Here’s my latest column on the farce that is JR Smith.

I started NaNoWrimo only to hit the usual roadblock of life. I’ll never finish, but it at least got me writing and I’m still chipping away at it. Better than not doing it. Here’s a sample:

“Cool.” He didn’t mean it. “Is that it?” Brandt asked.

“No, there’s one more going,” Garcia said. “He’s a physicist. His name is Merrold.” Garcia pointed to the tables with the mountains of paper and lead covered computer boxes. One of the shaggy haired scientists looked up when he heard his name. He quickly went back to his work. Seers yelled at him in his best command tone and Merrold shook himself free of what he was doing to shamble over to the group.

Merrold wiped his hand on his coat before he shook hands with Brandt. Brandt noticed it. A sweater. Wet palms. Nervous. And this was rounding out his group. Three meat heads who looked like they were auditioning for the eventual remake of Predator, two nerds and a twitchy scientist with sweaty palms. Brandt shook his hand anyway. “Nice to meet you professor. Is there anything we should know before we head off to parts and times unknown?” Brandt asked.

“Professor? I’m not a professor,” Merrold said a little confused.

Oh jesus. Brandt’s inner monologue groaned. He looked at Seers who stood off to the side like a nervous matchmaker hoping his Frankenstein like mashup was going to work. “General, can I have a word please?”

Seers held out a hand for them to step away from the group who went back to gathering up gear, calibrating video cameras and tinkering with computer schematics for time travel. The walked and toward a table that had large water dispenser, a trough of egg and some sausage laid out before Brandt arrived.

“General, can I speak frankly sir?”

“Of course.” They stopped now and stood face to face away from the group near the eggs.

“I don’t know about this team sir. I feel very uncomfortable going in to this type of unknown situation with these guys.”

“What’s wrong with them?” The General seemed perturbed and stepped into the conversation a little to show Brandt he was still the boss in this cave.

“Those three guys,” pointing to the hard asses he met first, “are more for storming a dictator’s stronghold than they are for quietly slipping in and out of enemy territory. And those guys,” jamming a thumb toward what he couldn’t believe were actually CIA agents, “will get us all killed and you know that. Don’t get me started on Professor Frink over there.” Merrold stared off into space like he was concocting a secret theorem that no one, nowhere would ever understand.

“Look Brandt, I know it’s not ideal, but this is what we have to work with. Those three hard asses will do what you say and blast you out of any situation you get in. Remember, the Germans are still lingering outside France at this point….”

Brandt interrupted him, “which is precisely why we need stealth and not brute force.

Seer held up a hand. “I’ve personally reviewed their files and they will work. The other two are there strictly to document. They too will do what you say and stay out of your way. They are no worse than probably some of the teenagers who went over to fight in the 40’s right?”

He didn’t give him any time to respond. “And as far as Merrold goes, he’s the only one who really understands how this thing works. He’s your only hope of getting back safe and sound.”

“So why doesn’t he stay here?”

“Someone has to calibrate another device on the other side to bring you back. Stapleton brought something with him that was supposed to do that. Merrold worked with him on this from the beginning and he said that’s how it needs to be done. Someone over there is going to have to make that thing work to bring you back, and I figured it should be him.”

Brandt looked from Merrold to the Cohen Brothers (as he now dubbed Wesley and Dexter) to the 80’s action heroes and thought, fuck I’m really screwed. It occurred to him to just turn around and start walking. He was pretty sure he knew his way out. If he could open the doors or have someone do it for him, he’d climb back up those stairs, out through Carvaccio’s office and call a cab to pick him up at the gate. He didn’t think they’d stop him. He would just refuse to go. At this point they wouldn’t be getting him a new crew. This is what he’d have to go with. He shook his head, figured how many times does anyone get the chance to time travel during any given week, and made the somewhat suicidal decision to give it a go. This all happened in the time it took Seers to blink four times. It wasn’t like stepping off a cliff but more like getting into a metal box that was about to be lowered into the ocean. He knew it was a death sentence, but every time he did it, there was always a glimmer that tickled the back of his ball sack and told him nothing was set in stone.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Third time is the…..charm? Maybe so. I cover a lot of ground in this episode, talking Netflix rage, Casey Anthony rage, soda commercials, Twitter and Flash Gordon. Flesh Gordon is another show entirely.

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A rousing second show. Fireworks, the problems in Greece, and Arnold screwed us all. In addition to disliking going to the movies, I reveal how much I hate video on websites. Riveting. Plus a breakdown of the current crop of new releases at the theater that I won’t go see. Plus great tunes laid down under my pleasant ramblings.

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Hey folks, this is my podcast Final Broadcast. But it’s the first one…wait…that’s confusing. Anyway, enjoy my first show where I talk about movies, politics, gay marriage, and adult diapers.

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new column at AV Club Denver!

My latest column at AV Club Denver. A Rockies funk you don’t want to dance to. For the Jock Itch archive, click here.

This might seem like a bizarre thing to complain about but I absolutely can’t stand hyphenated names. And young women who take on these hyphenated names when they get married are betraying just how non-progressive they really are.

My sister is in her late 40’s and she uses a hyphenated name. This is cool because when she adopted her hyphenated name, it was not the in-vogue thing to do that it is now. In fact, it was probably frowned upon in the 80’s for women to do so. The Hilary Rodham Clinton’s of the world were seen as feminist, nazi (feminazis! Oh Rush, you scamp), lesbians who wanted to take down America with their rejection of the usual post-marriage naming rite.

So if you took a hyphenated name in the 80’s or perhaps the early 90’s, I salute you. You’re a credit to your gender and I’d imagine somewhat of a free thinker. But who I don’t salute are the women who take on the hyphen now.

If you’re not over 45 and you have a hyphenated name, you’re a total sell out. It’s a cheap way to seem liberated when you’re really not. Either take your husband’s last name after marriage or don’t. It’s as easy as that. But splicing in your last name with your hubby’s is a wishy-washy cop-out and speaks volumes to your status as a poser feminist.

The hyphenated name now is just too cliché. It’s the go-to for the woman who wants to seem progressive but who really is doing the equivalent to an Austin Powers impression: you’re very late to the party. You want to seem progressive? Keep your fucking last name. As well as revealing who likes Nicholas Sparks movies, hyphenated names are only good for figuring out who the people trying to Friend you on Facebook are. Without the maiden name thrown in there, you’d never know Sally Stevens Hatfield by just Sally Hatfield. Other than that, it’s just a complete waste of time.

So let’s get on the same page ladies. Either take the plunge and become one of your husband’s clan or just keep your goddamned name already. The pretentiousness of your hyphen is killing me.

Going against a lifetime of conditioning is very tough to do. And that’s why being a believer is easy and admitting to yourself there is no God is difficult. The belief in God is simplistic. It’s childlike. Do you want proof that religion, at least in its current form is one of the most ridiculous lies ever told to mankind? People ascribe human qualities to God. God told me that abortion is wrong. God hates fags. God told me to vote for this asshole. Why on heaven and earth would God – considering this mythical being is so all knowing and wise – give two shits about gay people? It’s seems petty and low that someone who is supposed to be so powerful, would even give this a second thought. That is all the proof you need that there is a fundamental problem with the belief in God.

Oh and the simple fact that the people who are the most ardent believers in God are some of the biggest, craziest assholes on the planet. Give me someone who’s calm and rational and not shoving their delusional bullshit down my throat and I’ll at least lend an ear to what they’re saying. Chances are if they are rational, they won’t be trying to sell me on their crazy fantasy about the Magic Man™ in the sky

I recently watched this video (see below) of sick in the head Pro-lifers being stumped by a single question. These creeps are a whole other discussion, but again, I wondered about how they could so easily ascribe such a human trait (oh the poor babies!) to an all powerful being. If God was so concerned about the children, wouldn’t he be rallying his troops to make sure the kids who are born into poverty or to abusive parents be taken care of as well? That would make too much sense and it’s much more difficult to raise a stink for that than it is to attack a lone woman who is making a difficult decision. But again, God taking time out of his busy schedule to infuse these nuts jobs with his small minded wishes just doesn’t add up.

New column at AV Club Denver on the Tulo signing.