and He would come from Toho...

Ok – what I may be treading on here might be considered “blasphemous” so I would suggest to the light of open-minded religious conservatism to take a powder rather than reading on.
I had the greatest of pleasures this past weekend of exposing the offspring to a real institution, the genre of the Japanese Monster Movie. More importantly and directly, the introduction of the King of all monsters – Godzilla. In an early afternoon showing of Godzilla, Mothra, et al. (2001) my little ones summoned up the nerve to peek through their tightly clenched fingers to witness the giant reptile wreak havoc upon the far eastern Toho constructed miniscapes of Japan. Amazed they were, although a little extra soothing and reassuring of their fictitious state was needed for the middle child. From this short exposure I could never have imagined the reaction and observations that would become from my eldest, shy less a fortnight of her 6th birthday.
She questioned the peoples’ abject fear and betrayal of this creature who was obviously trying to help them by staving off the marauding invaders of Mothra and the three headed Gihidorah. When those drill missiles blasted into Godzilla’s hide she actually cried out for him to get away. Who knew a mere child could have empathy for a special effect riddled man in a rubber suit?
Now that I have preambled long enough to the setting of this amazing observation I must get to the crux of this matter. Those innocent questions brought forth by my child had forced me to compare the imaginary lizard to someone whom we may all have some connection with. This person I refer to is no one less than our Lord and Savior, JC Himself.
I asked myself the uneasy question – can these characters have anything to do with one another? Surely this could not have been the intent in 1954 with the original filming! In this movie the giant Godzilla came, wrecked Tokyo, and died in the harbor. Although – there WAS an underlying message of human frailty and environmentalism… AND – he DID rise again some three film generations later…
This reptilian beast had come and shook up the Japanese world, caused great anarchy and self-reflection, and went away to come again. Godzilla saves, he destroys in doing so.
I admit JC had a different style – not so much with the radioactive fiery breath, but he did destroy! He tore down immorality and sin, threw some tables around in the temple, and was not to be shaken by so much as a storm at sea. Each have had to battle. JC was in the desert with ‘ol Beelzebub and cast out fleets of lesser demons, Godzilla stomped around Monster Island at will, and came to mainland to really beat down the evil ones. Both of ‘em got people riled up. Where they might be opposite in that Godzilla had folks running away and JC had ‘em standing around him for miles in every direction, they both led to social upheaval. I’m telling ya here – the similarities are uncanny.
I’ll let you be the final judge here, as I can ramble on about the similarities for pages. In my best Leonard Nimoy voice I would ask the question – “Is Godzilla the Savior of Japan? Next! on In Search Of…”

Shake it up...

Yeah – I’m alive. I seem to have survived the dreaded pox that stripped me of my insatiable hunger, only to find myself wary of my own futile existence. The article I linked to talks about global events, specifically around our rock’s sporadic killing off of its inhabitants. I took a step away and mentally slid a few ring on my abacus and came out with a quick estimate that it was about time we had us another Earthen Cleansing.
I can’t say I would be big on it – I still have a lot to get done, but if it’s time – it’s time. I sometimes have the notion that God has the Earth on his mantle, almost exactly as some freaky airport hoppers collect trinkets from every nook they’ve ever traveled. In this case there is a wall of snowglobes, but to the Big Man that little souvenir is US. And just like us – we all know what’s gonna happen when we shake it up, but it’s irresistible to do it nonetheless. So every few million years, Yahweh gets Himself an itchy trigger finger and gives the Earth globe a rattle, just to see how the dust settles that time.
Are we really due for a shake? Look around. I think so.

Blech.

I think I just need to die.
I can get along just fine with all kinds of different bodily pain. I’m definitely at home with mental pain, but I seem to have fallen to my very best hated type of malady. Gastrointestinal.
I awoke this morn at the great hour of four to the irresistible urge to purge. From everywhere. Things that were in needed to be out. It took several hours of contortions and revolving door tactics with el bano, but I now find myself a spent shell and probably quite dehydrated and most certainly afraid of everything solid.
I hate it when my guts get out of whack. The bitch part is that it happens from time to time. But this one was worse than usual. I’m thinking viral. I actually had to pull over on my way into the office so I could effectively dry-heave. You all know how much THAT had to suck.
Now – I’m hunched over in my office freezing and staring at a container of spongy Nissin Cup Noodles thinking that I would prefer mustard gas to this feeling. Maybe even a sweet laceration or hell – gimme a good ol fashion headache. Toothache even. I know how to handle them.
Alas – my Achilles Heel is none other than my stomach. And intestines. Hell – it’s my entire alimentary canal.
Bottom line : I’m hating life right about now. If only my phone would stop ringing…

Dreamtime

So I had me a dream last night. Perhaps inspired by all that ML the K Day talk and all – but that guy had a pipe dream of equality of all men – I just had one of my typical way out there dreams. So siddown, gentle reader, and put on yer seatbelts for this one.

So there I was, rollerblading around ShopRite. I’ve had this dream before. But this one was nice – there was a sale on pizza. A HUGE sale on pizza. There was all kinds around. Round, square, long, short, thick, thin, and toppings of every color and taste. These pizzas were just about everywhere. And that was me, zipping around checking out all the pies that I knew I needed, man.
Lo and behold – something was going down. I was alone in that supermarket of pizza. Somehow a hockey game broke out – USA vs Russia, wearing the same uniforms as back in ’80 in Lake Placid. It was brutal. Guys were all over the place, and the score was tied up one apiece. From outta nowhere, a shot came flying by and nailed the USA goalie in the side of the head. Our goal was in the bread aisle. The shot came right down and after a super quick action – it was in the net. They waved it off at first, but after the review on the Dexter Deli order monitor, the goal had to stand. Damn. It was cool – the shot came down and bounced off the dude’s skate, but a quick slap of the stick put the puck homewards – not the skate. The Russky didn’t have much time to do this before our D came and plowed him into the Entenmann’s rack. Normally I would say great play but I was pissed since hey – who wants the commies to win?
I woke up just about after that with the alarm clock being the final buzzer. This wasn’t too messed up in that I don’t need any dream therapist or some freakin Technicolor Dreamcoat to figure out what’s up in me brainbone. I can break this down into a few key points.
1. we all need more pizza. Preferably with meat products on them.
2. I spend too much time at ShopRite.
3. I freaking MISS good hockey.

Let’s get this straight too. I miss GOOD hockey – not necessarily the NHL. Shit – I would pay money to rewatch some of the SEGA ’94 games we played on juiced up Wednesday evenings in Piscataway. There is something inherently wrong with it being January and no talk about the All-Star break and who would’ve won the 8-goal club pool. I’m stepping up here and telling you that Bettman had better take a page outta the ultimate leader’s handbook (a.k.a. Reagan’s memoirs) and flat out FIRE everybody. Unrecognize the player’s union. Go on teevee primetime and rip up whatever contract was in place. Then burn it. Then wiss all over it and laugh as he puts the final shake on the stream.
We need a whole new world. I’m all for management here. I don’t care how much they skim off the top or how much they spend on whatever – but this “union” thing is pure crapola. Fans will complain about ticket prices, and when we stop paying those prices, they will come down, and owners will stop paying inflated salaries. The espNHL had some good ideas, like killing the advertising all over the place. That would drive the owners to scrimp in the right places, like the salaries. Marketing? Let’s get some better coverage on the ice and mic up some of the replacement players. You start recording what comes out of a juiced up Theo Fleury and you can make Tenacious D look like a church choir. I’d tune in for that action in a heartbeat. Oh – the players no like? No soup for you! Out! Next! There will always be somebody who WANTS to play.
Bring on the scabs – there will be some good play soon enough, because those egomainiacs in the nhlpa will eventually come around and realize we really didn’t miss them that much.
Bring on the NASCAR. February 20th – be ready.

I'm back.

That’s it.
This template BLOWS. I know it does. I’m TRYING to get something together that is a lot less similar to scraping off your cornea with a paring knife, but it will take a little longer than expected, since I’m as talented as a tap-dancing mollusk in that department.
I wanted to have this fresh kick-ass revitalized Elvis shrine for a blogspot, and just in time for the King’s 70th – but no. I suck too badly for that.

So I end my months of silence with none too atypical attitude about my lack of progress on anything. As Life Rule #2 states – Deal With It. I think I needed to get back to how my blog title implies – this be a Rant page. I’m gonna get back to the roots, kids. I’m angry. About everything. Be ready to hear about it.

I might post some links to the things I will rant about – I might not. But as the King would state – I’m taking care of business. And when you gotta prioritize – this web stuff kinda sinks to the bottom of the well of daily crap that has been building up.

Here goes to the New Year and what would’ve been the 71st Year of the Elvisian calendar : “I’d rather be angry than bored.”

Lucky for me (and you, gentle reader) – there’s plenty to be angry about.