PREVIEWS PREVIEWS I am sick and tired of going to the movies and seeing previews for movies that aren't coming out anytime soon. If it's coming out next month, great, tell me all about it. If it's January, and it's coming out this summer, tell me about it THIS SUMMER! It's like going to your favorite restaurant and having them tell you what their specials will be this summer. I don't care what they'll be this summer, what can I have right now? I have enough shit to worry about without having to put upcoming movie releases on my calendar just so i can remember when they are coming to theaters six or nine months from now. Get it together Hollywood. MURDER IN THE FIRST I was watching some documentary on serial killers this afternoon and a psychiatrist they interviewed was talking about how the serial killers have no remorse about whom they hurt and who is effected, as long as the action makes the serial killer feel better themselves. It got me thinking about two guys I know who don't care who they hurt or how many people suffer as long as they are happy. You might know them, George Bush and Dick Cheney. How many people have suffered, how many people have died just so these two renegade cowboys can get their kicks? The number of U.S. soldiers killed in combat is climbing dangerously close to the total number of all the people killed in the 9/11 attacks. And why? Because Dubya likes playing G.I. Joe with real soldiers? (and who are we kidding, all of those soldiers lost are just like toys to that overgrown eight year old anyway) Because Dick Cheney was afraid his first hundred million dollars would get lonely if it didn't have another hundred million to cuddle with at night? These two are no better than Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer. They blab on and on about the "greater good," when in actuality the greatest good that could happen is if these two criminals were tried for their atrocities against the world and the citizens right here at home. Maybe Barbara Bush could hang a nice picture of her son in his prison jump suit right next to the pictures of him in his air force flight suit, his cowboy hat, and walking hand-in-hand with his Saudi boyfriend. I smell a new series of trading cards. AMERICAN IDOL I was watching the first episode of the new season of American Idol with my wife the other night and she commented on how mean Simon Cowell is to some of the people who try out for the show. I disagree. If you're a music producer, and some kid walks in for an audition and just doesn't have what it takes to make it, what's wrong with telling them that? If I ran a modeling agency, and some fat, ugly girl came strolling in the door, I wouldn't give her some constructive criticism like "hey why don't you go home drop 500 pounds, work on your face, and come back in a year." I'd tell her she should choose something she was more suited for, like competitive eating, or sumo wrestling. Why give tons-of-fun false hope? Yeah yeah, I know, fat girls need love too. That's exactly why we have fat men, and the visually impaired. Simon is just telling these people what any other music executive would tell them off camera, "there's just 2 things you're missing to make it in this business: a marketable look, and talent." These idiots know what they are getting into when they try out for this show and the biggest disservice isn't when Simon lays out the truth for them. It's when their parents and friends don't have the balls to tell them that they aren't good enough to make it beforehand, sparing them from embarrassing themselves on live TV. In the meantime, I'll enjoy watching the masses of under-talented youth, getting a big old spoon full of truth. KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS As you loyal readers already know, I hate NJ beaches. But this isn't a story about that. This is a story about a day at the beach in Delaware. As many of my earlier years blur together, I can't tell you exactly how old I was when this occurred. If I had to guess, I'd say I was about eighteen. I'm not one of those "go to the beach and spend all day laying on the sand, working on my tan" kind of people. In fact, sand kind of disgusts me. I don't like the feeling of anything sticking to my skin, which is pretty much sand's M.O. A typical day at the beach for me around this time in my life went something like this: check out the little 5 & 10 type stores along the boardwalk, play some skee ball, go for a swim in the ocean, get some ice cream, go home and shower all the sand and salt off as quickly as possible. If it was a really hot day, I might be enticed to take a second dip in the sea upon completion of my ice cream. This particular day was hot. Very hot. The kind of hot where the sand burns your feet when you walk across it. We staked out our place on the beach, stripped down to our trunks and swimsuits, and headed for some much needed relief in the ocean's cooling waves. The waves were larger than normal that day but I welcomed the turbulence. Sitting in a calm ocean is fun for about five minutes. Waves are like the ocean's built-in entertainment. My friends and I swam around, jumping over waves, occasionally mistiming them and getting slammed to the beach by the rough surf for quite a while without incident. I was facing the shore, trying to find my friend who had been pummeled by the previous wave, when without warning a wave nailed me from behind. It not only took me by surprise, but took my swim trunks as well. Luckily for me, the trunks snagged on my big toe. As I sat in the ocean, naked, trying to carefully maneuver my hand down to my foot to retrieve my shorts before a wrong move sent them floating out to sea forever, I began to panic. What would I do if they got away from me? How would I make it back to shore, the beach littered with people, without being seen? Why didn't I have a foot long penis? This certainly would have been a good excuse to show it off. As I pondered these great mysteries another wave crept up behind me and sent the trunks sailing off of my toe right into the hands of my friend who happened to be swimming towards me at that exact moment. I had been saved. I quietly redressed underwater and headed in to shore. I had finally put my seventh grade sex-ed teacher's advice to go use, I had managed to keep it in my pants. I BID YOU A FOND FAREWELL I hope you've enjoyed another big Spoon Full Of Truth...I bet you know someone else who would too. What better time than now to work on your sharing skills?