A Riverdale Bachelor No More

Well, he finally did it. Took him damn long enough.

After 600 issues and 67 years, Archibald Andrews has finally made up his effing mind. No longer is he content to dangle his committed affections in front of two lovely ladies. He's made his choice, and he's going for the money.

On the cover of the newest issue of Archie, Archie is shown proposing to Veronica Lodge ("Ronnie" to some, "that rich bitch" to others), while his best pal, Forsythe P. Jones, aka, "Jughead" and Betty Cooper, aka "the blond one that Archie did it with" look on. But there seems to be so much more involved than just this awkward scene. Let's really disect the scene, and try to gain a true understanding of what the story's about, without actually reading the comic.

As with all Archie stories involving him or any of the sub-characters, the cover is always misleading. It has to be, otherwise why would anyone read the comic at all? Mostly the cover involves variations of the following scenarios: Archie looking at girls, Jughead eating, Moose being dumb, Dilton being smart, Reggie being a dick, etc., etc. Pretty boring shit, but it's that shit that's been popular for over half a century. It's an easy read, and it's pure Americana (Americans like static character stereotypes). But this latest cover shows something we thought would never happen: Archie actually getting married, and not dying from contracting numerous fatal sexually-transmitted infections. But the cover only tells a fraction of the story. Let's see if there's anything else going on.

Who the hell proposes in a jewelry store? Did he just buy a ring and then give it to her? This choice of location reeks of Veronica's own agenda rearing it's ugly head. Ronnie has always had a substantial amount of control and power over Archie, and it could be that she tricked him into "looking at rings" at the store, then again, tricked him into proposing by doing that thing girls do. You know, when they say, "why don't you pretend that you're proposing to your future wife?" Then the girls claim they were the actual target, and your proposal is tantamount to a verbal contractual agreement. So she may have just fooled him into asking for her hand. That vile temptress! This is just the type of maleovent scheming Veronica's capable of, and she's now putting her diabolical plan into action, stealing away Archie from the safe, soothing shores of Lake Betty. And she's doing it while Betty watches. How cruel a fate is that?

But wait, let's look at this from another angle. Why is Jughead AND Betty watching from a conveniently located window? Jughead was probably just eating in the food court, getting closer and closer to his life-ending diabetes, heart-failure or complete bodily shutdown from all the food he's ingested, but what's Betty doing there? Perhaps she was stalking him, as I figure she would be. Betty seems like a good girl on the outside, but she may be hiding a true malevolent nature. It's been said that the greatest cruelty can come from the kindest heart, and since Betty is the nicest character, she's probably also bat-shit insane. She's been sick of Archie always dumping her for Ronnie, just so he can use her pool and piss off her dad by humping his daughter and breaking household heirlooms. So Betty stalks him, with the thought that one day, he'll be all hers. "We'll always be together", she says, "and if I can't have him, then no one will!" Classic Fatal Attraction-type dementia. Archie's probably caught on to this behaviour, and since calls to the cops have solved nothing, nor have any restraining orders, he's resorted to one last move before Betty kills him - he'll get married. That should shut Betty up for good, right? I see this story ending in a lot of people dead.

And then there's Jughead. He didn't really chase girls, and I always thought he was gay, so this proposal shouldn't bother him.

So how does this story end? It probably ends with Archie waking up in a cold sweat, thanking the sweet Lord that it was all a dream. He kisses his black book and his box of condoms, and gets back to work, seducing and bedding the impressionable young women of Riverdale. Archie's kind of a whore.

To The Gorge!

I wish I could write a better blog post than this one, but I'm too damn excited. I would have to say that my excitement level is bordering on "6-year-old on Christmas-Eve trying not to pass-out from presents-expectation mania". And if you know me and how often I express emotion (which is basically never), that's a pretty agitated state. Why am I so excited? Because I'm heading off for a week's holiday.

Is it deserved? Probably not. I don't work as an air-traffic controller or a Wall Street day trader, or any other job that requires mandatory vacations to stave off suicide, but I have a holiday, nonetheless. And I'm spending at the Sasquatch Music Festival. I'll be seeing Kings of Leon, Nine Inch Nails, Jane's Addiction, and many, many more (like TV On The Radio, The Walkmen, The Gaslight Anthem, Zach Galifianakis, etc.). You may commence your mean-spirited taunts and shouts of hate towards me any time. I don't mind. Just think, while you're slaving over numbers and spreadsheets or other kinds of mind-numbing minutiae, I'll be enjoying the Gorge Amphitheatre in Washington state. If you look at the picture, I'm sure you can imagine how awesome it will be, and what kind of amazed look I'll have on my face while I'm there. And I know you want to punch that face, but hey, if I was in your position, I'd probably wish violent thoughts, too. Cut me some slack, though. I go on 1.5 vacations a year. You probably go on many more, becuase you think you need to. Every other day, you whine and lament that you "just need to get away for a while", and you ask "why am I working?" or you cry that you "just hate this weather - why do I live here?". You know what? Saying things like that makes me want to punch you. Many times.

So have a great week, and I'll see you when I get back! (That message was for my parents, because I know they're the only ones who read this blog - the rest of you say you do, but you don't, because you still think the internet is for virgin nerds)

Black Goooold!

Since I'm in the market for a new vehicle (I've had mine for three years now. That's like 106 car years), I occasionally glance at car ads in the paper, look at other cars on the road, and sometimes, just sometimes, I actually watch a car commercial. Normally when I watch TV, I usually press 'mute' on the remote and come up with my own dialogue for the car ads. It's just that they're so stupid, and they treat the viewer like a complete moron, so I figure it's fair treatment. I'm sure my dialogue would probably get people more interested in the cars, because I use many hilariously rude phrases and obscenities. It seems like every car commercial is a shitty derivative of the following few scenarios: car dealership has sale and people run frantically to the dealership as if not buying a car right away will give them shitty cancer (colon, or worse). Or, a car is shown driving awesomely down a mountain road, or in a desert, or by the ocean (not seen is the car waiting in a KFC line, being driven by some lard ass waiting for a 20-piece-all-for-him bucket). Or there's some happy family who's lives have been made a zillion times better now that they've got a mini-van which has a shut-the-kids-up DVD player. All car commercials now have ridiculously fradulent scenarios and you're an idiot if any commercial actually makes you want to buy a car.

But there was a time when the car commercial was a thing of beauty, something to look at and thank god you lived in the sexy '70s or excessive '80s. Commercials that just made you want to buy that car, go to a disco and have anonymous sex with just about anything, as long as it had plenty of body hair. Whilst perusing the internet today, I just happened to come across this beauty. Jalopnik has a great article on this perhaps being the worst car commercial ever, but they're wrong. It drips with a shimmering sexual prowess, a fuzzy lip-trimmed ferocity. Plus, it has light-up displays for car-related things.


Good god. If I was a female, this commercial would certainly seduce me, have sex with me, impregnate me, and then speed away, never to be seen from again, except maybe during a chance encounter on a beach in South Miami. But since I'm a man, it only makes me dream. Dream of a better time when commercials looked like this. Dream of another life where I could have an intense moustache and an equally intense stare that just erodes the clothes off women. A dream of driving this Datsun with the California coast or Manhattan skyline in the background, doing a line of blow off of a hot blonde, who's named Candy or Amber, her hand jammed between my legs while my own hand feverishly grips the gear-shift, all while my speed increases faster and faster towards infinity.

Sadly, the commercials of today don't give me cause to dream. Their ads touch upon things I just don't care about. I don't care about child safety. I don't care about 12 airbags. I don't care about storage capacity. There's nothing sexy about fucking storage capacity. I care about looking like Alfred Molina in "Boogie Nights", picking up random girls who could be hookers but I'm too high to know for sure, and ramming the gas pedal through the floor while "Splash Wave" from Outrun plays for all eternity.

Reality always wins, though. I'll probably end up with a Focus.