Gather ‘round, fanboys. We need to have a serious talk here for a second.

Seriously? An online petition? You know those things are about as effective as a holy rubber, right? I really hope some of you signed that thing trying to be ironic. Congrats, Mr. Hipster, you succeeded… I… Guess? But really guys, after a certain point, you need to swallow your adolescent, misplaced pride and accept that some movies are bad. Period. No conspiracy, no Disney pay-offs, just, for whatever reason, shit didn’t click the way it was supposed to. It’s okay. It happens. Most movies out there suffer a similar fate. These just happen to be based on properties you hold near and dear. I get that.

But real talk for a second guys: what good is it to convince yourself to like something just because you’re predisposed to liking that thing already? I grew up Catholic so I understand self-loathing, but I don’t think this is quite that. I know how frustrating it can be when the guys across the street are crushing it. Yeah, maybe they never achieved the heights of “filmmaking” like His Grace, Christopher Nolan, but to deny the fact that Marvel consistently pumps out enjoyable, character-driven and *mostly* coherent movies is some serious denial. Perosnally, I’ve never understood choosing one company over the other. DC has Batman. Marvel has everybody else.

And no, I’m not ignorant to the fact that this movie will have some genuine fans. Every movie is somebody’s favorite. BUT. The fact that over 17,000 people signed a petition to shut down Rotten Tomatoes – 17,000 people, may I add, who have YET to see Suicide Squad – claiming that this movie is getting the shaft from critics, is not only ridiculous, infentile and moronic, it also shows a complete lack of understanding of how Rotten Tomatoes actually works. You see, kids, Rotten Tomatoes doesn’t watch a movie and spit out a percentage. That would be dumb, and really, if this is how you think it works, what does that say about you and your mental state for caring so much over an arbitrary digit generator’s judgment over your fifth favorite DC property? No, see, Rotten Tomatoes collects reviews from reviewers (most reviewers judge a movie using a scale – out of 5, or 10, and so on) and RT then divides the reviews between fresh and rotten. That’s it. There are no schemes. No conspiracies. It’s plain numbers. And sadly, numbers don’t lie. They’d be so much more fun if they did.

But the data is there in the petition. Over 17,000 disgruntled fanboys (sorry, that’s sexist – fanpeople) believe Rotten Tomatoes works this way. And if they do understand and signed it anyway, they must be book-burners. This petition in a way is a direct violation of the first amendment, the freedom of speech (shit just got political, son). By silencing the negative reviews on Rotten Tomatoes (which, again, is just a collection of data – the reviews will still be out there and totally searchable) this petition is calling to silence a voice that informs the public. It’s Siskel & Ebert on the grandest scale imaginable! Like it or not (and clearly, it’s a ‘not’, right?), Rotten Tomatoes is valuable to the film industry. Studios definitely pay attention to the numbers (they put RT scores on DVD boxes and in trailers now for godsakes!), and it’s a useful tool for the public in determining if they’re going to spend their hard earned cash on some craptastic crowd pleaser.

Rotten Tomatoes doesn’t need to be shut down. WB just needs to start making better films. It’s as simple as that. They’re in a tight spot, it’s true. And I know you want to see them succeed. So do I. I love Batman. Like, borderline obsessed. But I’ve been spoiled by the Nolan films (which I have issues with and, should be noted, was championed by Rotten Tomatoes, which said DC fanboys totally threw in peole’s faces back in ‘08). Point is, I want a good movie. And I refuse to settle for less. I love these characters, and I believe they deserve the best treatment possible. Hell yes I’m going to get angry when when they’re in subpar fare. With so much source material to pull from, virtually unlimited budgets and the best writers Hollywood can produce, you bet your ass I’m going to be pissed when they don’t deliver.

And that’s where the fan who loved BvS and the fan who hated BvS share common ground. Of course, this is a simplification and not an absolute, but bear with me. See, no matter where we fall on the BvS spectrum, we all love the characters, and want to see them treated right. For the fan that loves BvS and claims it to be a near-perfect cinematic achievment, they see past the flaws. Or ignore them. Movies have the most public reach and is where the general public consumes its super heroes. It’s where the casual and the hardcore fan share common ground. And when the movie is a letdown, they don’t want to see their heroes mocked, or looked down upon (Christ, the played-out-ultra-serious-ultra-gritty-hyper-realistic-tone was born from this fear of embarrassment), and I get it.

But I fall into the BvS hater camp. I love my heroes, but if they deserve to be mocked, let I throw the first stone. Why? Because we deserve better. In an age where Ant Man and the Guardians of the Galaxy (who?) have their own movies – and they’re not only good, but they’re faithful – we, as comic book fans, deserve better out of DC and WB. But we have to tear down the condemned. We have to be ruthless and do away with what’s not working (and not sign it for another three f*cking movies) and start anew. We got off on the wrong foot and snapped some necks because we were playing cath-up. Scrap it and go back to the drawing board. Think about what’s best for these individual characters and their stories. Ask the tough questions. Would this character do this? Does adding this piece help this movie? Does this universe even need to be a… Universe?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s okay to be mad at the thing you love. Because really, you just want what’s best for it. Accepting the shit with a grin and signing janky petitions only encourages bad filmmaking and fosters ignorance along with the absolute worst stereotypes of fanboy culture. For those of you that genuinely love this stuff, right on, man. I wish I could join you. Some day. But for the rest of us, can we at least wait until Suicide Squad comes out before signing our name?

Summer is screeching to a halt.

I go in for four hours tomorrow afternoon, have my very last Friday, and then come Monday, it’s back to the old granite grindstone. It’ll be good. I love hanging at home and spending my days with my lazy little dog, but I’m looking forward to feeling a lot less like Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom.

It’s been a fairly auditory day today. While in the car this morning I got down to some Beatles, a little “Middle” by Jimmy Eat World (haven’t heard that song in a good decade), and finally some classic tracks off of Elvis Costello’s This Year’s Model (“No Action” and “Radio, Radio” being my two personal favorites).

Followed that up with a lovely stroll through Recycled Records, my preferable vinyl provider on Lighthouse Ave. Found a lot of good stuff – Bob Dylan’s The Times They Are A Changin’, “Purple Rain” (single and LP), Elvis Costello & The Attractions’ Goodbye Cruel World, and soundtracks to The Empire Strikes Back and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Really I was looking for the Ronettes first album, and more specifically, Be my Baby 45, but after chatting with the owner I learned that those are rare records to come by (now the hunt begins!). Alas, I settled on a Green Day 45 with early recordings of “2,000 Light Years Away” (sweet), “Basket Case” and “She”. Solid purchase, although I do feel embarrassed buying a Green Day record in 2016 without a hint of irony. Whatever.

After that, my hetero lifemate, Shaun Day, and I joined forces as thesexeffects and recorded another palpable podcast dealing with the important topic of Game of Thrones. We each counted down our top five favorite moments of the show, which, if you’ve seen the show, you can imagine a pretty difficult prospect. I wasn’t very happy with my picks as I feel it’s probably the weakest list I’ve put together yet. But hey, that’s a good thing, right? We have a show as good as Game of Thrones that our problem is narrowing down our five favorite moments. I could do a top 10 of season 6 alone. But we got through it. And the world’s a better place for it.

You can check out the podcast on iTunes or go to www.thesexeffects.com. Name of the show? Top Five5, presented by… thesexeffects.

So check it out, give us a follow, and enjoy.

At the moment of this typing, it is 6:47 am. I crashed around 2:30 am. This is not good.

But it has been a problem for me my whole life. No matter how late I stay up, the exhaustion can never beat my internal alarm clock. Fuck you, body.

Anyways, since I’m up. Let’s talk.

I’m sitting here in a beautiful backyard in Sonoma county for my mom’s birthday weekend. It’s not yet warm enough to dive into the pool and shake the rest of the remaining cobwebs from my brain, but it’s still nice enough to sit outside across from it.

Really, when you break it all down, this moment is what I want my life to be: nights of heavy drinking punctuated by mornings of productivity and creativity, the written word on the page, and nothing else. No real job, no real responsibilities. And of course, who doesn’t want that? But, like, I really want that.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to be a bum. I want a job, I just want the majority of that job’s work to occur inside my brain and spill out onto paper or a screen. Cormac McCarthy said he only ever wanted to be a writer because he didn’t want to work. The day he was to be evicted from his home (for being a bum) a letter came – someone had bought his book and he was now rich. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

Of course writing can feel like work, and often it does. But when it flows… Man, there’s nothing quite like it. I’d put it up there with playing a live show and sex. I don’t know which takes first or second, but writing definitely takes third (sorry, Writing).

But it’s true, no matter how great of a run you might be on, sitting at your typer can not compare to the adrenaline of playing music in front of a crowd. Sex is the only thing that comes close, and the two aren’t at all comparable (except maybe for the fact that you’re putting yourself out there in a vulnerable position, but that’s a stretch).

So what the hell am I talking about? I don’t know. I’m running off not-quite-four hours of sleep, I’ve got a belly full of Laguanitas and Dos XX’s, and I know there’s no returning to bed for me. My entire family’s asleep in this beautiful Sonoma getaway, and I currently have no access to the internet to check on the progress of Comic-Con. It’s all quite unfortunate. But also, entirely perfect.

Good morning. A big Happy Birthday to the woman who brought me into this world, my mom was born on this day some years ago in her own backyard. Love you, madré.

So last night I met up with three buddies I graduated with back in 2012 from CSUMB’s Teledramatic Arts & Technology department (seriously guys, just call it “Film.” Oh, that’s right, they did change it to Cinema Arts. Muuuuch better). I can thoroughly recommend the following drinks:

• Stone Delicious IPA (it really is)
• Idiot IPA (rather fitting)
• Jameson on the rocks (my go-to)

Needless to say, I got a little drunk. Okay, not a little. Pretty drunk. Pretty damn drunk. But I played it safe and Uber’d home. Let’s talk for a second about Uber preferences, shall we?

I don’t mind a politely chatty Uber driver, so long as they can sense when the conversation has come to its natural end and don’t force further verbal diarreah. But I don’t mind getting to know a little bit about the person carting my ass around. Yes, I love feeling like a CEO badass everytime an Uber picks me up, but it doesn’t mean I gotta throw shade at the driver. I’ve met really interesting Uber drivers. Some really sweet people. Met scary ones, too. But I’ve been fascinated every time. The balls someone must have and the patience they must possess to go around picking people up in their own car floors me. Like, you don’t know who you’re about to pick up. That can get a little hairy, I imagine. But I’ve gone off track. Back to preferences.

I don’t mind music, so long as it’s not too loud and, in the words of Rob Gordon, “I just want something I can ignore.” Trying to force your shitty rock tastes on me, or insisting your car is the new fuckin’ “spot,” does not make me want to give you five stars.

Last night was something I’d never seen before, however. I got in and there were three screens, all playing Terminator: Salvation. Let’s just sit in that for a second. Terminator. Salvation. Did I get a ride from the one person who actually saw that movie? And liked it enough to be like, “I’m gonna share this movie with the world by playing it for my passengers.” I’d complain about someone forcing their shitty taste in movies on me, but instead I’ll complain that, despite having the movie playing and the volume up, my driver proceded to talk to me the entire drive (or maybe I did the talking, I was very drunk). It’s not multi-tasking, it’s defeating the purpose.

But on the real my driver was very nice and it wasn’t a bad ride in the least. Just a little strange, wouldn’t you say?

Anyways, I stumbled in as quietly as I could, trying very hard not to wake the wife. I was coherent enough to make the wise choice and take some aspirin before bed, lest I wake up feeling the gong going off in my head. I opened up the bottle and thought, “these aspirin are much bigger…and grayer… than what I normally take.” Popped two in my mouth, and they clung to my tongue, one didn’t go with the flow of the water sadly, and I can still taste it now.

I woke up this morning to see the real aspirin bottle on ‘Stine’s nightstand (or as we call it in our household: Ibeprofin) and headed for the kitchen to see what I really took.

Doggy aspirin.

It was bound to happen someday. Keeping the pet medication with the human meds is playing with fire. And last night I got burnt.

I’m not one of those witers who writes every day. I’d like to be. Hence, this blog.

Mostly, I write screenplays. No particular genre or type, just whatever happens to catch my fancy. I’ve written westerns, film noirs, romantic comedies, coming of age tales, and even a horror piece. I’ve had both features and shorts place in the finals of the Carmel Art & Film Festival, the Cinequest Film Festival, and the Nashville Film Festival. Most recently, my film noir prohibition buddy-cop screwball comedy feature script (got all that?), Speak Easy, took first place at the Reel HeART International Film Festival in Toronto, something I’m extremely proud of.

I’m also a fan of comic books, and have tried my hand at writing original content, although I can’t draw worth a damn.

Growing up, I played in a punk rock band and wrote countless songs about teen angst. At 27, those types of songs are a bit harder to come by, but do I continue to play with my bud Shaun Day as thesexeffects whenever we get the chance.

While I love trying to produce prose, critiques, stand-up comedy, and even some poetry (Bukowski is a god as far as I’m concerned), screenplays are what I believe I was put on this earth to write.

But as I said, I’m not one of those writers that can write every day. I hope to change that with this blog. I’m going to do my best to write about anything and everything. My day, my thoughts, my feelings, my dog – whatever. Remember Xanga? Yeah, it’ll be a little like that.

Anyways, I hope you stick around and enjoy the random musings of a grumpy dago bastard.

Cheers.