Formerly "Dave's Blog About Movies and Such"

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Dave's Replies to Spambots #1

On the 2012 post "Podcast Tease" Anonymous commented:

Hi there! I know this is sort of off-topic however I needed to ask.
Does managing a well-established blog like yours take a large amount of work?

I am brand new to writing a blog however I do write in my diary everyday.

I'd like to start a blog so I will be able to share my own experience and views online.
Please let me know if you have any ideas or tips for brand new aspiring bloggers.
Appreciate it!

For a wonderful solution please take a look at this amazing site; [Spam Site Redacted]

My Reply:

Hello Anonymous,

Thank you so much for your comment. Though I haven’t worked on KL5-FILM in some time, it warms my heart to know that faithful readers such as yourself still continue to visit my classic posts. As you can see from “Podcast Tease” (72 words surrounding an embedded video I had no part in creating), hard work was the cornerstone of my well-established blog, so I feel especially suited to doling out advice to potential bloggers.

Before I launch into my advice, however, I think it helps to illustrate what blogging is by way of a space metaphor. (I’m in the middle of binging on the new Cosmos series, so I hope you’ll forgive all such imagery.) Picture yourself masturbating on a starless depopulated orphan planet situated in the most remote section of the back-road cluster of masturbation galaxies in this acceleratingly expanding universe. Your only connection to any other form of life: wormholes connecting you to other planets in the masturbation cluster, each world populated with masturbators of marginally better technique than you. But your masturbation is special, you tell yourself, you’ve got your own signature move that should be the envy of others. Other masturbators are bound to come and gaze in awe at your handiwork.

And every so often one of them does. After sending signal flares through various wormholes, you manage to attract one masturbator, who slips through the space-time mechanism into your world, glances at your masturbation form and says, “I really admire your work. I can’t wait to come back and see more,” before slipping through an adjacent wormhole to a planet populated with masturbation-famous masturbators, all of varying skill but each with far more masturbation-showmanship savvy. Let’s call this planet Masturbation One. The denizens of Masturbation One take turns performing for various visitors, while the other masturbators on Masturbation One spend their time wormholing to the farthest reaches of the masturbation cluster, praising the techniques of those they visit, simultaneously spreading the hype of Masturbation One.

A few eons pass after receiving your first visitor and you realize that if you want more visitors, you gotta travel to different worlds to make yourself known. Not that you need the validation of strangers, but it’d be nice if someone noticed. You travel through the wormholes, visiting every godddamn planet you can find, giving encouraging “Way to go’s” to every masturbator whose work you don’t even watch. In your absence you leave on your own planet videos of your laziest most ill-performed masturbations. Every limp whiskey-wank. Every falling-asleep-before-coming-unspent-dick-still-in-your-hand depression-jerk. Every barely-climaxed-half-hearted-hey-I-can-still-do-this tug. Every goddamn one.

And when you return home, you are elated. All those planets you visited, all those lousy masturbators you gave thumbs up to—guess what, half them returned the favor, visiting your planet, leaving in their wake, notes with the same facile words of encouragement you saw fit to bestow upon them. But that’s not all. Masturbation One, the titan of Masturbation planets, left some good will on your planet as well. You are over the fucking moon. Or you would be if your starless, shrouded-in-darkness desolate isolated planet had any such bodies orbiting it. Nevertheless, this is what it was all for.

You begin masturbating constantly. And you know what, though you’ve significantly increased your output of shameless no-effort-at-all there-just-to-be-there masturbation videos, you occasionally surprise yourself with, because of all your practice, the advance in your technique. You get a little cocky, spending more time masturbating, eventually rubbing one out you can be proud of: a slow edging build to a half-minute climax. Looking toward the wormholes for approval, you are met with silence. You think, this one was really good; why doesn’t anyone care? You travel through the wormholes again, this time to hate-watch other masturbators. You grow increasingly depressed that they aren’t paying attention to your work. And this is when the understanding finally sinks in that your best wasn’t even a fraction as good as most everyone else’s average. In fact, your signature jerk that you thought so unique—it’s a maladroit version of a played technique most others have already mastered.

And when you realize that not only are you bad at masturbating, but no one cares (nor should they), it finally hits you what a self-obsessed world you’ve created for yourself. You are the center of your own void.

You fall into a shame spiral. You can’t even remember why you once thought awkwardly masturbating for strangers would be a fun way to spend your time. You continue to masturbate for a time—for appearance’s (for none’s) sake, telling yourself that you’ve already wasted so many years doing it, there must’ve been a reason for it. So your masturbation is defiant. You want to tell people you know they don’t care. And you don’t care that they don’t care. It was never about that, anyway. But still, the defiance lasts only a few years. As with everything, your jerking becomes less frequent, until, not with an eruption but a slow half-limp drizzle it peters out, your performance just kind of spectoring away. You while away the rest of your time on your planet masturbating just for yourself until the inevitable day that the universe dies and all that has ever been ceases to be; and you feel vindicated that though your pursuits were pointless, at least you weren’t alone. None of it mattered anyway.

Anyways, you should post kitten gifs. The internet seems to like those. Good luck.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

And Here's a Gritty Reboot of Bio-Dome

Alright, so it looks like I’ve now got something of a tradition on my hands. Last Sunday I finished the second draft of the novel I’ve been working on since forever (hooray for me); and though I’m nowhere near having a readable draft, I decided to celebrate, regardless. So I gave myself a break this week…by writing a gritty reboot of Bio-Dome. And as with the reboot of Deuce Bigalow I wrote after finishing the first draft of my novel, I’ve never actually seen Bio-Dome. In fact, I know next-to-nothing about the movie other than Pauly Shore + Stephen Baldwin + Bio-Dome + drugs = shenanigans. Even my research on the movie extended no further than watching the trailer and looking up character names. Also, I don’t know anything about Bio-Domes or science or drugs or…really, anything mentioned in the screenplay I wrote. Except masturbation. I’m really good at that.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Bio-Dome—my gritty reboot of it. So, yeah, this screenplay is the result of nothing but a self-imposed week-long deadline, shit-tons of caffeine, and one night of drunk-writing. With that mind, here you go. Also, you’re welcome.

Friday, February 7, 2014

Thursday, February 6, 2014

I Contradict Myself Again

Seeing as I've spent most of my movie-watching time the last few years scouring the depths of frequently forgettable exploitation films, I decided a few months ago to finally catch up on my director blind spots. I haven't written much about it, but I've been all kinds of happy about playing cinefile catch-up. I've discovered that I'm really into the works of Almodovar, Fassbinder, and Pasolini. So far, success. But this week I watched my first Hal Hartley movie, Simple Men. And well...

Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about it. The sort of deadpan absurdity he traffics in would've been right up my twenty-something-self's alley. But, I don't know. I guess I'm just not much into that kind of thing anymore. I tried, but just couldn't get into this movie. I wanted to like it, but everything left me cold.

Except for the Sonic Youth dance sequence. Which is probably a shock to my readers, seeing as I've stated my distaste for both impromptu dance sequences and over-the-top cool. Yet, after the movie ended, I couldn't wait to find the clip on youtube—you know, just to remind myself why it didn't work for me, because, you know, like, it totally didn't work for me; I just had to watch it again to reinforce why it was I didn't like it. Well, I couldn't remember why that was after the second viewing, so I watched it again. And again. And again. And again. After about the thirty-seventh time, I decided to face facts: I really dug this scene. I suppose you could chalk it up to my love of Sonic Youth, or the fact that it reminds me of the dance scene from Band of Outsiders, one of the few Godard movies I actually enjoy. But the fact of the matter is, I just don't know what I like.