Forgive me, dear readers. It has been five months since my last blogumn. There has been much speculation as to where I have been, and I will simply say NONE OF IT is true (unless you assumed I am right where you left me, in which case, yes it’s all true). I was approached to write a Fierce Anticipation this week, and despite a sinus infection of biblical proportions (did they have matzo ball soup in biblical times?), I bring it to you. I rise from the NyQuil ashes like a mythical phoenix with a stuffy beak. So kick of your shoes, throw on some Foghat, and pour yourself a mojito/margarita/Arnold Palmer/water(?). This Fierce Anticipation is all about summer time, and the living is nerdy. Fiercely Anticipating  Previously, I spoke about how here in South Florida, our changing of the seasons is about as noticeable as a mouse fart (read: not very). The one season we do notice quite well is Summer. You can best notice summer ANY TIME YOU WALK OUTSIDE when you are hit with one of two things: 1) a crushingly severe heat and humidity like being wrapped in a blanket that is both on fire and damp at the same time, or 2) a thunderstorm that rivals The Tempest, which we affectionately call “3 pm.” Despite it being hotter than the devil’s taint, summer in South Florida is something I do, oddly, enjoy. Now, I say “oddly” because, genetically speaking, I am well insulated (hairy and chubby) which does not bode well for the tropical, near equatorial summers of South Florida. I’d be bet suited for a colder, more Northern climate. Like a viking, or a bear. My summers, however, are amazing for me for several reasons (if you’ll indulge me...

Happy New Year and Welcome back! Before we begin, remember: this may be the FIRST entry of the LAST year of Fierce Anticipation, before the vengeful feathered-snake god Quetzalcoatl flies from on high, scorching the earth and summoning Cthulhu and the other ancient ones to wreak their unspeakable horrors unto mankind, until the skies become as black as satin cloth, and the Black Eyed Peas reign supreme… or, you know, not that.  Fiercely Anticipating Believe it or not, I am very much anticipating my new years resolutions. Ah yes, New Years Resolutions: the self-imposed, yet societally-enforced, tradition of setting unrealistic goals for oneself, and simultaneously setting yourself up for defeat. You inevitably reach the crushing realization that you, as always, SUCK at keeping resolutions. Each year, we make lofty goals to “lose 50 lbs (and keep it off!)” or “quit smoking, for real this time” or “stop buying from that convenience store down the street that I am confident is guilty of human trafficking, but is the only one on this side of town that carries Schwepp’s ginger ale.” We make these goals, and then we give up. We give up because we set the bar way to high. For the last several years, I have kept my goals realistic; open and ambiguous. When asked what my resolutions were, I’d say “This year, I will settle the score” or “show them all.” This usually resulted in the other person smiling politely, as I rubbed my hands together maniacally, magically dimming the lights around me while organ music crescendos. This year, I do have some actual goals; goals I am really Fiercely Anticipating because I genuinely will enjoy getting them done. And if you give a crap, here they are listed below (if not, I’ll...

This edition of “Fiercely Anticipating” has been tailored to fit the Halloween spirit. What’s particularly scary is I wrote this entirely at work. Does that chill your bones?!… No? …Oh. Fiercely Anticipating…  I like to refer to this time of year as “The Great Halloween/Christmas Flux”, which in my head looks like the Nexus from Star Trek: Generations, but littered with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Hanukkah decorations as it travels through through galaxy all ribbony-like, ultimately finding Malcolm McDowell atop a mountain (I just lost any girl who happened to be reading this). In reality, however, it is just the period of time ranging from mid-October to just after Christmas, full of holiday advertising and an overall sense of family and togetherness. This is a time I think only exists in John Hughes movies, where the holidays happen exclusively outside of Chicago, and everyone has amazing sweaters. Either way, this time of year is full of child-like nostalgia for me, and that is why it’s what I am Fiercely Anticipating. Living in South Florida, we have no seasons. We have Summer (end of May through September) and Not-Summer (everything else). As such, we tend to look at anything after September as “Winter? I guess…” Seasons are something that happens to people who live up North, and in the movies. It’s because we are climate-challenged here that I tend to view this time of year as one large holiday season. The stores don’t help, already advertising Christmas before Halloween is over. The only time I can tell the difference is when my bank teller switches from her spooky orange and black motif to her festive red and green. The houses around here gradually go from elaborate graveyard setups to intricate nativity scenes in one of...

A review 65 million years in the making In 1993, upon entering third grade (yes I just dated myself, big time), I was a dinosaur fanatic. All kids go through that dino-phase, but ultimately grow out of it. Not me. Spielberg and Chrichton instilled a morbid fascination of dinosaurs within me that summer, between the movie and novel versions of Jurassic Park. To this day, it is still one of my favorite films, and I have retained the bulk of my dino-knowledge. I could tell you which dinosaur was from what era, but not who competed in the last six Superbowls (I just tried this and embarrassed myself). So when I heard Spielberg was bringing Terra Nova to television, the inner nerd in me was very guarded, but excited (please note, my inner nerd looks exactly like my outter nerd). This Seems Familiar… Take the utopian image of children’s novels Dinotopia, sprinkle in some Lost in Space Robinson family, and filter it through the post-Lost television era. Brief Synopsis The year is 2149 and the planet is overrun with pollution and is a barren wasteland. Go figure. The government (I guess) has decided to send pilgrimages back in time to fix the planet… it’s actually never explained why they are going back other than the cryptic promise of the show: “The key to Earth’s survival lies 65 million years in the past.” Time out. By 2149, we have perfected time travel, but we can’t clean up our mess? That would be like if my cleaning lady had a degree in quantum mechanics but just can’t seem to get a handle on those streaky windows! Sorry, I promised my mom I wouldn’t talk about her in my writing. Save it for group. Alright, so we...

Well dear readers, it’s Sam the Sham again. Let’s not waste much time with me delving into an esoteric reason as to why I am disgruntled with stuff. Just know it involves summer camp, mononucleosis, Transformers 3, giant spiders, not going to Comic Con, and a can of black olives. There. Now that we got that out of the way… FIERCELY ANTICIPATING Within ten minutes of knowing me, you’ll find out that my birthday is (and has always been) on September 11th. I tell you this not for the pity party, but rather because it explains why I find humor in the absolute bleakest of moments, and it also comes with a good story. The short and sweet version is that a girl in college, on Sept. 11, 2002, asked me if my birthday had always been on 9/11. I said “Yes, since I was born,” which, remarkably, saddened her. When faced with tragedy, rather than weep and moan, I try and find a way to get those around me to laugh. Distract us from the obvious plight. I am the anti-Fox News. So what am I fiercely anticipating, you might ask? (I brought it back. Relax.) The rough road ahead! Some people turn to the bottle in time of trouble. I turn to comedians. With a new season of Louie, I am reminded about the struggle of the day to day minutiae, and how it can be soul-crushing… and yet hysterical from an outsider’s perspective. Patton Oswalt is coming out with a new album to take a few pop shots at the establishment. And a new season of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (which I have, thankfully, finally come around to watching) is going to remind us all that we are inherently good...

WARNING: This week’s Fierce Anticipation has been written under the influence of a gluten-free/Passover diet. My body craves carbs like… well just like a fat guy craves carbs. See?! Already my analogies need work! I will pull it together, for YOU, dear readers. FIERCELY ANTICIPATING I never had a game system other than my old NES and Sega Genesis, and I played those cartridges til blowing in them to make them work was no longer an option, and usually left me winded. I would play the occasional Playstation or Xbox at friends’ houses, so I was familiar with what was available, but never felt like devoting the time or money to the habit. I once visited a friend in NYC, and rather than see the sights, we sat inside and played Resident Evil 4 until we were crippled by fear and exhaustion. When I moved to LA, my roommate had an XBOX 360. I let it collect dust, until one day, we discovered the wonder that is Batman: Arkham Asylum. In the past, superhero games had left me disappointed (except for the X-Men arcade game from the 90s. When I am mad, I still scream like Colossus from that game). Arkham Asylum, in my opinion, is a triumph for comic nerds. It has everything I could ask for: the art style of Jim Lee, the voice talent of Mark Hamill and Kevin Conrad from the original animated series, and so much glorious ass-kicking. I mean, you don’t just fight in this game; you kick the ever-loving shit out of thugs. Couple that with all of the gadgetry, lush backstory, classic villains, and stealthy lurking (oh the lurking!), and you got yourself a pretty immersive Batman experience that doesn’t require you to don kevlar and...

Hello Nerds (and any of my friends and family who have been directed here from a Facebook link)! Thanks to the good folks at Fierce and Nerdy, I will again be contributing a Fierce Anticipation blogumn this week. Before we venture down the road of geekery together, however, I must warn you: I am writing this column from the Starbucks near my house which I have dubbed “The Douchatorium” for its influx of douche nozzles. Yeah, I know. It’s a Starbucks in LA and I am asking for it. This particular location near my house, however, is to assholes what The Gathering was to the Immortals in Highlander. They all come here, find me, and start trouble. So, dear readers, if I seem tense and scatterbrained, you’ll know it’s because the hipster collective has sucked the mean IQ of this place down to Happy Jack levels. If you’re reading this and I didn’t make it out alive, I bequeath my iTunes collection to my friend Dan. FIERCELY ANTICIPATING Last time I regaled (read: bored?) you with my various tastes in music in about 600 words. This time around, I am to do it in less (check word count at the end). There isn’t much I am fiercely anticipating, and I certainly don’t mean that in the traditional post-Valentines Day-emo-I-hate-my-parents way. I just mean that there is little on my Geek Radar in the immediate future. I am, however, anxiously awaiting Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s new Broadway musical, THE BOOK OF MORMON. Knowing them, the show will either be the longest running show, or be over in two days. It all depends on how uptight the crowds are. However, the show previewed last week to fantastic acclaim, so fingers crossed. Now I have never...

FOREWORD This week’s Fierce Anticipation blogumnist is an attempted screenwriter, noted hundred-aire (NOT SURE I GET THIS), and sandwichsmith, Sam the Sham. Sam is a regular in Single Serving Films’ weekly shorts (on Facebook and Youtube), his own blog (TooLong2Tweet), and is the subject of several instances of crude graffiti. FIERCELY ANTICIPATING Within approximately 3.4 seconds of meeting me, the one thing you will know is that I’m a music nut. I can effortlessly name any of the 7356 songs in my iTunes from hearing the opening notes (covers, live versions included). If you’re an LA denizen, it’s likely you have witnessed me singing, “air-guitaring,” “air-slap bassing,” or on occasion even playing the controversial air-harmonica (or real) while stuck in traffic (Yes, I realize that my factory-installed stereo is the razor-thin veil separating me from Hobo McBumstein, the lovable tramp on Sunset Blvd.). Lately, I’ve been entertaining the masses rocking out to Biz Markie’s “The Biz Never Sleeps,” Primus’ live New Year’s Eve run, and even Michael Giacchino’s score from UP. If I used Pandora more, it would have an identity crisis and run off to Burning Man. I tell you this not to impress you, dear readers (I am no longer on Jdate or OKCupid, ladies, so you can halt your search right now), but rather to set you up for what I am Fiercely Anticipating in 2011. 2010 was a year of unkept promises for me. Disappointments. And I am not just referring to the Taco Bell/three seashells-laden future promised by Demoliton Man (and surely you realize by now that I seldom joke about tacos). I am fiercely anticipating the music of 2011. Take for example, I have been promised a new album from Dr. Dre for almost a decade. He has...