I can’t spend much time on this post – Halloween is callin’ my name! But I just wanted to make sure that OL represented this video in some way. Truly the best Star Wars related happening since 1983.  Before watching, just realize that you will never see something as amazing afterward.

[(Ewoks+Alcohol) x (Karate+Moon Walk)] x Live Television=

Twenty-three days into the OCTOBERFEAST and things are getting kooky. Damn kooky. We’ve worshipped Lucifer, munched on cereal, and even hung out with apes. These are strange, horrifying days and they’re only becoming more wonderfully shocking. Sometimes it seems as though OCTOBERFEAST is an alternate dimension of its own.

Anyone who reads comic books or science fiction realizes that our reality is but one of many, a single chapter in book known as the multiverse. There have been countless depictions of realities other than the one to which we are accustomed, and they usually illustrate the idea that some essential quality has been altered. Of course, this makes for great narratives as it encourages the reader/viewer/listener to consider the grand What If?’s in life.

In the late 1950’s, this concept of disregarding standards and questioning society-at-large was the basis behind one of American television’s greatest products — The Twilight Zone. This televised anthology blew minds away every week with unusual stories and narrative twists that defied cookie-cutter formulas. In creator Rod Serling’s words, The Twilight Zone is “A series for the storyteller.”

Serling and his creative team (which sometimes included Ray fuckin’ Bradbury, if you’re still a doubter) seamlessly blended science fiction, horror, westerns, literary classics and comedy into compelling tales of the human condition.   Despite their drastic variances, each episode effectively acts as a parable or revelation.

As these ideas are defiant of those found in most television, The Twilight Zone did itself the favor of including an introductory warning. As seen in the first season,

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

Admittedly, I haven’t seen every episode of The Twilight Zone nor can I claim to have an intense knowledge of the show’s history. But any time that I catch an episode on the Sci-Fi Channel (oh shit, I guess I mean SyFy) I find myself positively captivated. It is a terrific program and I find that even some of the shows I truly love (*cough*LOST*cough*) are doing their best to hit the high-water mark set fifty years ago.

Granted, this may be one of the most popular and referenced episodes of the series — so I can’t necessarily defend myself against arguments of That shit is played out. But with Richard Donner behind the camera and the all-mighty Shatner in front, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet deserves the status of goddamn classic.

I’ve documented my love for the women of Mad Men throughout this blog. Usually I’m waxing philosophic about the curves of Christina Hendricks. But I suppose I can give it up for the American Dream Ideal of this one January Jones, if it involves the actress playing that rocking an insane amount of cleavage.

Well done, Mrs. Draper.

Believe it or not, The Simpsons was once a great television show. In fact, I would argue that in its prime (somewhere in the mid-to-late 1990’s) The Simpsons was fucking untouchable. Marge vs. the Monorail? Twenty-Two Short Films About Springfield? The Itchy & Scratchy and Poochy Show? Episodes like these embody the spirit of the sitcom at its absolute finest.

So while its epic nose-dive has been enough to keep me away for the last decade, I still feel warm, fuzzy things for The Simpsons. Some of the warmest and fuzziest of these funny feelings are connected to Treehouse of Horror — the show’s annual Halloween special.

Every year, Treehouse of Horror would take everyone’s favorite family from Evergreen Terrace through parodies of horror & science fiction movies, strangely murderous tales and other similarly bizarre romps. It was insanity — the residents of Springfield killing one another before my very eyes! I guess part of the charm was that for one episode every season, the best show on television took it upon itself to make kooky stories about the zany shit I love.

Also, Treehouse of Horror always featured Kang & Kodos, two of the best alien characters of all-time. I think it was in the `96 episode that they inhabited the bodies of Bill Clinton & Bob Dole, then ran against each other for president. Genius.

Kang & Kodos hoping to hitch a ride.

Maybe I’ve constructed a false memory, but I really think that I remember coming home from trick-or-treating and watching Treehouse of Horror. As an eight-year-old, there was no better feeling than stuffing my face full of candy, paying my dad off with Almond Joys to look the other way, and watching Homer Simpson do silly shit. That was the life.

I’m not so sure that The Simpsons will ever reclaim the glory it once possessed. But at least once a year, when the pumpkins are screaming in terror as their captors approach them with kitchen-knives in hand, I’ll think of Treehouse of Horror and smile.

Sitting at the gym today almost paralyzed with fear that I wouldn’t be able to voice my nagging, unintelligent opinion. Sitting bored on the elliptical watching the deluge of sloppy bullshit that passes for news and entertainment. And then I saw Oprah was on, and she saw fit to wipe out both my fears and boredom. You see, Oprah was doing a fucking 1960’s episode in honor of Mad Men or some shit. She had both Mr. And Mrs. Draper on the show. She had some bullshit 1960’s barbershop boyband on all singing and being wonderful. The entire set was retro.

And I’m just sitting there wondering, what the fuck? I mean, it sounds counter-intuitive to me for a powerful black woman to be plugging the 1960’s, when both African Americans and women had it pretty rough back then. Sure, when she interviewed January Jones (Betty Draper), Jones spent four seconds like, poorly articulating the lack of rights for women. But besides that, the entire thing was a nostalgic orgasm. It wasn’t some critique, it was just like CHECK OUT HOW IDYLLIC SHIT WAS, ARE YOU PUMPED HOUSE WIVES!?

I find it doubly ironic, since Mad Men spends (from what I’ve seen, which is a season and some change) a significant amount of time exploding the myth that the 1960’s was some happy, Camelot-esque period. The whole thing screamed “Missing the Point!”, dedicating an entire episode to the sappy, syrupy illusion of the 1960’s in honor of Mad Men, a show which spends its entire time deconstructing that myth, spending time to highlight the inequalities of both women and African Americans.

Oh Oprah! You’re the bee’s knees.

Ah, True Blood. Your second season just wasted a chunk of my Sunday evenings for an entire summer. Now you have a video came coming:

Via Kotaku:

HBO’s filed a trademark registration for its show “True Blood,” in relation to video games.

What Kotaku failed to report was the entire trademark that was filed. The game is going to be titled True Blood: Boring Pontificating In-between Emo Declarations…Rise of Alan’s Balls. I’d like to strike every person who buys this game in the crotch with enough force to render them in half.

What follows is a true formless rant. And spoilers everywhere.

Ah True Blood. Fuckyou.com What a shitty second season you delivered me. No, you weren’t completely awful. You had your moments. The Stackhouse at the crazy religious camp storyline was cool. Godric was bad ass. But then you killed him, two episodes into his career. And Eric was cool. For a bit.

But now he’s just another boring ass love story. Last night’s season finale managed to capture in one hour what the entire season was. A half-hour of storyline, a half-hour of filler.

Let’s think about this for a second. The Maryann storyline was like fifteen episodes long. It should have been like three, but they dragged it out mercilessly. And then, for some reason which I cannot fathom, they ended it in fourteen minutes. What followed was a shitty promotional video for season three. I knew that I had lost faith in True Blood when, last night, the entire cast was playing the ukulele while awaiting the birth of some God or some shit.

And then Maryann is killed by Sam, because she’s tricked into believing a God has come. I GET IT RELIGIOUS COMMENTARY. EVEN GODS CAN BE FORCED TO BELIEVE SOMETHING IF THEY WANT IT BAD ENOUGH.

How do you take Eric and make him suck? Easy, you embroil him in a boring ass love story. Eric was the Boba Fett of True Blood. He was cool because he kicked ass, didn’t say much, and received just enough screen time for him to seem ominous and righteous and cool and shit. But in the span of three or four episodes, you have him giggling and smiling and weeping as Godric dies like a little punk idiot. THEN, you have him naked in dream sequences with Sookie? You have to be out of your God damn mind. What a pile of bullshit.

This show is like the Office with vampires. Will Sookie choose Eric? Or will she choose Bill? OMFG.

I DON’T FUCKING CARE.

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Like any nerd with a sense of purpose, I’m awaiting the finale season of LOST with an unhealthy rabidity. I’ll be clear, I absolutely loved season 5. And season 4. And most of season 3. And I’ve been amazed at how well Lindelof et all have been tying together the various strands from all the seasons past. Especially since you couldn’t convince me at knife point to agree that they had it all planned since the beginning. That said, this doesn’t surprise me whatsoever:

Via /Film

While speaking at a Seattle music and arts festival, Lost exec-producers Carlton Cuse, Eddy Kitsis, and Adam Horowitz dropped several morsels of goodness for fans. First off, they reiterated that we shouldn’t expect every single mystery to be solved come the series finale at the end of season six.

And I’m fine with that. It all depends on how they let you draw your own conclusions, and what they do tell. I really want to know what the fuck the Island is. Who doesn’t? But they don’t need to heavy-handily explain why there were polar bears running around and crap. We can draw our own conclusions on stuff like that. So I guess I’m torn. I want to know what Smokey/Facob/the Island is, but I’m also content with being able to string together other plotlines myself.

Where do you guys stand?

I’m suffering severe BSG withdrawal. No, seriously. I’m watching the series again not only with my heterosexual lifemate, but also my girlfriend. Thankfully, I got something new to look forward to. Battlestar Galactica: The Plan, the movie directed by Billy Adama himself has received a DVD street date. On October 27, 2009 you’ll be able to receive this next hit of BSG crack, on Blu Ray and DVD.

This movie seems pretty ballin’, since it depicts the initial total obliteration of human kind through the eyes of the Cylons. Sweet. Honestly though, it could just be Colonel Tigh taking a crap while Adama couches him through his conspitation and I’d be excited.

Also, it’s weird, since the movie hasn’t been dated for its showing on Sci-Fi (do you really think I’m going to call it SyFy?), and yet it’s received a DVD release date. Whatever, I ain’t hating. I need this shit. You need this shit! So say we frakin’ all!

[Thanks to Oh Mars for the heads-up on this]

Here’s a shitty trailer to the sequel to that shitty movie, Boondock Saints. I don’t understand the rampant cumming over Boondock Saints. I remember it being an absolute explosion here in WICKED AWESOME Boston, and it really confused me. It was a shitty Tarantino rip-off with like OMFG blood and violence. YAWN.

Boondock Saints is part of a question which has stumped me for years though, and feel free to weigh in:

What’s the most overrated piece of cinematic garbage of the last ten years, Boondock Saints or Donnie Darko?

I’ve been stumped forever.