So Easily Amused

On this wet, chilly, windy evening (very Burgess-like, flip chill bastard though certainly not dry) I am glad to have these unworn Brooks Bros. pajamas, obtained from an assiduous thrifter in New Jersey who goes by the i-moniker of "Tweedy Don."

TD has deep, deep closets. I've picked up any number of things from him.

Combined with a Viyella bathrobe I snagged from yet another collector, and feet tucked into a pair of Minnetonka slippers that were being given away, a cup of "Yogi-Lude" tea and the always pleasant sight of the New York Yankees getting their asses kicked...

Yes, I am easily amused.

Ignore the Stretchy Bicycle Panties

Tim Durrin's a young guy I've known for a few years now. He served in Iraq and now he's trying to do something in the peace department.

Despite the fact he wears stretchy bicycle panties, he's OK. Better than OK, in fact, and if you can throw a few bucks his way for what I think of as "Bicycling to Cambodia" it will not be in vain.

Here's his blog with an explanation of what he's doing: Cambodian Adventures

There — I Said It! (stupid pants version)

The "droopy drawers" phenomenon is at least a decade old by now, and just as tedious.

Sorry, but when I see someone wearing their pants that way I immediately assume he's a brainless twat.

There — I said it.

(Thanks to KFW for alerting me to photo)

There — I Said It! (finger version)

I slammed my finger in the laundry room door about six weeks ago. The dried caked blood is only now starting to disperse.

It's a great excuse to flip someone off. "Hey, seen my injured finger?"

And offhand I can think of one primo candidate for this. Hope you're checking in, dear.

There — I said it!

There — I Said It!

Ogden Nash was a better poet than T.S. Eliot. At least Nash didn't inspire the Lizard/Dingbat King, Jim Morrison.

Plus Nash rhymes and you don't need a degree in comparative religion to get the jokes — if there are any in Eliot.

There — I said it.

Fall Back

Tweeds. Wool socks. Extra hankerchiefs — for blowing, not showing.

Wool ties. Viyella shirts. Question becomes "which sweater," not "sweater?"

Moleskins, corduroys, flannels. Breeks! (ideal for wearing with long socks under breathable chest waders for you late season fishermen — unlike pants, they don't ride up)

Odd vests. Heavy oxford cloth shirts. Hats.

I'll be heartily sick of it soon enough but for now it's fun to be in transition.

The Top Ten

Many people say to me, "Hey Sully, what are the best exploitation flicks of all time?"

And I reply, "It's the same list as the worst exploitation flicks of all time."

These films are, by definition, awful. They may be poorly made. They might deal with taboo subjects. They might have been made for $11.87 by a couple of Armenian Jews in Mexico.

If you're lucky, you'll get all that and more!

Remember, "exploitation" is an elastic term. It may refer to the exploitation of women (a common feature of schlock). It could mean the exploitation of a touchy subject — just run the lesbian vampire sub-subgenre by the gals at the next feminist symposium you happen by on your way to the track.

It always means the exploitation of you, the moviegoer — because you, like a chump, bought a ticket, or rented the DVD (a sad feature of our lax post-modernist, post-drive in society).

So here we go:

10. I Spit On Your Grave. Made in Kent, Conn. for the above-mentioned $11.87. A valiant, doomed attempt was made to recast this as a feminist film, because the grave-spitting is done by the female lead, with good reason. Nice try.

9. Make Them Die Slowly. The ultimate "Stupid White People in the Jungle" flick.

8. Deathstalker II. Sword and sorcery epic, with an evil warlock who looks like Gloria Swanson.

7. Freaks. Tod Browning's 1931 circus geekfest anticipates reality TV and gave the Ramones their "Gabba Gabba Hey" chant.

6. Basket Case. A "Freaks" for the 1980s that also captures pre-Disney Times Square.

5. Zombie Lake. This gets the nod over "Shock Waves" in the underwater Nazi zombie category with its tender love story and nekkid volleyball.

4. Bloodsucking Freaks. The flick that gave us the deranged midget Ralphus and a renewed appreciation for the techniques of modern dentistry.

3. Evil Dead II. In which the hero, with a new group of dopes, goes to the exact same cabin and reads the exact same words out of the exact same Book of the Dead — and is then surprised when the forces of Hell are unleashed. Again.

2. Night of the Living Dead. For pure horror nobody has ever come close, certainly not director George Romero in his innumerable rehashings of the subject.

1. Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS. If you wish to alienate someone forever — someone normal, that is — make a big tub of Jiffy Pop, pop open a couple of Dr. Peppers and settle in for this monstrous epic.