Man, under-destruction?

 I'm a big fan of Mike & Molly. Yeah sure, I've mentioned, time and again, that I'm both a film-and t.v.-buff, but this isn't just comedic appreciation. This is actually more of a glimpse. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.  Mike & Molly is an American sitcom staring comedians Billy Gardell and Melissa McCarthy as the tittle characters. Its a story of a police officer and an elementary school teacher who meet, fall in love and get married, all within a time-period of 2 seasons (which is usually about 20-25 episodes, but lord knows how much time elapses by then).   Now, many a critic have tried to break down the show and pinpoint the elements which make it so funny and appealing to the viewing audience. Is it the random elements within the script that all mix together to form a hilarious, yet plausible scenario? Is it the eloquent script writing that allows the individual actors to fully portray the characters to their limits? Is it the zany and eclectic

 In my native Eritrea, we celebrate 2 Christmases. The better known December 25th Christmas, with all the glitz and festivities associated with it, and again on January 5th, which is more celebrated by those of the orthodox-christian faith, which most Eritreans follow. Personally, I've enjoyed both, namely because, as public holidays, both have afforded me the luxury of not having to get out of bed before noon. And for those who are slightly sensitive to my lower-than-average reverence for Christmas, I'm sorry.  As far as traditions go, one fairly common tradition in most Eritrean households was watching "Kevvin" (no, not a typo, just an emphasis on the mispronunciation that is prevalent with my people during their use of the English language, which I find to be quite aggravating at times because if one is to use a medium of communication, the very least they can do is make some attempt to properly........*sigh, sorry for my little rant). They actually meant Kevin, a

 When I was a kid, I was scared to death of the cellar. Of course, by Eritrean standards, the cellar was just a room where we kept a whole lotta junk, sorta like an above-ground basement or ground-floor attic. Due to my imagination being the way it was at the time (and still is sometimes), I would visualize all sorts of creepy crawlies that inhabited that part of the house, doing whatever it was they did when they weren't busy tormenting me with their antics. It had even gotten to a point where I would swear hearing actual conversations coming from there, until I realized it was just big brother messing with my head, as only he could. But, the experience had left me unsettled. It was only years later, after an admittedly  minuscule  amount of maturity had set in, I realized that at the time, I was just afraid of the dark. While this is something that we all outgrow and even learn how to embrace, the sad fact is, to this day, I can't honestly say that I'm entirely comfortabl

 Before I dive into this, I have a question for those who might know me well, or well enough outside the parameters of this blog. Do I remind you guys of J.D. from Scrubs? Do I bear some resemblance to Zach Braff's character on the hit T.V. show, be it physically, emotionally, psychologically or otherwise? .....anyone? Right, moving right along....  I damn near cried when I saw the series finale. After 8 seasons, the show ended. Personally, I think they did good, leave on a high note and all that. One of the scenes that still breaks my heart is when J.D. and Carla (Zach Braff and Judy Reyes respectively) were saying their on-screen good-byes. The original scene used was edited. In the scene, it showed Carla saying to J.D. "I'm gonna miss you, Bambi" (a well-known pet name that she had for J.D.). But, before the final "cut", J.D. whispered back to her, in her native Spanish, " yo también " (me too). And it was true.  I only bring this up now becau

 I'm going to try something different. With this post, instead of some long, winding beginning that will serve as an eventual on-ramp to my main topic, I'll just jump right in, thereby getting straight to the point, without having to get into a detailed, seemingly random and initially pointless ramble on whatever inanity of life that's taken my fancy at the moment, while trying to incorporate it into my current theme........wait, I just did that. DAMN.  Oh well. Let's try again. Monday was my birthday. I turned 29. Some have pointed out that it is one year shy of the big 3-0. Some have even mentioned that it would officially make me either a young man or an old kid. Some, thought I won't mention who, have even gone so far as to imply that I'm......growing up (perish the thought).....or at the very least, growing old. By the way, to the person who e-mailed me that lovely forward of how I'll look when I hit 60, ha ha, I'm very amused.  I suppose one migh

 I cried during my first day of kindergarten (I don't know why I'm leading with this, but let's run with it). I was inconsolable. I couldn't be stopped. I couldn't be comforted. In fact, according to some, I showed impressive lung capacity with my wailing. Some of the teachers had even wondered if I might eventually earn a living with my loud voice and surprising "breath" when I grew up. Anyways, towards the end of my first day, I was so anxious to get home, to be away from these strangers that I had spent the day with, these other children, hoping to just retreat into the solitude of my own home. So anxious in fact, I had no idea that I would repeat all of that all over again the next day, and for quite a few more after that.  I guess I opened with that because it was a new beginning for me. Admittedly, I could have handled it better, but hey, I could have handled it worse. In fact, several others did, but let's not put their business out there like

 I'm quite baffled by the concept of "game", as I've mentioned in previous entries. I say this because I can't seem to comprehensively postulate a probable theory as to why it works in some cases and not in others. But, I guess everybody's got their moments.   Case in point, my big brother. Now, when in his presence, I'm constantly treated to a spectacle of erratic behavior and slap-in-the-face comments. While he is a brilliant, direct individual that I admire, without getting into specifics, his "game" resembles mating rituals of exotic apes in far off lands that we only become aware of by watching some random show on National Geographic. And yet, he's been laid. I can't fully explain why that surprises me, but like many other things, I guess its like a joke, you just had to be there to get it.  But, it does raise an interesting point. When in the presence of a lady or in the pursuit of getting one's attention, my brother, like a

 They say that parents are the bones upon which children sharpen their teeth. I first heard that when I was 5. Of course, my overwhelming imagination, combined with my timid nature, had me imaging myself in a feral state, gnawing on my parents, struggling to sate my appetite upon their "bones". This led to quite a few nightmares during my pre-school years. Some days, I'm surprised I managed to survive this long without major therapy........I might have told y'all a bit too much about me just now.  Oddly enough, this little flight-of-fancy began not from the idea of disturbing cannibalism nor even from Halloween, but rather from a personal message I found on FaceBook (Thank you, Mr. Zuckerberg). A friend of mine, who recently spent some time with my family, told me how he had so much fun with my parents (lucky bastard). But, it was a passing comment that got me. "Your dad's got GAME!!!!". I didn't want to even imagine what he was talking about or how

 They say every child begins the journey of growing up, not when they are born, but when they discover a tragic truth. I don't know if that's something I once heard in a movie, was told by a friend or read on a fortune cookie. If I had read that on a fortune cookie, then I guess I must have been in the mood for some monumentally depressing Chinese take-out.  But, bad comedy aside, it lends credence to the idea that, like everything else in life, like every other experience we have, people can be defined by their individual discoveries. That a person is, up to a point, a physical manifestation of the truth that they discover, that they are the outcome today of the revelation they had long before.  The tragic truth I discovered is surprisingly one that I constantly find myself re-learning over and over again. One that I seem to rebel against, not due to some stubbornness inherent through the passage of my genetic line, but because of something as potentially foolish as idealism.

 How many of you have seen the Matrix? If there's one single person who has not seen the original movie or its following sequels or the various prequels and side-stories, both live-action and animated, I will be quite surprised. Seriously, anyone who hasn't seen 'em has either been comatose or indifferent. Now, this is not to promote the franchise, but rather to emphasize just how far-reaching it has been. Now, I'm sure to those of you who have seen it, you could list various factoids and tidbits about it and all associated matters. But here's one I'm sure the majority of you probably don't know.  The writers/directors of the movie were Larry & Andy Wachowski, who had a few other credits to their name before embarking on this. This much is known. What isn't known is that Larry now goes by the name Lana. For those of you not keeping track, Larry Wachowski is now a woman. In fact, when promoting their latest movie, Cloud Atlas, they referred to thems

  I was such a timid child with a huge afro. Ask mom and she'll regale you with stories of my sudden water-works, never-ending tears and the occasional screams, all of which I will deny should I ever meet any of you in person. Oddly enough, I developed a morbid fascination for thriller and horror movies around the age of 12 and I've learned to appreciate and even anticipate them ever since. Hell, I'm still waiting on a film that will scare me, though I will not go so far as to say I'm impervious to fear, because, let's face it, I'ma always be that timid little boy with the nappy afro. But, I'm digressing, as usual.  I remember one afternoon in late '91, I was coming home from school, to find that mom wasn't home. Knowing that mom was fully aware of what time we got out and what time we got home, I was naturally concerned, despite the presence of my "uncle" (who, by Eritrean standards, could have been anyone from a direct relative to someon

 I've been known to do a stupid thing every now and then. But what most don't know about me is that I usually don't need a reason to do them. I call these my "Bart Simpson moments". Example, after being left stranded at my work place late one night "back in the day" (I'll save you any curiosity & just say it was back in my native land), I was forced to spend the night at the office, since it was a solid 15 mile trip home. While roaming the inner courtyard of my work place, I came upon a large sign that was used to "point" visitors in the direction of the offices or departments that they wished to visit. Now, these offices/departments were labeled according to their specific function. Now, seeing as how I had a magic marker, an above-average proficiency in the English language & no qualms about vandalism, I proceeded to "alter" certain aspects of the sign. While I won't dive into the details of my alterations, I will ad

 If there had been a better choice for Sherlock Holmes than Robert Down Jr., I'd love to know who it is!!??!!??!!??!!?? Jesus, I sound like a complete fan boy.  Anyways, I honestly believe Hollywood couldn't have picked a better actor to play Sherlock Holmes than Robert Downey Jr. Sure his critical accolades might not be so numerable  There may have been a time where he was known more for his drug-related run-ins with the law ( which could have seriously have destroyed his career, as it has to so many before him, as it will to so many after him). Sure, he may not be in his prime anymore, nor is he the best looking dude on the planet (as opposed to his co-star, Jude Law, who has been viewed as one of the sexiest men alive (another supporting point that I'll never understand women)), but there's a quality that he possesses. If I were to take a wild stab in the dark, I guess its an ability to lose yourself in the role. And lost he was. Considering the parameters in which

 Has anybody ever seen a movie where a black person would be threatened with having "the black smacked outta them"?? It made sound slightly racist, but the idea is quite humorous. And it's impossible....isn't it? The answer, my good people, is no, it is not, for I am living proof of that. Hahahaha.  Seriously tough, I've had a mild case of Vittiligo, which has plagued me for a good, long while now. It's quite interesting, especially since some folks have attested that it gives me "character". As flattered as I am by that, I would've preferred something a little less conspicuous, like a faux-hawk or lip-piercings that would've made me look like a retarded duck, but as per usual, I'm digressing. An interesting effect of this has been the constant comparisons that have been made with me and Michael Jackson (R.I.P.), which has "colored me flattered" (excuse the pun). Sure, I love to sing, dance and can be a great big kid sometimes,

 When I was in high school, I remember one particular teacher rather fondly. Memhir Gebreyesus , a.k.a. Koborta (to my peeps from Den Den, some of y'all know who I'm talking about). Memhir meaning "Teacher", his nickname meaning blanket (which I still have no idea what that's about) and the second part being his name, which means..........well, part of it is a popular pronunciation of Jesus. He taught high school geography, but I remember him for his short stature, thick glasses, doctor's coat (a symbolic uniform of the teachers back then) and constantly uneven facial hair, which, when I think about it today, sorta gave him the image of a mad scientist-meets-black hobbit. A particular session that stood out is when he spoke about volcanoes and the destructive power they had, especially how it could suddenly erupt without warning. He later proceeded to prove his point when he "disciplined" a student for talking, rather loudly, in class. Once again, an

 When I was eight-years-old, I believed in superheros. Sure, we all did. But, I was unique in the sense that I believed any idiot could become one. I remember one day when my father asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I told him I wanted to be a superhero. I remember the look he gave me afterwards. It was the look of a man who didn't know if he was supposed to encourage my youthful curiosity, clear up my confusion or euthanize me for my misguided belief. I even believed that I simply needed the right set of circumstances to gain superpowers. I won't get into the specifics, but I will admit that my older brother, as my "Extraordinary Ability Acquisition Consultant" (E.A.A.C), shares the blunt of the blame, although some people might believe that child services should have been informed.....but let's not go there. Point is, you can imagine my disappointment when the only reward for my effort was numerous injuries and humiliating spills with no thrills. T