Fried-Ay: Stay Put Drills, Question 1, and mid90s


Guys, guys, guys! It’s everyone’s favorite blog post on Friday (but on a Sunday): Fried-ay (but on a Sunday). It’s a post capable of reuniting lost relationships and inspiring the uninspired. It’s a post I throw up every week; and every week, I make sure to warn everyone that it makes absolutely no sense. There is no rhyme or reason. It is basically the sausage of the blog industry—I wipe all the scrapped ideas I couldn’t dedicate to a full blog over the week into a drafts folder and just spew them out like I’m wielding an M1 Garand in Medal of Honor: Frontline on Gamecube. Anyway, here we go…

So about an hour away from Game One’s first pitch on Tuesday, my TV reverted to that Emergency Alert System screen three or four times. I guess there’s a tornado in the area and they wanted everyone to “remain calm and indoors.” Like, the Sox are entering Game 1 of the World Series on a Tuesday night. No one’s going anywhere, dude. That was probably the most prepared this region’s been for a tornado since last year’s Super Bowl.

For the record, advising people to “remain calm” after indicating forthcoming danger is the dumbest thing ever. It’s the same opinion I apply to those school shooter drills conducted in high school. The #1 rule of executing a drill is clarifying the drill is just a drill; in fact, the ONLY reason a drill succeeds is because everyone knows the drill is just a drill.

Once I learn it’s not a drill, then fuck the drill. I always laughed when my teachers would instruct us to treat the drill as if it wasn’t a drill. Okay sure, but don’t be surprised when I shove some kid in a wheelchair down two flights of stairs for quicker access to the fire extinguisher, which I’ll use to smash through one of the 1st-floor windows and escape. Don’t die—you know the drill…

If there’s a cyclone or ballistic missile heading towards my patio, keep that shit on the DL. I’d rather die wearing sweatpants, eating Celeste pizza, and updating my NBA 2K17 “MyPlayer” attributes than frantically rummaging through my contact list and apologizing to family members and ex-girlfriends for past transgressions. Not to mention, if nothing happens, I’m stuck renovating a laundry list of relationships I only attempted to salvage in fear that heaven exists and I may be on the wrong side of the velvet rope. I’d rather a terrorist attack at that point…

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably know midterms are approaching. This year, I guess there are a lot of hotbed issues being adressed, most notably, Question #1.

For the record, I don’t know what the law is or what it plans to do because I don’t do research; however, I’m familiar with it because I’m friends with Nurses on social media. After I combed through pictures of various nurses holding mugs asserting “I Save Lives,” I finally saw some clarification on the issue and realized I’ll just be voting with my gut, like I do every year.

The best part of me is that I’m essentially just a dog. If you give me more food, you have my loyalty. How I vote is exclusively determined by who I speak to last. Every one of these commercials sway me in another direction. I could be dead set on voting yes, and as I’m pulling into the parking lot, I could hear a radio commercial claiming “If you hate Stalin, you’ll vote no on Question 2” and I’ll be smashing that box at the ballot.

I saw mid90s on Thursday and I don’t know what to make of it without giving spoilers but I’ll try. The film marks Jonah Hill’s first venture into the world of directing, and from that perspective, I thought it was well done. The dialogue was serviceable and the 90s nostalgia—Super Nintendo, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bed sheets, VHS tapes—is enough to generate a wry smile from time to time but that’s kind of where things fall. It simply felt like a love letter to California skate culture during that period, which is fine, but not for someone who isn’t necessarily invested in it.

As I mentioned, it’s difficult to review a movie like that without giving spoilers but I will say that the ending doesn’t do much to justify the price of admission. A lot of people disagree and contend they like when directors leave stuff to interpretation but get the fuck out here, dude. As a filmmaker, it’s your job to tell me a story, that means beginning, middle, and end. Don’t leave the ending up for me to decide—that’s what I paid you for…

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-Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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