Tequila Sunrise Superman

Superman, at least as an engaging character, died in 1978 when the movie came out. I was a teenager at the time and as such, my attention was directed far more toward Wonder Woman than the Man of Steel. Don’t get me wrong. Truth, justice, and the American way were all laudable goals but none of them could hold a candle to a chick whose anatomy defied gravity and who enjoyed tying guys up with her golden lasso. Still, I went to see the Superman flick and left the theater shaking my head in disappointment.

To be honest, I enjoyed most of the movie. Christopher Reeve, who could not only walk but fly back then was well suited to the title role and Margot Kidder was still on her meds, making her a competent Lois Lane. The biggest problem I had was the Superman character was lame from the get go. He had way too many powers. As long as he steered clear of kryptonite, he could save the world without breaking a sweat.

This does not make for exciting storytelling. When you think about it, the only real challenge Superman ever faces is arriving in the nick of time to stop the forces of evil. In the 1978 film, even that was thrown out the window.

If you recall, Big S missed a crucial deadline, allowing Lois to get buried alive and leaving her dead as a stump. No matter, he just spun the earth in reverse to make time move back to the point where Lois was still breathing.

If you think this just ruined the movie, think about what it did to the Man of Steel’s work ethic. When you schedule gets that flexible, the tendency to procrastinate increases and after a while, your whole life goes to hell.

So let’s move ahead 23 years. It’s September 11, 2001, shortly before noon. Superman is lying in a bed littered with empty Cuervo and Donald Duck orange juices bottles. He wakes up and rubs his eyes. There are 48 messages on his answering machine but his head hurts too bad to deal with them just then. He turns on the TV and sees what everybody else saw that fateful day.

“Well, fuck me with a speeding bullet,” he muses. “This is going to get a lot worse until it gets any better. I’ll do the time-reverse thing and fix all this shit when I’m in the mood.”

The world is still waiting.

Three-Step Program

Alcoholism is a disease. While there is no cure, I have found this to be an effective treatment:

1. Avoid Jager shots. The same goes for tequila, Everclear, or huffing paint thinner in a back alley.

2. Order club-soda backs when drinking whiskey. Not only will a few pints over the course of an evening save you a world of hurt the next day, the bubbles tickle delightfully when vomited through the nostrils.

3. Knock back a Red Bull when you start to flag. You want to feel chipper as the evening progresses and the appearance of other bar patrons starts to improve. Stronger energy supplements, especially those of South American origin, are to be eschewed as they can lead to paranoia, erectile dysfunction, and sophmoric stupidity one tries to pass off as insightful wit.

This has been a Poison Spur public-service announcement. Please enjoy responsibly.

Salad Days Revisited

People who know me now are often shocked when they learn that I was a frat boy in college. I suppose that’s fair. I’m sure my old fraternity brothers experience some sort of cognitive dissonance when remembering that they let me join. No matter. I moved up to San Francisco so I could fly my freak flag full time and they do whatever it is that Republicans in San Diego do for fun. I wish them all well.

This is not to say I’ve completely lost contact with the old gang. I still get email from time to time, keeping me up to date with the other alumni. Fortunately, I’m still young enough to not dread the news of someone’s death in each and every electronic newsletter.

Today’s news was about Rob Ilko, who is current running for San Diego City Council. If you live in District 5, you may want to consider voting for him. I don’t know his experience or his stand on local issues, but can vouch for his character. If you’re looking for dirt, I doubt you’ll find any. You see, he and I were at a lot of the same parties and I never saw him do anything truly disgusting. He can behave himself. We need that quality in government.

But what do I know? It’s been over twenty years. I sent this email just to make sure he’s on the up and up.

Dear Brother Rob,

Congratulations on your foray into the world of politics. I have no doubt that if elected, you will prove to be a fine city councilmember. I only have one question. Are you amenable to graft? You see, commercial real-estate development is one of my many interests and I would like to build massage parlors and adult bookstores next to the elementary schools in your district.

Now we both know that such business ventures may cause an outcry among concerned parents and other killjoys, but not to worry. Never underestimate the persuasive power of a burning tire hurled through the living-room window.

You just keep the zoning commission and law enforcement looking the other way and we’ll both be rolling in dough.

Fraternally Yours,

Brother Dave

So far, he has not taken me up on my offer. I am impressed and you should be too. Please vote for him both early and often.

I’m Back

I took some time off from blogging. It wasn’t that I had run out of things to say. It’s just that my words were best said after five or six whiskeys and yelled at some woman at the other end of the bar who wasn’t going to fuck me anyway.

This was a waste of my muse. The world is full of people who won’t fuck me and if I feel the need to yell, the “Caps Lock” is my friend.

God bless