Alien Disco

SCATTERSHOT Writers as MARVEL Heroes

"You wouldn't like me when I'm angry":

Mike, post-Adamantium-enhancement surgery:

Toy Story

Although I’m nearly halfway through living my twenties, I have yet to grow up. I say this because, as anyone who knows me can attest, I have few of the qualities that grown men exhibit. Not only might I reach my middle-age living out of the same bedroom in which I grew up, but the majority of my income goes not to health insurance premiums or electric bills, but rather to things that entertain me.

Aside from the standard fare of movie ticket stubs and video game discs, my purchases occasionally can go a step further into rather embarrassing waters.

Take, for example, an instance not long ago when I was walking around a department store. I’d originally gone to pick up replacements for several tattered pieces of clothing with split seams and stains I’d somehow convinced myself were still good enough to wear. I walked in with every intention of marching straight to the men’s department, but thanks to my cat-like curiosity and the insatiable need to look at things I have absolutely no reason to buy, I wound up snaking my way around the store, ending up in the toy department.

It was a couple months before the release of the Star Trek motion picture directed by J.J. Abrams, and the merchandising was out in full force. Not only were there colorful graphics placed above the aisle sections dedicated to tiny plastic phaser-wielding figurines, but entire endcaps had been erected in honor of what had been one of my all-time favorite childhood shows.

As a youth, I would fantasize not about scoring a winning touchdown in a Superbowl game, but rather I’d imagine myself commanding a spaceship, fending off an alien invasion and saving a distant planet. One of the main elements of my dream future was the spaceship, and so when I stood before the endcap and saw that there was a plastic replica of the iconic spacecraft from the movie, I had to have it.

Picking it up, however, I only stood there, considering myself. Here I was, standing in a toy department, well into my twenties and about to buy a toy rather than some much-needed clothes. Was I crazy, I had to wonder, for being stuck on such a choice?

My friend Michael shares a passion for collectibles, especially those of the science fiction kind. He once told me that, upon finding a toy that caught his eye, he decided to buy it. When his cashier bagged the item up and announced his total, she asked, “Did you need a gift receipt with that?”

“No,” Michael answered firmly, as if he were making a stand. “No, I don’t.”

I thought about him as I worried the box with my hands, wearing away at the edges of the packaging like a nervous thief. My feet shuffled back and forth, as if toeing an imaginarily line between justification and utter madness.

So what? I thought finally, and I walked up to the checkouts.

To this day, I have nowhere to move. I have no savings to speak of. All I have is a plastic light-up spaceship sitting on a bookshelf. That, and the hope that, if I can’t one day fly through space, defending alien civilizations, I can — at the very least — grow up.

My Second Pilgrimage to ‘Macca’

EDIT: BY STRANGE COINCIDENCE, I JUST LEARNED THAT TODAY IS PAUL'S 68TH BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL!

Growing up, some of my best memories were of listening to The Beatles. In the early 1990’s, my Uncle David bought my parents their first CD player (which was roughly the size of a VCR). He bought them two “compact discs” to go with their new player—“A Decade of Steely Dan” (which I’ve only just recently learned to appreciate) and The Beatles album “Revolver.” My sister Amber and I used to crank up “Revolver” while we were home alone...

There was much couch jumping.

In 1993 Paul McCartney came to Kansas City to promote his then-current album "Off the Ground." Even though I knew very little about The Beatles, I knew that this was a big deal. My parents had never taken us to a concert before, so I didn’t know what to expect when my parents told us we were going. I was in elementary school, so while I don’t recall 100% of the show, it had a profound effect on me. I started buying records (cd’s) shortly after the concert. I started accumulating all the other Beatles albums (which I gave to my other sister Lindsey, after I got the remastered boxset a year ago).

I've been to a lot concerts since that Sunday night in 1993, but none have compared to McCartney’s show. I guess it's true what they say--you never forget your first time.

The concert was at Arrowhead Stadium and I remember there was no opening act—McCartney just got on stage and started playing “Drive My Car.” I only later came to understand how strange this was (most bands today usually have TWO opening acts). I also think there was an intermission (though I can’t be sure about that). I do know that it was light outside when the show started and nearly 11:00 at night when it was over.

Who knew that Muslims really do love him do?

While the show is a bit blurry I can recall a few key moments. Like the fireworks during “Live and Let Die,” and the really cool neon-lighted/psychedelic piano that Paul played during “Magical Mystery Tour.”

When I found out my Mom was pregnant a few years later, I became determined to make my unborn sibling a Beatles fan. I used to put headphones on my Mom’s belly and play Beatles albums. I’m not sure if Lindsey had a choice, but she has since grown up liking the Fab Four. A few years ago, while I was still in college I took her to see 1964 A Tribute, which is a Beatles tribute band I’d seen a few years earlier.

I made sure we sat up in the balcony so it’d be kinda hard to tell they weren’t the real deal. And while 1964 is fantastic, nothing beats the real thing. I missed the boat on seeing The Beatles because I was born too late which still kinda bums me out. I guess that's about as good an excuse as one could have, but it still smarts. Seeing McCartney was as close to seeing The Beatles as I could ever get, and I’ve always felt bad that Lindsey didn’t get the opportunity I had.

After all, McCartney is still alive. And touring.

So I every year I’d check and see if McCartney was coming anywhere near Missouri. I missed him once, in St. Louis (oddly enough) because I found out about the show too late to go. I swore I'd never let that happen again. Which is why I'm happy to report that on Saturday July 24, 2010 I’m going to see Paul McCartney once more in Kansas City. The show is going to be at the new Sprint Center (downtown), which I’ve never been to before, which adds another (albeit small) layer of excitement to the show.

But the real reason I’m excited isn't because I'm seeing Paul McCartney, the legend, live in concert one last time. And it's not because I get to go inside a shiny new concert venue…

No, I’m excited because I’m taking Lindsey with me. Luckily for her, she’s a hell of a lot older than I was when I saw him, so hopefully she’ll remember more than I did. The tickets were, as expected, way too expensive (I think I owe Paul McCartney a kidney for these damn seats) but we’re going. And it’s going to be great.

My Butler

"Jeeves, bring me some aspirin..."

Books I've Never Read & Movies I've Never Seen

There's a super-sweet boss battle in the PSOne action-stealth game METAL GEAR SOLID where this crazy ninja starts tell you what games you like to play.

He's not talking to Solid Snake (the character you play), he speaks directly to "you" (the player). This freaked a lot of people out back in 1998 but it wasn't a Jedi mind-trick--the game simply read your memory card for saved game files.

And do you know what? I've never played METAL GEAR SOLID.

So how do I know about this? Well, as it turns out--your old pal Jason is chock full of such "information." Somehow (read: through a sad, wasted life) I have accumulated a vast memory bank plot details, character names, song titles, and game levels FOR books/movies/albums/games that I have never read/seen/heard/played.

When I meet people, the subject of books or music will come up in the natural course of conversation. Invariably this thing happens where I say "Have you heard of ____?" and whomever will say "Yeah, have you heard of _______?"

And 99.999% I will lie and say "Hell yeah I've heard of _________!!!" And then I will con this person with my amazing memory bank of useless information. I will con them into believing that I have: 1. read the book they are talking about, 2. Seen the film they are referencing, 3. Heard the band/song they're asking me about, or 4. Played (and finished) the game we're chatting about.

I am a liar. I am a conman.

There's no reason to lie, I'm not gaining anything from saying things like "JASON TAKES MANHATTAN is a terrible horror movie...for crying out loud--it take him 2/3 of the film to GET TO MANHATTAN."

I mean, it is true...JASON TAKES MANHATTAN is a terrible entry in a beloved horror franchise AND it DOES take the titular masked killer over an hour to get to the city.

But you know what? I've never seen a single FRIDAY THE 13th movie. I'm not a fan of really gory movies and growing up people gave me shit about my name because of those damn movies. But somewhere along the line I picked up that little tidbit about JASON TAKES MANHATTAN. And you know what? In casual conversation most people would buy that I've seen, if not all, but most of the films in that series. I can talk about the "surprise" shock-ending of the first FRIDAY THE 13th movie (spoiler-alert: stay the hell outta the lake) or the fact that Jason wasn't the real killer until FRIDAY THE 13th PART II.

But it's not just crappy slasher films. I once talked to a guy for several hours about BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL (a game I never played). I DID however read a somewhat lengthy article about the game's development (and of course I read IGN's review (9.0 out of 10)).

And that, I think, is why I "know" so much (and so little). These days, there are millions of articles, review, previews, blogs, production notes, fan-sites, "Top 10" lists that do nothing but expound about "things" (media, like books and video games) while offering no original content. In a way, this is all scholarly work, like literary criticism. Except it's about the 8-bit TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES Arcade games instead of FINNEGANS WAKE, which is a fantastic novel (just kidding, I've never read it).

I feel like a Jeopardy! contestant every waking second of my life. I have crappy trivia dripping out of my ears, and it worries me. I mean, if the human brain is anything like the hard drive of a computer (which is how I like to think of it) then my hard drive must be dangerously full--but full of nothing worthwhile.

Romance Language

I’ve always seemed to have a knack for languages. I don’t know if it comes from genetics, my environment growing up, or the strange lump I have on the right side of my forehead, but from an early age I was able to read better than most of the other kids my age. I say this not as a boast or a brag, but rather because it is one of the few things that I can claim to be good at without resorting to lies. In kindergarten I read a story book aloud to my class despite the doubts my teacher had in my abilities. Words, in all their forms and conjugations, have always been to me like baseball cards or potato chips resembling famous figures in history: things to be husbanded away and held close like precious stones.

Throughout grade school, the subject of English became my favorite because, while I could never hit a kickball, I could conjugate the hell out of a verb. In high school, my love affair with the English language continued, and like a polygamist seeking an extra wife or a cheating boyfriend looking for sex on the sidelines, I signed up for an introductory course to Spanish in addition to my required English courses.

The only way I can describe learning a new language would be to say that it is like trying to walk backwards while at the same time switching from your predominant hand to your subordinate one. It felt awkward trying to unlearn all the rules of English grammar and syntax. While at first Spanish was a bit of a challenge, as the months went by I began to ease into the mindset of working within a new set of rules with new materials with which to build sentences, phrases, even entire paragraphs. What I could compose at sixteen sounded, at best, like what a seven-year-old could make with lettered wooden blocks, but still.

My grandmother, some time after I graduated, once told me that she thought of Spanish as a romantic-sounding language. And while it is technically considered a romance language, I personally find it difficult to hear anything romantic in it. I feel the same way about French, which I just makes me feel judged and unsophisticated. Of all the languages that would have the best chance of making me swoon, I would have to say that, hands down, Italian would be the most likely. Italy is exotic and has a robust history of art and culture that forms a backdrop suitable for any number of movie montages about love. Spanish, on the other hand, makes me think of war and revolution and famous last stands at places like the Alamo. Besides, after hearing a waiter at a Mexican restaurant rattle off the names of entrees like burritos supremos and enchiladas con pollo, it’s hard to imagine that same language over candlelight dinners or whispering seductions into someone’s ear.

5 Things (besides golf balls) That BP Could Use to Stop the Oil Leak

Look, the tragedy unfolding (and spilling) out in the Gulf of Mexico is more than an environmental disaster—it’s a national disgrace. The same nation that invented the A-Bomb and put a MAN ON THE MOON is incapable of stopping a leaky pipe at the bottom of the ocean? The good folks at British Petroleum have tried a few unorthodox things to stop the gushing geyser 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

For example, they tried to plug the hole in the pipe with golf balls. Golf balls! Seriously BP? Gee, I can't imagine why that didn't work...I think we can do a little better than that, can't we? I can't think of a greater waste of golf balls--except perhaps to actually use them for golf (not fan of golf).

Anyway, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about it and I've decided to put my genius towards solving the problem brewing in the Gulf. If BP isn’t going take advice from Mr. James “King of the World” Cameron, maybe they’ll listen to some unemployed dude living in Saint Louis (hey it could happen). So, without further ado, here is a list of at least 5 other things I’d try cramming into that pipe BEFORE I’d even CONSIDER golf balls.

In no particular order:

1. Tampons—Look, I don’t want to be crass…but what the hell, this is a national tragedy. Do we really have the time to be “sensitive”? Hell no. Plug that hole the same way women around the globe plug theirs. I suggest the “heavy flow” variety for this underwater debacle. Yeah, I went there, get over it Flipper is dying!

2. Bounty Paper Towels—The quilted, quicker, thicker, picker-upper! Have you folks at BP SEEN a Bounty paper towel commercial? You can wipe your kitchen counter and WRING the paper towel over the sink! It’s like a rag. I’m not saying one or two rolls are going to put an end to the spill, but one or two MILLION ROLLS might do the job.

3. Great Stuff Foam—My wife swears by this stuff, she uses it to patch holes in her tires (rather than buying a new tire, which is what I usually do). Hmm, leaky tire…leaky pipe. Get an oil tanker full of this stuff and pump it down where the oil is gushing. Sure, they’ll have to get a new pipe after about 20 miles, but at least it’ll get them where they’re going (ha-ha).

4. Junk Mail—Since buying a house, I get about two letters a week for crappy Life Insurance. I imagine everyone reading this gets at minimum 15 pieces of junk mail a week. Take all that crap and cram it into the pipe. Hell, you could probably fill the entire length of the pipe with junk mail AND still have enough to fill the Grand Canyon half-way. Oh crap, I mentioned another natural wonder…hope I didn’t give BP any ideas.

5. Dead Whales/Sea Life—Let me start off by saying, I love whales. Back in January I saw whales off the coast of Hawaii (like, in the wild). Amazing, beautiful creatures. It’s a damn shame that we’re fucking up their habitat. However, this oil spill is killing all sorts of wildlife—why let all those lives be lost in vain? I say, scoop up all the dead birds, fish, whales, manatees…whatever, and cram them into that hole.

Bonus: Sand from all the ruined beaches—So this oil spill is ruining beaches in the Gulf Coast…so why not take that oily-sand and shovel it up and cram it into the pipe. A couple hundred pounds of sand won’t do the trick—but MILLIONS of ruined beach sand might do the trick.

You’re welcome BP.