Scary Halloween Costume

I love Halloween - Love the parties love the candy, love the costumes where women put a tiny piece of Yellow Tape over their breasts and go as, "Sexy Construction Area." Every year, there is "the" costume that half the population goes as. For Instance, I bet one to three odds, that one out of every three people is dressed as Donald Trump. Halloween '16 will go down as the Trump Halloween. No matter your political agenda, The Donald will be a popular costume. A Republican can go as "Uncle Sam" Trump, a democrat can go as "Klu Klux Klan" Trump and an independent can go as "Gary Johnson" Trump. The "Gary Johnson" Trump is basically an idiot wearing jeans, smoking pot and talking all sorts of nonsense. It is basically the same costume I wear the last 2 hours of every Halloween party I've ever attended.

Every year, there is one costume that sums up the year that was. That attire has a tiny shelf life, but one Halloween tradition that never goes out of style is the "Couple's Costume." This is, of course, the costume where lovers coordinate their dress together. Last year, brought us "Netflix and Chill." A couple years before that were Miley Cyrus/Robin Thicke dressed as Beetlejuice. And this year, you might just see a bunch of Donald and Ivanka's Trump in various throes of passion - complete with p***sy grabbing.

My wife and I always partake in the classic ritual of dressing up together. We've gone as Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction, Axl and Slash from Guns N' Roses and Roman Polanski and Thirteen year old girl from 1970's LAPD sex crimes files. I have always enjoyed figuring out what we're gonna go as, buying the materials and creating the perfect wardrobe for our endeavor. We work well together and are generally on the same page. It is always a great time that forms memories we will never forget... The same cannot be said for other Halloweens with other people.

One Halloween Evening, back in the early 2000's, a lady I used to spend some time with and I decided to match our costumes and enjoy Halloween as a couple. Actually, I should say, SHE decided to match our costumes as a couple. I decided earlier on that I wanted to go as Charlie Chaplin. I went to Goodwill and found an old, beaten up black suit, stopped by Party City to grab the classic comedian's bowler hat and then jumped in a boxcar headed to Auschwitz and whisked back to 1941 in order to get tips from the World's Most Evil Man on creating the perfect mustache for Hollywood's first big mega-star. I figured it would be difficult to meet with ol' Adolf, but he was able to fit me in the Time Traveling schedule once he finished his 11:00 with 2016 Donald Trump.

I was very excited about my Charlie Chaplin costume, but my excitement turned sour when my ex shows up with our actual costume. She swung by the Costume shop, Lucy in Disguise, and made an impulsive decision. No thought, no creativity, no fun. She got the brilliant idea to go as a "sexy" Fisherwoman and I was to be a can of worms. Yeah, that's right. Out of every outfit they had at one of the biggest Halloween stores in the country, she decided to rent the dumbest costume imaginable - A huge foam can with eight phallic pieces of huge felt popping out from numerous orifices. I knew right then and there, that my Halloween costume was basically going to be an asshole surrounded by dicks.

Now, my "partner" for the evening was going as a "sexy" Fisherwoman, which just consists of Daisy Duke jean shorts, a tight red and white checkered shirt, big fake boobs and a fishing pole. Before heading out for the Main Event, we started our evening at a house party where she is moving around comfortably, drinking and mingling with friends. All I could do was stand in a corner of the house, by myself, with no beverage because my costume was too bulky to get through the kitchen. It would've been nice for someone to grab me a beer and maybe have little conversation, but think about it, would YOU want to spend your Halloween chatting it up with a box of penises?

The House Party wound down and now it was time to head out to the biggest party of the year in Austin, Texas - The annual Halloween parade down Historic 6th Street. Since this was the early aughts, and Uber was merely a twinkle in some Silicon Valley nerd's eye, we had to use a Taxi to get around like some sort of animal. We boarded the old fashioned transportation, cash in hand and headed downtown, which is when I realized something horrifying. The girl I was with had her Daisy Dukes, her tight shirt and her big fake boobs, but was missing something - No fishing pole. You know how a couple's costume works, right? You dress together, coordinating the recognizable attributes that make the separate outfits form as one. For instance, if you are a "sexy" Fisherwoman, but do not have a pole, you're really just dressed as some country bumpkin tramp. She basically dressed as 2011 Miley Cyrus in 2003. There is no relationship to our attire, she is dressed as a truck stop whore and I am a can of cocks.

We arrive downtown and the woman I'm supposed to spend the evening with, jumps out of the cab and immediately starts taking pictures with horny strangers that think her very obvious balloon boobs might be real. Meanwhile, I am unable to force my way out of the back of Yellow Cab because one of my "worms" got stuck in the seat belt holder of Austin's finest fleet of Taxis. I finally was able to wrangle out of the vehicular vagina and begin what would be the most annoying night of my life. A close second would be the night I plopped down $12 to see "Man of Steel."

Austin residents are known for their friendliness, affability and genuine respect for one another... except on Halloween. October 31st is the one night where Austin's polite locals turn into an episode of "Real Housewives of Travis County." People couldn't be more rude, insulting and disrespectful. I am feeling down in the dumps and think I'm wearing the dumbest costume known to mankind and every other human is very loudly verifying that, in fact, I am wearing the dumbest costume known to mankind. Just imagine 100,000 people consistently telling you how much you suck. It was then that I realized what Johnny Manziel must feel like everyday.

Halloween 2003 was the worst night of my life. People filled with hatred, anger and hostility and directing it at me. I didn't understand it because I didn't do anything to provoke it. The only thing I was guilty of was looking like a bucket of dongs. For this year, I've decided to recycle that costume and parade around proudly. The night of Halloween 2016, I'm dressing as Donald Trump at one of his rallies - an asshole surrounded by dicks.

The Festival of Lights

There is a lot of confusion over the "Eight Crazy Nights." As a celebrator of "The Festival of Lights" since birth, I feel that I am qualified to enlighten those who haven't figured out how to google things.  In honor of "The Jewish Christmas" I will now answer the 8 most commonly asked questions about Hanukkah:

1. Why does it last 8 days?
A: Back in the day, the Jews had enough oil to light for one day and it lasted a miraculous EIGHT FREAKIN' DAYS!!!  The steps to celebrating: You light the "Shamash" (Helper or Servant), you say "The Prayer" (Blessing or Hebrew Nonsense) and light the rest of the candles on the "Menorah" (Chanukiah or Kosher Candelabra).

2. Why does it change dates every year?
A:  "The Festival of Lights" does not change every year. It ALWAYS starts on the 25th day of Kislev, according to the Hebrew calendar. As it turns out, the Hebrew calendar is not the same as the Christian calendar. Talk about Religious turmoil - If we can't synch up our calendars, how can we expect to ever accept each others practices. I imagine this would be a problem in setting up a date...
Jew: "Hey, let's grab dinner and talk about our differences."
Christian: "Sounds good. Let's get a BLT on December 12th?"
Jew: "Can't do it. Let's get a bowl of Kreplach on the 12th of Kislev?"
Christian: "WTF?!!!"

3. What presents did you get this year?
A: My fiancee and I decided to really embody the spirit of a Jewish Holiday... Saving money! Since we're planning a wedding, we decided to go waaaayyy easy on the gift giving this year. I told her I didn't want her to spend any money on me this year, with the exception of ALL the rent and bills until I win the lottery, inherit a large sum of money or find a job. Since I don't play the lottery or have any wealthy and dying relatives, I guess I have to find a job. So, the answer to question number 3 is: A scarf for $1.99 on the clearance rack at Banana Republic's outlet store. Oh, and ALL the rent and bills and groceries and toiletries and clothing and shelter and anything else that costs more than the change I have in my car's ashtray.

4. What presents did you give this year?
A: I gave the one present I could afford this year to the true love of my life, my best friend, soulmate and the woman of my dreams.... I gave her a hand written "coupon" for a 10 minute make-out session with her one and only. She's cashing it in on Larry David.

5. Why do some people spell it Chanukkah and others spell it Hanukkah?
A: There is no right way to spell Chanukkah or Hanukkah. I'm sure there are numerous family arguments every year over what the correct spelling is, but it really doesn't matter. In fact, as long as your family is arguing about something, then you're celebrating Chanukkah or Hanukkah the correct way.

6. Does the holiday have an equivalent to Santa Claus?
A: Yes. Hanukkah Harry (or is it Chanukkah Charry?). As Saturday Night Live showed us, Hanukkah Harry delivers presents to all the Jewish boys and girls on a cart pulled by his beloved donkeys; Moshe, Herschel and Schlomo. The little Jewish boys and girls get the greatest gifts of all; slacks and three pairs of socks. Now, I recognize that SNL gets credit for creating the image of Hanukkah Harry, but I believe the three Schwartz boys came up with him first. Our frustrations with not having our Jewish version of Santa Claus led us to create our own Jewish hero. I also believe that the mid '80's cast and crew of Saturday Night Live must have been listening in the Schwartz's brainstorming session of potential Hanukkah mascots. We came up with it first and because of that, I believe that Jon Lovitz and Lorne Michaels can suck our matzoh balls!

7. What the fuck is a latke?
A latke is a potato pancake. Follow up question: Do you eat latke's on any occastions outside of Hanukkah? No, that would be silly. Do YOU eat fruitcake outside of Christmas? Follow up question: Do you eat fruitcake at all during Christmas? I've always heard of this tradition, but don't know anyone who actually makes or eats it. As a matter of fact, the only time I remember the word, fruitcake, mentioned in my entire life is when I was in 3rd grade and the VERY conservative mother of my neighborhood buddy wouldn't let me bring over the cassette of "Colour by Numbers" by Culture Club because "Boy George is a 'fruitcake'." What an ignorant grinch! I don't know what ever happened to that lady, but I hope the legalization of same sex marriage has sent her to her grave. If there is a hell, I'm sure she's there dodging fabulous fireballs with Fred Phelps.

8. Why does Adam Sandler keep making more versions of "The Hanukkah song?"
A: Because it is the single greatest holiday song of all time and he can do whatever the hell he wants with it. You can keep Rudolph, Frosty and your Silent Nights. I'll take Fonzie, Ron Jeremy and my family screaming at each other over over-cooked latkes any night of the year.

Happy Hanukkah Everybody! Or is it Chappy Chanukkah?

Let's Get Moving

There are many fun and gratifying experiences that we are fortunate to have throughout our lifetime. I have been lucky enough to have encountered numerous good times in my dumb little life. I've been to both Disneyland and Disney World, I have been on the "surprised" end of a Surprise Birthday party and I've had a Bar-Mitzvah, in which the only surprise is your voice cracking during your "hilarious" speech where you thank your parents, brothers and Rabbi before stating to the audience that you want to grow up to be a handsome movie star, an Oscar winning filmmaker or a Playboy Photographer. Spoiler Alert: I never became any of those. One experience that I've been a part of a few times that will never be fun and enlightening is packing up your apartment and moving halfway across the country.

For the past 10 1/2 years I've lived in Los Angeles. I loved it there - met lots of wonderful people, enjoyed the gorgeous scenery and shook hands with a fair number of Superheroes on Hollywood Boulevard. The greatest thing that happened while I lived there was meeting the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the Barbie to my Ken. Just to be clear, I'm not comparing myself to Ken because of his lack of genitalia. I'm comparing myself to Ken because we both love pink polo shirts, ascots and... alright, you got me, because we both have shockingly minuscule "junk."

Within the first 2 years of living in L.A., I met a girl. She started out as a friend of a friend, then a friend, then a girl who let me close mouth kiss her for 3 1/2 minutes one night, then a girlfriend, then a live-in girlfriend and now a fiancee. She is now, and has been for awhile, my best friend, my hero and my reason for living. She shockingly seems to still kind of like me after all of these years and if I play my cards right, I might be able to talk her into an extra couple minutes of kissing one day.

We lived in 2 different apartments together in Los Angeles. One directly across the street from the other so our move was just wheeling all of our belongings down Rodney Drive 25 steps at a time. I distinctly remember how annoying it was though. One box at a time, walking across the street, took a full day. I was thinking, "Oh, we're right across the street. Moving will take no time at all. I'll put on the Jagged Little Pill album and be done with the move by the time Alanis is letting everyone know that one of her hands is in her pocket." As it turns out, this is not the case. It was as if one hand was in my pocket, and the other one was pushing a 250 lb. fridge across a busy Los Angeles street.

As irritating as the across the street move was, I'd rather do that once a week for seven years than to do another move halfway across the country. It is roughly 1500 miles from LA to Austin. 1500 miles in a completely filled to capacity budget rent a truck with limited radio antennae and no AC through the desert is definitely not one of the more comfortable experiences of my life. And when I say filled to capacity, I'm not just talking about the back of the truck, I'm talking about the entire truck. Up front with me was: 2 suitcases - one filled with clothes and the other filled with toiletries, a set of dumbbells (5, 8, 10, 15 and 20 lbs.) Two toolboxes, Three re-usable grocery store canvas bags filled with the contents of our pantry and a decorative wreath that my lady and her friend made while drunk and angry after a Minnesota Vikings home loss to the Chicago Bears. The wreath is very pretty, but could probably do without a Jay Cutler voodoo doll in the middle.

After packing up our entire life and squeezing it, and myself, into the belly of the Budget beast, it was time to hit the road. First stop: Phoenix, AZ.  Arizona is known for many things: The Grand Canyon, The Gunfight at the OK Corral, the birthplace of Stevie Nicks. What it is not known for is, "World's Best Smelling Motel 6." We brought our dogs with us so our only options of sleeping were either laying our heads on the rock hard mattress of an I-10 frontage road Motel 6 or throwing down a Los Angeles Dodgers fleece blanket, rewarded to us for being one of the first lucky 25,000 fans to attend a useless September day game for the 4th place Dodgers battling out with the last place Pittsburgh Pirates, and laying down next to a bed of scorpions. We chose the motel and, upon entering the room, realized that we would be breathing through our mouth the entire night. The room smelled like a skunk's asshole after battling a case of food poisoning from eating an expired tin of sardines.

As bad as the odor from the Arizona Motel 6 was, I'd rather have it bottled as a cologne and then drink it, than to spend another night at the Motel 6 in Fort Stockton, TX. Texas is known for many things: The Alamo, the Assassination of JFK, the birthplace of Randy Quaid. What it is not known for is, "Home of the Motel 6 that you are least likely to get murdered at." If the rabid 100 lb. Pit Bulls that greeted us upon entrance by jumping on our car didn't give us a clue that we may not last through the night, the freshly broken lock on our door might have. After complaining to the Meth filled representative at the front desk, she gave us the key to their "most nicest room we've got." As it turns out, the nicest room of the Fort Stockton Motel 6 comes equipped with a family of spiders who must have seeked shelter in room 239 so they could settle down on the very comfortable bed of pubic hair that filled up the bathtub drain.

They say that every seemingly horrible experience becomes a cherished memory. I can say that it is completely true. From the back-breaking physical labor of loading everything we own into a 16 foot wannabe Uhaul to the loneliness of driving 15 hundred miles through the khaki colored rocky hills of the Old West to the haunted walls of the most terrorizing motels since the one named Bates, I will always cherish these memories because I was able to share the nightmares with the woman of my dreams.

Double Feature

Sometimes you're stuck at home for months on end and yearn for a getaway. Sometimes you're bored beyond belief and jump at the chance to do anything. Sometimes you make your life seem so unpleasant by writing about how "blah" things can be when you spend your day staring at a computer screen, trying to write the next great American screenplay. And sometimes the stars align and the greatest thing known to mankind swoops in and metaphorically kicks you in the nads. I'm talking about the magnificence of leaving the confines of your dog hair infested apartment and venturing to the local cineplex to catch, not one, but two movies. It's double feature day and it is glorious.

I love movies. I always have. As a child, there was nothing I'd look forward to more than after school on a Friday because that was when I would get home, see the Weekend Guide in the Dallas Morning News and see what movies would be playing at one of the 3 Prestonwood theatres close to my house. There was the AMC 5-plex where I would see "Three Amigos," "Beetlejuice" and "Die Hard." There was the UA 6-plex where I would see "Return of the Jedi," "Short Circuit" and "Batman." And there was the General Cinema Sakowitz Village 4-plex where I would see "Mannequin," "Big" and the movie that spawned one million Cary boners, "Career Opportunities," starring the very first love of my life, Jennifer Connelly.  I only remember 2 things about that movie...
1) I remember not liking all but 5 minutes of the film.
2) I remember the 5 minutes I did like was the scene of Miss Connelly riding a coin operated horse in a white tank top.
Come to think of it, I remember three things from that movie - two of them are in the horse riding scene.

I always looked forward to Saturdays as a kid. That was the day that my brothers and our friends would be able to see a movie. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we'd be able to see TWO movies in one day! By "lucky," I mean that there would have to be two movies we wanted to see that happened to time up back to back at the Promenade $1 theatre. There was no way my dad was going to give us more than $2 to see movies. To his credit, sometimes he would give us 3 crisp dollar bills to spend our Saturday away from him. $1 for a movie, $1 for another movie and $1 to spend on a pickle the size of Godzilla's penis. That's why the '80's were so spectactualar! For 3 bucks, we could see "Back to the Future" followed by "Teen Wolf" and in between grab the largest pickle you'd ever seen to munch on during Michael J. Fox's pre-shakes werewolf movie.

You might think that as an adult, I've grown tired of sitting in a dark movie theater for 4 hours furiously biting down on a phallic snack, but you'd be dead wrong. Nowadays, the greatest days of my life are the opportunities to see 2 movies in the same day. Most people might be too busy, too tired or too un-nerdy to spend half the day in the middle row of a soda stained blackbox theatre but I'm not most people. When the opportunity came to venture alone out of my sun drenched apartment and sit in the dark amongst strangers, I jumped at that chance faster than Michael J. Fox making a martini.

When I was a child, the double feature was more difficult to come by. For starters, most movie houses had a max of 5 screens so it was trickier to sneak into one theater after exiting a different one. Plus the timing might not always work out. You had to time it out just right so you can leave theater 2 as the credits started rolling in order to make it to theater 3 as the lights were going down. You didn't want to endure the embarrassment of Edward, the usher, catching you and (gasp) making you PAY for your second movie! Nowadays, every movie palace has 15-20 screens so after one movie ends, there are 7 others that are starting. It's very easy to leave theater 4 that was showing a movie where Samuel L. Jackson is playing a stressed out and angry man with a proclivity for biting one-liners and immediately enter theater 11 that is showing a movie where Samuel L. Jackson is playing a stressed out and angry man with a proclivity for biting one-liners except in this film, he's wearing an eye patch.

Double Features prove that all good things come in pairs. Whether it's movies, shoes or butt cheeks - two will always be better than one.

Yay for the Gay!

There have been many landmark decisions: Brown v. Board of Education, Roe v. Wade, Cary Schwartz v. going to South Padre Island for Spring Break during Freshman year of college or going back to Dallas and maybe participating in a day trip to Ft. Worth in order to visit my grandmother at the department store where she works, and the Supreme Court's Same-Sex Marriage decision. All of these decisions have been, in my opinion, the right thing to do including my decision to spend Spring Break in Padre. Yes, I could've scored some free Drakkar cologne from Na-Na but then I wouldn't have had a chance to make out with a High School senior from Houston behind the stage at South Padre Island's famed nightclub, Louie's Backyard.

For those of you living under a rock, getting out of a 3 day coma or not having a Facebook page, the Supreme Court declared same-sex marriage legal in all 50 states last Friday. This is a decision that gives people the same right to a legal union even if you happen to be in love with someone who is the same sex as you. It is one of those decisions that makes me happy, proud and, well, gay. Now, I'm not gay in the way that people use that word now. I am not sexually attracted to men not named Johnny Depp, I've never seen an episode of "Glee" and of all the Avengers, Scarlett Johansson is the only one I want to bang not named Chris Hemsworth. I am gay in the actual definition of the word: "full of joy, merry; light-hearted, carefree." 

I am happy, therefore I am gay.

I am gay for many reasons. I am gay because I have great friends - some of them happen to be in love with someone the same sex as them. I am gay because I have a loving family - some of them happen to love someone the same sex as them. I am gay because I have a wonderful fiancee - who happens to be a different sex than me. I am gay because being happy - being gay - is very important to me. I am gay because I believe everyone has the right to be in love with whoever they fall in love with. I am gay because it is the right thing to do. I am gay even though I love a woman. I wish everyone was gay.

I am gay and I am proud.

What Happened to Cameron Crowe?

This past weekend a movie that nobody cared about, written and directed by a filmmaker that people used to care about, starring actors and actresses that people seem to care about came out with very little fanfare. "Aloha" written and directed by Cameron Crowe made a little bit of money - around 10 Million - which is respectable, but not great. Considering that the lead of the movie is Bradley Cooper whose last movie made 350 Million (American Sniper) and whose last 4 before that made over 100 million and one of those is the monstrosity that was "The Hangover Part 3," it seems like quite the bomb. Money aside, according to Rotten Tomatoes, the movie is god awful at 18%. Eighteen is not a good number for a filmmaker. The only director who's life would've been easier if he had an eighteen is Roman Polanski.

I used to love Cameron Crowe. I was so influenced by his directorial debut, "Say Anything..." that I used it as the blueprint on how to act like a respectable man when I first started dating. I was so influenced by John Cusack's portrayal of Lloyd Dobler, that I even sent the woman I lost my virginity to a card thanking her, just like Lloyd did. To this day, when I get nervous, I talk way too much and spurt out a bunch of nonsense just like Lloyd did. I once tried to profess my love to a woman I had a massive crush on my Freshmen year of college and after the most painful 6 seconds of silence, she quickly handed me a T-shirt, sprinted down the University Towers 5th Floor hallway, flew down 3 flights of stairs to her room and barely made eye contact with me for the next four years. That was the equivalent to one of my favorite lines in move history when Lloyd Dobler heartbreakingly speaks into a payphone during a rainstorm, "I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen." Except in this case, the "pen" was an AE PHI Sorority Crush Party Off-White T-shirt that was 3 sizes too big and made me look like I was the "After" picture of a Jenny Craig ad.

"Say Anything..." to "Singles" to "Jerry Maguire" to "Almost Famous" is quite a resume, most people would say. I loved each and every one of these when they first came out. I suppose I must now say one of the most controversial things a self proclaimed movie nerd like myself can say about any movie. This is something that I should be ashamed of, but I now feel I'm ready to stand strong and "come out" to the world... I do not like the movie "Almost Famous." For some reason, this is a very blasphemous thing to say. I saw this "masterpiece" on Opening Night in the year 2000 and thought it was fantastic. I then saw it again about 6 months ago and I know think it may be the most overrated movie of all time. I disliked it so much that I assumed something was wrong with me. This is supposed to be one of cinema's finest treasures of the millennium and I found it to be cheesier than a chunk of cheddar humping a slice of Swiss. Regardless of my feeling towards that hunk of garbage, I understand that most people cherish it in the same way Renee Zellweger cherishes Tom Cruise in "Jerry Maguire" or the way Tom Cruise cherishes Xenu in a religious pyramid scheme.

After "Almost Famous," Mr. Crowe made the polarizing "Vanilla Sky." This was some sort of hallucinatory dreamscape which some people seemed to like but most people seemed to hate. I'm somewhere in the middle - didn't exactly hate it, but didn't like it. It was a departure for ol' Cam Cam and I gave him the benefit of the doubt for the effort. Up until this deformed Tom Cruise flick, he had pretty much only made "young men trying to figure things out" movies and his next project would be right in that lane. "Elizabethtown" was Cameron's follow up to "Cameron Diaz possibly kills Tom Cruise because he's lusting after a cartoon mouse played by Penelope Cruz" and it seemed to have all the elements that made C.C. one of the most respected writer/directors of his generation. Something happened with that movie though - It was a heaping pile of shit. That movie was so bad it made "The Godfather Part 3" look like "The Godfather." "Elizabethtown" was so horrible it killed the careers of both the male and female lead. If this movie had not have come out, we might have seen "Silver Linings Playbook" starring Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst. I guess there's a silver lining after all.

After the monstrosity of "Legolas goes back home to Kentucky for his dad's funeral and falls in love with a very annoying child-woman," the ex-husband of the guitarist from Heart didn't make another (non-documentary) film for 6 years. Normally that wouldn't be that big of a deal. Quentin Tarantino generally takes a few years between movies. Stanley Kubrick took 12 years in between his last movie (Eyes Wide Shut) and his second to last movie (Full Metal Jacket). Terrence Malick pretty much has made a career of making one movie, then waiting 20 years and making another one. Terrence Malick is to filmmaking what Michael Douglas is to parenting. The problem with Cameron Crowe taking 6 years to make his next movie is because the next one was "We Bought a Zoo."

"We Bought a Zoo" is as bad as its title. The movie is literally about Will Hunting buying a dilapidated zoo run by Lucy from the movie "Lucy." It is also over two hours which seems excessive. How long do we need to watch Jason Bourne try to bond with an elephant before we realize that this movie is a joke? The Joke was on me though, because this insane flick grossed 75 million dollars. I guess people will pay for anything if there's a small chance of seeing Scarlett Johansson's cleavage.

With his latest movie, Cameron Crowe has let us all down again. "Aloha" looks like the kind of movie Bradley Cooper and Emma Stone would go see in another movie where they play a mismatched couple on a first date seeing a generic shitty rom-com set in Hawaii. Having said this, I'll admit that I haven't actually seen "Aloha." I also haven't seen "We Bought a Zoo." I don't think I need to because these movies seem lame, immature and childless with no redeeming qualities. I don't know why anyone would want to watch that nonsense. They're both about men who refuse to grow up and go about their life in a constant string of delusion and arrogance. What a bunch of crap.

Now if you excuse me, I have to go get my tickets for the "Entourage" movie.

Free Cone Day at Ben & Jerry's

I don't have a lot going on these days so I'm always excited when something falls into my lap. Even something as annoying as picking up someone from the airport gets me excited because I'll have a legitimate reason to leave the house. The best situations are when something free and delicious appears right before your eyes. During my normal routine of clicking through the silliest part of the ol' interweb I came across the greatest banner known to man... FREE ICE CREAM CONE DAY AT BEN & JERRY'S!

I'll be honest with you, I've probably only been to an actual Ben & Jerry's store twice in my life. One in the Haight/Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco in the late '90's. I was visiting my friend, Adam, and I asked him to take me to the mecca of San Fran hippie culture. This place was the epicenter of the 60's counter culture movement. Peace and love were the value's it was based on. This was the place that dreams were made of. Everyone loving each other and interacting in a positive environment where you feel like everyone has your back. Unfortunately, Haight/Ashbury by the late '90s had pretty much become Time Squares but instead of the Disneyfication, it was Classic Rock-ified. It had now become clear to me where Spencer's Gifts ordered all their Led Zeppelin Blacklight posters.

The second time I visited a Ben & Jerry's store was in beautiful downtown Burbank, California. It is located in a huge shopping area next to an Ikea, a mall, a still operating bookstore, an AMC movie theatre with 16 screens and a Cold Stone Creamery. The reason I've only ventured into this Ben & Jerry's one time is evident from the last sentence, I mean, why waste my time at one ice cream store when the one directly across the street can roll in Reeses Peanut Cups and Butterfinger to your Cake Batter Ice Cream? I am, and will always be, a Cold Stone man. This would sound much more macho if I were a Stone Cold man. It would also mean I was dyslexic.

Since I rarely visit San Francisco and have a deep allegiance to Cold Stone, I do not foresee myself becoming a patron of Ben & Jerry's. That is of course, when I have to pay for it. Seeing the banner ad for Free Cone Day turned my Cold Stone heart into a Ben & Jerry's mind. I also thought, why not make a day of it? A movie and free ice cream? Junior High Cary Schwartz just hit the jackpot!

I ventured to Burbank from Los Angeles which is about 5 miles away but takes 45 minutes. It doesn't matter though, the light at the end of the traffic tunnel leads to free ice cream. I arrive in Burbank and access one of their many free parking lots which is oddly exciting to me since I live in L.A. In pretty much every city in America, a free parking lot at noon on a Tuesday is as normal as a sunrise. A free parking lot at noon on Tuesday in Los Angeles is as abnormal as a son rhys. That anolagy only works if you aren't the parents of lovable wacky movie actor, Rhys Ifans from Notting Hill, or lovable wacky TV actor, Rhys Darby from Flight of the Conchords. If you can find me a non wacky Rhys, I'll eat my hat... which is exactly something a wacky Rhys would do.

I decide to see a movie first so I can work up an appetite for my free ice cream cone. I grab my ticket for the Ben Stiller/Naomi Watts dramedy, "While We're Young" and rush over to Theatre 4. The idea behind this movie is that if you're in your 40's, hanging out with young twenty-somethings will invigorate you and make you feel young again. The viewer realizes this because Naomi Watts dances to hip-hop music and Ben Stiller buys a hat. I enjoyed this movie but it made me feel old. Not just because the subject matter warrants it, but because Ad-Rock from the Beastie Boys has so much grey hair!

I finish the flick and head over to the grand finale of my day - Free Ice Cream. The first thing I notice is the absurd long line leading into the high calorie locale. The second thing I notice is the amount of firemen holding signs that say "Fill the Boot." The third thing I notice is the twelve signs placed along the windows of the store thanking everyone for supporting the Muscular Dystrophy Association. The fourth thing I notice is the firemen accepting donations from EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN LINE. Everybody is reaching into their wallet and placing a wad of bills into the "charity boot" that the firemen are passing around. That boot is getting stuffed more than a passed out woman at Bill Cosby's.

I realize now that the "free" ice cream isn't exactly free. I can take out a dollar bill, hand over to the MD fighting fireman and still get a decent sized scoop of Chubby Hubby for a major discount. The only problem with that plan is, I only have 2 five dollar bills. I patiently wait in line clutching a five dollar bill when it dawns on me. Paying 5 dollars for a 3 dollar scoop of ice cream would completely go against my entire plan of having a free scoop of ice cream. Realizing the math made me immedietely jump out of line and head on over to Cold Stone. I mean, if I'm paying for ice cream I should grab my Like 'em sized Cake Batter with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Butterfinger plus I didn't have to wait in line because every sane ice cream lover was across the street getting their "free cone." April 14, 2015 is the day that Cary the Asshole decided to spend $7 on a candy bar infused heart attack inducing confection instead of giving $5 to a very deserving charity. Maybe April 14, 2016 will be the day I finally decide to not be a dickhead.