In an effort to consolidate writing archives I have spread over a few websites, I'm going to start posting entries from the past on this page. Though I'll be tempted to, I won't edit them. I'll start with some of the oldest posts first and work my way up. And if for any reason you want more, you can check out all of them at thelordoursavior.com
4/24/01
Amazingly enough, sometimes I don't have anything to say. However, I will seldom let that stop me from talking, so here's a little insight into human nature for you:
No matter who people are, or what they do for a living, they truely believe that they have the most important job. And, not only is their job the most important, but the also believe that they and others in their field are somehow elite. For instance, I worked evenings for several years in a mall. As a part time worker in an organization you are able to see the culture without ever fully committing yourself. This allowed me to observe the actions and rituals of the "Mall Lifers." Lifers seldom work in the same store for more than a few years before migrating to a new store. No matter how much they move, they seldom leave the confines of the mall community. Those who "get out" of the life mostly trasfer to the same store in another mall. Collectively (and keep in mind there are exceptions to every rule) Mall Lifers all smoke, which enables them to take smoke breaks together. It is at these smoke breaks that one can observe the elitest attitude held by Lifers.
Example:
KB TOY STORE EMPLOYEE: Dude, you should have seen this guy that came in to the store today.
WETZEL'S PRETZEL WORKER: Yeah?
KB: He was looking around, then he dropped a box on the floor and I had to pick it up.
WETZEL: What an idiot.
KB: And then he asked me if I had any Pokemon Battledome games in stock, and I was like, no dude, but we do have Pokemon Stadium.
WETZEL: (laughs and throws cigarette butt in bushes outside mall entrance)
KB: Man, the dumbest people come in the store sometime.
Then those two go back inside, where they are apparently kings. Could have been that man looking for the Pokemon game was the CEO of some company, or a famous scientist. Anyways, it is always amazing how the mall lifers convince eachother that they are the ilk of society. Whatever ilk means.
(in retrospect, I completely misused the work "ilk." And I misspelled "truly" and "transfer." How I've grown as a writer.)
3.25.2008
TOO MUCH BLOOD.
There's nothing more disorienting than waking up in the morning to find that your nose is gushing blood. This morning I woke from my post-snoozing half-sleep dream to find my nose dripping blood onto my pillow. I immediately leapt from my bed and did an arm-wipe check of my nose. There was definitely blood, a lot of it. What better time for every one of the 30 mini packs of tissues I keep laying around to disappear. After digging an old paper towel from the trash, I plugged up the nose. It continued to bleed at a steady clip for about 10 minutes, soaking about 5-6 tissues with a bucket of blood. Then it stopped. Just like that. There was barely any evidence in my actual nose that this trauma had taken place. Only the trash can full of bloody Kleenex and my constant fear that blood would again start shooting from my schnoz remained.
photo from lunch when my nose started bleeding again
So fearing a brain tumor, I went on WebMD to see what was up. The general information on nose bleeds didn't really give me any reason to worry, but it also didn't give me a definitive answer as to the cause of the blood fountain. Luckily, I have figured it out. Because I have such a super-human body, my immune system and life sustaining capabilities are sometimes too great. My body temporarily lost its focus and produced entirely too much new blood. The solution? Open the flood gates and drain the extra blood. If not, I probably would have exploded, like an over-inflated balloon. I just need to pay more attention to how much blood I'm making.
In related news, my college roommate used to get these gushers on the regular. And last year, about this time, I was out to lunch with co-workers at a job I had just started in CT. We were sitting outside at a picnic table near a little shrimp shack on the water. Awesome day, getting to know my new work friends. Then...BAM...massive nosebleed that wouldn't stop for the duration of the lunch. Try explaining to your new co-workers that it's not from cocaine. Weird.
3.24.2008
FAMOUS IS FAMOUS.
One saying I've always stood by is "famous is famous." Meaning, it doesn't matter how you get famous--just get it. Of course, there's a difference between the fame achieved through serial killing and that achieved through rescuing 1000 babies from a burning building, but most of the inbetween nets out to just plain famous. A shining example of this theory has come to light in the last few weeks (and yes, I'm going to refer to the Spitzer scandal again).
Ashley Alexandra Dupre.
Ashley has been on the famous is famous plan for awhile, as is evidenced by her appearance on Girls Gone Wild years back. Everyone knows, showing your tits is one way to jump-start your fame. Here's a special look at her GGW stint, with some sort of special VCR slow motion/rewind treatment added in by an ambitious YouTube user who, no doubt, is also trying to get famous.
Girls Gone Wild apparently didn't launch her career the way she envisioned it would, so she took the less-traveled "become a high-priced whore involved with a government official and then get busted" path to fame. This scandal has vaulted her into the limelight and the offers for fame-related gigs are rolling in.
She appeared topless on the cover of the Post. $1 million offered by Hustler to do a nude spread. $1 million was originally offered by Girls Gone Wild for a non-nude spread; then they found they already had Ms. Dupre in their archives. Imagine the luck. Whoever found that bit should get a bonus.
And what's more, she is starting to achieve the type of fame she probably wanted in the first place. As a musician. She's posted songs on Amie Street, where users can buy tunes for $0.98 each. Artists take home 70% of that fee, leaving Ashley around $0.69 per--insert 69 joke here--song sold. As of ten days ago, estimates were that over 300,000 people had visited the site and listened to the song. Who knows how many people bought that piece of crap. And how many hits do you think her MySpace page got? A shit-ton, that's how many.
So is Ashley famous? I would say so. First, I'm blogging about her, as are hundreds of other worthless web-writers. Second, she's on television weekly, if not daily. That might not last long, but most people will remember "Spitzer's whore" for a long time. And third, her song and other web items get a ton of hits. For reference, check the hit counter on this blog on the top right, then compare that to her 300,000 hits. That number over there is not how many people have been here today. That's the total number of people who have been here, ever. And I'd wager it's 1/3 me checking to make sure things look right, 1/3 the same six people (you know who you are, and you're appreciated) checking in, and 1/3 accidental hits from people who quickly click out of it.
Maybe I should start whoring.
Ashley Alexandra Dupre.
Ashley has been on the famous is famous plan for awhile, as is evidenced by her appearance on Girls Gone Wild years back. Everyone knows, showing your tits is one way to jump-start your fame. Here's a special look at her GGW stint, with some sort of special VCR slow motion/rewind treatment added in by an ambitious YouTube user who, no doubt, is also trying to get famous.
Girls Gone Wild apparently didn't launch her career the way she envisioned it would, so she took the less-traveled "become a high-priced whore involved with a government official and then get busted" path to fame. This scandal has vaulted her into the limelight and the offers for fame-related gigs are rolling in.
She appeared topless on the cover of the Post. $1 million offered by Hustler to do a nude spread. $1 million was originally offered by Girls Gone Wild for a non-nude spread; then they found they already had Ms. Dupre in their archives. Imagine the luck. Whoever found that bit should get a bonus.
And what's more, she is starting to achieve the type of fame she probably wanted in the first place. As a musician. She's posted songs on Amie Street, where users can buy tunes for $0.98 each. Artists take home 70% of that fee, leaving Ashley around $0.69 per--insert 69 joke here--song sold. As of ten days ago, estimates were that over 300,000 people had visited the site and listened to the song. Who knows how many people bought that piece of crap. And how many hits do you think her MySpace page got? A shit-ton, that's how many.
So is Ashley famous? I would say so. First, I'm blogging about her, as are hundreds of other worthless web-writers. Second, she's on television weekly, if not daily. That might not last long, but most people will remember "Spitzer's whore" for a long time. And third, her song and other web items get a ton of hits. For reference, check the hit counter on this blog on the top right, then compare that to her 300,000 hits. That number over there is not how many people have been here today. That's the total number of people who have been here, ever. And I'd wager it's 1/3 me checking to make sure things look right, 1/3 the same six people (you know who you are, and you're appreciated) checking in, and 1/3 accidental hits from people who quickly click out of it.
Maybe I should start whoring.
MY MAYOR, MY GOVERNOR.
If I were to start my own state, I already have my top officials lined up; two guys who, together, can bring my land the prosperity it deserves--and the corruption that goes along with it.
From my home state of Michigan, let me introduce Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, who was just indicted today on eight counts, including perjury and obscruction of justice. All to cover up a scandalous interoffice affair. KK could end up serving YEARS in prison, unless he somehow manages to get every official in Detroit fired or murdered.
And of course there was the alleged Manoogian Mansion Party, where it was rumored Kwame and his boys got down and dirty with some strippers and such. Of course, the police officers in charge of investigating these allegations were fired and consequently sued the city of Detroit, which settled for $8.4 million. A hefty price tag for a little Mayoral get-together. And if that wasn't enough, there's also suspicion that Kwame and company had a stripper from that party murdered. A lead investigator on the case stated, "I suspected that the shooter was a law enforcement officer, and more specifically, a Detroit Police Department officer." My man knows how to get it done.
If only he had been around to advise the other half of my dynamic duo. Recently resigned from public office, he narrowly beat out Jesse "The Body" Ventura as my selection for Governor of my imaginary state. Introducing the former Governor of New York, Elliot Spitzer. Elliot has fallen on hard times as of late. But I'm sure if he were united with Kwame, serving together in a state that prizes both victory and corruption, the two would usher in an unprecedented era of opulence. Not since Roman times has the world seen such ravenous orgies and celebrations. And since I would be the president of my imaginary state--yes, my state has a president--I would preside over all these affairs. There would be no need to cover up scandal, because cultivating scandal would be a matter of public policy. If there's one thing the public craves, it's scandal.
From my home state of Michigan, let me introduce Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick, who was just indicted today on eight counts, including perjury and obscruction of justice. All to cover up a scandalous interoffice affair. KK could end up serving YEARS in prison, unless he somehow manages to get every official in Detroit fired or murdered.
And of course there was the alleged Manoogian Mansion Party, where it was rumored Kwame and his boys got down and dirty with some strippers and such. Of course, the police officers in charge of investigating these allegations were fired and consequently sued the city of Detroit, which settled for $8.4 million. A hefty price tag for a little Mayoral get-together. And if that wasn't enough, there's also suspicion that Kwame and company had a stripper from that party murdered. A lead investigator on the case stated, "I suspected that the shooter was a law enforcement officer, and more specifically, a Detroit Police Department officer." My man knows how to get it done.
If only he had been around to advise the other half of my dynamic duo. Recently resigned from public office, he narrowly beat out Jesse "The Body" Ventura as my selection for Governor of my imaginary state. Introducing the former Governor of New York, Elliot Spitzer. Elliot has fallen on hard times as of late. But I'm sure if he were united with Kwame, serving together in a state that prizes both victory and corruption, the two would usher in an unprecedented era of opulence. Not since Roman times has the world seen such ravenous orgies and celebrations. And since I would be the president of my imaginary state--yes, my state has a president--I would preside over all these affairs. There would be no need to cover up scandal, because cultivating scandal would be a matter of public policy. If there's one thing the public craves, it's scandal.
I'M ELECTRIC.
Recently, I find myself getting shocked every time I touch metal. It doesn't matter what shoes I'm wearing, or if I have a wool sweater on or where I'm at. Sometimes the shock is so shocking it produces a blindingly bright flash. People can hear the shocks from ten yards away. We're not talking little sparks here, I'm dealing with some serious voltage. It's gotten to the point where I flinch before I touch my computer or DVD player. I use my sleeve or notebook to try and open doors. Is it possible that I'm becoming some sort of electricity man? Will I soon be required to get a costume and fight crime? Why is this happening to me? Why, God, why!?
Zap.
3.22.2008
SECRET COUNTRY SONGS.
Everyone has secret songs; songs they're ashamed to admit they love, but deep down they can't get enough of. For some reason I've developed an affinity for these two songs. My secret country songs.
Something Like That, Tim McGraw
My heart don't forget a song like that. I might get the chorus tattooed on my back. In related news, I have a friend who worked on a Frito Lay commercial shoot with Tim McGraw. He showed up really late, apparently coked out, and bailed early. Didn't talk to any of the people there and was a real ass. I guess that good ol' boy polish wears off when you become a millionaire.
Gone Country, Alan Jackson
Now this one I'm truly ashamed to love. I mean look at Alan Jackson. Really look at him. He IS country. Look at 'dem boots.
Something Like That, Tim McGraw
My heart don't forget a song like that. I might get the chorus tattooed on my back. In related news, I have a friend who worked on a Frito Lay commercial shoot with Tim McGraw. He showed up really late, apparently coked out, and bailed early. Didn't talk to any of the people there and was a real ass. I guess that good ol' boy polish wears off when you become a millionaire.
Gone Country, Alan Jackson
Now this one I'm truly ashamed to love. I mean look at Alan Jackson. Really look at him. He IS country. Look at 'dem boots.
3.13.2008
BE A MAN.
Dear Governor Spitzer,
First, I'm sorry you got caught. You're sort of a fool and on some level, I bet it feels like a relief. But your strategy, post-bust, seems to be a bit scattered. Currently, you're resigning as governor of New York. Why? Because you happen to enjoy the company of a lady. Granted, it's a lady who is not your wife. And it's a lady whom you have to pay thousands of dollars to take care of certain man needs. But still, you haven't committed murder, have you?
You could have claimed that you hadn't been doing this long and you're ashamed. People love apologies and you'd likely have been forgiven within a year. Instead, you went down the old I've been seeing whores for ten years and I've dropped about $80,000 on all that ass route. Not what I would have picked. Perhaps you're setting us up for the pathetic "I have a sickness, I can't stop banging prostitutes" crybaby speech. Sorry. Not buying it. You're the damned Governor of New York. It's not like you're some schmo on the street who randomly just picks up hookers. You have to go out of your way to get these high priced whores and keep it a secret.
It seems to me that you're resigning because you can't handle the heat. Your actions hadn't affected your ability to do the job thusfar. In fact, a little weekend recreation probably enhanced your on-the-job performance. Am I right? But no, instead of standing up and being a man about it, you're going to run and hide in your mansion or wherever you live. Why can't you just admit it? You're addicted to pussy. You're a grown man and you like a little something on the side every once in awhile. I'm fine with that; you have a stressful job.
Anyways, I just wanted to say that I don't blame you (see above). And if you took a pro-prostitution stance and tried to run for office, I'd support you.
Sincerely,
One New Yorker
First, I'm sorry you got caught. You're sort of a fool and on some level, I bet it feels like a relief. But your strategy, post-bust, seems to be a bit scattered. Currently, you're resigning as governor of New York. Why? Because you happen to enjoy the company of a lady. Granted, it's a lady who is not your wife. And it's a lady whom you have to pay thousands of dollars to take care of certain man needs. But still, you haven't committed murder, have you?
You could have claimed that you hadn't been doing this long and you're ashamed. People love apologies and you'd likely have been forgiven within a year. Instead, you went down the old I've been seeing whores for ten years and I've dropped about $80,000 on all that ass route. Not what I would have picked. Perhaps you're setting us up for the pathetic "I have a sickness, I can't stop banging prostitutes" crybaby speech. Sorry. Not buying it. You're the damned Governor of New York. It's not like you're some schmo on the street who randomly just picks up hookers. You have to go out of your way to get these high priced whores and keep it a secret.
It seems to me that you're resigning because you can't handle the heat. Your actions hadn't affected your ability to do the job thusfar. In fact, a little weekend recreation probably enhanced your on-the-job performance. Am I right? But no, instead of standing up and being a man about it, you're going to run and hide in your mansion or wherever you live. Why can't you just admit it? You're addicted to pussy. You're a grown man and you like a little something on the side every once in awhile. I'm fine with that; you have a stressful job.
Anyways, I just wanted to say that I don't blame you (see above). And if you took a pro-prostitution stance and tried to run for office, I'd support you.
Sincerely,
One New Yorker
3.10.2008
BUY SUITCASE STOCK.
On a recent trip, I insisted my girlfriend only bring a carry-on bag. Difficult, I know, to fit everything you'll need for a weekend on the beach in one suitcase. A bathing suit, some flip-flops, a few t-shirts. But she did it. Imagine our surprise, then, when we were on our way to security and one of the female guards motioned for her to put her carry-on, clearly a bag of carry-on size, on this measuring plate. The plate was obviously too small for the bag. I think it was 22" x 14" x 9", which is approximately the size of no luggage ever invented. We were directed to go back and check the bag. And by directed, I mean that the security woman stood with her arms folded, staring at us, shaking her head "no," and not answering any questions. Watching from the bag-check line, we saw the security guard turn back about 10 more people, randomly letting some bags that exceeded her size limits slip by. It was infuriating.
So my insider tip today is to go buy stock in luggage companies (i.e. Samsonite). Because if they really enforce that luggage size limit, we're all going to need new carry-on bags.
So my insider tip today is to go buy stock in luggage companies (i.e. Samsonite). Because if they really enforce that luggage size limit, we're all going to need new carry-on bags.
3.09.2008
THE WIRE FINALE: WE LOVE, WE HATE
It's over. And can I just say, good work. Since there is no more Wire to come, here's a rundown of what was good and bad about the last ever episode. I'm not going to sit and go through it scene by scene, but this is what I remember:
First, the mayor's sidekick, Norman, was classic in that office at the beginning.
Carcetti ended up being a piece of shit, which is disappointing. There should have been some scene where Daniels marches down into his office and tells him what a two-faced typical politician he'd become. Maybe it would have shaken Carcetti up and he would have agreed to let Daniels do his job, as initially promised. Seeing the lady lawyer as a judge and Daniels as a lawyer felt lame and forced. But seeing them crown Valcheck commissioner was priceless.
In better news: Eat it, Cheese! After that blah blah blah speech about the game, he gets his card pulled by that tall raspy-voiced dude. Perfect ending to Cheese, and I'm glad that Raspy was the trigger man. I've always liked him. RIP Prop Joe.
The young'uns provided some of the best and worst of the finale. Without a doubt, Michael going Omar on that old guy was one of the best surprises of the show. When we first met Michael, he seemed like he would make it out. Quiet, strong, confident. But I suppose he had to look out for his family however he could. I guess when you've got nothing left to lose, you end up Omaring (new term coined). Either that, or you end up as the saddest, but probably truest part of the wrap-up. Young Dookie borrowing money from Mr. P and then, yeah, shooting up. We hate to see it. Kid just got eaten up by the streets.
I loved seeing Chris in the yard with Wee-Bay. Wee-Bay is to Avon as Chris is to Marlo. And now they're pals. Nice.
On the other side of the law, we got a perfect parting scene from Kima and Bunk. Kima at the scene, doing her job as Bunk strolls up. She tells him to watch his step, which prompts a barely comprehensible, cigar-muffled tirade. Classic Bunk.
Daniels fought a good fight; his scene in the elevator with McNulty was nice until he left and uttered that awful, scene-ruining "to be continued..." I wanted to see McNulty get strung up. In the end they celebrate him, which I thought was a total waste of film. You need to punish idiots for doing idiot things, otherwise other idiots will think it's okay.
There was one glaring omission, and I'm sure they did this on purpose, but Scott needed to eat some serious humble pie. McNulty served him up a little dish, but what we really needed was for Gus to jam a whole pie into Scott's terrible, lie-spitting mouth. Drag him through the streets, let the people throw stones. He's a despicable character and I can guarantee that Wire fans the world over were aching for Scott to get his. Gus did what he could, I guess.
And no Clay Davis? Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Here, in its entirety, is the final six minutes. Watching Scott take that awards makes me furious, but seeing Bubs at dinner warms my heart. Love and hate...
So long, Wire.
First, the mayor's sidekick, Norman, was classic in that office at the beginning.
Carcetti ended up being a piece of shit, which is disappointing. There should have been some scene where Daniels marches down into his office and tells him what a two-faced typical politician he'd become. Maybe it would have shaken Carcetti up and he would have agreed to let Daniels do his job, as initially promised. Seeing the lady lawyer as a judge and Daniels as a lawyer felt lame and forced. But seeing them crown Valcheck commissioner was priceless.
In better news: Eat it, Cheese! After that blah blah blah speech about the game, he gets his card pulled by that tall raspy-voiced dude. Perfect ending to Cheese, and I'm glad that Raspy was the trigger man. I've always liked him. RIP Prop Joe.
The young'uns provided some of the best and worst of the finale. Without a doubt, Michael going Omar on that old guy was one of the best surprises of the show. When we first met Michael, he seemed like he would make it out. Quiet, strong, confident. But I suppose he had to look out for his family however he could. I guess when you've got nothing left to lose, you end up Omaring (new term coined). Either that, or you end up as the saddest, but probably truest part of the wrap-up. Young Dookie borrowing money from Mr. P and then, yeah, shooting up. We hate to see it. Kid just got eaten up by the streets.
I loved seeing Chris in the yard with Wee-Bay. Wee-Bay is to Avon as Chris is to Marlo. And now they're pals. Nice.
On the other side of the law, we got a perfect parting scene from Kima and Bunk. Kima at the scene, doing her job as Bunk strolls up. She tells him to watch his step, which prompts a barely comprehensible, cigar-muffled tirade. Classic Bunk.
Daniels fought a good fight; his scene in the elevator with McNulty was nice until he left and uttered that awful, scene-ruining "to be continued..." I wanted to see McNulty get strung up. In the end they celebrate him, which I thought was a total waste of film. You need to punish idiots for doing idiot things, otherwise other idiots will think it's okay.
There was one glaring omission, and I'm sure they did this on purpose, but Scott needed to eat some serious humble pie. McNulty served him up a little dish, but what we really needed was for Gus to jam a whole pie into Scott's terrible, lie-spitting mouth. Drag him through the streets, let the people throw stones. He's a despicable character and I can guarantee that Wire fans the world over were aching for Scott to get his. Gus did what he could, I guess.
And no Clay Davis? Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Here, in its entirety, is the final six minutes. Watching Scott take that awards makes me furious, but seeing Bubs at dinner warms my heart. Love and hate...
So long, Wire.
3.06.2008
3.05.2008
BOOK REVIEW: THE BOOK, THE FILM, THE T-SHIRT
I'm not sure where, exactly, I picked up this book. I know I have it because I read e, a short novel by Matthew Beaumont, and it cracked me up. It was a story set in an ad agency, told entirely through e-mails sent between characters. The format made for a fast, hilarious read.
But when I opened this book, The Book, The Film, The T-Shirt, I was shocked to see that once again he had chosen to tell his story in a very fragmented style. The narration was from the POV of just about everyone involved in the story, which was--surprise, surprise--once again set in an ad agency. Which means most of the characters are the same types, many of the interactions are similar and to be honest, it didn't feel authentic this time. While the e-mail book was a nice gimmic and made for a great read, this book quickly started to annoy me. So quickly, in fact, that I struggled to make it to page 60. I put it back on the shelf shortly thereafter.
It should come as no surprise, then, that the book wasn't even listed on BarnesandNoble.com. I seldom put down a book, and never before page 100, but this was pure trash and I'm amazed it found its way into a bound version. The best part of the book? The cover, which was well-designed enough to fool me into thinking, wait, this might be good...it's not. Also, he looks like a real douche:
3.03.2008
LITTLE ANGEL.
Looking to cash in on the popularity of recently, fictionally deceased gangster Omar Little, my associate and I have developed a spin-off series starring Omar and other stars of The Wire. If you work for HBO and would like to purchase the idea or hire us as writers, let me know. We're wildly available for such projects.
Little Angel: Series Synopsis
After meeting his death, Omar Little, a Robin Hoodesque, homosexual robber, murderer, and drug dealer finds his soul in a bind. He can't get into Heaven, because we all know they don't take gays in Heaven. And because of his strange code of ethics and his refusal to just be pure evil, the devil won't take him either. So he's banished to limbo, wandering the earth and trying to earn his way into Heaven by way of being an avenging angel.
His earthly associate is Bunk, a play it by the numbers detective, who takes down the criminals Omar doesn't see fit to take with his shotgun. Omar and Bunk have a love-hate relationship. Bunk doesn't like having to take anything from Omar, a former criminal and murderer, but he can't let the criminals Omar turns him onto go free.
Omar roams the streets. Criminal fear him. Citizens fear, but respect him, unsure if he's real or a ghost, avenging angel or wandering madman. He subsists entirely on a diet of Newports and Honey Nut Cheerios, which he either steals or accepts as gifts from those thankful for his brand of justice.
The first episode begins with the much ballyhooed showdown between he and Marlo. That alone would be enough to attract the entire Wire audience. Between Omar's likable brand of street justice, his frequent meetings with representatives from Heaven and Hell, and the gradual friendship that grows between he and Bunk, this is a sure fire winner.
Did I miss anything, Steve?
Little Angel: Series Synopsis
After meeting his death, Omar Little, a Robin Hoodesque, homosexual robber, murderer, and drug dealer finds his soul in a bind. He can't get into Heaven, because we all know they don't take gays in Heaven. And because of his strange code of ethics and his refusal to just be pure evil, the devil won't take him either. So he's banished to limbo, wandering the earth and trying to earn his way into Heaven by way of being an avenging angel.
His earthly associate is Bunk, a play it by the numbers detective, who takes down the criminals Omar doesn't see fit to take with his shotgun. Omar and Bunk have a love-hate relationship. Bunk doesn't like having to take anything from Omar, a former criminal and murderer, but he can't let the criminals Omar turns him onto go free.
Omar roams the streets. Criminal fear him. Citizens fear, but respect him, unsure if he's real or a ghost, avenging angel or wandering madman. He subsists entirely on a diet of Newports and Honey Nut Cheerios, which he either steals or accepts as gifts from those thankful for his brand of justice.
The first episode begins with the much ballyhooed showdown between he and Marlo. That alone would be enough to attract the entire Wire audience. Between Omar's likable brand of street justice, his frequent meetings with representatives from Heaven and Hell, and the gradual friendship that grows between he and Bunk, this is a sure fire winner.
Did I miss anything, Steve?
THE WIRE: SAY IT AIN'T SO.
One more episode?! Don't do it to us. Don't take away our Wire.
HBO, if you don't think I'm a dedicated Wire fan, please be aware that--much to my girlfriend's dismay--I watched last night's episode while drinking a Balashi in my hotel room in Aruba. It's a most enjoyable way to spend a Sunday evening. So when I write to you, I'm writing from the heart.
Last night's episode was pretty great, so I'll just jump to saying what we're all thinking:
With only two episodes left, we knew Lester's efforts were about to pay off. It was a little disappointing that there wasn't any sort of shootout and that there were no real confrontations. Show us Cheese getting pulled over and such. Show us the squad rolling up on Marlo and his reaction. We see the aftermath, when they're already in cuffs, but we've been waiting a long time to see this happen. Take your time and give us the goods.
One of the things that has stuck with me all season is a quote about Michael, from Marlo (I think it was Marlo): Puppy got big paws. Indeed he does. As much as we hate to see Snoop get it, I was glad to see Michael handle that. Too often Marlo and his crew have just acted without real proof of anything, dropping folks left and right (Bodey!) so when Snoop was once again just following orders and met her demise, it was fitting. She best watch herself, though. I have a feeling Omar is waiting whereever it is Snoop is heading.
And couldn't someone have told Marlo that Omar was looking for him!? Look at how mad he got. His name is his name! After seeing him so reserved all the time, it's great to see him get so fired up. Boy is fierce! (not fierce like Christain from Project Runway)
Kima dropped the dime, so McNulty's ball of yarn is about to unravel. Quickly. As in it has to unravel at light speed, because we've only got about 50 minutes left, and you have to share that 50 minutes with Marlo's rampage, Scott's downfall (come on Gus! Pull his card and pull it now!), Bub's newfound glory, Carcetti's whatever the fuck is happening with him and a host of other issues. And, was it just me, or did that preview show the emergence of a real serial killer mimicing McNulty's style? We can only hope Scott and McNulty resort to killing bums and get riddled with the bullets of justice for doing so.
The final Wire of all time is setting up to be a doozy. If only they could give us a 2-hour season finale. I already know I'm going to spend almost the whole episode checking my watch to see just how much more Wire I have in this life. If we're lucky, the universe will be struck by some sort of strange gas cloud which extends time and allows whatever program you're watching to continue infinitely.
HBO, if you don't think I'm a dedicated Wire fan, please be aware that--much to my girlfriend's dismay--I watched last night's episode while drinking a Balashi in my hotel room in Aruba. It's a most enjoyable way to spend a Sunday evening. So when I write to you, I'm writing from the heart.
Last night's episode was pretty great, so I'll just jump to saying what we're all thinking:
With only two episodes left, we knew Lester's efforts were about to pay off. It was a little disappointing that there wasn't any sort of shootout and that there were no real confrontations. Show us Cheese getting pulled over and such. Show us the squad rolling up on Marlo and his reaction. We see the aftermath, when they're already in cuffs, but we've been waiting a long time to see this happen. Take your time and give us the goods.
One of the things that has stuck with me all season is a quote about Michael, from Marlo (I think it was Marlo): Puppy got big paws. Indeed he does. As much as we hate to see Snoop get it, I was glad to see Michael handle that. Too often Marlo and his crew have just acted without real proof of anything, dropping folks left and right (Bodey!) so when Snoop was once again just following orders and met her demise, it was fitting. She best watch herself, though. I have a feeling Omar is waiting whereever it is Snoop is heading.
And couldn't someone have told Marlo that Omar was looking for him!? Look at how mad he got. His name is his name! After seeing him so reserved all the time, it's great to see him get so fired up. Boy is fierce! (not fierce like Christain from Project Runway)
Kima dropped the dime, so McNulty's ball of yarn is about to unravel. Quickly. As in it has to unravel at light speed, because we've only got about 50 minutes left, and you have to share that 50 minutes with Marlo's rampage, Scott's downfall (come on Gus! Pull his card and pull it now!), Bub's newfound glory, Carcetti's whatever the fuck is happening with him and a host of other issues. And, was it just me, or did that preview show the emergence of a real serial killer mimicing McNulty's style? We can only hope Scott and McNulty resort to killing bums and get riddled with the bullets of justice for doing so.
The final Wire of all time is setting up to be a doozy. If only they could give us a 2-hour season finale. I already know I'm going to spend almost the whole episode checking my watch to see just how much more Wire I have in this life. If we're lucky, the universe will be struck by some sort of strange gas cloud which extends time and allows whatever program you're watching to continue infinitely.
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