the newest nagy

I am now the proud godfather of a beautiful baby boy, one Eamonn Nagy. Born at 7:00 P.M., the newest Nagy in 19 inches long and 8 pounds and 3 ounces with a cute little nose.

This day was so incredible. To see two great friends welcome this child into their life was so amazing. I know they say no baby is ugly, but Eamonn is way more handsome than any of the other babies in the world. Father and mother are doing well also. They will both be incredible parents and Eamonn is a very lucky boy.

But for everyone else? This child is truly a gift from God and he's going to have such an amazing life. He didn't make a peep the entire evening; he just looked around, exploring his new world outside of the indoor swimming pool where he had spent the last nine months.

I spent most of the day with Jason, Lauren and Jason's mom. We had a good time, I suppose. There were lots of laughs, even though I can imagine how stressful a situation it was for mommy and daddy. I saw how relieved they were once they saw that they were now the proud parents of a beautiful boy. I know I said this last night, but Eamonn is better looking than any other baby in the world. Ever.

I took off work because of the snow, went down to CSM to buy my books, only to find out it was closed. That's when I went to the hospital. Jason's mom arrived shortly after and the fours of us were hanging around most of the day until about 5:00 when the birthing train really started moving. After Eamonn was born me, Jason's parents and Jason's sister spent what must have been two hours watching the nurses wash, dress and monitor Eamonn, all the while admiring the little guy from afar.

A blessing.

That's all for tonight.

the ghost of jack shephard's beard

(i didn't photoshop this, someone else did)

AHEM:

I would like to note that this time last year I went to see Cloverfield with Andy, Jason and Lauren. A trailer for the fourth season of LOST ran before the feature. I can safely say that, at that time, I could look forward to one major event: the season premiere of LOST. I hate to say it, but hard as I try I just couldn't find a reason to get excited about life other than upcoming movies - hell, i even wrote a blog about this later in the year!

I didn't know it at the time, but the future held something quite significant for me.

LOST is a lil sumthin' like that.

Just reconsider. You might find something significant.

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I've decided I'm going to do some "live" blogging tonight while I watch the LOST Season Five premiere. I wasn't planning on watching it tonight...but we all know I can't say "no" to two things: Chipolte and LOST. So hello six steak burritos and LOST!

8:58 P.M.

Everybody fucking shut up. Shut up!  Fucking everyone SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! FUCKING SHUT UP!!

LOST is on. Thankyoukthnxbye.

9:13 P.M. (a.k.a. Bonertime)

In case you didn't know...THIS SHOW IS FUCKING AWESOME!!

I have a crush on Daniel Farraday. But it's okay because Daniel Farraday's a fictional character...but I can't be perfectly sure when I say I also have a crush on the actor who portrays Daniel Farraday. 

Fuck. I. Am. Gay.

(For this show.)

9:32 P.M.

FLASHBACKS!?! I don't know! Time travel? I don't frrrrreeeeeaking know!!

LOST + blood flow/medication = boner; still strong.

Everybody Hates Hugo: "You know, maybe if you ate more comfort food you wouldn't have to go around shooting people." I still love you, Hugo.

Also: Death by knives in dishwasher. Awesome.

Okay; time to catch my breath and caaaaaaaatch - okay it's on again!

9:43 P.M.

"When....am I?"

"Well, John. That's all relative."

Oh my fuck. I think my cock is exploding. What are the symptoms for Exploding Cock? Seriously. I hear this show is awesome when you're high, so I think I wanna be really high when I watch the series finale. Any of you assholes know where I can score some smack?

9:54 P.M.

Is that you, brother?

Wait!!

How you you write "brother" with a Scottish accent? I tried brutha, brotha, brutter, bruther, beruttha. And then I started slapping some apostrophes in that sumbitch, ending up with br'utha, bruth'r, bruth'a and broth'r.

And then I just typed brother...

...because fuck Desmond Hume. He's Scottish. So he doesn't count.

10:01 P.M.

I know ABC likes to show back-to-back episodes of LOST to begin and end the season, but I'd implore those in charge to put a halt to this tradition, mostly because I can only stroke for so long before it starts to bruise.

10:16  P.M.

I've often been accused of being rash when I murder people who say of LOST:  "I don't watch that show. It's just not believable." I know, I know. Murder is, like, bad...and stuff. But when people follow up that statement with, "Have you ever seen Grey's Anatomy?" I feel justified in my slaughter of otherwise innocent civilians.

10:36 P.M.

"Why is there a dead Pakistani on my couch?"

That quote is not from Dick Cheney. Promise.

10:48 P.M. 

"I don't understand you. But I believe you."

I know everyone shits on this show for being "unrealistic," but two things:

1) It's fiction. No shit it's unrealistic and, 

2) If you want to understand how to bring realism to an insanely "unrealistic" show, look no further than Jorge Garcia's performance in that last scene of his.

11:02

Dude. No one has ever made me more proud to have lived in Maryland than Terry O'Quinn.  

F. Scott Fitzgerald is buried in Maryland. Dashiell Hammett is from Baltimore. Frederick Douglass and Harriett Tubman...ohhhh-kay, Terry O'Quinn is a distant third in the people that make me proud to be from Maryland people. Damn you, civil rights! Damn you!

In conclusion:

I mean...FUCK! What else is keeping you people from dry humping this show?!!

Plane crashes, explosions, double-crosses, genocide, God, smoke monsters, ghosts, Destiny, time travel,  conspiracy theories, evil corporations, the best Nirvana song ever, giant effing beards, guns, yakuza, Terry "Third Best Marylander Ever" O'Quinn, polar bears, and the end of mankind (possibly!!)

How many shows could you list the end of mankind and polar bears consecutively? 

Only one.

I just made a mess in my pants.

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Amidst the jokes...

JUST RECONSIDER.

resolutions for the new year

More than in years past, I’ve felt the need to make and keep some resolutions in 2009. I’ve always been one to make them and keep them private. Perhaps that's why I never manage to keep them -- if people don’t know how I’m trying to improve my life then how can they keep me honest? So here we go with my resolutions of 2009.

Resolution #1:

Watch Rio Bravo, The Wild Bunch and Once Upon A Time in the West a combined 100 times.

Crap. That means I’ll have to forego this year’s trips to the Gilmore Girls Gabfest (March 13 - 15), Fraggle Rock Fiasco (June 23 - 26), and the Full House House Party (July 6-27).

Resolution #2:

Finish the first volume on my history of the American Old West, The Adventures of Giant ‘Stache and Lil Dick: Pat Garrett, Billy the Kid, and the Feud That Shaped A Nation.

In 1998, the Council of Worldwide Historians released their list of the greatest rivalries in history. At the top of the list: the insanely erotic fuckfest that was Baldwin IV and Saladin. Number two? Yup....giant beards and little dicks. So don’t you try and tell me no one’s gonna buy my book....MOM!

Resolution #3:

Make reference to the Pony Express at least once a day. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be damned if there is no greater reason to defer to our government where the delivery of mail via ponies is to be implemented, and I think it would be downright un-American to let the youth of America forget about the Pony Express. Let them smoke crack and have abortions and robe their grandmothers all they want, but don't you dare let them forget about the Pony Express.

Resolution #4:

Write more D.C./Marvel Universe Comic Book Rape Fantasy Fan Fiction. 

Why? Because nothing says erotic like The Joker sucking off a Puerto Rican tranny while Solomon Grundy and Killer Croc go two-dicks-in-one-hole on Jason Todd. Some excerpts from my current DC/MUCBRFFF:

"...as his rock hard cock entered Bruce Banner's tight asshole, Thor knew his window of opportunity was short. In due time Banner would turn into the Hulk, and with that the Norse God's hammer would be crushed between the bright green buttocks of a green monster with retard strength. He thrust hard and fast. He dug his nails into Banners ass cheeks, which were now turning a pale green. With a sweeping motion, Thor reached behind him, grasped the handle of Mjollnir, and brought the heavy stone on Banner's skull...."

"Matt Murdock -- known to the inhabitants of Hell's Kitchen as Daredevil -- was blind, but he damn well knew what Captain America pistol-whipping and anally assaulting an unsuspecting Johnny Storm would look like. And what he heard definitely seemed like Captain America had just anally assaulted the young man known as The Human Torch...."

"...The Boy Wonder's sphincter locked up like a crocodile's jaw the moment Solomon Grundy blasted his hulking, gray load into the sidekick's freckled ass..."

"He didn't know it at the time, but the moment Alfred's fatal stroke occurred was the exact moment The Man of Steel had ejaculated into the butler's mouth. Bruce Wayne would never know that his best friend had put an end to the old man's life in one thrust of Kryptonian penile force."

Resolution #5:

Grow a giant beard.

Because I fucking can, that's why.

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And that’s it! I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I’ve chosen to aim low this year so I won’t be disappointed in myself. Like last year with the whole become-the-first-black-President thing. Damn you, Barack Obama! Damn you!!

spam + porn = giggles

Like anyone who peruses the internet, I get loads of spam e-mail. God bless Gmail, because I've never had a piece of spam touch my inbox (ooh! that sounds dirty!).  I guess since I use Gmail spammers think they can confuse me by listing the "sender" as "me." No dice, spammers. I'm just barely smart enough to recognize I haven't sent myself messages about massive erections, hard members or neverending stories (huh?).

Another upside of not having to worry about spam e-mail? Oh, nothing except that all the porn spam is dumped in the same glorious spot, thus laying the groundwork for non-stop giggles!! No seriously, folks. I've always giggled like an idiot at the spam messages that get tossed into my Spam box, so today I thought I'd share some of the better Subject Lines with you. I've included impossibly witty comments to compliment the subject lines. Oh, I am just the bees knees, aren't I?

Massive python rams between her legs‎

I'm gonna tell you right now: that's gonna require a "daddy stitch." I was on an African safari once and a massive python rammed between my -- well...you know...uh, right?

Your 9 inch tool will drive her nuts‎

Kind sir, I will be giving you the benefit of the doubt and I will assume you are speaking of a sale at Home Depot...

And also: There's a pun involving a rusty bolt and bloody socket wrenches somewhere in there but...damn it, I just can't seem to find it!

She stopped using the vibrator after this‎

It's not what you think; The Vibrator is a product sold by Billy Mays.

So hard and long even when flaccid‎

Now that just doesn't make a lick of sense....

My snake in her pink shaven..‎

In her WHAT?! Her pink shaven WHAT?! Damn it! Tell me! PLEASE! I need to know what's pink and shaven!!!

She wants 9 inches for sure‎

I dunno, sir...I asked once and she said three was "good enough."

Grow to an incredible length‎

Ooh!! Ooh!! You mean like one of those mini-dinosaur sponges that when you spray water on them they grow, like, real huge n stuff? Boy, oh boy, do I ever want one of those!

FW: Read about ceos with mba‎ -

Oh dear fuck I just creamed my pants....

Comedy gold, folks! That's comedy gold! 

HUZZAH!!!

Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes

I promised myself I'd do a blog today but...whatever. I can't top Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes. I didn't watch the broadcast because I was watching School of Rock. This man never fails to crack me up. If you haven't seen The Office or Extras (or even Ghost Town) check them out. I think you'll enjoy them.

film noir! film noir!

In an effort to keep me pumped about working on Hearts, I've been watching a shitload of noir flicks. And so, in an effort to  1) further keep me pumped about working on Hearts and 2) to hopefully get some of you knuckleheads to watch some cool movies I will be writing about some of my favorites. 

Noir - whether you define it as a genre unto itself or simply a cycle of film that ran between the 1930s and ended in the late 50s - is a strange beast.  No Way Out, Call Northside 777,  Ace in the Hole and The Asphalt Jungle are all considered to be film noir.  You may not have seen these films, but to glace at the loglines of all four you would be hard-pressed to see how they're all part of a whole.  What connects them all is the element of despair.

Despair in its many forms.

I'll admit it: my favorite noir films center around the criminal element -- not just gangsters, you see, but the losers, hustlers, lowlifes and has-beens. My favorites include Scarlet Street, Night and the City, Pickup On South Street and The Asphalt Jungle. Each of these films have protagonists who are do deep in despair that they can't stand it. They get involved in a life of crime and...well, you can guess what happens in a world where Dread rules (no, not Judge Dredd, ya a-holes!) and Death is the best way to go.

Then you have flicks like The Woman in the Window, Double Indemnity and Gun Crazy, where law-abiding folks find themselves on the side of the lowlifes. Fantastic.

Then you have neo-noir flicks like Way of the Gun and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia: two reasons to argue that noir is a genre. These two flicks are so chock full of bad-assery it makes my dick want to punch a brick wall.

So I'll be writing about a few noir flicks.

Yay me.

it's not fun to think about

Well that's not fun to think about!

Not at all.

this doesn't count

I'm known for rambling, so I thought this would be fun...

....aaaaaandmaybealittleawkwardGO!!

There is nothing. Not for ten minutes.

Once, when I was a kid, I had a Bunny. I didn't name him at the time, but his name became Bunny Colevas. He was a kid bunny. He never crapped on the floor and he had the courtesy to never die on me. Lots of people have touched my heart during my as-of-yet-short life, but none of them have had the common courtesy not to die on me. Nana, Jordan, Papoo, Granny, Aunt Hazel, Grandma Doan? All spectacular specimens of humanity. But did any of them NOT DIE?

Nope. A-holes.

Bunny never died. And I'd thank him, 'cept he can't talk. Cuz he's a stuffed animal. So stop crying, ya faggot! He's just a stuffed animal. When I was 13 I was on a good baseball team.

After that, my life was pretty much shit. I met this girl named Amie back in August, and my life has been spectacular I'm not going to go ahead and say Amie was completely responsible for my fantastic life, as I'm (reasonably) sure my mom and dad have something to do with that. However, Amie does kiss me on the lips - dad never did that, and I am grateful.

I was once asked to describe the place of my dream vacation and to write two pages about what that place would be like....I wrote about a place that had ties to the civil war - ties to the revolutionary war. I think I was writing about Boston, but I would be lying if I said I KNEW I was writing about Boston. I knew one thing: I was writing about a place where I could hope I could be digging a swimming pool and find a skeleton in a red coat. Then I would dance around the yard telling, "The Redcoats are coming! the Redcoats are coming!" That still hasn't happened, but I'm not giving up hope.

One time my mom asked me to pick up a sock my brother had soiled with his adolescent juices. I'm only bring ing this up because it happened at the same time I had to write about that "dream vacation" That was the year I created THE NIGHTMARE. If you've read that story, it's changed a lot in the lest few years. I had a crush on a girl in that Writing Fiction class. When was the last time you had the right to BEAR ARMS?

I swear if I had the right to have bear arms for arms I would probably shit my pants. And honestly, it would be bear shit because if I could have Bear arms I would also have a Bear ass. And Probably a Bear cock. Are Bear Cocks furry? And are "bear cocks" capitalized?

Speaking of capitalism, how 'bout that economy, hm? Boy, I wish I was a rich white guy right about now. I'm 2 for three, but the important part is the part about being rich. There was a kid I knew in high school who was rich. I forget his name but Im pretty sure it was Dickie Dick. People called him Richie Rich. I thought that was pretty cruel. So I called him Leprechaun Cock.

My mom called me her "little leprechaun" once. Of all the times kids make fun of me because I was short...or because I walked or ran funny...or because I was hairy. Or because I had a mustache in sixth grade.....my mother! Sweet heavenly shitballs!! Of all the blows to self-esteem - that was the worst.

I was 26.

The first time I went to a strip club was never. For real. And here's what I have to say to guys who say "dood u never been 2  a strip club!?!?! ur gay"....here's what I have to say: first of all, any male who has ever questioned another male's sexuality past the age  of 18, has probably has a set of testes on his forehead. And second, who's the real man: The guy who drops 250 bucks trying to get laid...or the guy who drops zippy on not getting laid? Do the math genius. I spent less and haven't had a pair of nuts on my forehead.

I was talking to someone in particular in the last paragraph. He doesn't know how to read.

When I didn't know how to read I probably played with my dick a lot. I know how to read know, and yet I still play with my dick a lot. I hope a feminist doesn't find that bit of text in the interweb and use it was the basis for a missive aimed at getting The Real World canceled. That would be sad.

When I last came to the realization that The Real World wasn't real, I was about 15. I mean, you don't have to be a genius to figure out the the Real World doesn't hand you a job and a loft in

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BUZZER!! Ten minutes is up!

And, Fin (that's snotty French for "I'm fucking done!")

Wow! It's been a few years since I've done the ol' stream-of-consciousness exercise. I gotta say, it's fun. I'd like to do that more often. I probably won't do it in the blog, as it doesn't quite lend itself to FUN reading but...I'm thinking I might try a 30 minute SoC exercise in the near future....

This doesn't count as a real blog.

i'm not interesting enough for people...

so HELLO, BLOG!

And to think, there were times I thought about not talking to you. Apologies, Blog. Apologies.

So I'm crunching -- uh, whatever-ing -- the numbers, trying to figure out how things could play out if I were to be accepted to the University of Maryland. This is a long way off -- I still have to apply, of cours -- but I'm running down the list of courses I took at Towson and I come across GEOG101-Physical Geography. Believe it or not, this tidbit brings me to a pertinent observation. You are expecting a soliloquy, I'm sure. I can't blame you. I'm known for my neverending nonsense, but for once I shall spare you! I promise: this will be brief.

Im gonna go for an American Studies major (which includes a minor in Literature).

I will always remember needing to study for my Physical Geography exam in the Fall of 2000 and, rather than hunkering down and studying, I chose to watch a marathon of the 60s Batman TV series instead. I passed the test (and the class) but I know I could have done much better...'cept for the nuisance best defined in THWOMPs, POWs and WHAMs*.

Means nothin' to ya, huh? I figured. I'll admit I never ran with the cool crowd. I'll also admit I sometimes  haven't quite understood why I loved the things I loved. It's only been in the last few months that I've had the chance to think about how all of my passions were related.

Popular culture! Popular American Culture! Film, television, journalism, literature, comics, music, politics, celebrity, history -- name the subject and I'll try and tie them together into the tapestry that is American life. I know, right -- who gives a fuck?!

NO ONE! YAY FOR ME!!

i write long blogs because i have a short dick.

My first post of the new year was supposed to be about resolutions, but think of this as a prelude. 

I don't exactly know why I sometimes seem hellbent on destroying the best parts of my life, but I sure as fuck know I better start becoming hellbent on getting my shit together or else one day I'm going to wake up and The Nightmare is gonna keep on truckin' no matter how hard I beg It to stop.

I spent the better part of yesterday thinking about the last year, and part of that time was spent reading the postings of this blog prior to August/September. Here now, I will point out some of the many times I was wrong:

February 19: Sometimes, when I'm driving alone, I think about swerving off the road and plowing my car into a row of trees. I would go for just one tree, but I think if you're going to kill yourself you might as well do a decent job of it.....This is stupid.

Yeah. Pretty stupid. I never said I was smart; that line proves I'm a complete dumbass.

February 19: Here's a tip: If he says "I'm a nice guy" then he's not a nice guy. Nice guys? They don't have to say it. 

That's not true. Even nice guys have to remind people that they're nice guys when they've fucked up beyond belief.

April 19: And if life has taught me anything it's that the sky's the limit as long as you're a complete douchebag.

Not true. I can actually prove the opposite is true; if you're a complete douchebag you stand a pretty good chance of ruining your life.

May 6: Besides, life ain't got nothing planned for me past 35 except baldness, obesity, grumpiness, the end of The Simpsons, taxes, bad knees, loneliness and, if I'm lucky, a swimming pool.

I was right about the baldness. I was wrong, in varying degrees, about everything else. 

July 25: I keep getting fucked, correct? It's a constant, correct? Over and over -- fucked, correct? Various means, correct? Various motivations, correct? And I'm supposed to accept getting fucked, correct? Over and over again, correct? Until I die, correct?

Then August 16th rolled around and things changed for the better. I've taken the happy days since then for granted. Right now I'm looking at a birthday card I got this past year. It's a Spongebob card for a seven-year-old, but the person who gave it to me  wrote a "2" in front of the "7" to make it say "27." I don't keep this card on my desk for nostalgic purposes; I keep it there to remind me of how lucky I am - to remind me of how miserable I was for most of my 26th year - and how someone came along and just bitchslapped the everlovin' fuck outta that misery. 

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In the past week I've been foraging through old projects - notes, drafts, short stories, etc. - and I had an epiphany (or as Smee would call it, an apostrophe). I haven't finished one draft of a screenplay since 2005. I haven't finished one draft of a short story since 2005. Needless to say I haven't actually been able to set a project aside and say, "Done" for over three years. This was the year I started drinking heavily. Coincidence? Not a chance. So long story short: I'm not having a drink until

1) I've finished a draft and revised Hearts and

2) I have a nice treatment of Kiss The Girl hammered out and

3) After that I decide which one I want to focus on for Scriptapalooza

4) Read at least 25 scripts for Trigger Street in preparation for posting the script on the site so I can prepare for rewrites.

After that I'm allowing myself one kinda-sorta-celebratory glass of Guinness. Just one. I'm gonna pop in the DVD I made of all my old home movies, pour that drink, enjoy it and watch memories fly by.  And then I'll get back to work.

I know it seems like I'm blasting some self-righteous horn (I'm thinking a big, fat rusty tuba playing the "you lose" notes from The Price Is Right) but I need to be able to go back and read this. I'm not making excuses, but alcohol was a little co-conspirator in the single biggest fuck-up of my life up to this point. That, and there's clearly a connection between my getting shitfaced all the time and not writing. Granted, I did a lot less drinking in the last half of 2008, but...whatever. I'm stone cold sober until I get writing done. If I have to supplement my diet with candy or soda then fuck it I'll do what I have to do - but I'm getting shit done.

Sorry for the cursing. Please don't tell my mom.

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June 24: Peter Pan needs to see some multi-colored creme treats or he's gonna lose his shit.

Think happy thoughts, Peter. 

Think happy thoughts.