LSQ's 5-Minute Fridays: Feb. 12, 2010

In this minicast from the LSQ Movie Review Cory picks To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar, Schwez takes The Chronicles of Narnia, and Joe opts for The Mask of Zorro, while Hey Zeus choses between The Wolfman, Valentine's Day, and Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief.

The Triple Standard of Bitching

Everything in this life has standards. It’s how everyone knows how things should be done, what is OK and what is not OK and what is allowed and what isn't - sociologists call these standards norms... not to be confused with everyone's favorite accountant Norm on Cheers (See, who said you can't learn anything from my column? Seriously, who said it cuz that's messed up). Then there is the infamous and always popular 'double standard' rule... I believe that's an oxymoron, which is fitting because whenever someone uses a double standard on me the word 'moron' is always the first thing that crosses my mind.

The "oxy" part of the word is lost in my brain, eternally floating around somewhere like the missing socks I lose in the dryer

Now recently, during this year’s Super Bowl, I discovered that there is something called a "triple standard." Let me explain: it’s no secret to anyone that knows me that I am a big Chicago Bears and Chicago Cubs fan, which is a good way of saying that all of my friends tend to assume I'm used to defeat... which is a true statement. The years that either one of my teams manages to get into the playoffs are great years for me; I've long dismissed dreams of winning the whole enchilada and will literally crap myself if that win ever comes in my life time (In fact my bucket list entails watching the Bears and the Cubs win the Super Bowl and World Series). It’s a very depressing affair and it’s something that Vikings fans are currently dealing with now... sorry guys, my heart goes out to you, kinda. In my time I've noticed that the worst thing about dealing with your sports team losing year after year is the fans of other teams trying desperately to cope with the loss of their own team's defeat by grinding your feelings in to the mud.

Yes, it’s a tough world out there to be a sports fan but that’s just part of the way things are. The best thing about sports is that there is always a next year, so if your team isn’t doing well you can always start looking to next year so that your heart doesn’t break so bad throughout the season. This usually ends up looking a lot like "bitching" to the other people who aren’t necessarily fans of the same team as you but that's just how being a sports fan is: I listen to you bitch as I harass you on how terrible your team played and you do the same thing to me.

Now, it has come to my attention that a friend of mine, we shall hide his identity so that he doesn’t feel picked on and call him R.O.B.B. which is an anagram for Rude, Overly Belligerent Bitching or Robb to make it easier, has deviated away from the standard bitching of sports and gone with the "double standard" of bitching about sports. In other words, he has had enough of people, specifically Bears fans (ah, yes, now you understand) complaining and coming up with excuses as to why their team didn’t do well during the season, thus instead of groaning about his own team like the rest of us, bitch about everyone bitching.

Now, this isn’t a new thing for young Master Robb. I have heard it for a couple years now. It wasn’t until his team (the Colts) made it in to the Super Bowl that I realized something. For one, I need to state that I like the Saints and the Colts; I have no quarrels with them at all and would have watched the big game with indifference on who won and lost. BUT (and you’ll notice that I capitalized the whole word but to make sure you understood that this is a BIG BUTT) I noticed that I was cheering more and more for the Saints. Not because I wanted to see the Saints win or even the Colts lose but that I was actively cheering against Robb.

It was then that I realized something as I bitched to Hey Zeus about how Robb is always bitching about Bears fans bitch that while Robb decided to ignore the "standard" bitch rule and opt for the "double standard" bitch rule, I was taking it to an entire new level and created the "triple standard" bitch rule. It was like if "standard" were mere humans and Robb was using "double standard" to become Superman, I was surpassing him and using "triple standard," thus becoming even more powerful, like Chuck Norris or Mr. T. I then wondered if the "triple standard" would ever hold up for anything else other than to defeat the evil Robb and his crazy antics. Even using the "double standard" is risky business. Take Mr. T: usually he spends most of his time “pityin’ foo's” and hanging out at the local jewelry store waiting for his half a ton gold chain necklaces to be cleaned.

He apparently is yet another victim of World of Warcraft – goodbye hopes of a Mr. T comeback...

The point is, you would never try to pity Mr. T back. While I’m not quite certain what it is Mr. T would do back at you, I don’t want to find out what “I pity the foo to the squared power” actually is. In essence, the only time that you can actually say you did a "triple standard" of anything in real life other then against Robb is if you initiated a preemptive strike on someone, like say I decided to kick my good friend Joe in the balls because I felt if I didn’t he would probably kick me in the balls. Then of course, Joe would kick me in the balls back because once you elevate anything to the point of scrotum hitting, all bets are off. This is where the "triple standard" would come in to play; where I would get pissed that Joe decided to kick me in the balls back when all I was doing was kicking him so that he wouldn't kick me – I then would lace up my giant Doc Marten work boots that I would have to borrow from Cory because I only wear sandals year round and proceed to dropkick Joe’s balls to the moon.

A lot like this, the game Battletoads was on the cutting edge of the "triple standard’" rule of nut kicking

Since using a "triple standard" rule is boarderline ridiculous and using the "double standard" rule usually makes you out to be some sort of ass or R.O.B.B., it’s become obvious to me that the norms of our culture are in place for a reason and that when you start to get annoyed with our culture and the way things are and instead try to live by your own rules and trail blaze, things start to escalate, get out of control, and before you know it your swimming up to your ears in R.O.B.B.s and people are kicking everyone in the junk. With that kind of vicious horse-play not even a nut cup can protect your family jewels from the inevitable pounding. The moral of this whole story is to understand how the norms of our society work and not become an R.O.B.B., an ass or get stuck with eggs on your face.

You got egg on your face, buddy

Cory vs. ZOMBIES!!!

Most people have planned out their lives as far out as five, maybe even ten years: marriage, job, kids, divorce, booze, hookers, depression, and brazenly wrapping their car around a telephone pole in Tennessee (in that order). Hell, I don’t even know what I’m doing tomorrow and I’ve already forgotten what I did yesterday. I’ve noticed in the last year or so not only do people need to plan ahead for the twists and turns of typical suburbia or atypical backwater voodoo orgies, but most of the general population having sprouted from the 80’s has a Zombie Apocalypse Plan or Z.A.P., as I’ll henceforth claim as my personal acronym I totally came up with by myself.

Recently, I’ve had reoccurring dreams of impending zombies ambushing this great nation and it’s forced to make me pause and ponder what my Z.A.P. would be. However, I’m not going to tell you the in’s and out’s of my plan for survival. Why? Because, I’ve come to terms with the very reality of this very fictitious situation.

I, Cory Heiple, will not be surviving the zombie apocalypse. Here’s why:

1. I work in a hospital

My current place of pretending-to-do-stuff-for-a-steady-paycheck is at a hospital pouring overweight, senile patients into wheelchairs from the Middle Ages and hauling them to and fro around the hospital. In addition to that I move patients being admitted from the E.R. to their room. Where do you take someone who has just been bitten by their friendly neighborhood zombie? The ER. Where am I? Waiting to greet that newly zombified person. Holy hell, that fact alone will make me one of the first staggering around town with a look of “This fucking blows” on.

2. My apartment would suck as an anti-zombie fortress.

Take a gander at Mr. I-Am-Legend’s stronghold. He has steel-plate timed windows and doors. Awesome… I have giant window’s very much lacking in the steel department. He has a booby-trapped lawn with floodlights. Well, I’ll still have a “lawn” but no lights flooding it because I own zero generators. He has a fucking laboratory/basement/gas chamber/morgue/pet store! I have a very crotchety old man named Paul downstairs and he is, in my opinion, probably already one of “them.”

3. I rarely fill my gas tank past half full.

This one is pretty self explanatory: I’m a cheap ass, McChicken gobbling goon. I’m hard pressed to find a day that I actually shell out the sixty bucks it takes to fill my Jeep especially in this January Midwestern weather when my boogers freeze upon exiting my vehicle. What’s worst than that? Well, zombies, but after that not much else. A well fueled vehicle well be key in escaping a zombie laden city which, friends, I will sadly not have.

4. I think I’m a much better shot than I actually am.

OK, so I’ll be brutally honest here. Up until last year I thought I was one hell of a shot when it comes to a gun. I was raised a slayer of all furry critters so a shotgun is naturally the weapon of choice giving me the greatest edge over my unarmed prey, be it a deer, duck, pheasant, or ginger kid. Now what happened last December made me realize I won’t stand a chance when shit hits the proverbial fan. I was doing the traditional Elmer Fudd impression when a big ol’ buck comes hauling ass in my general direction. I fire all five shots at it and miss every single one. OK, whatever, it caught me by surprise and it was running fast enough to give the DeLorean a run for its money, but that’s not my biggest concern. After all five shots had been slung, the fucker stops twenty yards away from me and looks me dead in the eye with a. “Hey, fuck you pal! I’m runnin’ here…. Fuckin’ shootin’ shit at me,” look. I fumbled, shakily, trying to reload the shotgun so I could quickly end this jive ass deer’s life but dropped not one, but two shells in doing so and by the time I had reloaded he was long gone. I was so rattled by the opportunity to kill something harmless I couldn’t reload quickly enough. Why should my reaction be any different when the thing I’m shooting at is actually trying to gnaw on my tender face? Oh and a deer’s torso, yeah, 'tis a much larger target than a zombie’s head.

5. I honestly don’t know anyone badass enough to keep other people alive.

If you look at the Dawn of the Dead remake, Zombieland, and basically any zombie movie for that matter, what’s one thing they usually have in common? Other than zombies, dumbass. They have a honest to goodness, badass in the form of Ving Rhames or Woody Harrelson. Do you know a Ving Rhames or a Woody Harrelson? I didn’t think so. Neither do I.

Got all that? Let’s pretend that zombies are in our midst tomorrow and it all goes to hell very quickly. I’ll most likely be at work when this happens because that building owns ¾’s of my soul and I’m too lazy to fight back. Let’s say I make it out of there unscathed. Where do I go? I can’t go home; that place blows. I can barely drive anywhere potentially safe because I’d be lucky to have just recently filled the tank to the halfway line, which in my gas guzzling Jeep will get me, oh say, an hour or two’s solid cryfest away from the hospital. I could go find a gun, but hey, that’s probably just a security blanket more than a weapon. Who do I meet up with? No one, because everyone else will be brainlessly believing they are going to survive this shit storm out on top. Therefore, my Z.A.P. is to become a zombie as quickly as possible so I may bite, terrorize, and scare the ever-loving shit out of every one I’ve ever loved and cared about and those I can’t fucking stand. Good luck, suckers!

Episode 11 - The British Use Kilobeans

The LSCrew is at full-strength with Schwez's return as the panel talks about Edge of Darkness, announces some exciting news, gets some knowledge dropped on them about radioactivity, Cory asks everybody (multiple times) if they've seen Fallen, they learn what not to wear when getting shot, Schwez knights Heath Ledger, they find out when the Revolutionary War was not, we frame Leonard Nimoy for murder, and the Crew gets some much needed upgrades. Plus, games!

3:05 - Announcements
5:21 - Edge of Darkness
51:06 - The Patriot
52:27 - Signs
53:24 - Braveheart
53:56 - We Were Soldiers
55:03 - Reboot Recast
1:06:00 - Hey Zeus' LSQ Scenario

Thanks to this weeks sponsor InGen. Visit
http://www.lost-world.com/ingen/index.html for more information.

You can e-mail the show at lsqpodcast@gmail.com, follow us on Twitter at @LSQPodcast, and read our blog at lsqpodcast.blogspot.com.

Theme song:
New Found Glory - King of Wishful Thinking

Opening song:
The Beatles - Birthday

LSQ's 5-Minute Fridays: Feb. 5, 2010

In this minicast from the LSCrew Cory gets ahold of Hey Zeus' notes and tries to get ahold of his identity while Joe renames John Travolta, Schwez has unanswered questions about tattoos and the panel picks between Dear John and From Paris with Love.

Birthdays, Narcissism and Jackie Chan

What is 26? It’s a number obviously. Its how many letters the English alphabet has. 26 is the gematric number of the God Yahweh. Michigan is the 26th State of the United States (Wikipedia didn’t really have much information on 26). But it is also how old yours truly just turned on his birthday. To be honest, when you turn 26 nothing happens, all the fun is said and done with turning another year older. Let’s be honest, at 14 you got your driver's permit which leads to 16 when you finally get you driver's license. It’s at 18 that your considered an adult and can buy tobacco and throw your money at the Powerball Lotto. Magic number 21, as we all know, is the year you can start drinking.

It’s around then that things start going downhill. At 23 you can finally understand what Blink-182 was singing about when they said ‘Nobody likes you when you 23’ and 25 is when your car insurance goes down. HA-ZAH! But at 26 you are now officially considered an active adult in society. Your binge drinking is no longer looked at as "kids having fun" like they did when you were 21, but is now referred to as "alcoholism," and apparently that is looked down on. According to Sexperts, at 26, I am now currently well passed my sexual prime and that’s pretty nifty to think about. Next stop – Penile Erection Disorder! Even though turning 26 has no positive rewards besides the mountains of cards that you now receive with *SPOILER ALERT* no money or gifts cards hidden inside, it’s still a fairly happy affair – that doesn’t turn sour till around 40 I’m told.

With the passing of my birthday yesterday - in which I spent most the day reminding anyone that would listen that it was indeed my birthday and thanking them for asking (I didn't care if the grocer had just asked that or was simply trying to ask me, "paper or plastic" so she could get my stupid grinning like an idiot face away from her) - I realize that birthdays might be one of the most narcissistic practices known on the planet. What's best is everyone accepts the tool bag next to them at the bar yelling and shouting about how "this is my day, biotches" because (and this is the best part) they will eventually at some point in the next 365 days be able to be "that guy" soon enough. The very concept is so pants-shittingly crazy that you would expect only Americans to practice this. However, I do believe that Europe and the Chinese celebrate birthdays, but who knows; there is evidence to support that maybe they don't.

Think about it...Jackie Chan is from China and while yes we do know that he's in his 50's, do we know if America just slapped an age on him the minute he crossed on to our land because "that's just how we roll?" If we dissect Chan's life we notice some distinct differences from how the average American spends their time. The most notable of these is that Jackie Chan spends the better part of his day doing insane stunts and tricks that we only thought we could do with our best friends outside playing when we were five. The fact that he is able to do the majority of the things he does is because he has no idea that a grown man is not supposed to be flipping and flying through the air while beating people up with a step ladder he saw you using as he came in the room. His whole career is exactly how I wanted to live my life when I was four right down to the heavy amount of action with little or no story plot...it’s like he has A.D.D. and no one has the heart to tell him. This supports my point that Jackie Chan has no idea how old he is. It’s what I like to call the 'Jackie Chan Defense'.

Which is different then the 'Jackie Chan Offense' where he uses this toothbrush to kill gingivitis and your entire family...

Does this mean that if we didn’t give ourselves age restrictions that we could all act and do what we wanted to do when we were little? This is a possible scenario but think how crazy our world would be if that were true. We would be swimming in superheroes falling to their deaths because they thought they could fly, trigger-happy cowboys, soldiers with an infinite supply of hand grenades, and fighter pilots that all had the same radio name of Maverick. Our lives would definitely be a lot more exciting but nothing would ever get done. No one wants to grow up to be a janitor, a politician or even a businessman but aside from the douche-bags on Wall Street, we do still need people to fill these positions for our society to run how it does. I mean, if we had a million Jackie Chan’s running around I don’t think I would have made it to my 26th birthday without eating a bullet.

It would have been a bullet covered in razor wire shot from a laser gun mounted on my arm

The point is, while birthdays are a narcissistic holiday it has good reason to be celebrated. After all, everyone needs to be reminded of their age and everyone needs their time in the sun, even that loud obnoxious drunk at the end of the bar that insists on trying to lead everyone in a group sing-along of "You’ve Lost that Lovin Feeling" (was that two Top Gun references in one post? YEE-UP). So, with that said, it gives me great pleasure to announce that yesterday was my birthday and I demand everyone’s respect and attention since I didn’t get it yesterday. You might be asking yourself, “but Schwez, I’m reading this blog, you do have my undivided attention.” Well…umm…that’s a really good point I just made for you. You're welcome. But it’s not your birthday, and unless your birthday’s tomorrow mine is the closest one from today, so you’ll be getting no more credit for points made for you by me. I want you to give me not only your undivided attention but also your multiplied attention.

Does his power rest in his creepy face, his hypnotic eyes or the fact that you can't look away from his shiny

forehead? That question is the reason he has you under his power and not the other way around.

Now that I have it…I don’t really want it. That’s called a ‘Birthday Requested SNAP’.

New DVD's I have watched for January (These are movies I hadn't seen before) :

Adventureland 6/10

The Hurt Locker 9/10

The Taking of Pelham 123 8/10

Killshot 7/10

Extract 9/10

How to be a Serial Killer 3/10

Public Enemies 8/10

Gamer 6/10

Pandorum 10/10

Inglourious Basterds 6/10

Land of the Lost 8/10

Night at the Museum 2 6/10

Alien Raiders 5/10

Unknown 8/10

The Dog Problem

Whose Leg Do You Have to Hump to Get a Good Movie Around Here?

Since this is my first article for the Hump Day Movie Review and that the title of my bi-weekly article is stolen from a Family Guy quote, I will be reviewing "The Dog Problem" This movie is written and directed by Scott Caan. who you might remember in the Ocean's movies and other various projects. I do have to say that after watching this movie I respect him as a director and writer now. I think he is a good actor as well, but this movie opened my eyes to his full potential.

Solo (Giovanni Ribisi) is a neurotic author who on the last day of visiting his psychologist, who is Don Cheadle, it is suggested by Don that Solo get a pet. Solo, seeking an answer to his despair and lack of human love rushes out to go buy a dog. At this point we are introduced to Solo's best friend Casper (Scott Caan). Scott plays Casper well, but it seems like Casper is just the same Scott character that he has played in other movies.

Solo finds his dog, a small dog, but a dog none the less. He has never cared for anything besides himself and a dog is just a little too much to handle. Thinking this dog is too much of a burden to bear, Casper sends him to a friend. A rich white girl Jules (Mena Suvari ( I would hump her leg any day)) who takes care of puppies and then just gives them away. Solo after meeting her decides he wants to keep the dog.

Now one morning we are introduced to Benny, someone Solo owes money to. After Benny's very angry lecture about Solo Spending Benny's money he wants to take the dog from Solo. Solo convinces him that he should be the only owner of the dog.

One day in a dog park, after giving his dog a pep talk and telling him to man up, Solo meets a pretty lady. After a brief awkward exchange we find out her name is Lola (Lynn Collins(I would also hump her leg)) Lola's dog attacks Solo's dog and sends them on a trip to the vet. Unfortunately Solo is broke as a joke and can't afford to pay for it.

So what we have here is a recipe for a fun, light-hearted, love comedy about a person who discovers a depth for caring for other people and a dog.

One question before I go. When your watching this movie and I know you will cause I recommended it. Near the end, doesn't it look like she did it?