A moment of silence, please.

Thank you. The two New Zealanders behind one of the quirkiest, cleverest and funniest shows in television history have pulled the plug on their creation. Bret and Jemaine, who play Bret and Jemaine (respectively) on their show announced today that there will not be a third season of Flight of the Conchords.

Fellow FOTC fans will understand my sadness and share my grief. For the rest of you, this clip is but the minutest sample of the low-fi goodness that was Flight of the Conchords. Lament with me, brothers and sisters--our great series is dead.

Five months from today, my world (and possibly the world at large--you never know) is going to be irrevocably changed. You see, Riley and I have decided to take the good book's counsel to "be fruitful and multiply" literally and have bought an orchard in central Washington state.

Just kidding. We're having a baby.

Yup, I've created my replacement. On or around May 3rd of next year, the miracle of birth and all its accompanying yuckyness will take place in the Smith house (or a hospital, preferably). There are few times in your life when you experience 27 different emotions at once, but hearing your wife say "Well, it's positive," from the bathroom at 6 a.m. is definitely one of them.

What kind of dad will I be, you ask? If my performance as an uncle is any indication at all, then I will be eminently awesome. At least that's what I keep telling myself, because seriously, what else can I do at this point?

I would say my feelings toward fatherhood fall under the auspices of "cautiously optimistic". I'm excited, but yikes! A completely helpless, amazing, writhing, beautiful, pungent, adorable, expensive, cuddly, lachrymose miniature human is going to come screaming (pun probably intended) into my life. And the little guy/gal will be totally dependent on me (and Riley a little, I suppose).

It's going to be a wild ride, but I think I can handle it. C'mon, parenthood: show me what you've got!

I was trying to watch the trailer for the upcoming Twilight movie the other day (don't ask why--it had something to do with Riley), and I noticed an interesting and alarming new phenomenon. After I clicked on the trailer link, a message popped up to tell me that I needed to watch a short message from Downy before my video would play.

Irritated, I went back to the original page and tried it again. This time Cover Girl needed thirty seconds of my life before I could access the video. I tried going back and re-clicking one more time: Microsoft. Several other websites forced the same thing on me. Disgusted, I slammed the laptop forcefully shut and threw it from me.

Is this what we've come to? In order to watch what is, when it comes down to it, an advertisement for a film, we now must watch ANOTHER ad to earn it. Really? The logic (and implications) of this are mind-boggling.

Later, as I pondered this and browsed the "new laptops" section of Amazon, I thought about the movie I went to this summer that had 24(!) minutes of ads and previews before the movie started. I paid full price for the film, which means I actually spent money to watch almost a half-hour of advertisements. I spent even more if you count all the blatant product placements in the film. There's no giant remote in the movie theater to switch the screen over to another channel.

These are just two more examples of ad creep infiltrating our lives. It's only going to get worse, I'm afraid. Maybe I should just give up and become like this guy. It's where the world seems to be going anyway.

One of the perks of my Inside Redbox gig is that I have a forum to occasionally broadcast my opinion to a fairly large audience. This last week, I put up a rant about the declining sales of movies on disc and why I think that's happening. A few of you might be interested in this topic, so here's the editorial in its entirety:

It’s no secret that the DVD retail industry is in trouble. Disc sales have posted double-digit declines this year, and studios are panicked and looking around for a scapegoat. I want to discuss one bright spot in all the gloom: rentals. As we have discussed in earlier posts, while sales of discs have been dropping, rentals are up.

Despite a prolonged recession that has stifled most other sectors, box office receipts are actually on track to beat last year’s. This, combined with the uptick in rentals suggests a simple fact: people are still WATCHING movies, they just don’t want to OWN them anymore.

The following reasons help offer an explanation, in my opinion, of why the viewing public (myself included) has lost much of its interest in purchasing movies. Whether you agree, disagree or think of additional reasons that I don’t mention, let us know your opinion in the comments. Here we go:

Renting Just Makes More Sense
In the early 2000s, I went to work building my DVD library with vigor. Each Sunday I would scan the ad inserts in the paper from Best Buy and Circuit City to see which movies were coming out on disc and were “on sale” for $15-$18. More often than not, I would buy several of them. Looking back now, I have no idea why.

Of the several hundred movies I own or have owned on DVD, there are maybe a dozen I’ve watched enough times to justify their purchase price. I try not to think about how much I would have saved if I’d had my current “enlightened” attitude towards renting in my misspent youth. Unless I absolutely LOVE a film I’ve seen in theaters or rented and know I’ll rewatch it over the years, it’s just not worth the price of the DVD (or Blu-ray now). Only three or four movies a year make that cut, and my wallet is all the heavier for the (belated) triumph of reason in my movie-watching habits.

TV has Upped its Game
I’m not talking about The Hills, five nights of primetime Jay Leno a week (Seriously, NBC? FIVE nights?) or other disasters.

No, I’m talking about The Sopranos, The Wire, Lost, Mad Men and other outstanding shows of the last ten years or so. These are well-written, well-acted cinematic shows with a scope and production values previously only seen in films. While there have always been a few excellent serial dramas on TV, the last decade has seen the blurring of the silver screen and the small screen in a big way. Discerning television viewers now expect more from their favorite shows, and much of the magical “movie-ness” of feature films has worn off as superior fare has been created for TV. The result is that many, many Hollywood films now pale in comparison to the best television shows in recent memory. Why buy DVDs when you already have access to often-superior entertainment through your cable or dish?

Quantity over Quality
Now we come to it, the real reason why most movies today aren’t worth owning: they suck. One of the most frequent comments made on this website is that people don’t feel like plunking down their hard-earned cash to buy the crap films studios are churning out. And churning them out, they are. According to the MPAA, the number of films released domestically last year climbed to 610. 610!

An amazing film is a rare thing: a perfect storm where a great story, visionary director, talented actors and crew and supportive studio execs come together to create something truly outstanding. Such films don’t come along that often, and studios are businesses, with employees to pay and investors to satisfy. Thus they have to take a “more is more” approach to pay the bills, cranking out sequels, remakes and other formulaic drivel to make payroll and keep the lights on. Out of the ten highest-grossing films of all time, EIGHT of them are sequels or prequels. Risk is expensive, and in most cases a studio will go with a proven and/or cheap commodity, whether or not it’s the right choice “artistically”. The result is a bloated release slate, with only the occasional film worth the expense of purchasing.

What really bothers me, though, is that the public often rewards studios’ indifference to quality by making this behavior profitable. If I’m a studio exec who wants to keep my job and my cushy lifestyle, I’m going to greenlight the projects that get the most “bang for the buck”. Why spend several hundred million on a lavish period piece or compelling drama when I can toss out $26 million for Paul Blart: Mall Cop and watch it earn more than $180 million? There’s a reason why we get an endless parade of Scary Movie/Tyler Perry/Meet the Spartans-type pablum: they’re cheap and people pay to see them. They don’t appear nearly as interested, however, in owning them when the time comes. (Why people pay cinema prices to see those movies in the first place is a debate for another day.) Perhaps if potential DVD buyers felt that they had higher quality options, they’d be more willing to part with their cash. It might hurt studios at the front end, but there could be some serious payoff at the back end.

Even in tough financial times, people will pay to own a product they perceive is offering them value. Until Hollywood figures that out, Netflix, VOD and Redbox will continue to benefit from my (and your) buyer’s apathy. That, Insiders, is why we rent.

As you may know, I do a fair amount of freelance work, which if nothing else has taught me that there is always a market for snark. I recently started a new gig that I think is pretty cool.

Some of you may have heard of/visited Inside Redbox. This is the top online community site for Redbox users across the country. It has all the latest Redbox info: news, codes, new releases, etc. It's a cool site, and has gotten pretty popular over the last few years.

Back to me. Last week I was hired on to be the site's writer. Now, if you just can't get enough of me here, mosey on down to Inside Redbox and read my latest movie world-related postings. Heck, even if you can't stand me or my scribblings (and I don't blame you a bit if that's the case), head over there anyway because it's such a great site.

The Beatles were the very first band that I really got into. I mean REALLY got into. When the last great wave of Beatlemania swept the nation fifteen years ago with the release of the Anthology albums and movies, my young teenage mind was exploded by how "cool" their old school sound still was and what amazing songwriters they were. My room was soon plastered with posters of the Liverpool lads in the crosswalk in front of Abbey Road studios, I bought A Hard Day's Night and Help! on VHS and I spent my limited funds buying up EVERY Beatles album ever released.

In a few days, on 9/9/09, Beatlemania comes back once again. All of the albums have been lovingly remastered and will be re-released in sparkling digital clarity. This, of course means I'm going to have to drop another two hundred bucks on songs I already own, just because they're going to sound a little bit sweeter and smoother. The crazy thing is, I don't mind a bit.

If you're not a Beatles fan, now's the time to dip your toe in the water, and then you'll understand. These guys truly deserved all the hype and fame and (over)exposure. Their songs helped shape rock and roll from the sixties through the present day, and they are just as catchy, melodic and brilliant as they were forty-odd years ago.

All apologies to Viva la Vida, Achtung Baby, Dark Side of the Moon, Who's Next and the rest, but none of them can touch Abbey Road's perfection as an album. Sgt. Pepper, Revolver and the White Album aren't far behind.

So if you already appreciate the Fab Four like I do, I'll see you in line on Wednesday. If not, use this chance to add "Hey Jude", "Come Together" and "A Day in the Life" to the soundtrack of your life. Your ears will thank you.

I adore razor-sharp writing that can make you laugh a little and cry a little at the same time. This spot-on satirical video from The Onion does exactly that.

The subject of the discussion is absolutely ridiculous (and hilarious), but many of the panel's comments are paraphrasing points actually made by pundits during recent ethical debates about torture. So scarily close to the truth that it's funny, or is it the other way around?


Is Using A Minotaur To Gore Detainees A Form Of Torture?

Lament #202

Tens of millions are unemployed, banks are failing, the economy's on life support, we're mired in two fantastically bloody and expensive wars and this is currently the most popular article on Time.com. Really, humanity?

I've made a huge mistake. And I know of no better venue to discreetly reveal my errors than the cozy intimacy of the world wide web. Here's the deal:

We recently upgraded to a nice big plasma TV, and part of the deal that I got on it was that it came with a Blu-ray player. I'd been looking at getting one for a while, so this seemed like a great time to take the plunge. (Cue ominous music)

Blu-rays on a huge HD screen are an epiphany. After we finished The Dark Knight the other day, I just sat and wept at the beauty of it all. After watching a hi-def movie on a hi-def TV, I can finally say it: we are now living in the future.

"What's the problem, then?" you are probably asking right about now. It's simple: once you've tasted the sweet sweet digital nectar that is Blu-ray, all of your regular DVDs look like crap. I look at the collection that was perfectly awesome last week, and I don't want to have anything to do with it now. And since Blu-rays still cost $10 or $15 more apiece than regular DVDs, I won't be switching my entire collection over anytime soon. This is the part where you start feeling sorry for me.

It's like buying a Ferrari and discovering every road's a work zone. It's like going to Ruth's Chris and just eating a roll. It's what it must feel like to be Chuck Norris every day.

It's really true what they say: once you go Blu, you never go back. Learn from my fate, and consider yourself warned.




Now for today's INTERESTING SCIENCE FACT: The above image is not Photoshopped--there really are blue lobsters. Don't believe me? Go get your Wiki on.

Just got back from another epic camping trip. I have now washed away the stink of nature and reacquainted myself with my precious cell phone and laptop. Is it wrong to love inanimate objects slightly more than a pet and slightly less than a sibling? Just askin'.

As always, camping was a great time to learn valuable lessons that aren't to be had anywhere else. I present the following DOs and DON'Ts in the hopes that my time in the woods can be as enlightening for you as it was for me.

DO take time to appreciate the little things: singing birds, the wind whistling through the pines, the frigid embrace of the rocky ground as your air mattress gradually deflates during the night.

DON'T bother even trying to wear deodorant on a three-day camping trip. When it's matched against the smell of burnt marshmallows, sunscreen, sweat, Deep Woods Off, campfire smoke, river fish and kerosene, do you really think Right Guard stands a chance? Please.

DO resist the urge to savagely murder your in-laws when they start laughing and chatting at 6:30 a.m. in their tent pitched four feet from yours.

DON'T become too attached to your brand-new waders. They will be punctured by a hidden stick .5 miles into your three-mile hike and slowly fill with icy water the rest of the afternoon. The laws of the universe decree it must be so.

DO realize that a common brown trout is smarter than a college-educated human being and will mockingly swim in circles as you pass your carefully tied fly over his head again and again.

It's that time again: our annual three-day camping trip with Riley's family. A time that I, a grown, vain man will spend the entirety of dressed like this:



Last year's trip taught me some very valuable life lessons (http://whatshaneknows.blogspot.com/2008/08/things-that-camping-taught-me-about.html). I can only hope this year is equally instructive.

And so I'm off, into an ominous cloud of bug spray and spotty cell phone reception. If I'm not back to blogging by Sunday, dear readers, please send the authorities to Huntington, Utah. Tell them to look for a skinny white guy weeping like a child and cowering under a "bear shield" made of broken branches and shredded tent nylon. He'll be defiantly clutching a bag of uneaten beef jerky (gross!).

The future's a funny thing. A shifting, murky, intimidating thing. I often think about mine, and what's in store for me in the coming years.

I recently discovered a website that will take a picture you've uploaded and use computer magic to tell you what you'll look like in fifty years. Would you like to see what Shane looks like in 2059? I thought so...












Wait for it....






















I hate technology.

I think we all have them: little lists in our head of the things we want. No matter how happy and content you are with your life, there are still probably a couple of things that would make it just a little more complete.

For today's purposes, I'm not talking about "peace on earth" or "publishing a novel" or "inventing the next Heimlich Maneuver". Dreams, schemes and goals are all well and good, but this list is tangible, material possessions only.

So today, you get a peek at my most-wanted list, or at least a bit of it. Some items are going to be a little tough to get, others are more within reach. All are awesome:




The white suit John Lennon wore on the cover of "Abbey Road".





The Bluth family's stair car from "Arrested Development".





A "Star Wars" Tauntuan sleeping bag.





An American Deluxe Fender Stratocaster.





The actual setlist paper from a Coldplay concert that I attend (preferably autographed).





A gold-plated MacBook.

I don't regularly watch Craig Ferguson's show, but every now and then he will come out with a keen and clever commentary that really grabs my attention.

Please devote the next three minutes of your life to his spot-on rant on the folly of modern society's obsession with youth. Amen and amen, Craig.

Lament # 16

Three words: Swine Flu Parties.



p.s. The fact that the man pictured above appears to have a creepy face on the back of his head is in no way relevant to the post. It is just a bonus.

Now it comes to it: I am actually considering becoming a Twitter-er. For both of you out there who don't know what Twitter is, the simplest explanation is that it combines the basic idea of a blog with the brevity and immediacy of texting. For some reason, the powers-that-be chose the goofy name "Twitter" over my much classier suggestion, "Blexting".

The messages you type on Twitter are called "tweets" and you have "followers" who sign up to read your musings. You can tweet as often as you like (some people do it every five or ten minutes!) and the only limit is that your tweets cannot be longer than 140 characters.

Why Twitter, you ask? That's an excellent question. I really don't know, other than the fact that it seems kind of cool for some reason. The problem is, I'M not that interested in a lot of the day-to-day parts of my life. Why would I want to inflict that on others? For you see, the vast majority of tweets are not earth-shattering epiphanies. Most tweets tend to talk about the weather, or the selection of breakfast cereal that morning or whether Tide or Cheer made the cut at the laundromat. In other words, most tweets are really lame and really dull.

If I were to Twitter, though, please know that I would bring the spice. My tweets would be gripping, explosive and make you beg for more. Some samples of what my future tweets might be like:

"We're removing the plutonium core from the bomb right now. My partner's giving me dirty looks--I really should be using both hands for this. LOL!"

"Well, that's the eighth orphan I've pulled out of the burning building. I really hope that's all of them, because that roof could collapse at any second!"

"Things I did today: vacuumed the rug, ironed four shirts, disproved the Theory of Relativity, found that missing Gold-Toe sock behind the dryer."

"Man, I'd heard it before, but I guess you just have to experience it for yourself. Grizzly bears are strong!"

"I had to dig the bullet out of my shoulder with my own bare hands, but at least the president is OK. Shane: 1 Terrorists: 0."

Lament #84

Walking into the gym today, I saw the same car circle the parking lot three times looking for the absolutely closest space possible.

It finally happened yesterday: someone used the dreaded "your age" reference with regards to ME. I let it pass for the sake of appearances, but I was a cauldron of seething rage inside. Here's the skinny:

We were in the car with my 23-year-old brother-in-law and he asked me if I'd seen the new "Transformers" movie yet. I replied that I hadn't, as I'd been so let down by the first one's deconstruction of my childhood icons.

The insouciant boy then replied, "Yeah, a guy I work with is about your age, and he said the same thing." My eyes flared open in disbelief. Was the dial on my hearing aid not turned to "loud and squeaky"? Had this whey-cheeked upstart really just called me out on my advancing years? I began to fumble around on the floor for my cane to administer some old school justice on his still-cone-shaped-from-birth head.

Then a thought slowly wended its way through my ancient neurons: this walking ultrasound hadn't meant to give his elder "the sauce". I'm sure he had no idea the effect his callous remark would have on my wizened emotions. Nothing going on here but the folly of youth on full display.

So, demonstrating my decades of accumulated wisdom and forbearance, I let it pass. He fell quiet, no doubt musing on the relative advantages of various Otter Pops flavors and wondering what time Pokemon was on.

To him, and to all smug teens and twentysomethings out there, I paraphrase another icon of my '80s childhood: "When 30 years of age you reach, look as good you will not."

What constitutes both the fastest and the longest sixty-five seconds of your life? A ride down the bobsled track at the Olympic Park. My entire body is still tingling.

My cousin, brother and I recently decided that the refreshingly warm weather and snow-free mountain trails demanded that we head to the hills. With guns!

Warning: The following depictions of the wholesale slaughter of innocent fruit with hollow-point rounds are not for the faint of heart.

You can't watch TV for two minutes or go to more than two websites without seeing an ad for the new Watchmen superhero movie. Seriously, this thing is EVERYWHERE. As I watched an ad the other night and observed the variety of latex, rubber, goggles, blue paint, etc. that are requisite for any self-respecting superhero's wardrobe, I got to thinking. If I were a superhero, what would I be? Would I use my powers for good or evil? What would my name be? How would I dress? A few suggestions:

HEROES

Captain Good
Most heroes are named after critters (bats, spiders, wolverines), or their abilities (super, wonder, green). One option for me would be to just have a generic, catch-all name and be a generic, catch-all kind of hero. With Captain Good, you're getting a nice, plain vanilla guy who's just out to do you a solid. He probably won't swoop in and catch you as you plunge from a skyscraper, or use his freezing breath to put out your electrical fire, but he will vacuum your carpets while you're out and replace your Glade Plug-Ins. And at the end of the day, which dire situation do you think more people need saving from: being held captive by a super villain at the top of the Statue of Liberty, or forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning on Saturday night? Citizens everywhere will sleep just a little more soundly knowing that Captain Good, clad in his white J.C. Penney shirt and pleated Dockers, is on the prowl.

Other possible hero identities:

The Swab
Six feet, two inches of soft cottony goodness. Blots out evil with his absorbent yet fluffy head. The bane of filthy ear canals everywhere.

Gun Show Glen
Always clad in an orange vest, camouflage, green plaid and a mesh John Deere hat that is the source of his power. This bearded tower of Red State power battles every day against the forces that want to take away your rights to automatic weapons, swollen bellies and smelling like jerky.

Other heroic identities I considered and discarded:

The Taffy Puller
The Baconator (name was already taken!)
Mister Right Now
& (also known as Ampersand)


VILLAINS:

The Incredible Sulk
Not really very dangerous. Just sits around in his room and throws his shoes at the door. His weaknesses include Cocoa Puffs, hugs, and newly hatched baby chicks.

Dr. Psoriasis
Causes itchy feelings and occasional flakiness in all he comes in contact with. Can only be defeated by his arch-nemesis, Captain Corticosteroid.

Other evil identities I considered and discarded:

Damaged Goods
The Unwelcome Masseuse
Potty Mouth
Puppy Kicker
The Nubbin


Try it for yourself - it's fun! Please also note that for some reason many superhero names would also make great punk band names.

Today you get some original poetry about that most obnoxious of months, the one in whose vile clutches we currently find ourselves. Calvin of Calvin & Hobbes fame once called February "the armpit of the year". Well said, sir. Well said.


Ode to February

Two fortnights in length, so unspeakably bleak
Each hour's a day, each day seems a week
The land stricken and barren, the air frigid and raw
Viscous and vicious, still awaiting Spring's thaw

A fell shadow lies ever, o'er skies never blue
The world robed in ashes, steel winter's grey hue
Release me! I cry, from this impenetrable shroud
One sliver of light, one respite from cloud

Never! you hiss from your dark glacial soul
Most cursed of months, you've exacted your toll
Of my humanity, sanity, thou villain most arch
But your reign's finally ended, come the first day of March


Let's all say it together now: February sucks!

Is it just me, or is everyone sick? I know it's that time of year and all, but right now it's different, somehow. People that I usually can count on as stalwarts of unassailable health have fallen ill. Disgustingly, drippingly ill. I myself have not been immune, having to call in sick yesterday for the first time in a long, long time.

I hate calling in sick. I hate the confinement of the house that I come to loathe as the hours slowly pass. I hate knowing that e-mails are stacking up in a quivering electronic pile, those little beige envelopes glowing accusingly at me when I finally go back to work. I hate getting that same guilty feeling I got in fifth grade when I would exaggerate a cough to my mom in order to stay in bed with Coke, saltines and Calvin & Hobbes books. But most of all, I hate what my mind does when I stay home sick.

As I lay in bed yesterday, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when death's sweet embrace would come, I started thinking about my life. My fevered brain started going through all the things that have happened over the years. People I've known, stuff that I've done, feelings I've acted and not acted on. I began to ask myself THE QUESTIONS. You know what they are:

Is this it? Is this where I wanted my life to be at this point? What should I/could I have done differently? Is this, to quote Jack Nicholson, as good as it gets?

The answer I gave myself was surprising, yet very Shane-like: yes and no. As always, I could see both sides of the issue. I have a good life; a great wife, supportive family and friends, a solid career. But I also felt like I wasn't quite there yet. It seems like there are a few more of life's sweet fruits that I'm still not picking.

I don't usually get all introspective in my blog, but here it is: I'm going to turn up the awesome in my life. It's not a new year's resolution - it's a new life resolution. Things are pretty good, but I know they can be truly great. It's all in here. I'm going to try new things, have more adventures, and cram more living into life. Interesting what a not-really-so-near-death experience will do to you. Wish me luck.