-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been doing this whole ‘feeling stuff’ thing for a while now, and I must say – it’s a bit overrated. It’s difficult and unnecessarily complex. And the rewards are not typically proportionate to the despair. And nothing seems to reach a logical conclusion.

Human drama is much more fun when its in novel or televised form.

Or so says this guy.

A Post

2008-03-03T15:03:00.000-08:00

I think language is often most beautiful when it’s at its most plain. When Hemingway was challenged with the task of writing a six word novel he came up with “For sale: baby shoes, never used." The idea that someone (in this case Hemingway) can do so much with so little leaves me in a state of total awe.

I often quote two of my favorite sentences:

“I am.”

“The world had been sad since Tuesday.”

Both intrinsically simple yet quite layered.

In fact, I think sole words are often the most powerful.

Love.

Pear.

Gone.

Simple, straightforward language is rarely done well, but Albert Camus’ got it down. In The Stranger his writing is eloquently and effortlessly minimal. I strongly recommend it to anyone else who loves the brilliance simplicity offers.

The Stranger is a dark, tragic, hilarious, existential, and very short novel.

You should probably read it.

The Brutality of Breakability: A Kevin Boyle Story

2008-02-25T14:30:00.000-08:00

I find myself becoming increasingly fragile. It could be the existential crisis, the currently crumbling walls, the quarter-life, or the severe mood swings I experience during the dawn of every spring. Most likely it’s a combo platter.

Whatever the cause, the effect is I’m porcelain - cold, paper-thin porcelain.

Clever, handsome, odd – all wordage often used to describe me, but fragility is not an adjective I typically associate with who I am. It’s off-putting and confusing.

Waking up in this state is not the happiest of happies. Knowing the slightest situation retains the possibility of shattering me into a plethora of hard-to-glue pieces. And being aware of my delicate state is making me more brittle. It’s a cruel and hideous loop; one I hope to soon escape.

But it’s also kinda fun not knowing if, when, and to whom I'm going to fly off the handle. A moody (and to some extent less dangerous) Russian roulette.

Fair warning all.

(In other news, I've now lost 52 lbs.)

Post #65

2008-02-04T13:54:00.000-08:00

Hello dear readers!

Your friendly neighborhood Kevin has been experiencing shades existential crisis. Ever since James and I reached the recent conclusion that I don’t actually want anything – but rather I want to want – my world is near unrecognizable.

I worry I’ve fooled myself into so much. I worry I’ve been walking in circles. I worry I worry too much.

Everyone and everything in my life is questionable. Even me… especially me.

I know nothing.

It’s both terrifying and much preferable to numbness.

40 Pounds Later…

2008-01-22T13:15:00.000-08:00

For reasons that will remain my own, I recently mustered the courage to get my (previously fat) ass on a scale.

I am 40 lbs lighter. How ‘bout that.

I lost nearly a quarter of what my weight was.

I’m pretty happy. Also hott.

Mushy Drivel

2008-01-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

As any of you still reading this infrequently updated blog well know, I’ve been quite the cynic of love. Choosing a celibate lifestyle for the last couple of years, I made peace with the fact that I’d die alone leaving custody of my cats to the state.

I felt sorry for people in relationships. I could only see the facade, the slow decay of joy, and two people settling.

I pitied love.

And then the flickering of a past love was rekindled and now I don’t see any of that. All I can see is our potential. Perhaps the facade, decay, and settling are all still there - I don’t know. More importantly, I don’t care. Every other person in every other relationship means nothing to me. I know it’s silly – I know this. But I feel we’re the one exception. It’s beyond all reason. Its silly.

Its ridiculous and its great and I missed it.

Giving up on love made me dead inside. I was an empty. I wasn’t myself, and that’s really scary.

I’m a hopeless romantic – that’s what I am, and I like that about myself.

After too many years the clichés in love songs mean something again.

I look forward to the giddiness of making someone else smile, the uncertainty of the whole thing, and the happiness so intense it’s hard to sleep. The exploration of possibility is exhilarating and I can’t believe I denied myself this for so long. I’ve let go and there is nothing to break my fall and I feel alive.

Staring into the face of futility and hoping for love beyond reason is what makes us human. It’s insane and stupid and beautiful and necessary. The journey is worth squat without it.

I have the white-picket fence daydreaming again.

I’m happy.

And even should Michelle and I not work out (but we will), I’m never going back to the hopelessness. Its safe, and its boring, and its not for me anymore.

I’m finally back.

Hello.

Da Da Daa - Dee Da Doo...

2007-11-19T17:08:00.000-08:00

Its stupid stuff like this that makes me so happy to be a geek.

The Kidney Line

2007-11-05T18:35:00.000-08:00

As my friends from high school dwindle down to a number that can be counted on the hand of a finger-deficient T-Rex, I’ve been thinking about the punctuation of friendship. I’m so familiar with the period. That defining moment where amity ends – You cheated on me? You didn’t like Moulin Rouge? You voted for Bush? You’re a Dragon in the Klan? And we become two I's.

But lately all I’ve been getting is the trip-dot. Something once so prominent and defined and cherished simply fading, unnoticed, until it’s a wispy memory.

A smoky outline.

Perhaps the ellipsis is the punctuation of maturity. Or maybe we’ve grown less rigid. Or I may be totally off base. It doesn’t really matter, but I do miss the unjust comfort of the period’s certainty. Like the final chapter of a classic book where everything concludes with a scripty THE END.

My mind often wanders to the “what if” where I have kidney cancer (I’m a very UP person). I slightly consider (understatement) who will offer me one of their kidneys. I imagine a line of people – with friends and family who love me most in front, those who love me less behind them, acquaintances further back, and a pregnant economist from Zimbabwe caboosing my kidney line - all eager to be sliced into (simply to help me). Many are practically ripping their own kidneys out as they patiently stand. It’s my own generic, and slightly gorey, Euler diagram.

And this line is always changing. But it used to be that people joined or departed the line by walking into or away from it. Lately some of those who populate the line have been fading Back-To-The-Future-sibling-picture style. It’s spooking and unnerving. It also kinda feels right.

Maybe that’s why people, as they get older, have more serious romantic relationships. Obviously love in a construct (and a faulty one at that). And it can’t be about the sweaty thrusty (its hard not to trip over all the people willing and eager to have sex). Maybe marriage is a way to ensure there’s always at least one person in your kidney line. Cause if your partner isn’t standing there – nobody is.

I often quote Dickens’ “life is made up of meetings and partings, that is the way of it,” but as some who stand in the kidney line fade, I feel no true parting. Sure it’s a parting by definition – the same way your grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary is a party – but it doesn’t feel like a parting. There is no waving and there are no tears. It’s just distant shadow. A slow echo of what once was.

And for me, the idea that people change but the pictures of them don’t only works with concluding period. As people fade, I’m somehow forced to look back with new glasses. Wonder what was.

Re-evaluate.

And that makes my past as uncertain as my future.

Which is neither good nor bad. Just odd.

Also, I strongly recommend Tilex Fresh Shower Daily Shower Cleaner. It keeps a shower sparkling with very little effort.

Another Installment of New Fall Pilots (Albeit a Condensed One)

2007-10-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

Aliens in America has a huge heart and proudly wears its as sleeve ornamentation. While its subject material is potentially edgy, this sitcom couldn’t be more family-friendly. With a slight Freaks and Geeks feel to it, Aliens is a great companion show to the unfairly underrated Everybody Hates Chris.

Life didn’t have the best pilot. But it shows a lot of promise. An emancipated, fruit-loving, totally Zen cop with a screw or two loose sleuthing those behind his unjust extended incarceration is an intriguing concept and I was mildly entertained.

Women’s Murder Club. I can’t believe Laura Harris passed on the Dead Like Me movie for this pile.

Samantha Who? Like Life, not the best pilot, but it does show promise. Its got one of the best casts on TV right now. Here's hoping a little ironing will suss this wrinkled beauty out.

Viva Laughlin – A musical whodunit? Try a tone-deaf who cares. A musical television show is an awesome idea, but it looks like this bugger is going the way of Cop Rock.

Final things:

Aliens in America: B+
Life: C+
Women’s Murder Club: D
Samantha Who? B-
Viva Laughlin: D+

Josh’s Bizarro?

2007-10-05T11:29:00.000-07:00

Were Josh mildly attractive/not morbidly obese, I think he might look like David Anders.

New Fall Pilots Part the 5th: Pushing Daisies

2007-10-04T19:41:00.000-07:00

Pushing Daisies is snow on the eve of Christmas. Pushing Daisies is innocent love. It’s your first parent-free trick-or-treating. It’s your second-grade play held in the school gymnasium.

Anyone who doesn’t love Pushing Daisies is a black-hearted, cynical, puppy-killing, nazi. Their favorite hobbies include mauling clowns and scamming the elderly. And they live in a red state.

Daisies, like all good things, is a ball of contradictions. It’s simultaneously dark and light-hearted. It’s timeless and completely original. It’s charismatic and awkward.

It’s utterly beautiful.

Giving you a play-by-play book report is pointless – like all great literature, Pushing Daisies sounds completely idiotic when boiled down to a few sentences. However, if I were to attempt a futile exercise, I’d say it’s about life, death, life again, chaos, love, pies, synchronized swimming, rare cheese, porcelain monkeys, and dogs.

Watching the growth of Bryan Fuller, the creator of Pushing Daisies, has been such a rewarding experience. From Star Trek to Dead Like Me, from Wonderfalls (a true stroke of genius) to The Amazing Screw-On Head, Fuller has developed into one of my very favorite living writers. And with the Daisies he has (once again) reached new creative heights.

The look of the show is pure cotton candy. It’s light, bright, and fun. I gotta give it to Barry Sonnenfeld – his previous cinematic work has left me cold, but he pulled it off with Daisies. The show kinda resembles what you’d think the offspring of Astroturf and a 50s traveling carnival would look like (or in more boring terms it’s A Series of Unfortunate Events meets Julie Taymor). It’s fun, slightly off, tacky, kitsch, and paint-by-numbery.

Pushing Daisies is going to be a great friend. Most certainly appointment television. And you should watch it with a slice of pie and some hot coco housed in jadeite.

Oh! And how wonderfully whimsical is the title of the pilot - Pie-lette.

Final Verdict:

Pushing Daisies: Better than me, I don’t deserve to grade it.

Geek Spooge

2007-10-03T19:03:00.001-07:00

New Fall Pilots Part Quatre: Dirty Sexy, Private, Cavemen, Carpoolers

2007-10-02T18:58:00.000-07:00

So we’re gettin’ a little behind here. I blame you, naughty reader.

Dirty Sexy Money, brought to us by Craig Wright (who has a remarkable resume featuring Six Feet Under, Lost, and Brothers & Sisters) and starring the uniquely likable Peter Krause, is one of the new fall pilots where I strongly anticipated my own distain.

The clips and various previews made it look like a Dallas/Dynasty-type nighttime soap; complete with vase-smashing, drug-overdosing, daddy-murdering, and even a hint of shoulder-padding. Plus it costars Donald Sutherland – who can also been seen on my top ten list of least favorite celebrities (I still haven’t forgiven him for his part in destroying Buffy the movie).

Imagine my surprise when I discovered a silly, loveable, tongue-in-cheek dramedy.

Plotting a lawyer (Peter Krause) who’s nudged into working for one of New York’s wealthiest and most eccentric families. Silly secrets and over-the-top antics are most certainly around every flippant bend. It seems like a fun trip, and my tickets are booked.

Plus it features Samaire Armstrong – an actress I’ve been waiting to hit big.

PS - It has a Baldwin bonning a Tranny. Do I even need to say anything else?

***

Private Practice is the worst pilot I’ve seen this season.

As a spin-off of the decently written (and perfectly soundtracked) Grey’s Anatomy, it’s created by Shonda Rhimes. Many people are surprised that the woman behind Grey’s could bring us such a steaming pile. But this is also the woman who wrote Crossroads and The Princess Diaries 2 – how are any of us caught off-guard when she offers a clichéd, poorly written, and horribly conceived premise.

How many times do we have to see a spin-off feature a character jumping into a convertible and moving to LA? Come-on now creative forces, bring us something a little new.

Kate Walsh should be ecstatic that she had it written in her contract that her return to Grey’s is insured should PP fail.

***

Cavemen isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen. Cavemen is better than Private Practive. Cavemen isn’t even the worst sitcom I’ve seen this season. It’s better than Carpoolers.

Cavemen has an enjoyable moment or two. The original commercials are better. Most of the commercial breaks are better too.

Carpoolers has no redeeming qualities. If I had to say something nice about it, I’d say it costars Faith Ford, and I love Murphy Brown.

Both should be avoided at all costs.

Final Letters:

Dirty Sexy Money: B+
Private Practice: F
Cavemen: D
Carpoolers: D-

New Fall Pilots Part French Three: Big Banging, Journey of Man, and Reapage

2007-09-26T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Big Bang Theory is about a male-nerd foursome befriending a ditzy hott blonde waitress (*chuckle, chuckle* what a silly and fun concept full of fresh material ripe to amuse today’s hip audience).

In a televised landscape where nerds are dominating the airwaves, The Big Bang Theory sticks out like a jock at a Mensa gathering. Seriously, nerds are everywhere in TV land – behind the camera (Lost, Battlestar Galactica, Torchwood), and in front of it (Dr. House, Alan Shore, Chuck). But Big Bang feels like a bunch of frat bros ‘wrote’ a ‘script’ with a wax pencil on the back of cigarette-burnt beer coasters about what they think nerds are like. Its bad stupid and kinda insulting to nerds and waitresses alike.

The Big Bang Theory is less funny than my Grandfather’s funeral.

Journeyman is about a guy who finds himself slipping through time. He helps people in different time periods and we get to laugh about how big cell phones and shoulder pads were in the 80s. Quality stuff here.

It’s a completely forgettable show and was much better as Quantum Leap.

And finally there’s Kevin Smith’s Reaper. A genre show – get this – written by two women (what?!?!). I can’t even think of another instance where that’s happened. Genre is such a boys club and it’s utterly refreshing to have a woman’s take.

Reaper is like Dogma - without all those religious realizations we all came to in seventh grade.

It stars Ray Wise (of Twin Peaks fame) as the devil, and he couldn’t be a more perfect fit. Watching him revel in this character is a pure and sinful delight. And the rest of the cast pops perfectly. Tyler Labine, as the slacker best friend, steals nearly every scene he’s in.

Reaper is ridiculous and quirky and self-admittedly irrelevant.

Final Grades:

The Big Bang Theory: D-
Journeyman: C
Reaper: B

Wait For It...

2007-09-25T21:01:00.000-07:00

Kevin’s Guide: How to Start the Perfect Day

2007-09-24T15:56:00.000-07:00

The perfect day actually begins the night before. You gotta get to bed early so you arise sans alarm. No caffeine past three and no TV two hours before sleep (whodathunkit).

And that’s prep.

Wake up and roll out of bed at your leisure. When you do finally empty outta your blanket-layered double, start up some showerin’ music.

Shower music must be strictly followed as listed:

1 – Jackson 5’s ABC
2 – Hanson’s MmmBop
3 – Spice Girls’ Wannabe
4 – Harry Belafonte’s Shake, Shake Senora

These songs have a fun time (haha) of a little over 13 minutes (enough time to complete a full suds cycle). But more importantly they induce sing-a-longing and naked dancing (which is imperative to the perfect day).

Aside from the interactive value of these songs, as pure pop-wonders they don’t leave you with that heavy overactive human-thought feeling (and who needs any of that so early).

The shower pressure should be fierce and the temp scalding. No fog = no good.

A rubber ducky must be present as you shower (bonus points if it squeaks).

After your towel down, I suggest donning a robe, tube socks, and a cowboy hat. A good robe is the most comfortable article of clothing ever created. Tube socks for sliding along linoleum and hardwood. And a cowboy hat so you can tip it to yourself as you pass mirrors.

Wear this outfit for as long as possible.

Breakfast should be hot. Perhaps a scramble consisting of some of your favorite foods. I usually go with a lite Jarlsberg (whose history can be traced back to the middle 1850s), some chopped up Boca sausage, sautéed onions, and a diced tomato.

Throw some toast and fresh fruit onto that plate, brew a caffeinated breakfast drink of your choice and thats business.

Now you gotta crank up your TiVo/DVD player. Breakfast company should include Charles Nelson Reilly, Brett Somers, and Gene Rayburn (along with Betty White and Richard Dawson if you can work it).

Old Match Game reruns are essential. If you don’t TiVo ‘em, buy the DVD.

I guarantee if you follow these instructions precisely you will leave your house in a state of pure euphoria.

*Note – people in serious relationships cannot start a day happily (or have a happy day).

*Another note - If you happen to have a friend sleep over – there’s no reason this helpful guide can’t be easily amended to appease a joint routine. Maybe mutual suds up/rub downs and/or previously choreographed dance routines.

Maybe?

2007-09-22T15:12:00.000-07:00

An amazing cast - Ellen Page, Michael Cera, Jen Garner, Jason Bateman, Allison Janney, Rainn Wilson, and JK Simmons, the director of Thankyou for Smoking, and 100% on Rotten Tomatoes.

I want to be excited...

Avoid This Post

2007-09-21T06:52:00.000-07:00

Hello Readers! And welcome to a brand new chapter!

This one is about bees!

Silly, silly gibberish and a Schrute buck.

Wow wee!

New Fall Pilots Part Deux: Kid Nation, G Girl, and Back to You

2007-09-20T16:08:00.000-07:00

Last night was a whopper with three new pilot premiers – Back to You, Kid Nation, and Gossip Girl.

Back to You, despite employing the major talents of Fred Willard, was a resounding dud. Starring the overly appreciated Kelsey Grammer and Patricia Heaton, this multi-camera sitcom is everything that’s been done for the last 20 years in network comedy (even down to the tired laugh-track). But this should come as no surprise as Back to You is brought to us by the same team behind Just Shoot Me and Stacked.

Your parents’ll probably like this one, but I’m gonna forget about it.

We’ve all been reading about drama that is Kid Nation for weeks now and that’s way more hype than most network reality shows could predictably deliver. While mildly entertaining, it’s never gonna be Lord of the Flies – and if the kids aren’t gonna kill each other over glasses – whats the point?

Maybe that’s a bit unfair…

The dynamic with between the older kids and younger kids is interesting enough as far as social experiments go. And watching eight-year-olds hunt jack rabbits with sharpened sticks is unsettlingly engaging.

I’ll catch this one every once in a while, but it earns no season pass.

And Gossip Girl…

If you read the post below you might recall my love for Josh Swartz (I pretty much wrote him a heart-dotted love letter). Well his other show this season is Gossip Girl and it’s not even in the same league as Chuck.

It’s in no way a bad show. It’s kinda like The O.C. without the biting wit and self-awareness… and it’s backdrop is New York rather than CA.

The entire show is narrated by the illusive Gossip Girl – a blogger blogging the happenings of an upper-class prep school society (think Cruel Intentions meets TMZ). While expertly recounted by the beautiful and talented Kristen Bell – the narration (which is supposed to drive the show) seems a bit clunky to this TV-obsessed pedestrian. And nicknaming your two female leads B & S is either very stupid or very funny (or maybe a bit of both).

Most of the characters are unlikable. And any intelligent audience member can smell the plot turns coming from a mile away. But it’s kinda fun in a dirty, sleazy way. And the underdog family, the Humphreys, is fun to root for.

All-in-all, it’s a fine way to waste an hour.

Final verdicts:

Back to You: D
Kid Nation: C
Gossip Girl: C+

New Fall Pilots Part Une: Chuck & Jamie

2007-09-19T10:59:00.000-07:00

Oh lovely Televiewers, a brand spankin’ new fall season is upon us once again. And while the last couple season have left us wanting in the new shows department, the potential of this season has me pumped-up and ready.

I was blessed enough to watch some sneak-peeks for two of the new fall pilots I was most anticipating – Bionic Woman and Chuck. Both of these shows seem to be a response to our new world where the line between technology and self is becoming more and more blurred – a topic worthy of televised exploration.

And with talents like Josh Schwartz and David Eick behind these new shows, I had great expectations – and while one greatly exceeded those, the other fell way, way short.

Bionic Woman – a remake of the 70s cheese classic, is brought to us by David Eick (among others) who is also one of the powerhouses behind the reimagining of Battlestar Galactica (another 70s cheese classic).

Obviously my expectations were through the roof on this one. The B Star G creative team is quickly becoming one of the most influential voices in modern Science Fiction – joining the ranks of Ursula K. Le Guin, (the hateful) Orson Scott Card, and Brian K. Vaughan. But every step Bionic takes is a miss.

The pilot is full of empty, misused clichés - how many times do I have to see a newly empowered super human test their skills by jumping off a roof? The actors never gel and have as much chemistry as something that has no chemistry. The sets are uninspired and a visual bore. The actors lazily chew on their vacant words, and the entire 44 minutes is shot as if it were one of those horrid Sci-Fi channel movies of the week. A pilot is supposed to leave us asking questions and wanting more.

The only question I asked as the credits rolled was ‘why am I supposed to care?’

And then there’s Chuck (and then there’s Chuck).

This show is a delightful mixed-genre romp. Josh Schwartz (the man behind The O.C.) has nearly perfected his art of hiding the mildly profound beneath layers of absurdity (following in the footsteps of Kurt Vonnegut, Andy Warhol, Roald Dahl, and Joss Whedon).

Zachary Levi’s portrays Chuck as if he were the love child of Adam Brody’s Seth Cohen and John Krasinski’s Jim Halpert. In short – he’s immensely likeable, very quick, and a joy to watch. The rest of the cast is just as perfect. There’s Adam Baldwin (yay for Jayne) and I think Sarah Lancaster may have finally found a sticking role.

The humor is laugh out loud (LOL). The mystery is intriguing. The action is pretty darn good. The drama is perfect pitch.

Chuck is worth watching, TiVoing, and then buying on DVD.

Final words:

Bionic Woman: C
Chuck: A-

Goodbye Brett

2007-09-18T08:44:00.000-07:00

caustic, irreverent, bohemian

Something Right

2007-09-17T09:18:00.001-07:00

We Were Idiots

2007-09-12T08:36:00.000-07:00

Boot To The Moon

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Why Lists Matter

2007-09-11T13:31:00.000-07:00

This posting is in response to two (not to be confused with a tutu) similar opinions I recently encountered. The first being the anti-critic propaganda known as Lady in the Water. The second, a comment my friend Shoe made after a short discussion about Time’s recent The 100 Best TV Shows of All-TIME, “lists don’t matter”.

I couldn’t disagree more.

M. Night Shyamalan seems to assume all creative endeavors are precious (especially his) and all critical response rubbish.

Again, I couldn’t disagree more.

Most artistic works shared with the world suck (one needs to look no further than this blog for proof of that). But they are shared with the world – so we have a right (perhaps even a duty) to respond. Shyamalan also disregards the inspired nature inherent to reviews. What he seems to ignore is that all art, boiled down, is a reply – as is a critical assessment, review, or analysis.

Good critics and artists (if the two should even be separated) test and refine our ideas through their own. They keep us out of ignorance. They are as vitally important to our society as doctors. One keeps our bodies healthy, the other our minds.

Lists too.

They help us explore ourselves.

They provide a talking point for conversation and self-reflection. An opinion is not sound unless consistently challenged.

Loving a movie, song, book, or show is not enough if we cannot defend our position. Ignorance is unexplored love. Ignorance is opinion with no reason. Ignorance is agreeing or disagreeing with a critic or list and not being able to express why, and that is inexcusable.

Critics and their lists are Writers and their books; are Directors and their films; are Singers and their songs. It just so happens that that which they respond to is more clearly seen.

Art my lead us into the light, but critics showcase the path that got us there. And isn’t the journey, after all, the worthier?

***

In other news, I’m uneasy about the new Daisy.

For A Blue J

2007-09-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

Al Gore is a modern day King Arthur. He pulled mighty Excalibur from its stony imprisonment as only he could. And as he held that magnificent sword up to the sun-lit sky, ready to usher in an era of utopia, Bush picked up the discarded rock and chucked it at our savior (much like a caveman would).

Perhaps Fred was right…

* Tell me if you need help with that reference.

Scooters, Vacation & Fall

2007-08-28T10:12:00.001-07:00

It’s comforting to know I can make my biggest mistake (to date) and still be okay.

Saint Bones = My Euphoria

2007-08-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

I adore the sheer oddity of that tiny space where obvious mythology and considered religion overlap.

I’ve read about much, buy personally experienced little. Until recently I had only seen the hundred year old undecayed body of a woman touched by god and a couple frescos depicting St. Francis fighting a dragon army and befriending skeletons.

None of this compares to the audacity and hilarity of St. Anthony’s.

Housing the largest assortment of religious relics outside the Vatican, St. Anthony’s was built from the ground up by the delightfully loony Father Mollinger. Independently wealthy, he traveled the world collecting a sum total of 4,200 of these supposed artifacts and then erected a church to hold them.

Included in this bizarre collection is the skull of it’s namesake (in addition to half a dozen other skulls), a torn shred of Mary’s veil, various bone fragments, someone’s tooth, splinters of the “true cross”, dried blood, a hunk of the last supper table, and the skeleton of St. Demetrius (housed in the alter).

A wall in the gift shop displays all the crutches and eyeglasses left behind by those cured through god’s will.

Mass felt more like a roadside freak show than a religious experience, but maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Gooble goble, gooble gobble. One of us! One of us!

A Pittsburghian Fanny Pack Resurgence

2007-08-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

It’s an alarming epidemic. Bum bags are occupying the city and natives are turning a fashionably-blind eye. I’d easily estimate seven percent of Pittsburghers are sportin’ ‘em and meaning it.

Fatties are the worst. They wear ‘em as slings - with one strap over a roll and the other strap happily dangling over some cellulite.

This city…

Foamy Goodness

2007-08-03T10:52:00.001-07:00

Stoney Dream and Simpsonize Me

2007-08-02T12:44:00.000-07:00

I dreamt I jumped into a lake and became a stone. A gravel tear, no larger than a child’s palm, sinking beneath the surface. Settling on a sandy shelf I watched the waters with great intent.

Plants and fish and eating plants and fish. The sky rippling above the waves; sun, moon, stars folding upon each other. I logically mind evolution for millennia. Chaos filtered through thought of a cold stone.

A giant fish tail swooshes, displacing me from my cozy home.

Sinking beneath the translucency and death, I settle yet again, now to ponder darkly.

Another millennia slips and dusk is dusk.

With nothing external left to consider, I turn my stone eye within.

Wondering if days are what you think and what you learn, I hatch from my stone-self; an egg all along.

Suspended in the cold wet, uncertain of what I am, instincts demand the skies.

My lungs burn determined to reach that burden. Emerging with a splashed-burst, I gasp at the air.

Thousands of years spent as a stone and the world is now different.

Anticipation

2007-07-31T20:07:00.000-07:00

Totally Effing My Christmas

2007-07-26T11:22:00.000-07:00

These new figures, based on various Jim Henson doodles, are about the niftiest knickknacks I’ve ever male goosed. I’m especially keen on the smiley, shaggy, spikey guy (as the inspiration for the figure is one of my all-time favorite JH sketches).

Get excited people. This is big.

The Goodbye Boy Who Lived

2007-07-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

Let’s go back in time nine years:

It was storming –lighting that lingers coupled with vociferous thunder. Rain beat against our aluminum siding. The electricity was out and I was 14. Cozying into a bed heaped with blankets and pillows, I armed myself with a flashlight in one hand and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (a gift from Joan) in the other.

At 14 I admired the common books – from Catcher to Perks. But I also closeted the mortifying skeleton of still loving children’s lit. While keeping up with the hipster Go Ask Alice, I worried my peers would find out my real love remained with Alice In Wonderland. It was until years later I proudly admitted my love for Silverstein and the Brothers Grimm.

I was a children’s Lit refugee and Harry was one of my havens. We’ve been together since his first American edition.

I have great reverence for any person able to bring magic into the world. And J.K. Rowling has made our world a more enchanting place.

In mere days I will close the cover of the final Potter novel. All its mysteries revealed and loose threads tied. Dozens of problematically pronunciated characters will have reached their printed conclusions. And I will place a completed Hogwarts on my bookshelf where it will take its place next to Oz and Narnia.

I write all this so that you appreciate my love for Harry and have no illusions otherwise. However, the Potters are not literature – they are far too surface. And I worry JK doesn’t realize this.

Rowling, as you all know, has borrowed heavily from the themes, motifs, archetypes found in Shakespeare, mythology, and the greats of fantasy literature.

Following the well-worn path JK has laid out, The Deathly Hallows can end in one of only two ways (assuming she follows her own rules).

If Harry’s parents, Sirius, and/or Dumbledoore are miraculously resurrected (or never died in the first place), then Harry is simply an innocent hero and will continue to live, possibly even happily ever after. Thusly wrapping up a pretty great children’s literature serial.

If Harry’s parents, Sirius, and/or Dumbledoore are all actually dead, Harry is far too tragic to continue. He will die because JK has unwarranted delusions of great literature and the Harry Potters will have been poor to mediocre pop-lit.

Or maybe it’ll end with the entire thing being the dream of some autistic kid shaking a snow globe.

Whichever way, Rowling has spun a wonderful tale that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed thus far. I only hope she realizes what that tale is.

La Planète Des Singes

2007-07-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

I recently re-watched the Planet of The Apes movies and subsequently dreamt many of my loved ones were super-evolved apes. Most were chimpanzees. Few were gorillas. There were more orangutans that I would’ve expected from my subconscious, but not an inordinate amount.

In addition to my primate-riddled REM marvels, my long dormant love for Zira and Cornelius was rekindled. Also, for the first time I appreciated these films beyond their pure-cheese factor. And they hold up quite well as apocalyptic fables (except perhaps the final installment, but Paul Williams as an orangutan philosopher is one of those odd pleasures the world offers in infrequent measures).

I would happily attend any church that echoed those bomb hymns.

Three of Hearts: A Postmodern Family

2007-07-02T14:36:00.000-07:00

I strongly recommend this documentary.

Cameras follow Sam, Steven, and Samantha through eight years of their marriage. (Yes, the three of them are husband, husband, and wife). Detailing the births of their two children and the evolution of their relationships both within and outside the marriage, the normality of the family-driven drama is surprising.

This is not a movie driven by kinky sex and bizarre alternative lifestyles. It is simply a truthful exploration of the current states of gender, sexuality, family, and love. It deals with the basic truths we all share and our common search for meaning within the uncertainty of our modern world.

Thought-provoking, beautiful, and ultimately heart-breaking, I have never been so stirred by a documentary. Watch it soon.

Also:

It Looks Good On Him

2007-06-25T11:57:00.001-07:00

I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have Harrison Ford looking completely natural in his Indiana Jones getup. He doesn’t look like Grampy Indy – he looks like Indy. Plus with Shia LaBeouf, the incomparable John Hurt, and the recent cast addition of Jim Broadbent I am pleased to say I no longer have a single doubt about this movie.

Bring it on.

Letters From Paris

2007-06-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

This is not how a grown woman writes.

And Odd Ends

2007-06-23T09:21:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention that we had a driver (a Soviet Union escapee) who claimed to know the location of a secret Italian government tunnel. Only he, JFK, and the current Pope were privy to this information.

He implied JFK was still alive.

***
This was my favorite show on Italian television.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Tutti Nudi:

***
Also – the package artwork for The Office season three is no good.

Avete utilizzato un traduttore?

2007-06-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

The sky seems different to me every time I walk out of a foreign airport. I know it’s silly. It’s the same sky - its one of the few things we all share. But still, to me, it always looks different.

***
Cuckoos not only exist, but they sound exactly like their timepiece cousins. Unlike their wooden counterparts, the breathing cuckoo appears to have no concept of proper repetition as their calls come at irregular intervals (by human standards).

***
The Italian countryside is as though an ancient quilt of greens, yellows, and browns – tattered and torn, patched and re-patched, loved – were gently laid upon a slumbering elderly woman arthritic with time and age.

It also kinda reminds me of Naboo.

***
Gian Lorenzo Bernini owns our collective face. Honestly. His work is beyond any words I can string together. The thigh grab of The Rape of Proserpina, the rooting toes of Apollo and Daphne. Wow. Simply wow.

When in Florence we also visited Michelangelo’s David. No doubt Michelangelo’s version is beautiful and grand and certainly more famous, but for my Euros it doesn’t even compare to Bernini’s.

With David Bernini sculpted a truly haunting face. One my mind still finds inescapable. And though it is certainly a flawed sculpture, that only makes me love it more. Bernini sculpted the underdog in all his underdogging glory, and the few inconsistencies I noticed only exemplify that attitude.

While Michelangelo’s David has become Goliath (in both cultural appreciation and shear size), Bernini and his David stayed true to the beauty of the myth.

The time I spent in the Borghese is amidst the most precious of all my memories.

***
Hill town churches remind me of Geodes. Their shells are rough and gray; washed away by nature and war and tourism. In fact, their outsides are often so unimpressive that you enter with little expectation. Their innards, however, are intricately detailed and beautifully preserved.

Concealed gems spreading hatred.

***
Italy is dirty with lizards. They’re everywhere and it’s awesome.

***
I would’ve been friends with Saint Francis of Assisi (if he’d of had me).

***
I had the most delicious barley salad of my life in Florence.

I also had many gelatos (coconut being my favorite).

I like Coca-Cola Light more than Diet Coke.

***
I sat coach on the flight home. I never realized the horrors.

The woman next to me sobbed over that Will Smith & son movie. She also found Music and Lyrics hilarious. I don’t think her emotional condition was in a healthy state of control.

Ghost Rider is the worst movie I’ve ever seen.

***
Waitress is a really good.

You should see it.

Nathan Fillion.

(Serenity).

***

Elevated

2007-06-07T06:38:00.000-07:00

Elsewhere awaits my smiling face.

I shan’t be back for some time.

Until then – astronauts vs. cavemen.

Discuss.

That Big Game Show In The Sky

2007-05-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

Another iconic figure lost to pneumonia. I believed Charles Nelson Reilly would live forever.

Three Things To Ponder

2007-05-27T11:48:00.000-07:00

(Anyone who doesn't love Michael Cera is foolish.)

Absurd Logic

2007-05-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

It is our capacity for the unreasonable that makes us human. Beauty is not fundamental, but a derivative of language. My appreciation of a flower beyond its concrete functionally is how I recognize my uniqueness. Reason is natural; I am not.

Language is not the inherent evolution of communication, but the unnatural conclusion of a million stupid mistakes. Language is a fluke (and probably alone in the universe). We, as people, are nothing special – simply the next progression in a thousand editions. It is our position as the seemingly sole keeper of the extraordinary (language) that empowers us with right. All rights, in point of fact. Our ability to tangibly question is what grants us the world and the right to use it as we see fit.

I don’t like how we treat our world. I find it horrific. But it is our world and we can ruin it if we want. Our treatment of Earth is unreasonable and thusly justified.

In conclusion, ape philosophers have less to offer than Xenu.

Possible Epitaphs I’d Like On My Gravestone.

2007-05-23T12:41:00.000-07:00

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Though crude and unprofessional, he made a decent omelet.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Liked puppetry more than most.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Better than some.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Was.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
“Heaven is a flying gunship.” – Kevin Boyle

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Not Mexican.

Beloved.
(A little Toni Morrison humor for your graveyard enjoyment)

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Your shoes are ugly.
Seriously.
I can see them.
And you’re not pulling ‘em off
This isn’t a joke.
They’re ugly.
Go Away

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
You’re a faggot.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Beloved Son
Treasured Nephew
Dear Friend
Okay Brother

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Pro-Terrorism.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Desperately mundane and unoriginal.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Died in a bathtub while wearing his grandmother’s wedding dress.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
You should read more.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
“NAMBLA is more funny than disturbing” – Kevin Boyle

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
You did so many despicable and malicious things to me while I was alive. I remember them all and will never forgive you.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Only douchebags leave carnations.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
In the story of his own life he never amounted to more than guest-starring status.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
“Genetically engineered rats that glow in the dark would be pretty cool. I wish I had lived to see that” – Kevin Boyle

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Remember Steve Irwin?

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Jane Austen is overrated.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Beloved Sister
Devoted Friend
She saved the world a lot.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Fuck you for loving me.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
“I hope I come back as a vampire or a zombie or something” – Kevin Boyle

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
&
Uncle Vernon
18__ – April 16th 2018
Died Together.
Buried Together.
Together Forever.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Genuinely enjoyed those joke-prop popping ice cream cone things.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Knew how to change a flat tire thanks to Josh Herr.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Never ate pot.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Things & Stuff.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Peer pressure is awesome.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Was raped by a drag queen behind a Dairy Delight dumpster.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Currently corpseified.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Wishing you were here.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
This might be your fault.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Never loved.
Universally loathed.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Proud member of the NRA

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Never belonged.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Boba Fett is lame.

Kevin Boyle
December 5th 1982 – April 16th 2018
Was steadfast in his belief that safety pins are a gift from god.

The End.

To An Okay Guy

2007-05-22T14:29:00.000-07:00

I usually start shopping for Father’s Day cards a month in advance. For not only am I severely picky with cards, but my father and I don’t share the fondest of affections.

It takes a great and mighty hunt to find, what I consider to be, a suitable card for any occasion. It is a truly taxing search; not meant for the weak or timid. Seriously - songs of my might and perseverance will be sung for generations.

I comb the card sections in grocery and convenience stores. I forage through bookstores. I seek out stationary boutiques. I travel to museum gift shops. If cards are for sale I find them. But alas, there is rarely a decent one to discover.

Father's Day is the most grueling of all searches.

The unattainable is what I seek.

For there is a fundamental flaw in greeting cards. A missing piece of the puzzle.

Cards do not cater to the strained relationships.

Father’s Day cards depict sentiments of something my father and I don’t share. Their insides read “to the greatest man ever” or “to a truly wonderful man”.

My father is not an idiot. Far from it. And while I no longer believe him to be the ghoul I once imagined, he plainly knows I do not consider him to be the epitome what procreated XYers offer.

Why can’t a card simply say “to an okay guy” or “I think you’re decent”. Who decreed cards must leave the recipient in diabetic shock?

I blame Julia Roberts.

In the end I usually write “happy father’s day” in a blank card.

For Taylor

2007-05-21T14:04:00.000-07:00

In this order or don’t bother.

1 – William Goldman’s The Princess Bride
2 – Ursula K. Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea
3 – Brian K Vaughan’s Y: The Last Man Vol. 1: Unmanned
4 - Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop
5 – Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman
6 – Margaret Atwood’s Surfacing
7 – Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House
8 – Roald Dahl’s Someone Like You
9 & 10 – L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz directly followed by (don’t even pause) Gregory Maguire’s Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

If you've read any of these we'll go back to the drawing board.

Grace Lee Whitney

2007-05-19T11:56:00.001-07:00

Reese's Peanut (Ranunculus)

2007-05-18T12:48:00.001-07:00

Writers gleeful about language make me smile. Not that their language is necessarily chock-full of glee. Their composition-induced merriment often lurks right beneath the surface (subglee). They simply write with a refreshingly silly skew of tongue and that tickles me.

Daniel Handler (Lemony Snicket) is a good example (if a tad juvenile), as is Angela Carter (though hers is veiled behind entrails, demons, and rape).

I picture these people chuckling (in unison with the click-a-tee-clack of type) behind their antique and intricately-geared polished typewriters. Also, for some reason, they’re drinking Sprite mixed with Maraschino cherry juice (chilled in crushed ice).

I’m currently reading The Princess Bride (William Goldman’s good parts version of S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure). Goldman is another prime example of a gleeful writer. His prose is teeming with the odd, off-beat, asinine and that indefinable allure that exists beyond the words.

It’s a wonderful and beautiful fairytale for fairytale lovers.

I always thought the movie verged on greatness, but was left to sniff the exalted dust of greater 80s fantasy films (Return to Oz and Labyrinth to name a two). But unlike the movie, the book does everything perfectly. It submerges itself in what the film almost was – a satirical, sarcastic, quirky, adult fable that plays with words, language, preconceptions, and motifs.

Its fun and its pretty and you won’t find it in the children’s section.

It is the ideal book to read in a tree.

I strongly recommend it. Especially for Josh and Taylor (though for completely dissimilar motives).

Remember Remember

2007-05-16T16:08:00.000-07:00

Seventeen Years Later

2007-05-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

Babette Ate Oatmeal

2007-05-15T12:54:00.000-07:00

In a telescape heaving with republicans torturing foreigners, emo-haircut victims in jeopardy of exploding, space refuges fleeing evil robot persecution, and magnet induced crash victims regularly flashbacking to their most painful memories, where is the I Love Lucy? Mary Tyler Moore? Northern Exposure? Friends?

They were all in Gilmore Girls, where for one hour every Tuesday we could escape to the whimsically wacky Stars Hollow.

Where a town full of crazies loved each other even when they hated each other. Where a town troubadour sang relevance. Where a girl shoplifted cornstarch after her first kiss. Where a dog was named Paul Anka.

Tonight we say goodbye to Gilmore Girls, which was a much cherished and much needed televised sanctuary. So desperately necessary because current TV is so very heavy.

The characters in our hour-longs are in constant and extreme danger. Everyone is getting shot or crying about a doctor or cheating on their husband. And our cowboys curse like sailors.

Dirty, dirty sailors.

Even our sitcoms are depressing. Jam and Dwangela are trapped in florescent flushed cubicles and not-a-one of the characters on 30 Rock seem to have a shred of human decency. Earl and Scrubs are full of harsheties and life lessons. Weeds is about lies and drug dealing. Entourage is about greed and LA. Curb is about Larry David.

Donald Trump has a reality show.

Wow.

We’ve become cold, distrustful, sardonic adrenaline junkies. Death, guns, murder, sex, lawyers, betrayal, radiation, abuse, drugs, money, and booze placate our disgusting, gluttonous appetites.

But Gilmore Girls was never driven by any of that. It didn’t matter what boys the Lorelais happened to be dating. It doesn’t matter if Lorelai ends up with Luke tonight (even though she will).

It was never about the drama.

It was about love.

It was about the place we all want to live. It was about the people we all want to know. And for me it was about the person I hope to be.

Gilmore Girls was about words, and pop-culture, and character.

It was about love.

And it was safe.

Gilmore Girls was our last best fairytale.

And I fear it was the final flicker of a dying breed. Gone forever (or a least for a while) are the Cicelys and Stuckeyvilles and Stars Hollows. Apparently there isn’t any room for an hour of love, whimsy, and feelgoodery.

Don Knotts is dead; we killed him.

I will miss the stupidity of Kirk and I will miss how safe Stars Hollow made me feel.

Thank you, Gilmore Girls, for six wonderful seasons and a single mediocre one.

Goodbye my friend.

Anaximander Says Progress

2007-05-14T13:59:00.000-07:00

This dream is not dead. It is simply ripening.

Like me, this idea is a work in progress.

I’ll write more about it when I have more to say. Until then I think I’m gonna keep One Lump Sum alive as my personal blog (which for me means bitching in type).

You heard right - I am coming out of blogging retirement.

Alert all.

A Delay Slightly

2007-03-28T12:39:00.000-07:00

With a little finger-crossing phase two will be in full effect by next Sunday.

Sorry for the procrastination.

-Kevin

Plan B

2007-03-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

So that didn’t work. It should’ve, but it didn’t.

You must be thinking “but he got a bid for $6000.” And you would be right my clever reader. I did get a bid – a single bid from an eBay member by the name of cindyliu2000. But there are forces in this world, lovely reader, dark and evil forces. Cindyliu2000 is one of those sinister forces and we must vanquish her.

You see, vivacious reader, after the bid ended I received a message from Cindyliu2000. This message read “sorry i dont have enough money.” If you are like me, handsome reader, you must be wondering why she would bid on an auction knowing she didn’t have the funds to pay. She wasn’t, after all, simply bidding on a run-of-the-mill auction – she was supporting my dream. Why would Cindyliu2000 do something as awful as this?

The only answer I have for you, glamorous reader, is that Cindyliu2000 is a cruel and inhuman beast. Or possibly a Nazi.

Yes, probably a Nazi.

Seriously though, cindyliu2000 is a true seaward if I’ve ever known one. Feel free to contact her through eBay and tell her such.

But fear not, intrepid reader, for I haven’t given up hope.

Some good did come out of this first failed attempt. I got some press, the eBay auction got 10,000 viewers in 10 days, and this tiny blog entertained nearly five times the amount of spectators the eBay auction did. Not too shabby.

So please, come back and visit. This little auction/trek/thing will be moving into phase two on:

Month: March
Day: Wednesday the 28th
Year: 2007

And you are cordially invited to bid.

Phase two will involve my things being sold off individually or in similar groupings rather than one lump sum. In addition to all of my stuff, I will also be auctioning off my time.

Yes, you can buy me and my stuff.

There will be 16 seperate buy-it-now auctions in which you will be able buy my services. Each auction will be a bid for a week of my time. I’m hoping some business owners will see this and purchase me as a temporary employee. In this way they get me (a hard-working and attractive young man if I’ve ever known one) and I get to explore possible job opportunities (as I’m rather directionless right now).

So please, come back and visit.

This is far from over.

-Kevin

Three Minutes To Go

2007-03-21T11:08:00.000-07:00

Scary.

-Kevin

A Bid and Some Radio

2007-03-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

I have my first bid! Let the bidding wars begin.

Also, keep your ears and eyeballs peeled cause I’ve been showing up all over the place. The AP picked up the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette piece and that’s been making the rounds.

Radio has been a thing too. Hometown Tales, KDKA, Lynn Cullen, and some Canadian station have highlighted my auction/trek. Apparently I’ve also been showing up as a tiny, tiny segment on some televised news. I’m pretty much a celebrity. I’m gonna throw an awesome celebrity party and invite James Spader and Sarah Vowell and Pat Robertson and Harrison Ford.

Nicole Addeo has also featured me on her blog – so that should really bring the traffic (sarcasm written with love).

Thanks to all.

Except you.

You get no thanks.

- Kevin

I’m Front Page News?

2007-03-17T09:59:00.000-07:00

Apparently so.

Hmm. Whodahthunket.

Check it out here and you'll notice that I'm not wearing shoes.

- Kevin

An Update! Wow! Its Gonna Be Terrific!

2007-03-16T11:17:00.000-07:00

Hello again hardy reader!

The response to my oversized and life-altering eBay sale has been utterly gosh-wow. While my little adventurous auction hasn’t made colossal media-waves, it has managed to create a few unexpected ripples.

You can check out a piece on me in today’s Bucks County Courier Times written by Kate something-or-other. And this morning I had a reporter and photographer from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette over at my place doing their journalisticy thing – so keep an eye out for that.

I’d also like to comment on two reoccurring e-mail topics:

1. I am not your soul mate. I appreciate the attention and sentiment, but I have no soul (hence no mate of soul). Feel free to keep on sending me those confessions of your true and undying love – because they’re quite the ego stroke – but please don’t start planning our 50th wedding anniversary... unless you’re rich. Then we’re totally meant to be together.

2. I may need professional psychiatric help – that’s always a possibility, but you’re e-mail correspondence is not going to convince me to seek any out. Stop trying.

That’s about it on this end.

Please go bid.

Or tell someone to go bid.

Do something.

- Kevin

Odds 'N Ends

2007-03-12T19:18:00.000-07:00

As you know, I’m selling everything I own.

Here are some updates about stuff.

Two gregarious and charismatic men named Gene and Bryan from Hometown Tales mentioned me in their delightful radioshow. You should check them out at www.hometowntales.com. They talk about me in episode 144.

I’ve also been featured on a little website called www.OutrageousEbayAuctions.com. Hometown Tales is better.

I’ve had multiple requests for my address. People wanting to send me postcards of places to visit or a couple bucks or whatnot. All of that (very much appreciated) fun can be sent to:

Kevin Milhous Boyle
366 Stratford Ave Apt 1B
Pittsburgh PA, 15232

I had one inquiry as to what the plate settings look like. They look like this:

Thanks for the interest and support! It does not go unnoticed.

Please go bid.

- Kevin

The Links and The Pictures

2007-03-11T12:20:00.000-07:00

Here is the link to the auction -

Everything I own on ebay

Here is the link to the pictures (40 in all) -

Now go bid.

-Kevin

The Beginning

2007-03-10T10:15:00.000-08:00

Dear gentle and hygienic reader,

My name is Kevin and I want to sell you everything I own.

You see - I want drive around the continental United States of America for 180 days. That goal necessitates money. Help me realize my goal.

Once upon a time I was interesting. At least to myself I was. I had stories to tell, and they amused me. I sat on hills and visited railroads and flew to Chicago just to see sharks in tanks. I laughed and yelled and enjoyed. And then I was here. Stuck in the birthplace of zombies and Warhol. The home of Mr. Rogers and the Steelers.

Now I’m paid far too little to stare at monitors displaying aged programming. I no longer laugh and I don’t tell stories. My sleep is distressed knowing I’ll wake.

A few days ago my dog died.

I hate it here.

I want to leave.

Help me.

Buy everything I own.

Come Sunday March 11th in the year of our Lord two thousand and seven – I will place all that I have on and eBay auction. Check back here for that link tomorrow.

You, like all truly patriotic Americans, want cool things. Lots and lots of cool things. Stuff is beautiful and tangible and real. Why wouldn’t you want it?

I have really neat stuff. Not to appear too conceited, but my stuff is really, really great. Totally great. Great beyond compare - vintage fans and Astroturf sampling books and 1950s televisions and Dunkin’ Donuts rugs. Grade ‘A’stuff.

I will sell you everything I own. All of it. The complete package. In one lump sum.

And then I will adopt a canine companion and drive around the country. I’ll be Steinbeck... without the talent.

You’ll love this stuff. Seriously. I love this stuff. There’s a new flat screen TV and a TiVo and Lucite chairs and DVDs and a kick-ass West Virginia Glass collection (it totally beats Gibble’s). And it can all be yours. Please. Let it be yours.

I don’t know if I’m running away from something old or towards something new. I just know I have to do it. Please help me.

I want to be me again.

Fondly,

Kevin

In addition/To Clarify:

This isn’t about me not wanting my stuff. I love my things – deeply and truly. Honestly, I’m the most materialistic person I know. But the idea of not experiencing this potentially idiotic adventure genuinely scares me.

I’m selling my stuff as the lesser of two evils (either not having my lovely things or not traveling around the country while I’m still young enough to do so). Please do not confuse this action some Buddhist bull of shedding my worldly possessions.

I just want to drive around.