how i now have some perspective

i always find any and all hollywood award shows to be terribly self-congratulatory. it's art. art is unquantifiable. and yet, gold statues are given out, and people talk about themselves, and everyone claps, and everyone is great, and you should know that because i'm telling you that.

and when i went to the one show, which is advertising's main award show (you read that right), even that was too congratulatory, especially when you consider that it's for something that pisses people off. and i won something there. i wanted to hide.

too much patting themselves on the back, people telling themselves how great they are, as if the world is a mirror mirror on the wall.

it's crap. all of it.

then tonight, i just watched the state of the union address/clapfest, with all its raucous and incessant applause, standing ovations and whooping and hollaring. and they were all for a blubbering idiot with a 30% approval rate.

and that made me realize that every other award ceremony with attention-hungry gloryhogs, no matter how self-congratulatory they may be, pales in comparison to the group of thoughtless children we've already elected.

how i'm tired of my clothes

so i bought myself this tee for highbrow comedy and this one for general coolness.

because that's how i roll on my upper half.

how it had to be notable for me to post this

but the doorway to my apartment building really smelled like pot.

i know what you're thinking. "steve, you live in san francisco. marijuana is virtually decriminalized there. you can't walk down a block without smelling it. so...why are you telling me this?"

well, because it really smelled like a whole lotta pot.

as if one of the mailboxes read "c.marin" and another read "t.chong".

as if a pot plant were growing out from the pavement.

as if the latest issue of "high times" were lying on the floor.

as if there were a glaucoma convention in my building.

as if all my mail were written on hemp.

as if the dry cleaner next door moved out and a bong wholesaler moved in.

as if they filmed an episode of "weeds" on my block. and it were scored by willie nelson and snoop dogg.

that much.

how i'm gonna make it up to you in a big way

sorry i haven't blogged in awhile. i just haven't really had much to say or the energy or time to say it. blame it on the rain.

still, i've got some brilliant audio to help make it up to you, dedicated to beckett o'neill stern.

this is the vocal track of david lee roth singing "runnin' with the devil", and it's wonderful and hilarious and making me think about getting van halen tickets.

here's an audio track of prank callers terrorizing the big east basketball coaches conference call. the exasperation of the moderator is priceless.

and the historic aaron burr-alexander hamilton duel, as acted out by michael cera and as told by a drunk guy. it's...yes, it is.

how this is a post-christmas miracle

how this totally makes up for the mets

how you can turn someone else's life into something very personal

starring emile hirsch, marcia gay harden, william hurt, jena malone, catherine keener and hal holbrook
written and directed by sean penn
viewed at the metreon, san francisco, ca

every brilliant review i've read about this brilliant adaptation of that brilliant book centered around the word "personal". of course, the writer/director has made a living finding the deepest spirits of the characters he portrays, so that connection seemed natural.

emile hirsch became chris mccandless; he connected to the soul of the character, this real person, his struggles and intrepidness. hal holbrook's short relationship to him connected him not only character to character, but also us to older people dear to our own lives. eddie vedder's score, barely beyond the basics, connected a personal narrative to this powerful journey. the pain seen in the faces of catherine keener, william hurt and marcia gay harden was something we could all relate to, the loss of someone special.

and sean penn's barren writing and gradual directing was the perfect string to tie all these connections together.

why is all this important? well, you won't read any book or listen to any conversation about great films without hearing that the ultimate the goal of brilliant filmmaking is to make connections. because if you can coerce the audience to turn your story into something personal, it'll become something they remember because it's something they'll feel.

i feel this is one of the best films this year. and i ain't alone.

how you should never say ever when it comes to the downfall of the cowboys

earlier this week, i thought that this video was the best explanation of the cowboys collapse that could ever be produced.

but i was wrong, because this is.

and it makes it all the sweeter.

how playoff football suits me

the furniture in my living room has been evicted.

i'm standing three feet away from my 40" HDTV.

i'm peeking into the cowboys huddle, looking for signs, limps, calls, anything.

i see my D-line waiting for the attack. i point my finger to my head - "think! think!" - and then pierce does the same.

i've got my left foot forward, leaning ahead, juking my shoulders, waiting...waiting...waiting...

HIKE.

i'm crouching now. my head's snapping back and forth. romo's in the pocket, and i'm pushing linemen away, but he's still got room around him. his eyes are darting. i'm trying to get into his lanes.

he releases. deep.

i don't hold my breath. hells, no. i'm darting my head back and forth, looking...looking...looking...

jumping screaming yelling kicking fistpumping yeah yeah yeah!

sconi, here we come.

and romo? enjoy mexico.


UPDATE: just read this countdown from deadspin. it's pitch perfect:

0:24 -- A false start hurts the comeback, then a short pass to Witten doesn't go far, and forward progress keeps the clock running. Dallas invokes their final timeout.

0:21 -- Nailed by Osi Umenyiora as he throws, Romo's pass is incomplete to bring up third down.

0:16 -- Romo overthrows Crayton in the end zone. 4th down.

0:09 -- R.W. McQuarters catches the 4th down pass in the end zone. But R.W. McQuarters plays for the Giants. Holy sweet Christ, Wade Phillips is gonna be poked with a stick by Jerry Jones all offseason.

0:00 -- Jessica Simpson text messages Eli Manning.

how it's nice to get props every once in awhile

especially when it's by your peers and public relations department. just check out today's issue of "creativity" online to see what i mean.

/bragging

how i wish there were so much more of

in fact, i wish i could buy a complete pay-per-view of conan o'brien doing edith bunker singing "sabotage" by the beastie boys.

yes, it's just as awesome as it sounds.

how about we give it up for sunday the 6th

this has possibly been the best sunday ever. why?

1. with my buddy will, i watch eli manning grow up and the giants win their first playoff game in seven years, utterly destroying the bucs. and, even better, this leads us to the next round against the cowboys. the cowboys! i can't wait. seriously. i can't.

2. roger clemens stammers on "60 minutes", especially when mike wallace asks him what would happen if he took a lie detector test. it was possibly the most enjoybale theater i've seen in years. thank god for sweat glands.

3. i found out that friends of mine will become first-time parents later this year.

4. the stony brook seawolves notch their first win in league play, a 75-59 triumph over maine.

5. the first lady of steveohville just arrived at my apartment to bring me dessert, the impossibly amazing hot chocolate from bittersweet on fillmore.

6. the season premiere of "the wire" began tonight, and it was wonderful as usual.

thank you, sunday. i think you are wonderful.

how to do a proper NFC wild card playoff preview

my predictions for the giants-bucs game on sunday:

what the fuck are you thinking, eli?
you've been playing for four fucking years, god damn it!
would you fucking run the ball?
can anyone cover them? i'm fucking talking to you, madison!
jeff fucking garcia is thirty fucking eight years fucking old!
what the fuck you thinking, coughlin?
can you fucking believe this shit? reuben fucking droughns?
will somebody in blue show up and fucking play?
stop with the fucking prevent already!

final score: giants 20, bucs 13.

how you don't need a caucus to prove that this rocks

of all the election ads i've seen, this one is far and away the best.

how the best way to tell a year to take a hike is to go on one of your own

these photos taken on january 1st on rodeo beach, located in beautiful sausalito.

how i wish everyone a happy new year

and hopefully a better year than this guy had.

and yes, before you write in, i know it's old and i've posted this about a million times already, but fuck shit, i get so diaretic sometimes. and those goddamn flies.