First things first, I want to give a formal Saint Delicious shout out to the newly formed Lunarcy Pictures, headed, housed and enterprised by Saint Delicious' own, perpetually drowning in Jameson, Mr. Michael Fodera.  Secondly, I'd like to give a second holler (as the kids say it) to Mechanical Boy, whose Swing Low and Carry Me Home music video was directed by Mr. Fodera and produced by Say Uncle Group.

Now that that's out of the way, let me start by formally reiterating, sad though it may be, that I have in fact been attending law school since August.  This summer, I'll be working for HeadCount and occasionally writing about pending legislation and various other means and ends on their blog. 

I have only one story to relay right now.  Last weekend, I was at a Yonder Mountain String Band concert at Stubb's, in Austin, TX.  I was with a group of law students and an old college friend.  We were standing/dancing on a raised platform about 60 feet from the outdoor stage.  It had a metal fence along the front of it and a pathway in between it and the ground level area of concertgoers.  Suddenly, during Paul & Silas, an unsober man whom I can only describe as a slightly younger version of the mad scientist in Independence Day.  He was attempting to evade two security workers and ran up to the fence as best he could and reached his arm out for my friend, muttering "Help, please...help!"  My friend made an honest mistake but ultimately he "saw what they plan to do to us" by looking into his eyes.  The look of pure, unmitigated, unadulterated, simultaneous fear/obsolescence flashed through his eyes.  I turned to my friend and without pausing, in my best Bill Pullman, said, "Nuke the bastards!  Nuke 'em!"

Till next time...

This is my first blog posting in several months.  It is a condition of my parole.  That was a joke.  Speaking of jokes, I have learned that they are sadly inapplicable, for, as I have previously mentioned, there is simply nothing funny about law.  Three letters which, in a different order, could be construed as merely an abbreviation for the Association for Lesbian Windchimes, but which, in most cases, are, again, incredibly, unavoidably and intrinsically linked to the opposite of fun.

I must continue to use this page as a forum to broach subjects which may not be appropriate for the legal classroom. 

1) Why did Steven Spielberg win a lifetime achievement award at the Golden Globes?  Don't you have to do something good many years after you initially started being successful in order to finally get your lifetime recognition?  Apart from "nuking the fridge," I think you'd be hard pressed to find a movie Spielberg's made that's one third as funny as Schindler's List was...I mean, well, you know what I mean.

2) Is it my imagination or is it just pure truth?  Outside of New York, people really like donuts.  In NY, we're more than satisfied with our Joba-approved Dunkin', but everywhere else, LA especially, it seems like there are independent donut-shops on every street corner.  LA: Donut Shops ::: NY: Bodegas.  Are donuts actually acceptable as a breakfast food?  Aren't they more adequately assessed as dessert?

3) If an NHL team moved from Long Island, would anyone give a shit?  Better yet, if the NHL ceased to exist, would anyone give a shit?

4) Is it possible that there are Scientologists who just aren't that religious?  Did Jett Travolta used to joke with his buddies, "Yeah, my dad loves that shit.  So does Uncle Tom.  [Note: "Uncle Tom" works on a couple levels here.], but you know, I'm just Jett man.  I just do what I do."  Sorta like the same way there are Catholics who are just in it cause Grandma boycotted Dogma or for tradition or whatever, or Jews who don't think anybody could part the Red Sea?  Or is it just that we assume, because of the cosmic lunacy that is Scientology, that it's not possible for anyone to be involved who isn't a die-hard. 

On a similar note, did you hear what the doctors said to John Travolta.  "Excuse me, Mr. Travolta.  We're terribly sorry, but...we're going to have to go up your son's nose with a rubber hose..."

I will close with a few observations of my first semester of law school:

1) A requirements contract between a pimp and a customer.  All that I will need of a particular good, but I am of increased vitality this year because of these magic blue pills, so...would that qualify as a breach on buyer's part?  Would a positive injunction be possible?  How would we know if she was trying her hardest?

2) I sort of got the feeling at points that everyone else really cared about law school and about law and about the legal profession.  I was just kinda faking it to fit in.  It sounds sad, but it kind of reminded me of when I used to work for a real estate attorney in Manhattan.  I'd get on the elevator with all these big shots in suits, and me in my khakis and untucked button down.  And I'd just to have to stand there, look straight forward, bite my lower lip and say, "yikes, rain again, eh?" as though I cared about the weather.  I didn't care about the weather.  I was just faking it.  Were they too?  Is everyone...ultimately, just faking it?  All of my ex girlfriends too... [Note: I've never had one.]

3) When you're sitting in the library during finals and you can't focus because all you want to do is imbibe alcohol, did you ever start to rationalize getting drunk the night before finals on an academic level.  "It does make sense, like, if I just had a pitcher or two, I'd be more relaxed, could get to sleep earlier, would better understand the criminal mindset..."

4) I took her to Penn Central.  Oh.  <--Diceman

5) Everyone keeps saying it gets better.  But if everyone says that, is there a curve of happiness.  Like, NOT everyone's law life can get better right, only the top 70% or so?

6) Longhorn Po Boy's, one Areyes to go please...

Hopefully the next time I write will be sooner.  Let me know what you think of the new appropriate SaintDelicious blog.  More videos to come at some point...I promise.

I've had a few things on my mind of late.  Rather than forcefully concoct some paragraph structure, I've chosen to merely list them.  If you have a problem with this, you are either:

a) An English major, which makes you:

1. A real prissy, uptight bitch
2. A homosexual with no discernible ties to Oscar Wilde
3. A cool guy working at an uninspiring, challenge-less, menial job and yearning for a creative outlet
   

b) My mother

c) Doomed to contract the first known form of venereal cancer tomorrow evening

So, without further adieu, to the list we go:

1. If they can make a giant green cylindrical alien ray destroy the White House, have Michael Jordan ball with racially questionable cartoon stereotypes, turn Matt Damon's pansy ass into an action star, and officially cancel Harrison Ford's AARP membership, how come they can't make Jackie Chan speak English convincingly?
2. How can women pretend to be self-righteous about listing their weight on online dating profiles if they are in fact obese?  It's not an issue of "he shouldn't want to know" or doesn't "need to" or "the right guy won't care" or whatever feminist bullshit you've convinced yourself of this week.  The space between your tits and your feet is of paramount significance.  Online dating doesn't need to be a surprise.  There's no such thing as a blind date anymore.  If you get set up with someone, you immediately go online and try to find photos of that person.  If all of the photos are cut off below the neck, I believe you may have landed yourself a fatty.  It is at that moment that you must either run for the hills, or simply think with your binky and coerce the poor unsuspecting teapot into a liason which most certainly will not end well.  [AUTHOR'S NOTE: Although relatively skinny, my gut grows and my hairline recedes with each passing moment.  I do not floss as regularly as I should.]
3. When, if ever, will society reach the all important break point (from which, of course, there is no return) where there are simply no more NEW derogatory epithets? How does one go about being vested with the power to create words connoting hatred?  I hereby submit a formal application to the powers that be.  I propose the following epithets for the following groups of people:
   

1. Jews - T-Bones
2. Asians - Steamboats
3. Blacks - Pillows
4. Hispanics - Dandelions
5. Catholics - Aspirin Dildos
6. Homosexual Men - Clocks
7. Lesbians - Corned Beef
8. Goth - Staplers
9. Hippies - Jews  <--Think about that, it makes ALOT of sense.
10. Native Americans - Squanto Scalp Fuckers
    

That is all for now.  I promise to write soon.  Life is a terrible board game where somebody's always watching the bank and it's not you.

Since the dawn of time, (I've always wanted to use that phrase), the old guard, fearful of changes a brewin', has always been afraid of the youth.  Even as Australopithecines became Homos (That joke was mine for the taking.), the elders were concerned: "No play rock!  Rock bad!  I play rock!  You no play rock!"  (For those concerned with scientific accuracy, rest assured that these hypothetical postulations are at least as legitimate as the story from Kobe Bryant's rape accuser and the Duke stripper.) 

Where am I going with this?  I'm not sure, I go off in more directions than R Kelly's urine stream, but hear me out...

I guess I just don't understand why big pageants of excess like the Oscars are treated as though they matter anymore.  Maybe in 1955, when Marilyn Monroe's subway grate-induced panty flash in The Seven Year Itch was considered risque, I could see Joe American huddled with his obesely useless cumdumpster of a wife and their three "I love Pat Boone" children, waiting and hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of all the stars.  Nowadays, I'd rather wax K.D. Lang's menstruating cooter after a humid Lilith Fair performance then let these frauds into my hard-earned living room.

When will the mainstream media realize that, except the Super Bowl, there just aren't a whole heck of a lot of event spectacles that matter like they used to anymore.  In all seriousness, nobody except (some of) those within the industry actually cares about who wins these awards.  (Which category do the Coen brothers fall under?)  If it were up to me, the people who host and partake in these supposed Oscar pools would be told to pack everything they hold near and dear for a "long Cruise."  The boat will drift somewhere near the Dharma Initiative's HQ and in the middle of the night, all the crew members/Saint Delicious operatives will abandon ship and speed back to shore.  Then, these celebri-vermin will be able to watch their beloved self-infatuation ceremonies for days on end until the ship's rations run out.  Or...until a nuclear warhead the size of George Clooney's ego sends them all to "heaven." 

For some further context, I live in Los Angeles.  It's also important to note that while I may "act" in various Saint Delicious Productions, I do not consider myself an actor.  Important distinctions between myself and so-called actors:

1) The only "method" I know of involves wiping front to back so as to avoid contaminating the genital area.
2) I have less less control over the small movements and characterizations of my face and body than Lance Bass has over the objects going in to and coming out of his asshole.

I am an employee of a commercial casting studio in Santa Monica, CA.  I basically serve as a tech guy, facilitating video conference castings, posting audition footage online, editing together selects as per director's instructions, lots of other equally uninteresting, uninspiring, mundane bullshit...  My more general role, which stands in direct contrast to every facet of self-worth, moral turpitude and humility my mother ever taught me, is Assistant Coddler.  I am paid to babysit grown men and women who are incapable of virtually everything.  Metaphorically speaking, I am the guy who takes out the giant soiled linen basket of a small part of the entertainment industry. 

And now, without further adieu, 3 Things I've Noticed About L.A.

1) 90-95% of people working in entertainment in L.A. are not doing what they want to be doing.  Nobody moves to Los Angeles eager to get coffee, give blow jobs or make photocopies.  But everybody ends up doing all of those things, and more, (one time I had to go down on the Starbucks barista just so he would lend me the money to go nextdoor to Kinko's) and most frequently under the guise of all of it being towards a presumably worthwhile ends.  Most learn soon that the means is illusory, just like the notion of respect for underlings in the entertainment industry.

2) The reason why people within the entertainment industry are so wasteful, irrational and disrespectful is primarily a result of the persistent feeling of irrelevance felt by most of those who have responsibility, but don't really deserve it.  These people know that they are inherently replaceable given how gratuitously unspecialized and maternalistic their jobs actually are.  I have an idea; how 'bout instead of ensuring that your prize-winning director gets the most overpriced, overordered bounty of food since the Donner Party, you, Oh, I don't know, try to do your fucking job?  How 'bout instead of screaming at some 23 year old kid about how one of the lattes was supposed to be a venti, you, oh, what is it, get off your lazy ass and do something worthwhile...

3)  You can't talk smack on L.A. until you've truly fallen in love with it.  And that, above all else, is why I'm writing this manifesto.

In closing, I'll give you some more questions to ponder:

1) You know how gay people sometimes ask heterosexuals what "percentage gay" they are?  On what scale does this work?  Surely somebody's 0% and somebody else is 100%.  Charlton Heston and Richard Simmons?

2) What's more effective?  Mexican birth control methods or public transportation in Los Angeles?

3) Is there a justifiable difference between believing in religion and believing in God?  If so, will somebody alert radical Islam, evangelical Christians and those fucking kikes with the top hats that think they have a monopoly on self-righteousness?

We see them all over the place, everywhere we turn and every place we go.  At first I rolled my eyes and wondered the class mindset of people occupying this world, but I realized I was wrong and was looking at them in the incorrect light.  I've now come to the conclusion that the men(and few women) wearing apparel depicting Al Pacino from Scarface are slowly but surely implementing a type of Scarface Religion amongst the world, and we better adapt. 

Sure, you may be asking yourself, "Why in the world would so many people be transfixed upon displaying an icon that derived from a way overrated and shitty film, depicting the world of drug dealing and murder?" 
Well my simpleminded comrade, I was once in the same boat as you titled, "S.S. Ingorance".  But with a little perseverance and multiple nitrous whip-its, you will come to the realization that I have; they are keeping it real so we don't have to. 

Oh my naive little cherub, that same repetitive image of Tony Montana that you see everywhere from T-Shirts and hats to shoes and very recently embroidered on pleather jackets, is merely a badge of honor saying:
"Dear sir or madame, although my current position in society most likely doesn't require all my brain power, and I may not be a drug dealer nor Cuban, I must tell you that any tomfoolery going about will stop right here because Scarface and the people wearing him won't stand for it.  Furthermore, its very possible that I haven't done anything to attain this position with the exception of watching the epic film multiple times and then stopping into my local "Hot Topic" store and purchasing this garment, but what I'm wearing displays precisely how hard hitting I am."

This has become what I am now calling "Scar-fascism", in which wherever you go, as soon as you seen a Tony Montana image on somebody's person, the Scarface Dogma will follow and its a pretty fair assumption that these people aren't looking for any validation from you because essentially.....you can go fuck yourself you maricon! (And rightfully so)

And oh, how delightfully imaginative it is when I hear the term "Cock-A-Roach" or better yet, what order I need to get the "Money-Power-Women"(in that order, respectively) or how about when we all have to, "say 'ello to their little friend". Its truly amazing, no matter how many times I hear the line, it just always resonates and never gets old!  Now you ill-educated people out there may still think its dull and materialistic talk, but I can only compare these constant Scarfascist sayings to the ancient Buddhist chants except with a lot less boredom and a little more cheap cologne. 

The Scarface Revolution has begun, there is no doubt about that, and I don't know if Brian DePalma or Oliver Stone knew what they had on their hands, but their impact is immense and am so envious that their modesty hasn't tried to cash in on the Tony Montana way of life.  It may be an acquired tasted to get used to, but do it quick because any hesitation might result in being buried.......like a cock-a-roach (tee-hee!!!)

I wish to talk to you today about having a moral center.  Morality is a nearly impossible notion to pin down; it's like having sex with the obese.  I must remind you that I am not referring to a Church or a Mosque or a Synagogue, Scientology, Wicca or the board of Ouija.  I'm talking about Tuesday night bro; how'd that go?  Are your fingers dipped in the scent of eau de vagina yet?  I'll bet they are.  Man, she was quite a catch. 

In all sincerity, I have a list of behaviors and actions in which I will never partake.  My list is very long because I am an ethically sound, morally appropriate individual.  My list stretches longer than my phallus.  You know, the ol' corporate endowment?  Sure, I know what you're thinking; how large is the font in which your list is written?  Trust me honey, it's large!  By that I mean, of course, the list.

Though I have no proof, I would chance a massive fortune on the fact that you often engage in beastiality.  It's no secret.  Everyone in town knows about your "love of dogs."  It's no longer even sorta funny.  Just because you were never good enough to ball in the NBA doesn't mean you need to father children like you do.  You're a self-righteous scumbag with enough Internet subscriptions to make Pee Wee Herman look like a Kennedy (Not Ted.)  Also, your dandruff reflects light in such a way as to almost convince me you're slightly more than meaningless.

In truth, the real reason I'm on this holier than thou kick/shtick is far less philanthropic.  How do I phrase this properly?  I'm a total sellout.  A lark.  A true hyp(pie)ocrat in every sense of the (pseudo) word.  After nearly two and a half decades of balls to the wall, uncompromising, adventurously audacious living, I'm about to make my most obvious, blatantly narcissistic move yet.  As a result, I see myself, in a way, as microcosmically and directly opposite to the actions of the Beatles, whose beginning is viewed by some as "soft."  [Not sonically, just relative to the experimentation of their later work.]  There, I did it, I've finally compared myself to the Beatles.  To fully stretch this analogy further, my attending law school can accurately be equated to Please Please Me.  In much the same vain, both will likely finish with an aggressively outspoken loonbag (aren't we all?) screaming his lungs out while all around others seem contented with their Bubble Teas and Chai Lattes.  Of course, one of those men is me, for whom hair is rapidly becoming a nonexistent commodity (like large bills at a strip club), and the other is John Lennon, whose one strand of pubic hair would probably fetch in excess of $1 million pounds at Sotheby's.

In closing, I'd like to throw out a few questions for you philosophers out there?

1) Would you rather have dinner with John Paul Jones the pope or Led Zeppelin's bassist?  Yes, a translator is provided.

2) If you accidentally consumed another human's feces, would you rather it be a lefty kook like Hanoi Jane Fonda or a winged nut like Ted Nugent?  I'm not even sure if she's a vegetarian, but I bet his venizen-filled dung would have more nutrients.

3) If Christ died for your sins, who died for Christ's sin of being a Jew.  Everyone knows Jews make matzo from the blood of Christian babies, so...unless it's one of those chicken and egg kinda things...?

4) If you had to choose between doing something for the rest of your life that was idiot proof and completely vain or something that was interesting but ultimately dull, which would you choose?  Please note that I didn't say "someone," I said "something."

I'll be back soon to shit all over this page like the elderly on a tour bus after a coffee run.

Welcome to the Saint Delicious Productions video blogcast.  Here you'll find all of our videos available for download in .mp4 Ipod ready video formats, as well as lots of other neat, awesome, phat, rad and tubular things...

Check us out on Itunes here...

In the meantime, check us out elsewhere:

www.michaelfodera.com

www.sayunclegroup.com

If you're intrigued, write us:

Eric@SaintDelicious.Com
Mike@SaintDelicious.Com

Please be advised additionally that this site will soon feature blogging from legendary literary types like "EpicWagey" and "theDan."

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