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Monthly Archives: April 2017
Daily Discussion with BQB – Child Actors Need Help
Hey 3.5 readers.
BQB here. As you know, I am involved in a number of noble causes, ranging from the Oscars So Pretty Movement (we will not rest until Steve Buscemi brings home the gold) to finding a cure for Lightning Infused Toaster Pastry Toilet Death (we will find a cure).
I’m also going to throw my hat into a new ring. Let’s do what little we can to help child actors.
I mean, there’s very little I can do as I am not a Hollywood mogul or anything. But perhaps I can at least raise awareness amongst my 3.5 readers.
TMZ reports that at the time of her passing, Erin Moran, who played Joanie on Happy Days, was living in an Indiana trailer park.
That sucks. And I’m not going to speculate about how she got there. I have no idea about the journey that took her from child star to living in a trailer park.
What I have seen, in general, as a lifelong watcher of TV and observer of pop culture, is that all too often, child stars grow up thinking they’ve got it made, that America loves them as kids and pretty soon, they’ll be adults and they’ll crossover into being the lead in big time films, making lots of money and earning praise and adoration from legions of fans.
Sometimes, in the case of say, Leonardo DiCaprio, it works out that way.
More often, in the case of say, Macauley Culkin, it doesn’t work out that way.
This could be for a variety of reasons but I believe the number one reason is this: that a kid was adorable as a kid doesn’t mean they are going to grow up to become a good looking adult.
Most kids are cute. And some, just like those scrunchy faced pug dogs, are so ugly they’re cute…when they’re little. Macauley Culkin nailed his role in Home Alone as a little boy who is wise beyond his years and manages to outfox two bumbling burglars.
But, adult Macauley Culkin as a leading man in a Hollywood film? Maybe if the right film were to come along but otherwise…not so much.
Child stars becoming adult stars happens, but not often enough, and sadly, it all depends on looks. Scarlett Johansson started out as a child star, appearing as a kid in films like Just Cause and The Horse Whisperer. When she grew up, she turned into a hot babe and thus her career as an actress skyrocketed.
Meanwhile, who can even tell me the name of that little kid with the glasses in Jerry Maguire?
Sadly, Hollywood is a looks based industry. That you were once a cute little kid doesn’t mean you’ll end up as a hot adult. And sure, there might be some niche parts you might find but overall, many child actors have a tough time when they reach adulthood.
Some play it smart. Some find a way to work in some kind of behind the scenes role in the entertainment industry. The kid who played Chunk in the Goonies, for example, grew up to be a respectable entertainment lawyer. Jason Hervey, who played Kevin’s older brother on The Wonder Years, became a producer.
Sure, child actors ought to try to see if their youthful stardom can translate into adult success. But after awhile, if they’ve put their bait out in the Hollywood sea and no one’s biting, they need to be content that they had a good run and then search for a more practical way to make a living.
I know that’s easier said than done. I can only imagine what a tremendous disappointment it must be to be on top of the world as a kid only to have no one return your calls as an adult. You thought you had it made in the shade and now everyone is throwing you shade. I’m sure that’s a depressing situation that can lead to epic sadness, humiliation, drugs, drinking, and so on.
I assume part of the issue is money. Some of these kids have parents who manage their money well. Others, not so much. Perhaps there should be greater oversight as to what happens to the money of child actors. Then again, it’s not like the government can worry about that what with all the other problems it has.
Perhaps some studio representative should sit the kids down when they are in their teens and say, “Hey, just because this works out today, doesn’t mean it’s going to keep working tomorrow.” Get them working on an exit plan and on the path to supporting themselves in the event studios don’t want to give them the time of day after their 18th birthday.
There is one thing we can do as a society and that is, don’t bust on child stars who don’t continue with adult stardom. Child stars who grow up, can’t find acting work, can’t find a behind the scenes job in entertainment, have every right to support themselves, so they should be encouraged to find any kind of ordinary, humdrum job that will support them without feeling embarrassment or shame.
In other words, if one day you enter your local burger joint and find your favorite child star all grown up and flipping burgers, just accept the burger and walk away. No need to point or gawk or stare or write a snarky post about how that child star became a loser. Maybe they aren’t a loser. Maybe they are brave for getting up and carrying on everyday, supporting themselves in a regular way and learning to cope with disappointment and feelings of “what could have been.”
I have a feeling that public ridicule, i.e., “That child star just flipped my burger ha ha ha” is a big reason why child stars who can’t catch a break in Hollywood when they grow up don’t pursue traditional jobs to support themselves. We normals can’t do anything to help adult ex-child stars get Hollywood jobs, but we can control ourselves and not be dicks when those ex-child stars seek traditional employment.
Anyway, that’s my 3.5 cents, 3.5 readers.
RIP Erin Moran
Sad news in the entertainment world, 3.5 readers, as Erin Moran, who played Joanie on Happy Days and the spinoff, Joanie Loves Chachie, has passed away at 56.
Too early, 3.5 readers. Too early. As I said with Charlie Murphy, everyone should get at least 100 years guaranteed.
TV Review – Mystery Science Theater: The Return (2017)
Lousy old time science fiction movies! Snarky robots!
BQB here with a review of Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Return.
Big time nostalgia factor for me here, 3.5 readers. When the original MST3K film came out in the 1990s, my buddies and I watched it over and over again. Oh, how we laughed and laughed. We used to run around quoting lines like, “Science! Men with screwdrivers! Twisting things…and turning them!”
Ahh, you had to be sentient in the 1990s to get it.
Hmm…now I think I realize why I ended up as a lowly blog proprietor with only 3.5 readers.
Anyway, if you’ve never checked it out before, now’s your chance. It’s back, this time with a series on Netflix. Oh, Netflix. Is there anything you won’t green light?
The premise is basically the same as the original. A human is trapped in a space lair of some sort, forced by an evil villain to watch terrible old science-fiction movies for hours on end, supposedly as part of some study of how the brain operates while watching crappy movies.
The majority of the show is devoted to the human, Jonah Ray (Jonah Heston) and robot sidekicks Crow and Tom Servo, watching these horrendous films and busting on them with reckless abandon. When you watch, you’ll see the film in your screen, with just three little shadows of the hecklers in the lower right hand side.
The movies are awful, old, poorly thrown together, devoid of any kind of decent plot, and usually suffer from a combination of laziness and a lack of special effects technology, because, you know, they were made a long time ago. Also, they’re often foreign. At any rate, there’s a strong chance that but for MST3K, you would have never have even heard of any of these films, that’s how bad they are.
The movie is broken up with Jonah and his bot buddies in various segments, doing interesting, wacky things. Noted Internet nerds Felicia Day and Patton Oswalt star as Kinga Forrester and TV’s Son of TV’s Frank (crazy name), the villains who are keeping Jonah and the bots captive.
The segments are produced with low quality, low budget effects, assumably to mock the films that are being watched, but more likely because the studio didn’t want to shell out the cash.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. It may be that when I was younger, I had a less discerning sense of humor. Or maybe the original movie was great and then other versions, i.e. the 1999 show, the web show, or this Netflix show, are just attempts to recreate the glory of one very awesome film.
Maybe the 1990s were just a happier time where people weren’t as jaded and thus they laughed easier.
Maybe the big joke behind the concept was original then, but now it’s sort of played out.
I’ve only watched part of the first episode, Reptilicus, thus far. In this one, the boys heckle what is essentially the 1960’s Dutch version of Godzilla. It’s about as 1960s as you can get, complete with male scientists being surprised that women might know anything about science.
Much to my surprise, Erin Gray, aka Kate Summers aka Ricky Schroeder’s step-mom on the 1980s sitcom Silver Spoons, has a cameo. I know. I am ashamed of myself for knowing who she was. Still, for a broad in her late sixties, she looks pretty good. I would watch shitty movies with her anytime.
Overall, it’s a fun distraction and something to put on when you want to be entertained but don’t want to expend a lot of brain power. It’s also a fun exercise to see what movies used to be and how far along they have come.
Moreover, it’s a tribute to the olden days, a time when networks would actually try to keep you entertained between commercials. Local TV stations would often run a movie, then have some kind of weird character introduce it and talk about it between the commercials. I mean, so I’ve heard. I’m not that frigging old.
At some point we learned that the movies should not suck of their own accord and that a host shouldn’t have to keep the movie interesting.
STATUS: It’s fun. One issue is that the movies are, you know, long movies, so the episodes often run like an hour and a half. That’s a big time commitment but hey, in true Internet style, if you put it up there, someone will check it out. 3.5 someones in my case.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 19
At sixty-three years young, Maude Fleming was Cole’s trusty right hand. She typed, dispatched, took messages, cooked, cleaned, sewed – she did it all. She was never without her old, tattered gray sweatshirt. She wore that mess for so long that no one was able to remember her wearing anything else. Meanwhile, she’d given up the battle with her hair a long time ago, opting to wear a blue baseball cap instead.
Maude was live streaming Network News One’s wall-to-wall coverage of the Countess Cucamonga murder and crocheting a mitten at the same time. Knitting mittens was one of her favorite pastimes. In theory, it made her happy. In reality, the mittens were useless. She had hundreds of pairs at home. Occasionally, she’d give them out as gifts but seeing as how she lived in Florida, no one really had any use for them.
A cigarette dangled out of Maude’s mouth. Pieces of ash fell into her yarn but she didn’t pay them any mind. She just kept working her needles.
Around dawn, an exhausted Cole stumbled through the door of the rundown Sitwell Police Department building.
“Long night, Chief?” Maude asked with her raspy smoker’s voice without taking her eyes off of her mitten.
“Ergh,” Cole grunted.
“That bad, huh?” Maude asked.
“Harumph,” Cole replied.
Cole walked on over to the coffee machine and fumbled with the filter. Maude jumped out of her chair, put down her mitten, and gently guided her boss away from the machine.
“I’ll get that,” Maude said. “You take a load off.”
Cole rubbed his bloodshot eyes and headed for his office. “Thanks.”
Walking into the Chief’s office was like stepping into a rustic hunting lodge. High up on the wall behind the desk were three mounts, the heads of a grizzly bear, a large antlered buck, and a lion that he bagged while he was on a safari vacation.
Cole put both legs up on his desk, then turned on his radio. The dial had been set on one and one station alone for twenty years – WRDNK aka, “The Redneck – Grover County’s Number One Country Western Station.”
As luck would have it, Cole’s favorite song was playing again:
“Will I drink myself to death?
Because without her, I got nothin’ left.
Will I ever rev my life up to full throttle?
I doubt it, cuz without her, all I got is the bottle…”
Cole opened up an old cigar box on his desk. He pulled out a good stogie, chomped off the end, then spit it into the trash barrel. He lit up and puffed away.
The Chief relaxed in his chair, allowing his personal sense of ennui to flush through his body. He’d learned long ago it was easier to embrace the sadness and let it run its course rather than try to pretend its not there like the rest of the world usually does.
Minutes later, Maude bursted through the Chief’s door. Her appearance startled Cole, because for the first time ever, there was a plastic tube up her nose. It was attached to a small, portable oxygen tank that the old lady carried by a handle held by her left hand. In her right hand, she carried a cardboard box with a notebook balanced on top.
“What the hell?” Cole asked.
“What the hell, what?” Maude asked.
Cole pointed to the tube in Maude’s nose. “What the hell, that!”
“Oh,” Maude said as she set her tank and cardboard box down on the Chief’s desk. “My doctor says my lungs are no good. I’m not getting enough oxygen, on account of all the smoking.”
Cole puffed on his cigar, then pulled it out of his mouth. “Then what the hell are you smoking for?”
Maude shrugged her shoulders. “What? I’m going to quit down? Screw that. The time to quit was twenty years ago. Now I might as well enjoy it until I die.”
Cole coughed and choked at the same time when he heard that news. “You’re dying?”
“We’re all dying, hon,” Maude said. “I can’t imagine I’ll be around a whole helluvalot longer with this condition but no one’s put an expiration date on me yet.”
Cole breathed a little easier. “Thank God.”
“Why?” Maude asked. “You’d miss me or something?”
Cole flashed a rare smile. “Nah. It’s just, who would get my coffee?”
“What I wouldn’t give to have a time machine so that I could go tell my younger self to give up smoking for good,” Maude said. The old lady and the young man then had a stare off, until Cole gave in and stumped out his cigar into an ashtray.
“Anyway,” Maude said as she flipped open her notebook. “Enough sentimentality. The phone’s been ringing off the hook. You’ve gotten so many calls that I have half a mind to ask for a raise.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Maude,” Cole said. “See if the town will give me one while, you’re at it.”
“Apparently everyone has flipped their lids over this Countess Cooky-Booky, Wooky-Nooky, whatever the hell her name is. The famous girl with the fat ass,” Maude said.
“Right,” Cole said.
“I’ve got a call from the Mayor asking for a status report on the investigation,” Maude said.
“Tell him to look for it up the deepest, darkest regions of his cavernous asshole,” Cole replied.
Maude jotted repeated a more diplomatic response as she jotted it down in her notebook with a pencil. “The Chief is working diligently on the matter and there are no new developments at this time.”
The old lady read another message. “The Sheriff would also like an update.”
“It’s also up his ass,” Cole said.
“The Chief is always happy to collaborate with other law enforcement agencies and will gladly update you when he has new information,” Maude said as she jotted the reply down.
“Come on, Maude,” Cole said. “Time’s a wastin’.”
“Tell me about it,” Maude said. “It seems like it was just yesterday I was able to shit without three different medications.”
“TMI,” Cole said.
“I’ve got a bunch of messages from wackos claiming to have tips on the killer,” Maude said. “One guy insists the killer is a space alien, but he sounded like he was calling from a bar. One guy says Elvis is alive and well and murdering people on the toilet. One woman who sounded like she was abusing one substance or another is sure that this is the handiwork of the government and that they’re trying to scare people into not using toilets. Something about a vast conspiracy against the toilet industry.
Maude tore out several pages of her notebook and plopped them on the Chief’s desk. “I don’t know. I’ll let you sort through all that B.S. I just take the messages.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cole said.
“Thirty calls from various federal officials,” Maude said. “Lab technicians, forensics analysts, investigators and so on. They’re all calling to let you know that they’ll be setting up shop here.”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “The FBI’s taking over. Just give them whatever they want.”
Maude closed her notebook. “Umm…”
“What?” Cole asked.
“I couldn’t help but notice they all said that if you have any questions, you should refer them to Agent Sharon Walker,” Maude said.
“Yup,” Cole said.
Maude shook her head. “God. That’s not good.”
Cole clasped his hands together behind his head and leaned back. “Eh, it’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Maude asked. “You nearly drank yourself to death when she left. Why, if I see that dirty, no-good skank I have half a mind to…”
“Just pay her no mind,” Cole said.
“Pay her no mind?” Maude asked.
“Ignore her,” Cole said. “I already saw her tonight.”
Maude gasped. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Cole said.
“I hope she got old and fat,” Maude said.
“Nope,” Cole said. “Looks better than ever.”
“Damn it,” Maude said.
“It was hard seeing her again,” Cole said. “But I got through it. I was a professional. I listened politely to her FBI bullshit. I’ll soldier through her being her until this thing is over and that’s all there is to it.”
“If it were me I’d tell her to go to hell,” Maude said. “What with everything she put you through.”
“Nope,” Cole said. “I didn’t mean anything to her. I’m not about to let her know she means anything to me.”
Maude sighed – loudly and discernibly, almost as if she were asking Cole to ask her about her sigh.
“What?” Cole asked.
“It’s none of my business,” Maude said.
“You’re right,” Cole said. “It isn’t.”
“But women always know,” Maude said. “Men try to hide things, but women always know, and sometimes a woman will use that to a man’s disadvantage.”
Cole smiled again. Most of his smiles were reserved for Maude these days. “I will try not to let that shatter my faith in the female of the species, Maude.”
“Good,” Maude said as she opened up the cardboard box. Inside, there was a homemade cake. It appeared to be the product of several hours’ worth of work. The white icing had been meticulously applied, with blue trim around the sign. Written in red icing on the top were the words, “Happy 40th, Chief.”
“Oh shit,” Cole said as he glared at the cake. “I was hoping no one would remember.”
“Why the hell would you hope for that?” Maude asked.
“Because I don’t want to remember,” Cole said. “Jesus Christ, Maude, I can remember being a young buck like it was yesterday. Thought I’d be on the top of the world by now but here I am, babysitting my ex-wife while she investigates the murder of some girl with a fat ass.”
Maude laughed. “Well, you know they say life isn’t about the destination. It’s about the journey.”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “Find the guy who put that in a fortune cookie and tell him to…”
“Shove it up his ass?” Maude said. “Got it.”
Cole looked at the cake again. “It’s very nice, Maude. Thank you.”
Maude headed for the door. “Yeah, well. Taking care of you is a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. I’ll get your coffee.”
Cole took another peek at the cake. As he looked closer, he noticed little pieces of cigarette ash in the frosting. He chuckled, then closed the box. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to eat it anyway. The fewer reminders of his forty years on the planet, the better.
Along the right hand side of the wall, there was a tall metal gun cabinet. Cole found the key for it on his ring and opened it. Shotguns. Rifles. Handguns. He was well stocked.
He reached into the bottom of the cabinet and pulled out a bright orange box. He set it on his desk and unlocked it as well. He then opened it up to reveal one of the biggest revolvers on the planet, the Angry Barracuda .500 Caliber. Better known as, “the Hunter’s Helper,’ it was heavy, but the weight felt good in Cole’s hand. The barrel was long. The bullets were enormous.
The piece had been designed as a backup sidearm for hunters whose rifles had jammed. No one wants to be staring down an angry beast with a bum rifle and not another gun to reach for. The force it brought was so powerful that it knocked Cole on his ass the first time he used it at the local gun range years earlier.
“Oh boy,” Maude said as she returned with her oxygen tank in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. “You’re playing with your big gun. This can’t be good.”
“Everything’s fine,” Cole said. “It’s just at times like these, I feel like shooting something.”
“Well,” Maude said. “As long as you’re not drinking anything, it’s fine by me.”
Maude left the office. Cole put the gun back in its box, then locked it up in the cabinet. He returned to his chair and rolled up the right leg of his pants to reveal a prosthetic leg. The flesh of his real leg ended just below the knee. The stub was secured in a metal socket. The prosthetic itself was metal connected to a hard plastic foot inside his shoe.
Cole removed his stub from the socket and propped the prosthetic up against his desk. He then rubbed his aching knee.
The Chief was exhausted after a long night. He closed his eyes and was about to drift off to sleep when his cell phone rang. He pulled his old flip phone out of his pocket.
“Hello?”
“Cole!” came the surly voice of Mayor Dufresne. “Why in tarnation is my town all over the news? You think anyone’s gonna wanna do business in a town where people are getting killed while they’re sitting on the shitter?”
“Wrong number,” Cole said.
“Don’t you wrong number me, you son of a bitch,” the Mayor said. “Now I wanna have a big pow wow with Floyd and see if we can’t nip this thing in the bud. I been calling you at the station all night and I demand to know why you haven’t been returning my phone calls. I own your ass, Mister, and I will…”
“No hablo Ingles, Senor,” Cole replied. Flip. In that moment, Cole decided that he would never upgrade to a smart phone. Not only did he not need all of that Internet mumbo jumbo clouding his mind, but it was much more satisfying to hang up on an unwanted call with a flip than a swipe.
The land line on Cole’s desk rang this time. It was Maude.
“Chief? Got the Mayor on the line. Should I put him threw?”
“No,” Cole said. “Tell him he’s an asshole, then slam the phone down hard.”
“You’re not in because you’re working diligently on important law enforcement matters. Got it. ” Maude and Cole hanged up.
Ring! Another call on Cole’s desk phone. “Hello?”
“Chief?” Maude said. “Got a reporter on the line from Network News One. She identifies herself as quote, ‘A Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,’ unquote. She wants to know if you’ll be interviewed on air.”
“Tell her that her titties look lopsided,” Cole said.
“You’re not available at this time,” Maude said. “Got it.”
Click.
Cole leaned back in his chair. He cranked his radio loud. A new song was on. It wasn’t his favorite, but it was about a man who turned to drinking after his wife ran out on him so it worked in a pinch.
“Drownin the pain away,
Cuz I didn’t get to see my baby today.
Yeah, I’m drownin’ the pain away.
Oh, there’s gotta be a better way…”
Ring!
“Hello?”
“Chief,” Maude said. “It’s Rusty. He’d like a word. He sounds mad.”
“Tell him to blow it out his ass,” Cole said.
“The Chief is indisposed,” Maude replied. “Got it.”
Click.
Cole closed his eyes again.
Ring!
“Damn it!” Cole shouted out as he picked up his phone. “What?!”
“Well, hello to you to, Mr. Snooty Britches,” Maude said.
Cole rubbed his face. “Sorry Maude. Who is it now?”
“Bitchface McGee,” Maude said.
“Who?” Cole asked.
“Sharon,” Maude said.
“Oh,” Cole said.
“She wants to know if she can recruit some of your officers to canvass the college campus for clues,” Maude said.
“Sure,” Cole said. “As many as she needs.”
There was a brief pause.
“What?” Maude asked. “No snappy comeback?”
“No,” Cole said.
“You don’t want to tell her to blow anything out of her ass?” Maude asked.
“Nope,” Cole said.
Another pause.
“I’m worried about you,” Maude said.
“Don’t be,” Cole said.
“Your pushing all your emotions about her down and that’s going to get you started drinking again,” Maude said.
“Not gonna happen,” Cole said.
“So why the kid glove treatment with Miss Prissy Pants?”
Cole sighed. “Because it accomplishes nothing and I’ve wasted as much sorrow as I can on her. She’s a grown woman. She wanted out. She got out. End of story. I’ll treat her like any other suit the Feds want to jam down my throat.”
“Hmm,” Maude said. “OK then.”
Click.
Cole was frazzled. In the lower left hand drawer of his desk sat a flask, half-full with a perfectly aged scotch. It had been sitting there untouched for eight years. For a long time, Cole thought about throwing it away, but after awhile, he grew so proud of his ability to have it around without drinking it, that he just kept it.
But now, he figured he was cured of alcoholism. Surely, one little sip to calm his nerves wouldn’t hurt. He opened the drawer and unscrewed the top of the flask. Slowly, he raised it up to his mouth and then…
Ring!
Cole lowered his hand. He took a deep breath, then answered the phone. “Hello?”
“The Mayor again,” Maude said.
Cole’s face turned bright red as he shouted, “Tell him to blow it out his ass!”
Slam! Cole bashed the phone down on his desk. He looked at the flask in his hand and strongly considered guzzling the whole thing. Instead, he opened up the cardboard box and poured the booze all over the grim reminder that he’d been around for forty years. He then threw the flask and the cake into his trash can.
He needed a jolt. A took a big swig of the coffee Maude had brought him, only to choke and sputter. He coughed and coughed until one of Maude’s cigarette butts popped out of his mouth.
“Son of a bitch,” Cole said.
It was clear there was no peace to be had in his office. Cole reattached his leg and rolled down his pants leg. He returned to his gun cabinet and retrieved his orange gun box. He opened up the door and stormed past Maude.
“Where are you off to?” Maude asked as she worked on her mitten.
“I need to shoot something,” Cole said. “Hold my calls.”
“Will do, Chief,” Maude said.
Daily Discussion with BQB – Should College Tuition Be Free?
Happy Saturday 3.5 readers.
New York state recently became the first state in the nation to offer free tuition at all state schools. You can even move to New York and get free tuition but the only catch is that you must remain in New York for five years after graduation. If you leave before that, you have to pay the tuition back.
In other words, New York will give you free education, but the state government wants you to contribute to the state’s economy for five years.
It’s a good deal I wouldn’t have turned down at 18. Hell, if you’re 18 and have yet to sell your parents on the move to New York dream, this might do it. And five years after is fair. At worst, you have to stay there five years. If your dream job in another place comes your way in less than five years then hey, you’ll at least have your dream job that will allow you to pay the tuition back.
Let’s discuss the pros and cons of free tuition, 3.5 readers.
PRO: College has become ridiculously expensive. Meanwhile, the economy has been flushed down the crapper. While in the past, a college degree meant a guarantee of a good job, today’s graduates are competing in a world where everyone and their uncle has a degree and there are fewer jobs to go around.
In short, college has never been more expensive while a college degree has never been less relevant. Experience is what matters and if students can skip that job at McDonald’s to pay for college, then they can volunteer and intern at places relative to their true passion.
CON: Holy shit, the nation is 19 trillion dollars in debt already. Are we just going to keep borrowing and borrowing like some dumbass who can’t say no to a pre-approved credit card until this massive Ponzi scheme we call the American economy goes belly up?
Sure, I sympathize with the plight of the college student. However, don’t be convinced that the politicians and academic types got together to do a great, noble thing here.
A cynic, like myself, might note that higher education, has for years, been a Ponzi scheme of sorts. For years and years, those in charge of academia said, “Hey, we need a statue of some guy that used to teach here. Raise tuition! We need a big water fountain, we need fancier buildings, a new sports stadium, more computers, more this, more that, Professor So and So needs to be paid to take off three years so he can write a ten thousand page article that no one will read about the mating habits of the East Indian fruit bat! No problem! We’ll just raise tuition!”
And so, academics just got into the bad habit of tacking the price of whatever they wanted onto the backs of the students they proclaim to love and care about. And for a long time, that worked. College degrees meant something. Graduates got jobs. They paid off their student loan debt. The college gave students legitimacy, i.e. the right to say “I studied this field and now I deserve to work in it.” And then when the students got jobs, they paid the debt on the loans they took out for the privilege.
That scheme doesn’t work anymore. Now every waiting room for an open job is packed with like a hundred applicants, many with several more years worth of experience than the recent graduate. When people with twenty years of experience are looking for work, how can a twenty year old compete?
Graduates aren’t finding those good jobs anymore. Many aren’t finding any jobs. And so, they end up on Mom and Dad’s basement couch, saddled with student loan debt, wondering when their dreams will come true.
Where’s my point? My point is, the politicians who tanked the economy and the academics who never found something they didn’t want to charge off onto the backs of the students didn’t get together and say, “Hey, let’s fix this! The politicians should make the economy better so graduates can find jobs and the academics should tighten their belts so that college is cheaper.”
Nope. The politicians will still screw up the economy. The academics will still build glorious water fountains in their honor and pay Professor So and So to go study the mating habits of the East Indian fruit bat for three years. They just found a way to preserve the system. Now, instead of charging it all off on the student, they’ll charge it all off to the government instead.
True, you’ll still be charged an arm and a leg if you go to a big name fancy school. But the state colleges being free will at least mean there will always be a place where academics can generate all kinds of crazy expenses and they’ll still be paid for.
Meanwhile, state college students won’t have to pay for their degrees, which is fair, because no one is doing anything to fix the economy that renders so many college degrees useless these days.
Sorry. I channelled Uncle Hardass.
Free tuition. What say you, 3.5 readers?
Rap Philosophy – All I Need is a Big Booty Ho
The year? 2012.
The artist? 2 Chainz, a true revolutionary in that he made the world aware that he only needed two chains. He was too important to have only one chain, yet not so tacky that he needed a hundred chains. He just needed one more chain that the average man.
The song? The Birthday Song.
The important lyrics:
When I die, bury me inside that Gucci store
When I die, bury me inside that Louis store
All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho
All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho.
Crude? Certainly. Crass? Definitely. Groundbreaking? You bet.
Shakespeare? Fakespeare. Chaucer? Schmaucer. With these four lines, 2 Chainz proves to be one of the greatest bards of the English language.
3.5 READERS: But BQB! He’s just talking about material possessions and women with big butts.
Yes…and no.
Death. Ahh, the Grim Reaper eventually puts his icy hand on all over our shoulders. And so, all that Mr. Chainz asks is that when he dies, he is buried in a high end fashion store (Gucci or Louis).
He considers himself high end, a man worthy of the respect that wealthy shoppers give to luxury clothing labels. That’s how he wants to be remembered – as high end.
But he’s not dead yet. In life, and for as long as air fills his lungs, the man wants what is most important to him, namely, women with loose morals and copious derrieres. Big booty hoes make Mr. Chainz happy and he wishes to celebrate his birthday (the annual celebration of his life) by pursuing his great passion of fornicating with big booty hoes.
What the general public fails to realize is that getting the gift of a big booty ho on your birthday is a metaphor that could represent literally what is the most important pursuit in anyone’s life. When you hear Mr. Chainz say, “All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho” you should hear, “All I want for my birthday is to pursue the most important activity in my life.”
3.5 readers, what is your big booty ho? For 2 Chainz, his big booty ho actually was a big booty ho.
For me, my big booty ho is writing. All I want for my birthday is a seven figure book publishing deal. Although, to be honest, I wouldn’t turn down a big booty ho either.
What’s your big booty ho? Is it music? Art? Sports? Photography? Hiking? Tennis? Basketball? Needlepoint? Cooking? Fancy dining? Travel?
Maybe the big booty ho isn’t an activity but a dream. A goal. 2 Chainz’s goal is to get down with a big booty ho. Maybe you dream of becoming an Olympic athlete, or a broadway star, or the next start up company billionaire. Whatever it is, you must pursue and grab hold of the gigantic butt cheeks of your big booty ho before it is too late and you are left all alone, with nary a big booty ho in sight.
Whatever your personal big booty ho is, I hope you pursue it. And if you ever lose sight of your big booty ho, I hope that you will remember to keep chasing that big booty ho on your birthday. Birthdays are fun days to celebrate our life, but they also keep us humble and remind us that that clock is ticking, and there’s one less year to chase that big booty ho that is eluding us.
Tell me about your big booty ho in the comments, 3.5 readers.
Movie Review – The Promise (2017)
Romance! War! Fezes! So many fezes.
BQB here with a review of The Promise.
In the waning days of the Ottoman Empire, a love triangle forms between Armenian medical student Mikael (Oscar Isaac or “Poe Dameron” as Star Wars fans know him), American journalist Chris Myers (Christian Bale), and French Armenian artist Ana (Charlotte Le Bon).
Both men yearn for Ana’s heart (and cooter) but there’s much more evil doings afoot. The Ottoman Empire becomes Germany’s ally in World War I. Now stronger than ever thanks to their German benefactors, the Turkish majority army sets its sights on the country’s Armenian minority. Armenians are savagely executed, brutalized, rounded up, sent off to forced labor camps and so on.
Although the film is a love story and a war story, it’s much more than any of that. As far as I know (and perhaps historians/film buffs can prove me wrong), it’s the best, most compelling story of the Armenian Genocide, a horrific chapter in Turkey’s history that should be more well known to the world than it is.
As the film states, the French Navy was able to rescue 4,000 Armenians. However, a staggering 1.5 million Armenians were killed. To this day, the Turkish government denies that the Armenian Genocide ever happened. This sucks, especially since Turkey is a NATO ally.
It’s an Oscar-ish movie, though I doubt it will see any gold statues as it was released too early in the year. Oscar Isaac gets to shine in a non-comic book/sci-fi movie. Bale is an impressive adventurer/man of the world. Le Bon puts the filling in my Crepe Suzette and is so beautiful that you almost can’t blame Chris and Mikael for stopping periodically during the war to vie for Ana’s hand (and cooter).
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. A must see and it is a movie that does the world a service by shining a light on a tragic part of history.
Daily Discussion with BQB – The Unicorn Frappuccino Barista Freaks Out
Um, I’d point out that some seventy-five years or so ago, kids this age didn’t freak out this hard when they had to storm Omaha Beach to take France back from the Nazis but then I’d sound like a super old person and I’m trying my best not to do that.
Apparently this Starbucks drink is pretty popular, so popular that it drove this barista nuts. Have any of you 3.5 readers tried it? If so, tell me what you think.
BQB vs. Monsters – The Best Way to Start Your Day is to Punch a Shark in the Face
You see a shark. I see a punchable face.
Hey 3.5 readers.
You all know that I’m a champion yeti fighter, but did you also know that I am an accomplished shark face puncher?
There’s nothing quite like it really. Very exhilarating.
Every morning I wake up and before I shower or shave or even have a cup of coffee, I leave BQB HQ, swim out into the middle of East Random Lake (East Random Town’s largest body of water) and I punch anywhere between five and seven sharks right in the face.
I’d recommend it, but I can’t, because my attorney advises me not to, you know, because of the 101% virtual certainty that this activity will lead to you being eaten by a shark and being turned into shark poop.
So you know what? Don’t punch a shark in the face. Just live vicariously through me, knowing that I’m starting my days by punching many sharks in their respective faces.
Look, I’m putting myself at great personal risk by even telling you this. Sharks have Internet. You think they don’t because they’re underwater but they do. They eat like a hundred people a day so if you do the math, that means they have thousands and thousands of cell phones.
And because the owners of those phones have been turned into shark poop, the sharks are able to use their phones and not pay any Wi-Fi bills until the owners’ plans run out.
I know I only get 3.5 readers but you never know, a shark could see that I am bragging about punching them in their stupid faces and they could get mad and have themselves shipped into big water tanks all the way to BQB HQ for the sole purpose of eating me and turning me into shark poop.
Do you know how hard it would be for me to blog as a BQB shaped piece of poop?
It would not be easy, let me tell you.
So anyway. That’s how I start every day, 3.5 readers.
How do you start your days? (Again, hopefully not by punching sharks. Leave that to a professional, like yours truly. This blog and its proprietor will not be held liable if you try to punch and/or do anything with or go anywhere near a damn shark).
But seriously, what normal, non-shark punching related things do you do to start your day?
Tell me all about it in the comments.
Bookshelf Battle 