People are stupid. But Haim is not.

"Mcs wanna eat me, but it's ramadan" Foxy Brown

Yes I broke out something from older serious writing and you should've enjoyed it damn it, especially since I work hard as balls for you people. So before I write for about 8 hrs straight on Flash Carnage (now with bonus tracks/ I mean stories) you get one. And there will be more literary blogs, so strap in, but not today. I have to do enough of that shit today.

In a bizarre week that involved getting a kiss on the cheek from a thankful bum(yes it was chick,), a strange eve at Headhunters:Tiki Bar! and far too many Isobel Campbell albums, perhaps the strangest event involved the moving of a car. Yes that's right I say that literally moving a car.
So I'm reading about an article that proclaims how Franz Beckenbauer(The Kaiser. he played defense for Bayern Munich for the soccer illterate) is the greatest defensive player ever, and I hear a bunch of spinning tires and dudes yelling. It sounds like someone is repoing a car. I'm kind of like whatever. But, then I notice out the window, that there is a car backing right toward my window. Like pretty damn close.
"Shit!" I said backing away from the wall.
So I go upstairs look out the other window and there's a group of people out in the driveway. They've blocked the driveway AND the street with a Ryder truck that is backed up to our driveway. Now let me say again, these people don't live in the immediate neighboorhood or anything(maybe one of the condos down the street or something), but certainly not in some squatters area of this fucking property. I've certainly never seen them.
The tires are squealing as is this stupid broad who's contorting this car the way you hope all Romanian gymnasts can to the point where the car is diagonal across the whole driveway which can only mean
1. They very well might hit the house.
2. The yard is fucked.
3. They are gonna drop a gear in their shit car and get the car stuck.
So I go outside and they are like "Whoa! Hey we didn't know anyone was home. We knocked."
"What the fuck are you doing here" I yell.
"We're tryna to move this car into this truck. You wanna watch the freak show."
"It is fucking freak show, you almost hit my fucking wall. You hit the wall with this shit foundation, you might knock the fucking house down. This is bullshit." (Yes that almost has happened before, and is why there is no awning over the driveway, thank you very much Brini Lumber Company)
It was at this point I was about to go yell at an imaginary person in the house to "Liberate a gun," but I thought against it. However, some more cursing and yelling always fits the bill.
"Listen you guys got to get the fuck out of here, I don't wanna hear it."
"We're not gonna hit anything dude, we promise. If so we'll pay for it. says dude (They must have such a grandiose cash flow and are so cheap with it, that why pay for someone to just tow or move the car when you can save some of said grandiose cash flow on my
"And what if no one was home like you thought before, you paying for my shit then."
"Cmon, 5 mins, it'll be five mins." says broad.
I hate yelling at broads. I really do. And this situation was no different.
So I turn to driver dude
"Fine Git this shit done, I say. 5 fucking mins. After that fucking go. But, you hit something you're fucking screwed."
I walk back inside keeping an eye on this shit and you know what they STILL can't get the car in there. And what do they do they go across the street and try the same thing. And they STILL can't do it. Finally driveway 4, they do it 2 hrs later.
I don't even know what to say about people like this. Maybe people really are getting dumber. I don't think I would use someone elses house to move my shit car or boat or whatever. It's just dumb and inconsiderate. People are stupid. That's my contention.

Oh, Bourne Ultimatum was one of the better "dudes walking around talking in hushed tones" films I've seen. But, I'm sick of the Paul Greengrass school of filmmaking. Basically in requires a hand held camera that makes the camera work of druken, blonde party girls look like Christopher Doyle.(he's the DP of Wong Kar Wai's films. Go see some of them.) Damon is solid, as is the story, but that whole Julia Stiles(still looking the spitting image The Insider's fav porn star-Sasha Grey) trying to be Franka Potente lite, which just DOES NOT work. Anyway, it's good. A dash overrated, but good.

Alright so I owe Two Coreys. 4 Episodes Worth!
So Haim is broke and an actor and of course who's going to give him a place to stay-Corey Feldman! Of course, Feldman's wife is a big racked wanna be actress who's training her nips off trying to stay with them.(And trying her best Cheryl Hines/Curb Your Enthusiasm annoyed impression. In fact she should totally say "Haim!" the way Hines says "Larry!" so well, then she would be indispensable.) So in episode 1, Haim plays unruly house guest. He smokes, he's a slob, he talks shit to everyone. He hits on their important house guest(a red haired Isla Fisher look alike/Peta member.) Anyway, I'd say more, but for a "scripted reality" show, it seems faker than an actual "scripted sitcom." The highlight easily comes when Haim is trying to convince the Peta girl into the hottub and finding out she has a boyfriend, only to try and get her boyfriend to cook him(Haim) dinner.

Ep 2 isn't bad. It's the Lost Boys reunion episode. And the whole episode is Haim talking about how they gotta make a sequel, they gotta make a sequel. "We can write it dude!" he says for much of his dialogue. The highlight easily comes when they discuss Feldman no showing a radio interview for his wifes photoshoot, and Haim yells something along the lines of "Bitch! You're not Corey and Corey. You're not one of us!"
Finally at the end we get the big realization by Feldman that there will be a Lost Boys 2 and Haim wasn't invited to participate. Of course they have a good scripted cry and it's funny for all the wrong reasons.

Ep 3. Corey and Corey quit smoking! Feldman's smoking again and blaming it all on Haim. So of course Feldman's hippy new age wife(I guess implants aren't against hippiedom,veganism, and natural living.) has em go to a hypnotist and a sweat lodge. Now both should be really funny, but they really aren't. If anything the hypnotist=boring. Sweat lodge=too uplifting. Haim:"You were just jealous that I got License to Drive"
Feldman:"Oh yeah says the man who was jealous over the Goonies."
Haim:"Ha you know why I didn't get Mouth in that movie. They said I wuz too good looking, kid."(Best line of the show.)

Ep 4.
It's Haim's birthday. They want a strip club party for Haim, his mom wants a Ice Rink party. Then Haim has a heart ailment and it becomes the classic 80's "Very Special Episode" of Two Coreys. The only question I have is, if he's really having heart problems(I'm talking storyline wise here) do you really think writhing Canadian strippers are the answer to a good birthday?"

Alright so the verdict. It's not that great. I'm sorry. I was prepared to say "Hey Man, Two Coreys is awesome." But, it's not. It's not even close to Dog The Bounty Hunter. Shit, when it comes to laughs it may not even be Criss Angel Mindfreak. However, I will watch it again. Why?
Because I wanna see Haim make a comeback. You can see through all his million dollar drug problem, weight gain/loss, crazy fucked health, career suicide, that this man has fucking talent. With the right project and material he could easily make that Neil Patrick Harris comeback.(where there is no reason he should be back, but somehow he just is. And then when you see what he's actually is doing, you are like Whoa! That guy actually has talent.) I hope Haim gets his money AND another shot all from this kinda boring show, because if he can make a few moments of this shit watchable he sure as hell deserves it.

I recommend:even more Isobel Campbell albums. perhaps from the Gentle Waves era.

Curb Your Enthusiasm countdown-Next Month?

Luck

Alright I know that you have been waiting for the Two Corey’s rant for episodes 1 and 2. And I will do them, I promise. But, you must wait as I bait and switch and do something completely different just for my own writer’s indulgence complex.

I found myself walking, baking my brain in 100-degree weather, in a futile attempt to escape. I wondered quietly in the circuits of my inner mind and aloud to the bemusement of passerbys about how bad luck seemed to have grabbed my current being. It felt as is I was foiled at every turn like the Hamburglar, perhaps Dastardly and Muttley.
So what is luck?
Some have said, “It’s where preparation meets opportunity.” Bollocks.
The Happy Mondays said, “I wrote for luck, they send me you.” Shaun Ryder may have been onto something with that total frustration/philosophical idea if he hadn’t been talking about fucking drugs the rest of the song.
Maybe luck is for all those things you can’t control or just aren’t big enough for a prayer or incantation? Like when you’re watching Match Game 73’ and Richard Dawson is on it or you’ve parlayed some absurd two-dollar trifecta into a hundred dollars at some podunk West Virginian track.
No matter which version you take, I was shit out of it. I sat down in front of some teriyaki and thought about it as I thumbed through a new Murakami book. “I can’t possibly be so out of fucking luck. Did I grab a tiki god off the beach in Hawaii? There’s got to be a voodoo curse! Does that affect luck or perhaps kept my health fucked up a month ago? Jaysis, man there just had to be a way to change my luck.”
A rabbit’s foot? Nothing says doing better in your life than hacking a long foot of a cute holiday mascot.
Lucky pennies? They seem to have found their way into piggybanks or people’s carpet, because I certainly hadn’t picked one up in forever. You know have bad luck, when you only run into heads down pennies.
Then it hit me. Four-Leaf Clover. Surely you jest, you might scoff. Now I realize it’s become one of those things that has been glommed onto every Irish related item shipped to Dollar Generals and The Sharper Image.
But, just think about it for a second. A four-leaf clover? When was the last time you really saw a four-leaf clover? I thought about modern urbanity and realized that even in city parks you might see a classic double clover or perhaps the vaunted troika clover. But a four leaf clover.
I went back through my memories to remember if I had ever seen one, just growing in the wild and finally I found one in my head. I was age four and ten blocks from where I sat in front of my vacant bowl. I was in school running and bopping around shooting blaster bursts via my hand as Han Solo. I rushed hidden through a large grove of small trees, that sprawled along a cold, stone wall destroying the evil stormtroopers that hunted me and Princess Leia played by one of my kindergarten muses.
We ran together through that cool morning past the old mansion guest house where our classes were held clear to the other side where the green patches and swaying St Augustine grass bristled sharply, almost propelling us forward even faster than before.
Now, I was an X-Wing ship and she the Millennium Falcon and we flew together to take that Death Star bastards pay. We made loud whooshing sounds interspersed with more killer bursts via our arms. Our stamina never wavered as circles were made like vultures and left weird patterns in the grass with glow in the dark Keds like bees on the mate.
Time to crash. I jumped all fours, shot from the sky, sliding into home, arms outstretched to the harsh ground. Into a patch of small greens that cushioned the tear stained fall, I suddenly smiled as I looked in front of me there was a four leaf clover. Just one. A million little plants and only one stood tall enough to deserve my gaze. Just one. I reached for it gradually with my short, squat arms, my wounds crying for Bactine. They could wait, I knew what that little, cheerful plant meant; that luck at it’s finest, would become my own. I was close to it till the whirlwind swept over me and the girl grabbed the clover I had been reaching for.
“I found a four leaf clover! I found a four leaf clover!” she yelled for everyone to hear.
Our twelve compatriots rambunctiously ran over in childlike amazement of course to see the first four-leaf clover they’d seen, and I looked at the ground in frustration. If I had known that it was going to be the last four leaf clover I would see for at least 20 years, maybe I would've gone and looked too. If I had known that this girl had just gotten all the luck she could spare for like a lifetime, I probably would've cried.
Clearing my tray, I felt sad at the memory and the realization that you just never see four leaf clovers anywhere. Maybe they’ve all been picked. Maybe it was global warming that killed them. Maybe they were all stolen during a playground romp. I really didn’t know. All I knew was my luck felt like it was at it’s worst. There had to be something to change it, man I swear.
I think I sulked down the street, hands in my pockets, nothing to say, it was all just a jumbled self-abusing pain trip that nothing could…
A lucky penny!
Holy shit!
Lincoln was winking at me. Even one dose of luck could fill the tank pretty well. My head down, I smiled towards the scorching asphalt and when I grabbed it the copper was so hot it almost burned my hand. I pressed the coin hard between my thumb and middle finger to try and seal the good luck into my body before putting it in my pocket and resuming the short stroll. I felt at least a small jolt of energy and didn’t feel restless for what felt like the first time in days.
There may be those that don’t believe in luck, but I’m sure as hell not one of em'. I’ll take anything I can get in this difficult life. Any type of peace, anything that gives me that extra little bit of fight, I fully support. And even as I’ve tried to rally against the rotten luck and actually find some good luck with all the things that truly matter to me or tried to rally I’ve yet to see any more four leaf clovers. But, by the end of that long day I had found four lucky pennies, and could at least wistfully smile at the irony and luck that was now burning a hole in my pocket.