I know that Brussels is very proud of its Manneken Pis fountain, but there’s gotta be a better way to promote your product in Belgium, Coke. There’s just gotta.
The Goonies is inarguably the best movie ever made and I’m sure we all agree on that. But it also masks a dark, disturbing reality when you peel away at its shiny veneer. Some sad-but-probably-true facts about The Goonies:
1. “You’re gonna live with me now, Sloth.” Yeah right.
Most parents won’t let their kids bring home a stray dog, let alone a 7-foot mentally-disabled mutant that smells “like phys-ed.” So when it’s suggested toward the end of the movie that our hero Sloth might be heretofore staying with The Family Chunk, you can bet that his parents put the kybosh on that fantasy the second they were out of earshot from their fellow Goonies. Nope, sorry fans, Sloth probably lived out the rest of his troubled life in some medium-security halfway home for adults living with fetal alcohol syndrome – hopefully sans chains.
2. Um, what scary octopus?
The novelization of the movie released the same year describes a scene where the Goonies encounter a man-eating octopus in the cavernous waters where the pirate ship is secretly harbored. The scene was even filmed and then later deleted, only to be seen 20 years later upon the DVD’s eventual release. But you know what scene they didn’t cut? The scene toward the end of the film where Data curiously exclaims to the fawning reporters that “the octopus was really scary,” leaving the original viewing audience with no other alternative but to conclude that Data is clearly a devious liar, prone to embellishment, if not outright deceit. Nope, sorry fans, but the movie’s editors were clearly Asian-hating racists.
3. How many Baby Ruths does one Chunk need?
Toward the beginning of their adventure, Chunk bemoans of hunger, begging his friends for a Baby Ruth candy bar. And yet not 20 minutes later, and without stopping at any corner store for a sugary treat, Chunk tries to appease the creature Sloth with a Baby Ruth candy bar that he pulls FROM HIS OWN POCKET. Nope, sorry fans, but your beloved Chunk is a crafty sociopathic liar, hoarding the very same sustenance of which he deprives his friends.
4. We hate you, fatty.
That clever bowling-ball-initiated Rube Goldberg machine that opens Mikey’s gate toward the beginning of the film is a curious concoction. Because even if one were to go and replace the inflating/bursting balloon after every entrance (negating the whole purpose of the automated gate in the first place), you still would be faced with the fact that a hen only lays an average of one egg per day, and hence the Mikey household could only receive one visitor per day. Yet there are multiple visitors to the home within the first 15 minutes of the film. Only Chunk is forced to humiliate himself for this entrance, meaning the whole sham is just a ruse portrayed by his so-called friends as a punishment for being a fat liar. Nope, sorry fans, but the Goonies are passive aggressive dicks.
5. Good luck with all those aquamarines.
Sorry Mikey’s dad, but a handful of semi-precious stones is not going to stop the bank from foreclosing on your home the day before the bulldozers arrive, let alone the homes of all your son’s Goonie friends. And if you’ve read the original script, which I’m sure you have, there are scenes where Mikey’s dad is portrayed as being – how shall we say – very Sloth-like in mental aptitude. So his triumphant tearing-of-the-contract moment was probably only a minor delay to the whole foreclosure process at best, and at worst it was just a desperate show put on for the benefit of naïve children. I doubt even Father Mikey actually believed they were free and clear of the bank’s greedy grasp. Nope, sorry fans, but the majority of those Goonies probably found themselves homeless in the following weeks, wishing they were Sloth in that half-way home, where at least they could get three squares a day.
6. And while we’re on the subject…
Who says you’ll actually get to keep those gems anyway? Nope, sorry fans, but those Goonies probably left that beach poorer than when they arrived.
7. “No write?? No… pen??”
So wait, in the beginning of the movie Mouth knows the Spanish words for every illicit drug and sexual torture device in the Urban Dictionary, but he can’t remember the translation for the verb “sign” toward the end of the movie? Nice try Mouth, but you’re clearly milking the tension created by that drama for all it’s worth. Nope, sorry fans, but Mouth is an opportunistic prick who preys on the power he gets as he wields his sadistic control over desperate people in desperate situations.
8. The Asthmatic Holocaust
In a particularly climactic moment, Mikey – wheezing from Asthma – is suddenly able to toss aside his inhaler with a defiant “Awwww, who needs it?” Well, you know who needs it, Mikey? How about the 3,500 people per year who die from Asthma-related attacks. That kinda makes Sean Astin the Jenny McCarthy of Asthma deniers. Nope, sorry fans, but The Goonies is probably responsible for more deaths than you can count on 100,000 fingers.
9. You break it, you bought it.
Sorry, Chunk, but that probably was a deposit bottle. That one’s on you.
Here’s to hoping they make that long-promised sequel, so that we can sort this whole mess out.
Yay! It’s Xmas season! Who wants to jam with dan?
1. Every Day’s a Holiday – Piney Gir
2. All I Want For Christmas (Is My Two Front Teeth) – Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
3. Merried With Children – Ages
4. Amazing Grace – Fulka
5. Carry Me Home – Hey Rosetta!
6. Kris Kringle – Kate Rusby
7. Vive Le Vent – MIKA & Michel Legrand
8. Angels We Have Heard on High – The Brian Setzer Orchestra
9. We Need a Little Christmas – AgesandAges
10. Rock Carol Of The Bells – Terravita
11. Winter Wonderland – Jason Mraz
12. The Christmas Song – Stalker Studio
13. A Minor Key Christmas Medley – Chilly Gonzales
14. Goodbye England (Covered In Snow) – Laura Marling
15. More Than I Wished For – Schuyler Fisk
16. Jingle Bells – Sugar & The Hi Lows
17. Ring a Bell – The InfiniTeens
18. Naughty Naughty Children – Grace Potter
19, Wishes – The Bird And The Bee
20. Baby, Es Regnet Doch – Rita Paul & Peter Cornehlsen
21. Sing Along With Santa – The New Christy Minstrels
22. Silent Night – Venus Hum
23. No Mas Tinsel Tears – The Not Fur Longs
24. Bells – DesandNate
25. Auld Lang Syne – Andrew Bird
26. Merry Something to You – Devo
I’m mean for laughing so hard at this, but the soundtrack is just too perfectly timed.
Yeah, I don’t post anymore, but I still can kick out the xmas jams.
1. Joy to the World : Kate Rusby
2. Angels We Have Heard on High : Jenny & Tyler
3. Home For The Holidays : Emmy The Great & Tim Wheeler
4. Jingle Bells : Pomplamoose
5. Little Drummer Boy : Rags ‘n Goff
6. Santa Stole My Lady : Fitz & The Tantrums
7. Here Comes Santa Claus : Bing Crosby
8. Wonderful Christmastime : The Shins
9. Carol of the Bell : Sarah Jackson-Holman
10. Every Year So Different : Cornerstore
11. 12 Days of Christmas : The Bird And The Bee
12. Dear Santa : Jay Brannan
13. The Dreidel Song : Flash Hawk Parlor Ensemble
14. Trivial Pursuit : Duover
15. Love In A Cold Climate : Fiona Bevan
16. All I Need Is Love (Edit) : CeeLo Green & Some Muppets
17. Sleigh Ride : Jay Manero And His Disco Band
18. I Wanna Do More Than Whistle : Lawrence Welk
19. Hard Candy Christmas : Dolorean
20. Boots (Edit) : The Killers
21. The Holiday Season : Andy Williams
22. Santa Claus Is Coming to Town : Sufjan Stevens
23. Snow Day : Jeremy Messersmith
24. Christmas Auld Lang Syne : Ortolan
I edited out the rapping muppet from that CeeLo song. I just couldn’t deal with it.
If you want to know where one can get such an epic xmas mix, you should email me. Don’t just post a comment, because I’m way too lazy for all that copying and pasting of email addresses…
A couple years ago, I posted about the creative failure that is the set of blank nesting dolls that has been sitting in the back the closet for over a decade. Then last year, when I had way too much to do and absolutely no free time to myself, I got a random bee in my bonnet. So I hauled my ass to Michael’s craft store and came home with $40 in cheap paint and brushes. Six or so months later, I have my own little monster family of hand-painted nesting dolls.
What is that you say? It’s a little odd for a 36-year-old man to paint himself some wooden dolls with which to play? Just wait until you find out that I named them and gave them all back-stories as well.
Milford’s just a working stiff. He’s got a wife and four kids to feed, after all. He hates his boss and he carries the lunch his wife makes him to work in a pail every day. Milford is just a nickname, though. It was secretly given to him by his seemingly unassuming wife, who lovingly refers to him as her M.I.L.F., where the “M” stands for “Monster” rather than the more-commonly-used “Mother.” His real name is actually Mumford. So he likes coming home to Ethyl.
Ethyl might look meek and slight in demeanor, but she rules the roost. Don’t mess with Ethyl. Also, she’s clearly a dynamo in the sack. She wears her kerchief as a homage to her Russian heritage.
Junior is either the waddling toddler of the family or the mentally-deranged uncle, depending on my mood. Either way, a lot of drool is involved, and the shenanigans always start when someone’s watchful eye is distracted long enough for him to sneak out the porch door and terrorize the neighborhood.
Missy is sixteen. She’s hot, but she knows it, so she’s also a bitch. Which is why she’s named Missy. All Missys are bitches, hot or not. She’s grounded right now, and her boyfriend is the boss’ son. He’s a buffoon but at least it irks good ol’ dad.
Ethyl’s mother is just visiting from Scottsdale. Milford can’t wait for her to leave, but Missy likes having her around, because she pays for fast food and takes Missy’s side on everything. Little does Missy know that there will be no trust fund for the kiddies, though. She’s left all her monies to some conservative church that hates abortion.
Pete’s a brat with a Justin Bieber haircut. No one pays him enough attention, what with that bitch Missy, her non-stop drama, and a baby in the house…
Ruff and Mee-Yow
Ruff and Mee-Yow are the family cat and dog. Their back-stories mostly consist of eating the local wildlife and pooping in weird places.
Sweet-Pea is the newborn baby. His back-story also happens to feature pooping in weird places, but he’s also the reason Nana has come to visit, which is the only reason Milford can tolerate that woman’s presence for more than five minutes at a time: at least he can get a solid 5 hours of sleep every night with her help, ferchrissakes.
Skull exists only because I don’t have the skill or dexterity to paint at such a small scale. But I imagine he makes a fun chew-toy for the dog and cat.
So now I can check that task off my list once and for all, and finally open my closet door without the looming judgement of a blank set of nesting dolls. Phew.
I made these for myself, because I needed to let off a little steam, but feel free to toss around some douchebags for awhile if you want:
It’s that time of year again to bust out the xmas jams.
This year’s KAX mix tracklist goes something like dis:
1. Angels We Have Heard on High by Sarah Jackson-Holman
2. Tiny Tree Christmas by Guster
3. Deck the Halls by Pomplamoose
4. Sweet Bells by Kate Rusby
5. Ain’t No Chimneys In the Projects by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings
6. Just What I Wanted for Christmas by Bing Crosby
7. Joseph, Better You Than Me by The Killers
8. Do You Hear What I Hear? by Pink Martini
9. Silent Night by Katie Herzig
10. The Christmas Waltz (Remix) by Nancy Wilson
11. White Christmas by Lounge All Stars
12. Frosty The Snow Man by Ella Fitzgerald
13. In the Morning by Jack Johnson
14. Angels We Have Heard On High by Future of Forestry
15. Little Drummer Boy by Erin McCarley
16. Xmas Cake by Rilo Kiley
17. Winter Night by Little & Ashley
18. Christmas by Teddy Thompson
19. Baby, It’s Cold Outside by Allo, Darlin’
20. Mrs. Claus Ain’t Got Nothin’ On Me by Little Jackie
21. Mistletoe And Holly by Frank Sinatra
22. Up on the Housetop by Pomplamoose
23. Fruitcake (Remix) by The Superions
24. When the Leaves by Ingrid Michaelson
25. This Will Be Our Year by OK Go
This year I was surprised to find a Bing Crosby song I’d never heard of before, where he sings about a lovely paisely muffler that is just his type. It doesn’t get better than that. And I’ve wanted to put that Rilo Kiley song on my xmas mix for years, but I always decided it was just too weird and depressing for the hoi polloi. Finally this year I thought “Eff that, I’m putting it on there and they’ll eat it and like it.” So it’s on there.
Early feedback is that the remix of Fruitcake by The Superions is the most unappreciated track, but I stand by my decision. I like to pump my fist and shout “…green ones too it’s Fruitcake!” at the top of my lungs. It feels real good. Other than that, the songs are pretty solid this year. I allow my taste in music to stray into twee territory when it comes to Christmas, but I suppose that’s just the nature of the beast. I defy you to not enjoy it.
Oh and the mix tape themed cover is a direct ripoff of this gal’s work. I just updated it planetdan xmas style.
If you want the tunes, I could point you to where they could be acquired if you email me and ask fawningly. Maybe. And you gotta email me. You can’t just post a comment or I won’t have your email address, you dig?
I just can’t resist perusing the new crop of “sexy” Halloween costumes that comes out every year. I used to be disgusted yet fascinated. Now I’m just giddy with anticipation come October. Here’s some of my favorites for 2011:
Sexy Childhood Male Icons
Sexy Willy Wonka, Sexy Cat in the Hat, and Sexy Marvin the Martian, all male childhood icons, and all here to confuse you about what’s happening down there in your downstairs.
You can buy this at yandy.com, if you are so inclined.
Seems a bit juvenile to dress up as a mythical animal worshipped by twelve year old girls, but I guess the phallic headpiece makes up for that.
You can buy this at yandy.com, if you are so inclined.
Sexy Twix Bar
Are we really doing this now? Sexy food items? What’s next, sexy loaf of bread? Sexy mustard bottle?
Sexy Mustard Bottle
Okay, game on.
Sexy Tin Man
Tin man was the gayest dood in Wizard of OZ. At least she’ll appeal to the latents. If she only had a brain.
Sexy Belle from Beauty and the Beast
This one was almost a normal costume until they had to go and jack up the front, as if someone just yanked the cord on a bad set of curtains.
WIthout the head it’s hard to tell what animal this is, and neither would be the worst animal to fetishize, I suppose. But wearing this, you’re begging for seal noises and flapping arm-fin jokes.
You can buy this at yandy.com, if you are so inclined.
Wait, wut? I guess at least you could flatulate all night long and just claim that you were really owning the role.
Sexy Beaver on Wood
Sexy Chinese Takeout Container
Ain’t nothing sexier than a greasy fast food container. I know whenever I find a Chinese Food Menu hanging on my doorknob…
Sexy True Blood Waitress
Timely trends are always a bad idea. In five years this is going to look like nothing more than a white T-shirt and a blue mini. Oh wait, it is nothing more than a white T-shirt and blue mini.
You can buy this at yandy.com, if you are so inclined.
Sexy Clockwork Orange
Nothing sexier than a bit of the ol’ ultraviolence.
Well that’s a flattering silhouette. Also, maybe a tad too counterproductively chastity-beltish.
I have respect for this one cuz it don’t pull punches. These bitches be crazy.
You can buy this at yandy.com, if you are so inclined.
That’s it! Can’t wait for 2012!
I’ve become the worst blogger on the planet, obviously. Not only do I rarely post anymore, but it took me over a month to finally get this post together in order to regale anyone who will listen with my recent experience at the
CANNES FILM FESTIVAL.
It’s kind of a long one, but I gotta get it all out at once.
So to begin: due to the fact that I live a charmed life (and because I just happened to be going to the right place at the right time, continentally, and because I also happen to have very nice friends), I managed to get myself invited to the Tree of Life when it officially premiered at the Cannes Film Festival back in May. It was the opportunity of a lifetime for a film-nerd/celebrity-whore/name-dropper like me.
Making the trip itself was a lot more difficult than I imagined, but my travel companion and I managed to find our way to Cannes, tuxedos in hand. And after stumbling blindly through the French Riviera, we finally procured what we were told were “the hottest tickets in town, even more so than ‘Pirates‘,” whatever that means.
Until the moment those tickets were in my grubby little hands, I never believed it was actually going to happen. But being in Cannes during the festival is an exciting experience whether or not you are attending any fancy screenings, so I didn’t sweat it too hard.
Unfortunately, my mind is a prisoner of logistics, so rather than anticipating the event with excitement, I mostly worried about how we were going to get to the theater, where we were going to park, how I was going to look in my battered tuxedo, what door we were supposed to enter through, and how I was going to document the whole experience when cameras where expressly forbidden. My stomach was in knots. Subsequently, I took more than my average share of bathroom breaks that day.
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, don’t worry about parking or your scuffed up shoes. Ain’t nobody gonna be looking at your scuffed up shoes and parking is a breeze. You’ll relax more and poo less.
We did a dry run of the whole affair the day before, just to make sure our ducks were in a row, but that did little to soothe my nerves. Then I saw Rob Lowe. Not exactly the high-caliber celebrity-sighting I was anticipating, especially since I find him to be the least-interesting of all brat-packers, but considering the extent to which I’ve been enjoying Parks and Rec lately, it was an exciting enough experience to whet my appetite for the upcoming festivities.
Then on the actual day of the event, we safely arrived at the theater two hours early, which afforded us the opportunity to grab a nerve-soothing martini at the bar across the street. At this point, a drinkipoo was in my belly, my cares were behind me, and I was ready to party.
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, leave time for TWO pre-premiere martinis.
Then it became time to make our way to the theater. The tickets were very clear about two things: get into the theater by 6:40 and be wearing a tuxedo or you won’t be getting in at all, and don’t even think about bringing a camera or you would be duly executed on the spot. So I crotched a camera with very little intention of actually using it, and we headed toward the theater entrance around 6:15.
I had assumed we would be entering the event through the side-door, or some appropriately modest entrance for nobodies, but the signs guided us toward a security check-point which led us down a long walkway which was lined on either side by excited gawkers who were hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone more exciting than me. But I took it in stride and relished in the undeserved attention.
But when we got closer to the theater, we realized we were being funneled onto the red carpet, and I panicked. First of all, I was positive we had taken a wrong turn somewhere and that we were definitely not supposed to be anywhere near the red carpet (and that we were sure to be banished from the event the moment my discount tuxedo breached its border). Second, there was absolutely no one else on the red carpet at the time except for hundreds of professional photographers and paparazzi who lined it on both sides.
My brain immediately went into survival mode, and I thought to myself, “Just look straight ahead, walk fast, and act like you’re supposed to be here. You’ll be inside the theater in no time, and all trespasses will be forgiven.” The empty red carpet looked like it was the length of ten football fields, so I held my breath and took off on a speed-walk — heels up and elbows out — like a middle-aged mom on a treadmill. A few camera-flashes flared from photographers who were probably mistaking me for an ugly version of that Grey’s Anatomy actor, but I was unfazed and resisted the distraction, keeping my speed at just short of a sprint. It was probably the fastest and most determined-looking red-carpet-walk any of them had ever seen.
Finally within the refuge of the theater, we found our seats and sat down to watch the big screen, which depicted a live view of the very same red-carpet I had just left in the dust. It was then that I realized that everyone already in the theater had watched my nervous sprint down the red carpet. I also realized that ALL of the other average joes attending this event were walking down the red carpet. We hadn’t taken a wrong turn after all. And not only that, practically everyone had ignored the no-camera warning, and they were all strolling down the red carpet taking pictures of each other and enjoying the experience like they had no cares in the world.
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, don’t rush the experience and don’t worry about getting kicked out. You can probably hide your camera in a less-awkward orifice. Also: don’t show up so early. That’s what loner losers do.
Once you’re inside, they don’t let you exit the theater, so I couldn’t even try to recreate the experience for my crotched camera. And by that time the really big celebrities were showing up, so the red carpet was off limits. We saw Gwen Stefani (and her has-been rocker husband), Jude Law, Faye Dunaway, Sean Penn, and Brad Pitt. And then Angeline Jolie showed up. The collective gasp from inside the theater was deafening, and she wasn’t even in the movie. It’s like she was hovering two feet above the red carpet. We could only watch it on the screen with stars in our eyes.
When the celebrities finally entered the actual theater, the rest of the attendees went a little ape-sh!t. Everyone mobbed their seats, snapping photos and shrieking with delight. Follow-the-rules-danny was still scared to take out his hidden camera, but after hundreds of people had shoved their cameras into Sean Penn’s face with no reprimand whatsoever, I finally mustered the courage to snap a few quick ones that turned out to be monumentally disappointing, to say the least:
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, forget about bringing a camera after all. You’re too short to get any good pictures anyway.
Pictures or not, I sat in the same row as Angeline Jolie: only 13 seats and one aisle away. Unfortunately, closer to me — in the very next seat, actually — was a tarted-up trollop in a wildly inappropriate dress who was text-messaging for the entire movie, except for when she would pause to roll her eyes and sigh audibly, as if she couldn’t stand having to sit in the theater watching Brad Pitt not take his shirt off.
And then the movie was over and the celebrities exited in a blur of sequins and satin and we were left with an empty red carpet. So we attempted to recreate the amazing experience for the camera, but somehow we ended up with a photo that looks even more fake than if I had actually faked it:
But luckily, we were also invited to an exclusive after party: an opportunity to redeem ourselves and to fully take advantage of the amazing opportunity we had been given! Unluckily, I am a stupid low-class schmuck, and I didn’t realize that anybody who’s anybody doesn’t show up to a Cannes afterparty until 3:00am at the earliest.
We got there at 9:30.
Not that it was a bad party by any means, but we didn’t know anybody there. We had been given eight free drink tickets but we blew through those in 20 minutes and the bar didn’t seem to be taking cash. Every once in a while a celebrity like Jane Fonda would walk in and the crowd would go wild… until he/she was escorted to a prohibited roped-off area never to be seen again.
Worst of all, we had a flight early the next morning, so my logistics-addled mind was starting to seize again. How would we ever get up early enough to catch our flight, what with staying out this late? How long would it take us to get to the airport in this foreign city? What if I couldn’t find a gas station on the way to the rental-car return? They would charge me an arm and a leg!
So at 1:00am, we left the party, pushing our way out through a throbbing crowd who were begging to get in. At that point a sane danny would have thought, “Hey wait, if all these people are desperate to gain entrance to this party, perhaps we shouldn’t be so quick to leave?” but the real danny was more concerned with conceptualizing a morning schedule that would get them to the airport two hours prior to departure.
The next morning we discovered that all the movie stars arrived at the party around 3:00am, and that the lines between the roped-off area and the general hoi-polloi were probably significantly blurred by then, meaning my one and only chance to rub elbows with Brangelina had come and gone while I was sleeping. Or not sleeping as it were, since I laid awake all night worrying about whether or not the weight of my luggage would cause any issues upon check-in.
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, just plan on not sleeping. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity ferchrissakes. Also: you need to learn how to pack lighter. Do you really need all those neckties and that neti-pot?
All in all, we really screwed the pooch with how we handled the whole event. But it wasn’t our fault. We didn’t know what to expect or how to act or what to do or where to go, and frankly, we were a bit out of our element. But still, it was probably the awesomest thing that I’ve ever been fortunate enough to experience. I got to walk (run) the red carpet at Cannes, after all. But just imagine if I had not been a panicked little worrywort? I could be besties with Brad by now.
Oh well. No regrets are to be had, and if I were to be entirely honest, I would have to admit that it probably couldn’t have gone any smoother.
Note to Future Dan: If you are ever fortunate enough to get invited to the Cannes Film Festival again, accept the fact that you are not worthy, and then forget about it and go with the flow. Also: maybe schedule your outbound flight for a couple days later, because you obviously don’t travel well.
The view from my home office.
Me no likey.
Following is a list of words and phrases that I had not expected to hear from my optometrist today:
- Assault Rifles
- Robots in Space
- Dog Shit
- The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
- Chinese Space Tourism
- Chick Flicks
- “An Army of Hubbles”
- Private Jetliner
- You May Need Glasses
And yet, all of those were uttered some time during the course of my 15 minutes appointment. Made reading those little letters a lot more interesting, though.
That is all.
SO, I’ve received a few comments about how planetdan has been puttering out, and it’s obviously a little true. Mostly, I’ve kinda started to question the purpose of planetdan. Not in an existential way, but more in a practical/content-driven way. I like to communicate and tell stories, and I like to make new friends online through my blog, but as the internet has evolved over the last nine years, I feel like I’ve kinda lost focus.
Planetdan was started as a way to keep in touch with my family and friends and to share fun stuff I found online. Then I started to create some original content and eventually I made some new friends, and in the meantime planetdan became a big disorganized hodge-podge of anything and everything.
But the internet has millions of blogs by billions of people and I don’t feel it’s necessary to post random stuff anymore. There are plenty of blogs out there that do that better and more often than I ever could. Plus, my own personal life hasn’t been very exciting lately, so I couldn’t mine that for new material either. I wanted to think of more original content to post but it was tough without a focus to reign in any ideas.
Retiring planetdan was never an option, but I decided I wanted to go a new route: evolve and diversify. And so while some of you think I’ve been blogging less, I’ve actually been blogging more than ever over at a new site with a new focus and an actual declared purpose: OSMsauce.com
It’s a simple concept. I was tired of pessimistic malcontents complaining about how humanity is doomed and how everything sucks when there are clearly a million awesome things out there that can make you stupidly happy if you just take the time to view them from all angles. So I decided I would think of one awesome person, place, thing, or concept every day and write an essay about why I think everyone should appreciate it. Sometimes I purposefully choose things that are decidedly not awesome just to act as the devil’s advocate. This means that the perspective can get a tad snarky or skewed, but basically, you can put a positive spin on anything if you just look at it right. People can even submit ideas for what they think should be featured as awesome or under-appreciated or decidedly not awesome, and maybe I will spin it for you. It’s almost a challenge: is there anything that can’t be spun in a positive light? Probably, but I certainly won’t admit defeat so easily.
I suppose the theme of the site is: unless you are living under a bridge or breathing your last breath, then you need to quit your bitchin’, because things are way more awesome than you are giving them credit for, and eventually things always get better, even if they get worse first. Plus I also get to promote bands and movies and books that I like. Cuz I’m an expert at having opinions.
I’ve had to scale back my ambitions a tad, though. Posting daily was far too time consuming. But I’ve been doing pretty good, posting at least every other day or so. And with each post, the site’s purpose gets more refined.
So planetdan will revert to its original purpose, which is to inform friends, family, and random internet acquaintances about what I’ve been up to lately or what fiasco has transpired at the gym. But obviously it won’t get updated that often because I’m just not very interesting these days.
I may also spin off another site devoted more to random original content I might feel impelled to create, like my old Senior Pics site and the like. But I don’t want to think about that endeavor right now.
I’m still getting used to the new digs after I moved last September. My new bathroom is awesome, and it’s got a glass-block window in the shower, which I thought was way better than the old rotting pane-glass window with the rusty blinds and makeshift shower-curtain-cover at my old place.
The problem is that the glass blocks do not seem to provide the amount of privacy that I assumed they would, which I learned after I noticed my neighbor, who has the exact same glass-blocked bathroom as I do, showering in the evening. The show left very little to the imagination. What I always assumed would appear to be more like a big amorphous blob from the outside was actually closer to a slightly pixelated JPG porn pic.
Then I remembered that I generally take my showers when it’s dark out. And my bathroom faces the bedroom of a 12-year-old girl. And we live on a busy street with many-a-passerby. And I’ve probably traumatized the entire neighborhood by now. No wonder I haven’t gotten any warm-muffin welcome baskets yet.
So what’s the point of glass-block shower windows then? Because they seem more suitable for peepshows than prudency. I guess it’s only daytime showers for me from now on.