Davis Ex Machina

SEND ME YOUR BUNNYMAN STORIES
I've recently become intrigued by a bit of local folklore. I'm guessing Northern Virginians will be the ones who've heard a Bunnyman story, but no matter where you're from, if you have one I want to hear it. I'd love to elaborate here, but there are a lot of versions floating around and I'd rather not cross-pollinate.

If you know what I'm talking about, please tell me where you heard the story, why he was called the Bunnyman, what he did, and whether there was a local landmark associated with him. Please e-mail them to Davisexmachina@hotmail.com. Thanks.

1/31/02

Well. Happy New Year. Yes, I suck hard at updating lately. I haven't even had time to keep up with my greatest joy, Temptation Island. Which is too bad, because they're really getting good at torturing these poor peabrains this time around. I do have two pieces of news:

1. I have learned a 31st Thing at the video store. I used to think that all people are basically good and had intrinsic value as human beings. Turns out I was wrong. Some people are just dirtballs. Complete fucking dirtballs. For the record, if you're going to return your broken, spooge-covered tape, claim the clerk gave you the wrong one, and bitch about the late fees, how about doing it more than three minutes before we close, OK, scumsack? Thanks.

The second piece of news is more interesting and less creepy. I'll be performing my one-woman show in New York this coming Monday night.

"Coming of Age in Samoa"
Monday, February 4, 7:30pm (house opens 7:15)
PSNBC at the H.E.R.E. Arts Center
145 6th Avenue, between Broom and Spring
Free admission 212-647-0202 X301

C'mon by.

12/4/01

AIEEEEEEEEEEE!
Well. I had a lovely trip to New York, life enhancing and all that, blah blah blah. Unfortunately, due to a power outage I returned home to find that my VCR had only gotten half of the four TI2 episodes I'd set it to record while I was gone. I feel so lost... so incomplete.

I am, however, happy to see that there is once again a couple that loathes each other and once again a pouty girl who hates the whole thing. I was going to take time to make fun of the pouty girls - they are, after all, bad television - but then I realized that in the normal, sane world not wanting to screw around on your boyfriend is generally considered a plus. Here's to you, pouty girls! But you're boring.

11/13/01

Happy Birthday, Tim!

OK. On to...

New York Story Number Two

I am standing on Canal Street, waiting to meet my cousin. A woman walks up to me in full clown regalia. She is carrying a bunch of celery.
"I just want to spread some joy," she says to me. I look at her, not sure how to respond.
"Do you know where I should go?" I am stumped. Absolutely baffled. I am about to open my mouth and tell her this, when a cab pulls up. Without having heard our conversation the driver leans over, rolls down the window, and points to where he thinks a woman in full clown regalia needs to go. She goes.

I remain baffled.

11/12/01

Hello.

I am in New York for the month. I am enjoying myself immensely, though what people close to me may know as the "crazy magnet" is firmly in the "on" position. Very firmly.

I have a New York story for you, but first I have a tragedy to report: TI2 has started a brand-new season, complete with a retrospective of last season's troglodytes and I have yet to see even a single second of it!. I swear to you, I could feel it being on last week. Unfortunately, I a) already had actual life-enhancing things to do and b) was too mortified to ask my gracious hostess if we could watch it. Holy crap, I'm a closet Temptation Islander. Anyway, I have either dutifully or pathetically set my VCR to record every single episode until I get back so that I may watch them in the proper order. Yes, I am aware that every hour-long Temptation Island consists of half an hour of "dramatic" footage from previous shows. Shut up.

That's assuming I get back to Chicago at all, of course; I may well be too famous. You see, I have already been offered a modeling job. A few months ago I was worried about whether I could truly tempt someone and now, having been in New York for less than a week, I am already breaking into the world of high fashion with an opportunity to model shoes, clothes, and bags. I'll tell you all about it in...

New York Story Number One
I was walking around New York, and, due to circumstances I won't go into, I was trying to figure out how to deposit an out-of-state check into my even more out-of-state bank account. On a weekend. (hint: this is impossible) So I was having a pretty bad day. I had the sort of look on my face that you normally only see when someone's about to turn into a werewolf. And yet, Frank somehow saw through that to my natural inner and apparently outer beauty. He started off by simply walking up and asking me what time it was. Though I am a native-born East Coast girl, I have been in Chicago long enough to have absorbed a certain Midwestern friendliness, which is why I told him the time instead of to go fuck himself.

Savvy city girl that I am, I could not help but notice that Frank was still walking with me, despite the fact that he now had a firm handle on both the hour and minute portions of the time. He asked me if I was a model and when I said "No," (Note: still "No," instead of "Go fuck yourself,") he asked me if I would like to be. Well, sure, who wouldn't, but what I really needed was an open bank at the moment, so I demurred. "What's the matter?" Frank countered, "Don't you think you're pretty enough?" This clever and effective psychological tactic nearly worked. I was about to yell "I am too pretty enough!" and take the job, but unfortunately just then remembered that I hadn't gotten in my Power Walk that day, and so had to start going faster. Frank kept up. He handed me his card, which was cleverly printed to look like someone had cut up a supermarket flyer and written his name and number on it, along with the motto "clothes shoes bags". I said "No, thanks," one last time (fool!) but luckily Frank knew true innate modeling talent when he saw it. He said I could call him and drop by his apartment any time, and we'd both make some quick cash.

I'm sure the whole thing will work out great. And if nothing else, I can legitimately put "aspiring model" on my Temptation Island entry form this year.

10/30/01

Happy Not-Quite-Halloween. In an unintentional seasonal trick, I have had yet another horror movie experience ruined by a failure to recognize a basic rule of filmmaking. In the hopes of more horrific and suspenseful horror and suspense experiences in the future, I will mention it here: If you are a filmmaker and you only have the budget to hire one high-recognition star, please, for the love of God, do not make a horror or suspense film. If there is only one big-name star, we know who the killer is. Same deal if you only have the money for two stars: one must be the hero and therefore the other one is the villain. We know who the killer is! Stop making movies like this! We don't want to know who the killer is until the end! If we know the minute the opening credits are over, it tends to cut down on the suspense. Cut it out!

Thank you.

10/23/01

I was watching a movie made in 1922 this week. It discussed the "modern" medical condition of hysteria. You know, women getting all nervous, irrational and crazy. The reason "hysteria" and "hysterectomy" look so similar is that hysteria was a female disease. Just having a uterus and a set of ovaries made you perilously prone to mental illness. Thank goodness modern medical science doesn't give credence to silly, outdated notions like that anymore!

10/18/01

Thanks to Terry, Jason, and Brangien for submitting titles to Bored Clerk. I'll get to them and a few others as soon as possible. In the meantime, I leave you with some handy advice. Enjoy.

10/16/01

So. You've doubtless been dying to hear about the Great Video Store Robbery. Warning: When I said this story was dorky, I was not kidding. So it was Wednesday and I was working the mid-shift, 11:30am to 5pm. It overlaps the morning and evening shifts, and usually it's a little slow. The first thing you have to know is that the store gets a little hot, and the air circulation isn't great. Jonathan, the clerk who opened the store, had opened the back door to catch a refreshing breeze. We did that a lot. It was a more innocent time. At 12:52 pm, a minor computer glitch sent me into the manager's office in back. There was a guy standing in the open back doorway. He was exactly in the doorway, facing me, and he had stuff in his hands. We were both surprised. We stood there and looked at each other for a few seconds. He could have been just going out, he could have been just coming in, or he could have just walked up to the doorway and been thinking about coming in. I couldn't see what was in his hands well enough to be making any accusations - it was the right size to be stolen videos, but there weren't any exposed glossy boxes or anything. Suddenly, since I hadn't caught him red-handed, I didn't know what my rights were. Was I allowed to ask him to show me what he had? Was I allowed to swat the stuff out of his hands? What exactly was I supposed to do here? Still, we looked at each other.

Finally, I said something. Feel free to use it; it's really bad-ass. I looked him dead in the eye and said "Can I help you with something?" Silently, he began walking away. Very slowly, very deliberately, walking away. I followed him a couple of paces out the door. "Can I help you with something?" I said again, only a little louder and tougher. Slowly, deliberately, he got into the van where his buddy was waiting, and he slowly, deliberately drove away... which is even stupider than me asking if I could help him with something, because it gave me plenty of time to copy down the number on his license plate and the fairly prominent sign on the side of his van.

So I went in and called the police and called various managers and I would like to take this time to thank those people in line who took time out of their busy days to be complete buttheads about waiting for a minute even after I explained that we'd just been robbed and I needed to call the police.

The police, by the way, were terrific. The local beat cop heard the call and immediately came up the street to check in and make sure I was OK. I was, although by the time I'd had to explain to the fifth police officer in a row that he'd gotten in through the back door which had been standing wide open because, um, it was nice out, I was feeling pretty stupid.

So my manager came in and confirmed that he'd taken stuff from her office. In spite of the mounds of expensive, easy to fence porn in her office, the Bad Man managed to get away with five copies of Cast Away. Which we all found pretty hilarious, including the police. I had to give a report to the police, and while I felt pretty good about getting the van's plates, I discovered I am not nearly the eyewitness I thought I'd be. I had noticed his jacket but not his pants, was shaky about estimating his height even though we'd been about a foot and a half away from each other, and I had no idea how to tell if the van was a Ford or a Dodge. It hadn't even occurred to me at the time that that might be an important piece of information. I spent a lot of the day in Stupidville.

On the upside, I got a message today that I'm supposed to look at some mug books. Which means I got to call a police detective back and say that it was regarding "a case," which was one of the coolest things I've ever done. I think tomorrow's the day I go on my manhunt. Wish me luck.

10/14/01

Hey! Introducing a new feature, inspired by this Saturday's nine-hour shift. It's The Bored Clerk's Guide to Cool Movies You May Not Have Heard of. Submissions are welcome, though I must stress that since it's my page, I get to decide what constitutes "cool". Enjoy. And get renting!

10/10/01

I have a clerking rite of passage to report: my store got robbed. Oh, I'm fine. No weapons were involved, my cash drawer was not touched, and actually the story is sort of dorky. I'll tell it in a day or two. For now I will leave you with two thoughts: 1) yes, there is such a thing as being too polite, and 2) though I may be too polite, I did get the licence plates of the getaway van.

10/05/01

Everyone's a critic.
Her Beegeness wrote in to say that I am wasting my time obsessing about Temptation Island. She thinks I should be obsessing about Love Cruise: The Maiden Voyage instead.

Well, she has a point. I dearly wanted to obsess about Love Cruise. I was looking forward to it more than almost anything - I had high, high hopes for its skankiness. Unfortunately - no, tragically - I missed the first episode and feel I can never truly give it the treatment it deserves. And it does deserve quite a bit. From the little bit I've seen, it appears to be rife with skanks. My favorite skanks so far are the tattooed "aspiring screenwriter" ("aspiring screenwriter", by the way, is not an occupation. I am an aspiring screenwriter, as are half the homeless people in my neighborhood. No one has paid any of us a dime) who all the other skanks keep saying is really deep and smart, and those three blonde girls. The three blondes fascinate me because they were apparently the Mean Girls in high school and just never got over it. Most high school Mean Girls eventually realize that the people they're dissing don't particularly want to hang out with them in the first place and grow up. Others face some form of Cosmic Retribution shortly after graduation and grow up. But not these three. They are unscathed, and seem to still want to be Mean girls. Indeed, their life aspirations seem to center on continuing to be Mean Girls.

The brunette had a brief half-episode in the sun when some of the guys decided, hey, what if we hung out with someone who isn't a complete jackal, but she couldn't handle it and flipped out and now she's been cast out to Loser Island. We ended with the Mean Girls cackling over reigning supreme. No one has taken them aside to explain to them that they lead boring, little lives.

If I could pitch any new reality show to the network right now, it would be one that follows each of these Mean Girls until she finds out that life eventually stops working that way. It would be fabulous television.

10/04/01

I have had an interesting point brought up by a new reader, Terry, who took valuable time off from reading paranoid web sites about contrails to point out that somewhere in an alternative universe, I am a complete skank. I don't know whether I'm happy or terrified.

...Which brings up a related issue: The promos for Temptation Island II are starting to run and no, I'm not in them. I never even did my entry video, despite several hilarious ideas that I suspect would have been completely lost on the Temptation Island casting staff. In fact, I suspect they would have just fast forwarded it, noticed that I was at no point wearing a bikini, and popped it out and tossed it lightly over their shoulders into the reject pile.

Oh, hell. I'd like to use the "better things to do" excuse, but the truth is dammit, I just wasn't ready!. I will, however, watch every second of the new season. The Quest must go on.

10/01/01

At last, I am able to get back into my web page. The one week I actually have stuff to update, and I couldn't get in for days.

So in case you were wondering, we did have a winner in the David Lynch contest. There were many compelling entries. Patrick Jacobi wrote in with a backwards entry, noting that his devilishly clever Twin Peaks reference should prove him a big enough Lynch fan to win the tickets. Tim Chidester made a bold play with an entry that was, frankly, obscene. A worthy attempt. Our runner up, Ellen Mainwood came really close. She pointed out that, as she lives in England and couldn't possibly make it to the show in time, she should win the tickets just to be that way. But in the end my heart was won by Dan Antonucci's poetic entry: "Eric Rutheford and I would like those tickets to the new lynch film M.D., The good reason: Neither of us have jobs and we have to see the David Lynch movie for free we just want tickets we won't even get popcorn we want tickets tickets tickets no coke no rasinets no bathroom breaks just movie no hotdog. Sincerely, The Angriest Dogs In The World"

For their plucky response to poverty and their reference to a truly awful David Lynch comic strip, Dan and Eric got the tickets. Hope they liked it.

9/25/01

Yes, yes. Suckola updating skills. In my defense, I spent all of August in Scotland. Yes, I know they have computers there. Shut up.
To make up for it, here's a new contest! I have a pass for two to the New David Lynch movie Mullholland Falls. It's for this Thursday, the 27th, at 7:30pm, which means you have to be quick. To get the pass, just tell me why you should be the one to get it. The most compelling reason wins. Send your answers to Davisexmachina@hotmail.com. The best ones will be posted here, and the very best one gets the tix.

So I've been reading a little bit about quantum physics lately. The most interesting article I've read suggests that one of the implications of quantum mechanics is that every time you make a choice, you are spinning off alternate universes in which you made all the possible alternate choices. My first question was not addressed in the article because it was written by and for hard science geeks, as opposed to me, a verbal/antrhopology geek. It's this: Am I spinning off universes involving all the choices I reasonably would make, or all the possibilities I could make? I mean, I could suddenly reach over and deck the guy next to me on the el for no reason, but I wouldn't. Does that mean that somewhere in an alternate universe Evil Ali is making all those choices, musing online as to whether somewhere in an alternate universe there's an Ali who just sits there and rides the el like a passive wuss? Simply by sitting there and reading my book, am I making a moment-by-moment choice not to suddenly wrest the title of Evil Ali away from my alter ego? And by simply sittng there and choosing not to be a jerk, am I in effect forcing an alter ego to be Evil Ali? And universes must be spun off by events, not just choices. Every moment I sit here and the framed poster above my head doesn't fall down and whack me, I'm theoretically spinning off universes in which it does. Sorry, guys.

But it's the personal choice thing that's really getting to me. Theoretically, this morning I spun off N-1 new alternate universes, where N=the number of clean pair of socks I had available to choose from. And that's just for starters, and assuming that I eliminated going sock-free out of hand. So really, there's an enromous number, and in N-1 of them, the *only* difference is my personal sock choice. (Though, now that I think about it, perhaps that's not true. Maybe one pair would have given me such an intense case of Happy Feet that my day would have been completely, irrevocably changed.) But for now, let's go with the N-1. Once I've removed my socks for the day, do those universes collapse back into each other, or do they just keep happily chugging away, identical in all but that one detail?

If every possible choice spins off a new universe, there must be one universe in which I have made the exact right choice every single time and am living the best possible life. Obviously, I want to be that person. As do all the alternate mes, except maybe the really messed up or altruistic ones. Which means that in the grand scheme of things, I'm not so much in competition with the people around me as I am with my other selves as we all try to win the Ali's Perfect Life title.

Gotta go. My head hurts.

7/7/2001

Yes, I've sucked at updating lately. I've been working hard. Freelancing has been, oh, let's call it slow. So I have a part-time job. Click here to learn what I have learned.

6/1/2001

Uh, oh...
Thank you to all the potential couples and singles that have responded to "Temptation Island 2" auditions 2001. If you have already made contact with the casting department via telephone and have followed the instructions below then please disregard this email. We apologize in advance if some of you are receiving this email and have no desire to be part of TI2. The response was overwhelming so we did not have time to go through every email and weed out the not-over-my-dead-body-crowd.
If you have NOT spoken with anyone in our offices, we would like you to print out the attached file(s). There are separate forms for singles and couples. Please complete the QUESTIONNAIRE in it's entirety that pertains to you, sign it, date it, and MAKE SURE YOUR CONTACT PHONE NUMBER is included.
Then we need you to gather three (3) PHOTOGRAPHS of yourself.
1 bathing suit shot
1 face only
1 candid shot.
Please write your name and phone number on the back of the photos!!!
We recommend sending color laser copies as we will not be able to return any original photos. At this point we need something we can hold in our hands, so jpegs and gifs sent to our email addresses won't do in this second round of casting.
Write a short biography about yourself. Include your age, education, current job, hobbies, special interests, and what you find attractive in the opposite sex. Write a separate paragraph telling us WHY YOU WANT TO BE ON TEMPTATION ISLAND and WHY YOU WOULD MAKE A GOOD CANDIDATE.
Finally, (yeah, there's more) make a five minute VHS VIDEO TAPE telling the camera why we should choose you for T.I.2.
When you get that package together including the QUESTIONNAIRE, PHOTOGRAPHS, BIOS, and VIDEOTAPE please send to the following address:

Temptation Island 2 Casting 3151 Cahuenga Blvd. West Suite 200 Los Angeles, California 90068

Attention: Chris C.

Remember to put your name and contact number on all documents. By law we cannot review any materials if you do not include the one page questionnaire attached.
We know it takes a lot of effort to put together everything we've asked for. But, you will then be one step closer to being part of the Temptation Island television series phenomena. We thank you in advance for your cooperation and, as they say in show business..."Don't call us...We will call you".
Thank you greatly,
The Casting and Production Staff for Temptation Island 2

5/30/2001

Yeah, I know. I haven't updated in weeks and you're just dying to hear about the Lost audition. I'll get to it as soon as I can. In the meantime, why not bitch about it in my new guestbook?

I did have another adventure as well. I was an extra in a movie. I'd love to tell you all about it, but they made me sign nondisclosure agreements that said if I ever write anything about my experience, even in a future lifetime, they get to come over and beat up my cats. Which is a pity, because they were extremely nice and what I would have written would have been entirely positive. But I'll be good. I won't even tell you the title of the movie. That would set me straight on the highway to hell.

For those of you who were concerned by the phrase "what I would have written would have been entirely positive," fear not. I have plenty of mean things to say about Lost and they didn't make me sign a nondisclosure agreement. Although they did make me sign a document that said that if I get on the show and get injured I can't sue them, even if it's because the producers were shooting directly at me. But more on that soon enough.

5/9/2001

The die is cast. Not only have I sent in my e-mail of intent to Temptation Island, I will be attending an open call this weekend for a new NBC reality show called Lost. Apparently they drop you and a partner somewhere in the wilderness and you try to find your way home. Three pairs compete, and the woman I spoke to said the pairings would be "wacky". I presume by "wacky" she means "hellish". Great, three pairs of people bitching their way through the underbrush. Will people really tune in to watch six weeks of map fights?

I don't really want to be on Lost, but I think the casting call will be good practice for Temptation Island casting. Presumably there's a "wacky" factor there too. Remember that girl with the pink hair? Whooooo!

But as I said, I don't actually want to be on Lost, largely because I don't want the world to know about my poor spatial relations skills. (Wait a minute. Oops.) No, they're really bad. I can read a map just swell - it's something about the transition to the 3-D world that throws me. And it's not like they'd edit out the part where I stood there for twenty minutes, turning slowly in place while flipping the map over and over, trying to get "west" and "left" to be the same thing while my wacky partner tries to stifle the urge to strangle me with my own belt. No, they'd keep coming back to it, over and over, shots of sweat pouring down my furrowed brow crosscut with shots of my partner saying that I seem to be "more of a verbal person".

I dwell on this image because I think it contains an important message for other Reality TV hopefuls: Reality television is not about making you look good. I may be holding on to a childish dream of being a skank on national television, but at least I have not for one nanosecond entertained the childish notion that I will come off as an appealing skank. All of my very worst traits, inside and out, will be magnified, storylined, edited, and distilled into a magnificently pure Essence of Suck. Unfair? Yes. But that is what reality television is all about. Nobody remembers the bozos left in the house at the end of Big Brother; they remember the sociopaths who got kicked off the first week. It is to the advantage of the network, the producers, and, really, everyone with the actual money to make the participants on these shows look really, really bad.

I don't think most of the lucky reality TV hopefuls fully understand this.

I bring this up because of Ytossie and Taheed's ongoing lawsuit. In case you missed it, Ytossie and Taheed are suing the producers of Temptation Island for damaging their (surprise!) acting careers by making them look "unappealing". Remember Ytossie and Taheed? The couple who got kicked off for concealing the existence of their 18-month-old child? The couple who leapt at every possible opportunity to hurt and badmouth each other? The couple who loathed each other with an intensity usually reserved for race wars and Sam Shepard plays? Well, they think Temptation Island made them look bad. Hey, Ytossie and Taheed! Turns out there's more to being appealing than having a hard body after all! Also - and I can't stress this enough - reality television is not about making you look good.

5/8/2001

The Call!
Oh, all right, the e-mail. Nevertheless, I've been contacted by the casting office for Temptation Island 2. Ah, that felt good - let's write it again, shall we? Temptation Island 2. Or, as the producers seem to be calling it, TI2. Thank God they found a cool abbreviation. First worry solved!

I have already e-mailed them back, indicating my continued interest. At first I was worried about my e-mail sounding too eager, but then I remembered: I'm a skank, dammit! So I sent it off. Good Lord, the pressure! I've got to step up those Pilates workouts. Or should I go whole hog and take up Tae Bo?

So I've let the writing slide a bit in an effort to do stuff like pay rent, but I have also been on the horns of a genuine anthropological dilemma: defining the skank. I am not setting out to explore a complete foreign culture, but rather a subset of my own. In defining the skank subset early on, do I skew my results with my own preconceived notions? But if I fail to delineate what I mean by "skank," do I make my work hopelessly nebulous? How does one distinguish true skanks from mere idiots?

One can dither over such fine points for years (indeed, anthropologists have made careers doing so) so I decided to just dive right in. I have purchased a copy of Cosmopolitan, which they really should just go ahead and call the Skank Bible. (For females, anyway. I'm guessing the male equivalent is Maxim, but one thing at a time.)

The first unexpected benefit of my Cosmo was an interview with Tempation Island's own Tom. (Tom was the skank billed simply as "Ivy League Graduate". He's the one that Shannon would have left Andy for had she not been a COMPLETE FREAKING MORON!) Anyway, he's a grad student at UVA and doing fine.

My other favorite part of the magazine thus far is not content at all, but an ad. It's for a pantyliner designed especially for thong underwear. For you men who are not familiar with the concept, the pantyliner is a minipad that is meant to be used when a woman is not menstruating. That's right: when she's not menstruating. Essentially, the message of the thong pantyliner is "Hey, ladies! Your genitals are inherently foul, but you can still make sure your ass looks good!" Thanks, you assholes at Alldays!

Any woman on the edge enough to buy into a concept like this is bound to just give up and start slobbering on other people's boyfriends. At last, I have compassion for the skank.

4/10/2001

It's here!
At last, my Free Art Test from Art Instruction Schools has arrived! I'm very, very excited. First impressions: I think I might ace the semiverbal section - it has stuff like a picture of several separate circles and then a picture of several overlapping circles. I am to place a check mark under the one that best illustrates the word "unity". Sure, I'm cocky about that, but the section on shading looks a little daunting. There are two sections in which I am asked to draw enjoyable characters. All of them are wearing hats. In case you were wondering, the turtle is named "Tippy," the bear is "Cubby," and the pig is "Pudgy". Tragically, the pirate only gets "Pirate". How sad.

4/4/2001

"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear"
...Or in my case, when the student is ready, the skanks will appear. My fears held me back, but Fate pushed me forward: Monday was opening day for the Cubs® and my neighborhood is now Skank Central. My first research session came about by accident: I forgot Monday was Opening Day, and made the key tactical error of attempting to eat at a fast food restaurant less than a block from Wrigley Field. They were everywhere, and like their Temptation Island kin, many were already in the early stages of alcohol poisoning. No, not on enormous tropical drinks, just beer. But still pretty good for only seven o' clock. As I sat among them, I was briefly concerned: Was I truly among skanks, or just overenthusiastic sports fans? I was worried until one let loose with a joyous shout of their characteristic mating call: "Whoooooooooo!" Yes, one of them had been moved to yell it right in the restaurant. I had done it. I had found them. I was right in their midst.

My first observation was that, as I had suspected, the skank philosophy is a difficult one to maintain. The adherence to a policy of only having fun and being around really fun people requires the ability to maintain what many outsiders would see as a startling lack of consideration. Case in point: scamming on the mates of others. The manifestation I saw Monday night was a lesser example, but certainly characteristic. A male skank spilled about half of his vat-sized soda across a table and several chairs. On seeing what he had done, he laughed with pleasure, poured out the rest of the soda, and went to get his free refill. He cheerfully took several chairs out of use in an already-crowded restaurant and not only left the mess for restaurant employees to clean, but augmented it by about 30 ounces. This was fascinating to watch in itself, and also brought up a later issue for further study: does the offending skank recognize that the person forced to mop up his mess may well be a fellow skank? Or do skank codes rigidly exclude such buzz-killing thoughts?

As I had these thoughts, I was ashamed of myself. I was judging the skanks instead of trying to empathize with them. The point of this project is not to mock the skanks, but to become one with them and learn their ways. I left with a new sense of purpose and an open mind. Later, though, as I watched them stumble and vomit their way home, I was pretty sure that even Bronislaw Malinowski would have given serious thought to poisoning their beer supply.

4/2/2001

And the winner is...
There were a lot of fine entries, many of which caused me to wake up screaming, soaked in my own sweat. Congratulations to all. In the end, though, I could only give the prize to one winner, Jamie Newland for Three Keys in the Punchbowl. I just couldn't get it out of my head. Well done. For his terrifying effort, Jamie wins his very own copy of Scream, Blacula Scream. Never mind why I own it, the point is that he does now. Jamie, please e-mail me at Davisexmachina@hotmail.com and let me know how to get your prize to you. Thanks to everyone who made this such a difficult decision.

My apologies for the sorry lack of updates. It's been a busy few days. I barely even got any skank research in. (Though not, I will mention, for lack of trying.) There are a few last contest entries to put up, and then I will announce both winner and prize. First off, Scott Goldstein dropped an e-mail to commisserate on Temptation Island's demise. At the time, he held (as I did) the false hope that somehow Boot Camp might be able to fill the void. Please. Sure, they've got a beach and a blossoming sociopath, but it just isn't the same. My advice to the producers? Fewer 5am runs, more horizontal mambo. Anyway, Scott also checked in with a gargantuan five entries: Orlando Jones, Nicholas Cage, Saul Rubinek, Jimmy Smits, Geoffrey Rush, Alan King, Ice Cube, Corey Feldman, Scott Glenn, Sandra Bullock as Mary Jo Kopechne and Charles Nelson Reilly as Joe Sr. in Kennedy! A Dunken Musical Romp Through a Night at Hyannisport; Wesley Snipes, Leslie Nielsen, Mitch Gaylord, Jeff Speakman, Bill Pullman, Daniel Baldwin, Matt Damon, and Sean Connery as Hitler in Work Brings Freedom: The Rudolf Hess Story; Tom Cruise and Tom Arnold are Bo and Luke Duke with Brian Dennehy as Boss Hog in The Dukes of Hazzard 2001 special appearance by Michael Ironside as Roscoe P. Coltrane; Can a wacky, wild, sloppy Latina homegirl with big phat beats, live with an anal retentive, ambisexual (deceased) WASP with a rapier wit? find out as Jennifer Lopez and Paul Lynde star in Neil Simon's The Odd Couple 2001 also starring Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith as the Pigeon brothers; Jennifer Love Hewitt, Charlize Theron, F. Murray Abraham, Skeet Ulrich, Danny Aiello, Reese Witherspoon, Bernie Mac and Melissa Joan Hart as Dorothy Parker, in I Know What You Did at The Algonquin Round Table Last Summer. Bracingly tasteless on all counts, Scott. Steve Zimmers checks back in with an entry of elegant simplicity: The Odd Couple starring Marty Feldman and Abe Vigoda. I'm sure we'll see it in Hell, Steve. Jamie Newland snuck an entry in under the wire with Land O'Goshen!: the Musical starring Rosie O'Donnell, John Schneider, Fran Drescher, Travis Tritt, Jason Gould, Mario Cantone, Sean P. Hayes, and the Dixie Chicks and Starring Jerry Orbach as Pappa Silvio and Barbara Mandrell as Miss Tillie. Music by Marc Shaiman. Lyrics and Narration by Waylon Jennings. Jamie, I am both disturbed by your imagination and touched by your ability to find inspiration all around you. Finally, Rich Prouty finished us off with an entry of refreshing cruelty: Sigourney Weaver, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Ray Liotta, Jason Lee, Jeffrey Jones, Gene Hackman, Nora Dunn, Anne Bancroft, Ricky Jay and Sarah Silverman as "The Waitress." Well done, all around. This will be a difficult decision.

3/27/2001

Land O' Goshen, what are you people trying to do to me? The Scary Cast Contest is heating up with a flood of truly repellent entries. Patrick Jacobi starts us off with She's the Predator starring Gary Busey, Jason Bateman, Rae Dawn Chong, Sean Young, Treat Williams, and Jake Busey as "The Kid." and Revenge of the Whole Nine Yards! starring Jack Nicholson, Pia Zadora, Martin Lawrence, Gary Oldman, Jenny McCarthy, and Jackie Mason as Uncle Jackie. Music by The Bacon Brothers (Kevin does a cameo). If that didn't knock the wind out of you, there are the twin demons sent in by Cholley Kuhaneck: A Wing and a Prayer starring Jeanne Tripplehorn, Roberto Benigni, Haley Joel Osmett, Glen Close, Kathy Bates, and Lawrence Fishburne as Def Angel, and The McAllister Girls starring Shelly Long, Goldie Hawn, Dolly Parton, Ellen DeGeneris, Rene Zellweger and Christopher Plummer as Dad. Thanks for robbing me of my sleep, Cholley. After some initial hemming and hawing, Boxjam came through with a truly unsettling list - Tom Hulce, Christian Slater, Katie Holmes, Richard Dreyfuss and Freddie Prinze, Jr. as "Suggs." Think for just a moment about Tom and Richard's big scene together and then see if you can sleep with the lights off tonight.

Peter Gwinn keeps the terror going with Gina Gershon, Matt LeBlanc, Camryn Manheim, Vivica A. Fox, Lara Flynn Boyle, and Sally Field as "The Warden." Special appearance by Bob Hope as Judge Tatum. Shane Wilson turns in a fiendishly clever entry with Val Kilmer, Sarah Jessica Parker, Bill Paxton, Denise Richards and Kevin Pollak as Rabbi Steve in a film by Chris Columbus. As Shane points out, though, he is cheating a bit, as a Chris Columbus directing credit can make any cast scary. By way of illustration, he submits. Kevin Spacey, Jodie Foster, Julianne Moore, Morgan Freeman, and Zelkjo Ivanek as Neil Armstrong in a film by Chris Columbus. See? Corri Feuerstein sends in a Hat Trick of the Damned with Ann Jillian, Matthew Modine, Ashley Judd and Olympia Dukakis as "Grandmama Jones" in Generations of Heartache, Paul Rudd, Jaimie Gertz, John Laroquette and Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen in Cookies Crumble and Chris Rock, David Arquette, Danny Glover and Joe Pesci as "Fishmouth" in The Hiest. OK, everybody take a moment to breathe.

Ian Brooks unleashes the forces of darkness with his entry of Shaquille O'Neal, Angela Lansbury, Mickey Rourke, and Jamie Farr with Stephen Hawking as Professor Funkenhiemer. Finally, Jason Chin inflicted some cruel and unusual punishment by including synopses for each of his three entries. He straps us in with The Last Indiscretion- The new mayor of San Francisco (Reginald Vel Johnson) is in big trouble. Crime plagues his city and only one man can stop this wave of evil; Billy Dragon (Eric Roberts), an ex-green beret cop serving a life sentence for a murder he didn't commit. Dragon and his Special Parole Officer (David Schwimmer) must seek out and destroy the corruption in their city while looking for the evidence that may prove his innocence. Was his ex-wife (Tia Carrere) involved? Or was it his ex-partner (Curtis Armstrong)? Can Dragon survive the brains of the evil Mr. Klan (Richard Lynch) AND the brawn of the man-monster Brute (Donald "Ogre" Gibb)? Narrated by Garrison Keillor. Then he turns the screws with Trashin'!-Five street smart hustlers team up with their lawyer for the ultimate con! tag: "Talkin It Or Takin' It Out, It's All About The Trash!" starring: Martin Lawrence, Chris Tucker, Marlon Wayons, Eddie Griffin, Eddie Izzard, and David Spade. Directed by Paul Rodriquez. Jason deals his finishing blow with What's Not To Love? (based on the book) - A fictional and hysterical look at the single Jewish lifestyle. Tag: "Fun for a Jew or Goy!" Starring Ben Stiller, Jerry O'Connell, Rosie Perez, Lil Kim, Richard Attenborough, Danny Glover and Shelly Long. Directed by Woody Allen.

Oof.

3/26/2001

Well. I had hoped to report on my first night of Skank Research, but my guide shanghaied me to an Art Party instead. A party with actual for-sale capital-A Art all over the place. It was a fine party. I didn't see any skanks, but I did see some Art Groupies there, who may well be the equivalent. They were three blonde chicks who sat on the couch in a bouncy and vaguely expectant manner. All of them were wearing black. Entertaining Art Party stereotypes: A French woman, a man who was actually wearing a beret, had a goatee, and was carrying a rose, and a slender young man who kept putting jazz on the stereo, hoping every one could see that he truly understood it.

But it's not like I didn't get any skank practicing in at all - in fact I managed to Tempt someone without even meaning to! I noticed a guy at the party doing what I usually do when I don't know anyone: pretending to look at the stereo, standing by the M&M dish, and trying to pick out someone to go have a conversation with. In a brief moment of empathy and compassion, I introduced myself and drew him into the conversation I was having. We had gotten as far as the "are you a friend of the hostess?" part when his girlfriend barged over and did everything but piss a circle around him.

I'm already threatening relationships. I'm so proud.

More contest entries! Tim Sniffen Checks in with a stomach-churner: Steven Baldwin, Daryl Hannah, Pauly Shore, Melanie Griffith, Cher and Maggie Smith as Mrs. Finch. Original score by Chris Gaines. Tagline:"Fly Again" I will put aside my deep fondness for Maggie Smith in recognition of the inspired cruelty of the original score and tagline. Brendan Dowling, not to be outdone in the heebie-jeebies department, cooked up Timothy Hutton, Jennifer Tilly, Randy Quaid, Lolita Davidovich, and Sally Kirkland as Glory Joe. Three quick jabs, a right hook, and a haymaker. Warning: the next entry is extremely disturbing and should not be read by small children or people with heart conditions. Jamie Newland decided to punish us with Scary Casts through the ages. The 70's - "3 Keys in the Punchbowl" Starring: Florence Henderson, Al Pacino, Jaye P. Morgan, Ted Shackleford, Audra Lindley and John Houseman as "Jock". The 80's - "Hearts in Acid-Wash" Starring: Daphne Zuniga, Charlie Sheen, William Hurt, Joanna Kerns, Lee Majors, Sally Kellerman, and introducing Jason Priestly as "Silicon Chip". The 90's - "Flannel Hurts" Starring: Christina Applegate, Chris O'Donnell, Dustin Nguyen, Nia Peeples, Kadeem Hardison, with Stockard Channing as "Dean Plummer" and Brent Spiner as the Coffee Shop Owner who Dies of AIDS at the end of Act 2.

Thank you, Jamie, for an absolutely Satanic entry. The rest of you have until Friday night to think of something even scarier.

3/23/2001

More Contest entries! Our first anonymous entrant, "thRob", writes in with a truly upsetting list: Patrick Swayze, Penelope Ann Miller, Jennifer Love Hewitt, and Wilford Brimley as The Matchmaker. Brutal, thRob. After reading that one I had to lie down with a cold cloth on my forehead. Keep 'em coming!

I'd like to answer a few questions that have come in: Yes, multiple entries are encouraged. No, you don't need to have a title, though they are certainly allowed. And no, this is not about simply naming the worst actors you can think of, though acting felonies are certainly a factor. The exercise is to think of the scariest possible combination of actors. As we well know, there are some normally excellent performers who become absolutely bone-chilling when paired with the right people. Under what circumstances might they kill again? Let your imaginations run free. In the meantime, I'll try to think of some sort of easily-mailed prize.

Almost went to a sports bar for my first session of skank research tonight, but chickened out at the last minute. I think I'll try it this weekend, when they'll be drunker and less able to give chase. Maybe I'll see if I can bring reinforcements.

3/22/2001

Contest Developments already! First off, I have decided to allow television movies as a separate category. Example: Judith Light, Valerie Bertinelli, Rosie O'Donnell, and David Hasselhoff as Father O'Connor. Better still, some truly horrifying entries have reared their ugly heads. Rich Prouty starts us off with a bang with Brendan Fraser, Roberto Benigni, Andie MacDowell, Michael Clark Duncan, and Bette Midler as "The Mayor". Ouch. Just as revolting is the list from Steve Zimmers, with Gregory Peck, Ayesha Dharker, Ron Glass, and Sherman Hemsley as Dr. Sigmund Freud.

I double-dog dare you to come up with cast lists scarier than those. Keep those entries coming (and let me know if you want me to use your name or a clever pseudonym of your choosing).

3/21/2001

A Contest of Sorts

You are in a movie theater, about to see a sneak preview of a film you know nothing about. The lights go down and the above-the-title credits start. What is the most chilling combination of actors you can think of? Send your submissions to Davisexmachina@hotmail.com. The best answers will be posted. Example: Kevin Costner, Winona Ryder, Keenan Ivory Wayans, and Jon Lovitz as Uncle Mike.

I only made the decision to hit a sports bar yesterday and already I am panicking. For one thing, the anthropologist in me has me paralyzed with indecision. Do I try to blend in, knowing that I can never truly be a part of their culture, or do I deliberately set myself aside, making it clear that I am an impartial, outside observer?

Oh, who am I kidding? This debate is nothing but naked fear raising its ugly head. Of course I need to try to blend in, to walk among them unnoticed. The point of this exercise is not merely to study and catalogue the skank but to *become* the skank. Not merely to understand, but to participate.

Good lord, I haven't got a thing to wear! I'm not even sure I've paid attention enough to approximate! I mean, on Temptation Island wardrobe was easy: daytime bikinis and evening bikinis. But what do skanks wear in the chilly early spring? Yes, thong underwear, but what else? And what about shoes? Do they wear heels with jeans *all* the time, or does it just seem that way?

Clearly, more research is in order. Luckily, there are many, many sports bars in my neighborhood. I will use one for my research, unashamedly wearing my normal clothes and perhaps writing discreetly in a small notebook. No, what am I thinking? I can't bring a notebook in there; they'll tear my throat out. Perhaps I can conceal a small hand-held recorder on my person. At any rate, one bar for study and then when the time is ripe I'll use another for infiltration.

Whoooooooo!

3/20/2001

Kicking it into high gear now - I spent Friday night Tempting four men in serious relationships. We ate luscious foods, gazed into each others' eyes, and kept pushing each other to risk just a little bit more. Oh, all right - three were married, one was engaged, and I was there to play poker as one of the guys. But a girl has to start somewhere. And in my defense, at no time were any of us carrying the giant tropical drinks that seemed to be so frequently in the background of Temptation Island.

Still waiting for my phone call, still waiting for my Free Art Test. It's enough to drive a girl to actually get some work done.

It's amazing (to me, anyway) how much waiting is going on. In an effort to stop that, I'm currently involved in a conscious attempt to invite random chance into my life: taking different routes instead of walking on autopilot, saying yes to going out when I'd rather hole up in my apartment, putting my e-mail address right out there on a web site... I've also stolen an idea from someone else, the review of whose book I half-read while distracted by something else so I can't give proper credit. I've started keeping a journal of coincidence. The idea is that the more you become aware of them, the more they pile up, leaving you with not a mere journal of coincidence but a Journal of Synchronicity.

Which is great, except that so far when I say I am "keeping" this journal, what I mean is that I have purchased a composition book and am dutifully carrying it around. I have made one entry, involving Lewis Carroll and rocks. Ah well, maybe the universe needs to warm up.

It's an interesting idea, but not something I can put down on my sheet should I get The Call. I need to think of and take up a skank hobby. That way I can both pick up a new skill and understand skankhood a little better by studying them in their element. What do skanks do? I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve collecting the new state quarters, but beyond that I haven't a clue. Clearly some reconnaissance is needed.

It's time to hit a sports bar.

3/16/2001

Well. I can't just sit around the apartment waiting for Temptation Island to call. A girl has to get out there. To be interesting, you've got to be interested.

That's why today I sent for my Free Art Test from Art Instruction Schools. Actually, I tried to send for it last night, but I learned a key lesson: don't try to call during or right after the commercial. Good Lord, the lines were jammed! I envisioned thousands and thousands of people, determined to find out if they had the aptitude to become Serious Art Students. And me just screwing around. I hope I don't beat any of them out of a scholarship. But if I do, tough. I am notgoing to let the wonderful world of art pass me by.

The phone, once I got through, was answered by an extremely chipper young man who had apparently been taking voiceover lessons. In rich, throaty tones he asked me for my name and address, and then my phone number ("Why do you need that?" "That is an excellent question! I don't know!") and then he asked me the age of the student who will be taking the test. Uh-oh.

I told him my fully-grown adult age and then there was sort of a longish pause (Dammit! Doesn't the man understand that I'm not just anyone? I'm a skank in training!) and then - relief! - he told me that I'd get my Free Art Test. In about three weeks. (Gee, I wonder if my name will appear on any other mailing lists during that time?) It seemed like an awfully long time to mail a pamphlet from one state away, but luckily before I said anything I realized that this may well be the first test. After all, Art is about perserverence and patience.

I can't wait.

3/15/2001

Day two of waiting and still no phone call. Already fear is setting in: what if they never call? The only thing more humiliating than being a skank on television is never even being considered for the position.

I know, I know - they're only in the location scouting phase. Doubtless the skanks are the last ingredient in the complex Temptation Island cocktail. But still, you'd think they'd want to start building up their Skank Database as quickly as possible.

On the other hand, time is on my side: already I am feeling urges to work out instead of read. Perhaps skankness is settling in. And just in case it doesn't, I need time to develop my skank persona. Should I see how far I can get just being myself? No, of course not. I know that the much-sought-after Tom was billed as an Ivy League Graduate, but I'm pretty sure he slipped by on a fluke. I don't think people whose primary requirement is an intelligent mate sign up to "test their relationships" on Temptation Island.

And conventional wisdom suggests that introverts don't make good television. Well, we don't make flashy television, that's true, but I still think we could make an excellent show. It would be called Geek Island. A dozen shy, bookish types with dry senses of humor are dropped on an island together for two weeks, camera confessionals and all. Everyone in the viewing audience would know who likes who by day two: the drama is in seeing whether anyone will actually work up the nerve to talk to anyone else. I'm telling you, we'd set the world on fire.

But we don't show up well against extroverts, which is why I'm considering changing my persona for whatever the interview process is. I mean, come on, I'll be going up against chicks who will happily catfight each other into the pool. My astonishing skill with jigsaws isn't going to cut it.

Dare I risk it, though? Can I pass? Even if I spend the next several months locked up with an Ab Roller™, what if they quiz me on trendy beers? Or Superbowl™ commercials? Or proper bikini waxing? Sure, I could study for it like any test, but can I read that much Cosmo without throwing up?

On the other hand, I'm sitting here contemplating changing my entire personality and pretending to enjoy things I actually loathe just to impress some man I've never met.

Skankdom, here I come!

3/14/2001

It was horrible and I couldn't take my eyes off it. Maybe it was the obscene car wreck pull, only with relationships. Maybe it was the fascination of watching mating rituals of people I never speak to. The kind of people who go "Whoooo!" and mean it. Not only mean it, but think of it as some sort of general philosophical statement. ("What do you think of that, people?" "Whoooo!" When did this become an acceptable answer to what is essentially an essay question?) Maybe, of course, it was just prurient interest on my part. Of course it was. To hell with me. But whatever the reason, I couldn't stop watching Temptation Island.

I watched it every week. I recorded it when I couldn't be in and ran right home. I actually took to my phone to discuss it with others. I couldn't get over it: who were these morons?

Sure, I'd seen their tribe before - there are a lot of sports bars in my neighborhood - but we hadn't really talked to each other much. (I'm sure the fault lay on both sides.) Now, though, I could really watch them in their element. People whose major qualifications for both friends and lovers were not "someone who cracks me up and has seen everything Bruce Campbell has ever done" but "someone who's um, you know, really hot and fun!" Well, fair enough. But why did they make such poor relationship decisions? I mean, yes, the premise of the show inherently selected for people who perhaps could use a session or two of counselling and some electroshock therapy, but do you really need complex instructions to know NOT to watch video footage of your lover licking food products off of someone else's nipple? Or NOT to send your lover cheery video footage of you saying "I'm really having a great time on these dates with other people!"

I mean, really. I could mop up on that show.

And that's when I started thinking about infiltrating.

My main problem was that I'm not in a long-term relationship, but that seemed easily surmountable. Why not recruit a male friend and simply fake a relationship? Let's face it: their fact-checking department managed to miss an 18-month-old child last time around. We could probably squeak by. Then we'd just pick a fake "issue" we were working on for drama, hit the island, and cheerfully date other people. At the end of the show, we'd stage a tearful-but-mature "breakup" and have a hilarious story to tell for the rest of our lives.

The problem? I do not wish to be nationally known for being a skank on television. Even if only for being an apparent skank. Besides, the plan seemed awfully complex.

Then it hit me: Skanks! Why not sign up to be one of the alledgedly tempting skanks? Nobody remembers who the hell they were and there'd be no subterfuge required!

So yesterday, I did it. I submitted my name and phone number to casting for Temptation Island 2.

Will I be cast? No, of course not. Not in a million years. I'm not exactly hitting the Bikini Hot Bod circuit, and I'm guessing that none of the Skank Order Sheets that the couples fill out are going to come in with "fond of Dorothy Parker and A.S. Byatt" listed right at the top. And even if I did get cast, I'd get kicked off the island on the first day for not going "Whoooo!" enough.

But still, I'm curious. What does it take to become a skank? Is it just the bod? A questionnaire? A rigorous interview process? How far can I get before they spot me for what I am and hunt me down like Lord of the Flies?

I will report the progress of this and other adventures as they happen.

Whooooooooooooo!

Time on Your Hands?

The Bored Clerk's Guide to Cool Movies You May Not Have Heard of.
Baby Wants Candy
The Master of 10,000 Things
Boxjam's Doodle
Jellyvision
The Rapture Index

Movie Reviews

Suspect
Saboteur
Torn Curtain
The Interview
Tank Girl
Cherry 2000
Kiss Me Deadly

Email: Davisexmachina@hotmail.com