I am Legend: Driving thru NYC on Xmas

I want to throw a shout out to baby Jesus for creating a holiday in which there’s less traffic than downtown Provo on Fat Tuesday. On Christmas Day, my GF, mutt and I managed to travel from Boston to Richmond in less than 10 hours, including lots of potty stops and snack runs. While driving across the GW bridge from the Bronx in no traffic – and the Big Apple looming in the background - I felt like Will Smith in “I Am Legend” driving on the big screen sans humanity. I even had the dog. If I had a time machine and could to it again, I would have blasted “Gettin' Jiggy with it” to complete the experience.

I’m getting to the point… Upon arriving back in the Fan, we were greeted by street cleaning parking prohibitions for Thursday and Friday….DURING THE BIGGEST TRAVEL WEEK OF THE YEAR. These hadn’t been posted when we left the previous Friday. Congrats to the City of Richmond for taking advantage of VCU students and young professionals who left their car curbside in Richmond while they celebrated the holidays hundreds of miles away, only to come back to no car and a steep towing recovery fine. If Will Smith was mayor, this wouldn’t stand.

“Alex, I’ll take Potpourri for $100.”

When you don’t update your blog for a month, you're lazy. You’re also bound to create a mish mash of scrambled observations and takes so random that reading it’s akin to watching a “Family Guy” montage with a hangover. Here we go...

• Thank god for Harry Hagar…..Richmond hasn’t been in “US Weekly” since someone stole Cher’s wig from backstage at the Landmark Theater back in 2003.
  
• The best thing about the writers’ strike? Jay Leno’s lawn finally gets the attention it deserves. The worst thing? Billy Bush is the freshest thing out there…it’s like only being able to choose a mate from the cast of “Golden Girls.”
  
• Most likely place in the River City to inhale asbestos while watching “Fred Claus?” The West Tower movie theater on West Broad Street, of course!
  
• Best place in Richmond to feel like you’re not in Richmond? The new tapas bar Si in the Fan. It makes Europa look and taste like a South Side Applebee’s.

What about Kucinich?

As faux conservative late show host Stephen Colbert starts to attract some ridiculous poll numbers – I’m not saying this is a bad thing – Democratic candidate Dennis Kucinich is again hanging out at the back of the pack with a measly 1 percent.

Kucinich admits to having seen a UFO. His wife is a F.L.I.L.F. (coined by the “Daily Show”). And when Kucinich was the mayor of Cleveland back in the ‘70s, the local mob put a hit on him. In other words, the guy is F---ING CRAZY.

It seems we had an Electoral College jester in Kucinich before Colbert came around, and one with some political moxy to boot. But straight-shooting, crazy uncle candidates like Kucinich and Mike Gravel somehow can’t lasso the counter culture momentum despite their viral YouTube viral campaign videos and addictive idiosyncrasies a plenty.

The moral? I dunno. If you’re not gonna vote, you might as well vote for one of these daffy bastards. At least they’re fun to watch.

‘Desperate’ Newsmen

Why was this column written in the Richmond Times-Dispatch? Seriously. Why draw attention to this ridiculous situation… (Damn, that’s what I’m doing right now.)

Didn’t the whole Imus affair teach us that no apology is better than a gutless, insincere one. Actually, the radio jock’s nappy-headed rant and this recent, benign poke at Philippine medical schools shouldn’t even be included in the same lame, poorly read blog entry. (Yes, I’m referring to mine.) One line was uttered by a media savvy professional…the other was uttered by the woman who helped 13-year-old boys get through puberty in “The Cool Surface” – Teri Hatcher. (I won’t even mention “The Adventures of Lois and Clark” – damn it, too late.)

Doesn’t Michael Paul Williams have anything else to write about? What about an essay on the recent rash of violence aimed at the River City’s ice cream servers – is there a vanilla connection? Something slamming hockey as racist? Maybe he should be at the Folk Festival counting how many white dudes are dressed up like John Popper from Blues Traveler.

In the meantime, tune in to “Desperate Housewives” next week, when Eva Longoria disparages drag queen brunches by ordering sausage patties, and not links.

That MySpace hooker has her own show?

You know it’s bad when the most accurate description of someone is a “poor woman’s Cindy Margolis.”

But that’s just exactly who MySpace super-skank Tia Tequila is. Actually, the Web 2.0 diva is much less.

Filthy belly button ring? Check. Ambiguous possibly Asian, possibly South American ethnicity? Check. (She’s from Vietnam.) And oh yeah, bad tattoos? You bet.

And she has a dirty little secret for you and her parents….she’s bi-sexual. Oh snap! With men and women vying for her overflowing flirtations and a chance of a possible mention on “Access Hollywood,” anything can happen….anything that involves a third grade vocabulary and whipped cream. Even Brett Michaels is blushing.

There’s nothing better than scripted reality TV starring social networking whores. Who am I kidding? We’ll all watch it on MTV.

The freaks comes out at night (and day) at the State Fair

Sure, the Virginia State Fair boasts music that would be popular at a Wheeling, West Virginia roller rink, pumpkins so big they’d make Charlie Brown cry, and a veritable Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of southern stereotypes, but that’s all part of its charm.

However, as a journalist, the worst things to cover are annual events in which the only things that change are the fried snack foods de jour and the most popular NASCAR fanny pouch (Hint: it’s not Juan Pablo Montoya). Each year, you find yourself recycling stories and trying to find some way to avoid patronizing on paper whoever groomed the prize-winning sheep.

The best time I had at the fair was back in 2001, when on my third consecutive day of features coverage, I told my editor I was going to do a piece on carney freaks - literal (sort of) freaks, not metaphorical. And just as he said, “You’re doing what?!?!?!” I faked some phone static, hung up and started hunting for the world’s smallest woman.

That day I spent with Myrna the Mermaid, Angel the Snake Girl and Tiny Tasha was an all-timer. Read about it here…

The IRS sent me $37,970.50!? Ooops!

(The following letter is accompanying a voided IRS refund check sent to me in error. Yes, maybe I should have just cashed it and hoped for the best, but I've already lost a thumb war to the Department of the Treasury before..and I'm scared of them.)

Michael Ward Taxpayer, citizen, “America lover”
Richmond, VA 23220

To whom it may concern,

I recently received a tax refund check for $37,970.50. I quickly realized a mistake must have occurred and called the IRS 1-800 phone number to report it. I realize other disonest taxpayers might have deposited the check, grown a mustache and flown to Buenos Ares, or purchased a used Geo Metro and cruise for chicks, but not this responsible citizen.

The check has been voided and is accompanying this very letter. However, I would like to reimbursed for a few things:

• The stamp to mail this letter (39 cents)
• The cell phone air time I used to listen to “The Nutcracker” while waiting on hold to clear up your error. ($2.30)
• And since I wrote this letter on company time, I would like the several minutes worth of my salary reimbursed, so I can forward this to my employer. That’s $5.55.

That totals $8.24. I’ll accept payment by check, Canadian coin, Confederate bonds or New York Mets tickets.

I did want to thank you for the slight feeling of adventure that your accounting error gave me. The thoughts of no longer driving an awful car without A/C, of not buying boxer shorts from Target and of no longer having to use coupons at Shoney’s sent a temporary bolt of electricity through my life.

Instead, I’m left $8.24 in the hole, and with the knowledge that the once infallible Uncle Sam has Huey, Dewey and Luey babysitting his swimming pool of gold. (Please excuse the “Duck Tales” reference.)

With pomp and circumstance,
Michael “Appleseed” Ward

Critical Condition: advice from a retiring movie critic

Whenever I told people that I get paid to review movies, they usually say something along the lines of, "Hey, screw you, buddy! I work for a living."
Read more...

Homicide with rainbow sprinkles

Let’s be honest, if you’re dumb enough to rob an ice cream store, you probably deserve something bad. You may not deserve to die; that was the fate of the robber who got blasted by a South Side Baskin-Robbins manager while sticking up the popsicle stand on Thursday. But you should at least be forced to watch the Blue Collar Comedy Tour on a 10-hour loop with your eyelids pried open a la “A Clockwork Orange.”

As reported by the Richmond Times-Dispatch, this was actually the second time the store was robbed. How much does the typical soft serve ice cream cone cost? $2? $3? Was there no nearby Dollar Store to rob, no panhandler to shakedown? It makes as much sense as doing a couple of home invasions in Amish country, and taking the cattle prod and butter churn to the pawn shop.

Thinking about it just gives me brain freeze.

Fall Movie Preview Poems

Watching movie trailers should be like going to prom with a hot Mormon chick – just the right amount of teasing and not too revealing. See entire fall movie preview

Defending RBlog

As a former editor of Richmond.com, I got my boxer briefs in a bit of a ruffle when I saw the lashing that the River City blog community was giving RBlog and Richmond Magazine for its recent accolade.

Yes, I’m very, very subjective. And yes, there was a good amount of static between the entries at times in Richmond.com's aptly named RBlog. But you would have thought the awarding of RBlog as Best Blog was akin to Marissa Tomei winning an Oscar for "My COusin Vinny" with the blistering sniping it’s receiving.

Sure, RBlog doesn’t spend much time bitching about rogue tow trucks, waxing lyrically on lower back tattoos or oozing tween angst, but I’d like to think that the blog did some unique and fun reporting. Maybe not. You be the judge:

RBlog: Following the Rams

RBlog: The Road to Invention

RBlog: Honing in on Homelessness

Losers Clique in ‘Superbad’

Add “Superbad” to this list of films fit for weekend slackerdom, fraternity row pre-gaming and 30-somethings taking a drunken stumble down memory lane.

Check out the review.

American Dissenter

It’s a shame that a show that mastered the formula for winning reality TV (Over-emotional winner + Snide British judge + Retired boxer who now sells college dorm grilling machines) blew it in one 11th hour faux pas. But when "American Inventor" created a montage of some dorky dude who “invented” customizable remote control cars – and choose “You Raise Me Up” as the song – it was instantly no better than “Temptation Island.”

See more Top Five things on my mind this month (and on the minds of the staff of Richmond.com).

The Cheesecake Sweat Shop

Ever since The Cheesecake Factory plopped down at Short Pump Town Center, people have talked about it like it was free cable TV or a 24/7 happy hour. They praised its lush menu, the fine corporate grub itself, and brushed off the two-hour Disney-esque lines as no big whoop.

I was more impressed by Shaq’s thespian chops in “Kazam.”

The exotic menu included everything from cheeseburgers and pizzas to pastas and chicken sandwiches. In other words, the same fare as the zoo snack bar. And the patrons are crammed into seating tighter than a [insert conservative religious sect here] girl the morning after prom. Prisoners having relations at Richmond City Jail have more privacy.

While the ham and eggers out there might be starry-eyed within walls of The Cheesecake Factory, savvy Richmond diners won’t mistake the chain for what it really is: T.G.I. Fridays dressed in its Sunday best.

Chicken Soup for a Cynic

My Top 5 inspiration quotes….

"The b@#$% set me up!!!"
-- Former Washington, D.C. Mayor Marion Barry
This reminds me that no matter how bad you screw up, there's always someone else to blame. In fact, I believe that's Capital One's mission statement.

"Your revolution is over, Mr. Lebowski. Condolences! The bums lost! My advice is to do what your parents did; get a job, sir. The bums will always lose. Do you hear me, Lebowski?"
-- The Big Lewboski
Because everyone has a hippy friend with his hand stuck in your bag of Cheese Doodles.

"2 legit 2 quit"
-- M.C. Hammer
This quote - and the Hammer's ultimate demise - remind me to pay my taxes and limit my entourage.

"Shake it, bake it, just don't fake it. Use it, abuse it, just don't lose it."
-- Ron Jeremy
This would have been my high school yearbook quote, but it didn't match the senior portrait glamour shot of me posed in a half-shirt on my Trans-Am with my dog and guitar by my side.

"If you can't convince them, confuse them."
-- Harry Truman
A quote that offers hope and promise to many of our elected politicians on a daily basis.


See the rest on the Richmond.com Top Five.

Cold-cocked by Ned Flanders

In a side writing gig, I pen movie reviews for Richmond.com. Well recently, some churchgoers took offense to a negative review I gave to big screen summer bomb “Evan Almighty.”

It turned ugly.

Will the RTD ever sit at the cool kids' table?

Why is the Times-Dispatch personally weighing in on Tony Soprano or writing localized stories about Paris Hilton – and publishing these stories on the front page of their website?

Seriously, right now they're acting like the 12-year-old boy who tries to score high school chicks by growing a mustache and practicing making out on a CPR dummy.

When it comes to being arbiters of national pulp culture, the RTD should stick to NASCAR fan fashion and the thread count of Elliott Yamin's bed sheets.

I understand trying to be hip and parlaying the momentum of national stories into some sort of local insight, but it just doesn't work unless you have a staff so shallow and pretentious that its writers lowercase all the letters of their names even in legal documents and claim to own a hypodermic needle that Amy Winehouse once actually used. (Seriously, haven't you seen an US Weekly reporter - they like to mug with celebs throughout their rag, so you probably have).

Such writers/fame whore chasers are awful, awful, awful people, but at least they can let me know the very second that James Gandolfini quits Atkins (again), or Paris Hilton gets stabbed with a toenail shiv while in the clink – and hopefully report it with an amazing allusion to Pam Grier's "Black Mama, White Mama."

My point? There's enough South Side traffic ordinances or West End Tupperware parties to fill the ink in the RTD. We know where to go for everything else.

Attack of the AARP!

For some reason, I’m on the mailing list for AARP, and have received multiple invitations to join the illustrious ranks of the organization formerly known as the American Association of Retired Persons, despite my steadfast rebuffs.

I’m only 28.

But you know what, after checking out the 22 benefits members reap, I’m signing up!

If Joyce Hyser could convince an entire high school she was a dude – and a Ralph Macchio doppelganger to boot - in the ‘80s classic “Just One of the Guys,” I should be able to be able to convince a bunch of old people that I’m old, too. Right? Hyser used a short haircut and the old “sock-in-the-jeans” trick to fool her fellow students. I’m thinking all I need is a Buick, “The Father Dowling Mysteries” box set and a heightened level of comfort in museum gift shops.

Seriously though, for a $12.50 one-year subscription, I get hotel and airline discounts, sage age discrimination advice, access to safe-driving courses and a whole lot more. Maybe I can even get Rue McLanahan’s phone number. (I’ll save you a Google search – she played Blanch on “Golden Girls”…Grrrrr!)

I figure my membership will pay itself off after my first trip to St. Petersburg, Florida or Branson, Missouri, alone.

More expensive? Gallon of gas or West Grace Street ‘Pro’?

I’m going with the gas, and while we’re on the subject, here’s a question: Are we allowed to seek fuel reparations from that drunken’ skipper of the old Exxon Valdez? If so, maybe we should share the wealth with some of those poor penguins who looked like they were a graham cracker away from being floating Smores.. Just writing out loud…

Anyways, this week’s Richmond.com Top Five tackles alternative modes of transportation. If I were a lame FM disc jockey, I would call this “Friday Funnies.” But I’m not.

Also see: The gasoline diaries.

Pushover of the Month: XM Radio

Last week XM radio personalities Opie and Anthony were suspended from the pay-for satellite service for 30 days in a move that makes about as much sense as Hugh Hefner firing Jesse James for flashing her cans at Mardi Gras, or canning Chris Hanson for punching a pedophile.

The Don Imus firing has created a predictable slippery slope of anti-first amendment fears and sentiment. In fact, since the "nappy headed ho’s" debacle, O&A have been predicting their own demise daily. (By the way, just for the record, Harold & Kumar did MUCH more for New Jersey than the Rutgers' women's basketball team ever will, at least in terms of providing Neil Patrick Harris a career boost.)

I just don't think O&A thought it would be benign sex banter from a drunken’ bum that would give them the boot from satellite radio – the alleged short-skirted provocateur to terrestrial radio's wet blanket chaperone. Sure, there was a short segment devoted to what said bum would do to supposed "hand-off" dignitaries including Condi Rice, The Queen and the First Lady. But “According to Jim” segments have been more offensive.

The O&A debacle is much different than the Imus fracas. Customers pay to hear O&A on a channel clearly labeled “outrageous talk radio.” It’s a channel that’s free of FCC oversight and shouldn’t submit to the self-important rants and raves of Al Sharpton and couscous-munching soccer moms. XM customers pay for and expect irreverence and graphic gags.

Come to think of it, the O&A suspension isn’t even an issue of free speech. It’s even worse – it’s an issue of paid-for speech.

(On a personal note, O&A got many of us through the day with their entertaining views and skews. Now we’re forced to listen to whacky FM DJs who consider copying your buttocks on the office printer or pranking pizza joints to be outrageous. O&A are still airing every morning on CBS radio affiliates for three hours, but it’s not the same. Bummer.)

Father Time's bastard son

Age may in fact be more than a sum of all its calendar parts.

At least that's what's purported by the Web site RealAge.com, a new novelty longevity site that asks you questions and spits out your "real" age. My actual age? 27.9 "Real age?" 31.3. Damn it!

You could probably guess at most of the questions, which inquire about everything from drinking habits to exercise and eating patterns. It's a cool concept, except RealAge.com doesn't probe deep enough tthrough one's experiences and lifestyle to really get an accurate measure of what makes one more or less healthier than their years.

They're a bit too gunshy and PG-13, so here are a few additions I'm suggesting:

1) For everyday you're not appearing on Dr. Phil, add one minute, 37 seconds. (Subtract four days for days if you've ever been in the studio audience - 198 days if you're a dude.)

2) Subtract two hours for every glass of Sunny D you've consumed. Subtract three days for every glass of "the purple stuff" you've imbibed. Subtract four days for each snuff film you've seen with a parent in the room.

3) For every novelty greeting card you've received that was purchased from Spencer Gifts, add a week for each guffaw it drew from you. (Ahh, that sleeping cat doesn't even know that it's about to fall off that TV… And that fat lady is going to eat that cake before you even get a bite!)

4) If you've ever eaten Ramen Noodles for dinner five nights in a row or more, subtract the amount of miles that you have on your used Kia hatchback.

5) Add five minutes for every time you've smile at a bum.

Take a look at this crap…

Just published a Summer Movie Preview for Richmond.com. I’ll just sum up the season’s offering like this: Pamela Anderson’s chest boasts more original content than this summer’s box office.

Enjoy.

The Queen, a mural and a strip club

Last week do you think anyone gave the Queen and her ladies in waiting a "heads up" that there's a poorly painted mural of her late, former daughter in law on the side of a Downtown Richmond strip club? I'm guessing…no.

Not only is the mural of Princess Di painted on the side of a strip club, but it's painted on the side of Velvet, the worst strip club in Richmond, which is really saying a lot.

Once I was there for a bachelor party and – no joke – there was a stripper who must have been missing a Lamaze class. She was extremely preggers.

Seriously, if Velvet hired professional impersonator Queen Helen Mirren for the night, she would have been the hottest performer by a kilometer. Heck, she could work Scores.

my intentions with your daughter, errr, this blog...

There's a good chance my flirtation with blogging will last no longer than Anne Heche's flirtation with lesbianism. But hopefully it will be more entertaining than "Six Days Seven Nights."

This blog will serve as everything from an unscrupulous pop culture critic to a watchdog of media local to Richmond, Va. In other words, TV weatherman Jim Duncan's bad combover and RTD sports columnist Bob Lipper's made-up cliches are all fair game. As is Style Weekly's uncanny ability to make a dining review of TGI Fridays sound pretentious.

Having worked the mean streets (and theaters) of the River City for several years, I'm quite aware of its vibrant and popular blogging community and hope not to plummet the lowest common denominator of its offerings, but instead to join the ribald online merrymaking.

Oh, and I apologize for everything in advance.