Things That Actually Happen Through the Power of Breakdancing in “Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo.”

- Total strangers fall in love

- People who used to be in love but aren’t any more fall in love again.

- The language barrier is destroyed

- Kids stay off the streets

- Kids learn about working together

- Kids learn a valuable work ethic

- The elderly are confused and threatened

- Every race joins together

- Bulldozers are stopped dead in their tracks and eventually forced backwards

- A man learns the Art of Seduction

- A man defies every law of physics and the will of God by breakdancing on the walls and ceiling

- Some poor bastard who can’t breakdance gets a parking ticket and no one seems to care because the meter maid CAN breakdance.

- $200,000 is raised

- It takes a broken leg two days to heal

- Neon colors come across as macho

- The differences between two rival street gangs are put aside for the common good of the community… of course, since those differences were all based completely around breakdancing, this one sort of negates itself.

- City Hall is effectively fought and conquered

- Out-of-touch parents transcend the Generation Gap to approve of their daughter’s lifestyle

- A mime has street cred

- Lemonade is mixed and sold in the funkiest way possible

- There’s gang warfare without blood being spilt or anyone ever actually touching each other

- A man in a wheelchair gains the ability to walk again

- A dead man comes back to life.

- What?

- Yes. A dead man’s heart begins beating again and he comes back to life. The catch: he immediately starts dancing when he returns from the dead.

- Small price, some would say, but we never actually learn how he feels about dancing in a place as seemingly inappropriate as an OR. It’s possible the experience was even more uncomfortable than cardiac arrest.

- And for that matter, if the guy was going under the knife in the first place, he probably had a weak heart to begin with, so wouldn’t dancing endanger his fragile, ill-gotten life even further? Wouldn’t his relieved family and friends resent this behavior? Couldn’t it be viewed as reckless and selfish after getting a second chance on the mortal coil? It’s like choking nearly to death, having someone open your windpipe again through the Heimlich maneuver, and then immediately fitting as much peanut butter into your mouth as physically possible before you can even say “Thank you.”

- Or what if the return from the brink of oblivion was a Faustian example of immortality at a price and this man now has no choice but to Electric Boogaloo for all eternity? Would it really be worth it? Only if you consider that the man will be ahead of the curve when breakdancing comes back in style in the 2030s, right alongside the epic relaunch of the Teddy Ruxpin empire.

Sun Burns! Just Like Our Blog... The 'Reader' The Better!

The sun has been an idol of worship since the very hairy beginnings of the human race. After all, who could resist the charms of that portly gold sphere hovering so handsomely above us? Like Dom Deluise, pre-diet John Popper, and Santa Claus all rolled up into one bright, shining, celestial body. One must never forget that without the life giving force of the sun our ancestors could never have crawled out from the oceans, developed the capacity for thought and communication, and then created such important universal contributions as the VH1 network and squeezable mayonaise.
For these innumerable reasons mankind has sought various ways to give thanks to this fiery galactic anchor point throughout the centuries. From elaborate tribal dances to blood soaked, dagger filled, human sacrifices. Though each of these offerings of gratitude have their merits they all share one common flaw: Dreary Time Consumption. Let's face it, who really has the clock ticks to spare in the information age to construct an Aztec-like Mesoamerican pyramid complete with sacrificial altar, let alone hunt down a reliable virgin willing to give their life for a questionably effective gift to the sun? I'm sorry but what worked in Tenochtitlan does not work in 21st Century Western civilization. To quote a popular Dr. Scholl's commercial, that's just not " gellin' ". And if you ain't ' gellin' ', well brother then you ain't making sense if you catch my drift.
Thus I propose a mode of thanksgiving for the great yellow colossus more suited to the modern man (or woman): sit idly by and allow it to pummel you with skin searing UV rays. I mean in the end isn't a sun burn just the sun's way of giving you a hug? A blistering, carcinogenic, hug? Sure it is! And the beautiful part is that the only thing this method of thanks requires of you is total apathy. Sweet, sweet, apathy. Aside from that you must remember everyone likes affection, and that includes stars at the center of solar systems. So why not lay back and let the ol' gas ball nuzzle in close for a little while. In the end you'll get a tan, and maybe a few fluid filled blisters to poke around with, while our great circular oven in the sky will feel emotionally satisfied and content with continuing to provide you and I light and warmth. If you were so inclined to look the phrase 'win-win situation' up in the dictionary you probably wouldn't find anything except for the individual definitions of the words 'win' and 'situation'. However, using the power of the human mind you could then deduce that allowing the sun to burn you is literally the definition of a 'win-win situation' for everyone involved.
So stop sending our nuclear pal the same tired, old, hallmark cards you send him every year and try going out and just doing nothing for a while with a significant portion of your skin exposed. I think my man Sunny can take care of the rest. ;)

Cody

Get In Get Out

The defining moment of the scratchframe blog is finally here!  Elliot is posting his first entry (and apparently typing in the third person).

I (that didn't last long) held off this glorious occasion until I had an appropriate reason to comment on my particular area of expertise: “misadventures on the dating scene.”  Unfortunately, my writing as of late has mostly consisted of updating my status on facebook, and as clever and witty as those statements are, my once fierce command of the English language has greatly diminished.  Please forgive me if the following passage isn’t up to the exceptional standards generally expected from my work.

I recently completed a short movie called Get In Get Out (check out the trailer).  In many ways, it’s the best work I’ve ever done.  It took me over a year to write, about a month to prepare, a day to shoot and a week to edit and finish.  The movie isn’t groundbreaking.  It doesn’t explore any new themes or deserve any visual storytelling medals.  It simply tells a concise story and manages to be fairly entertaining.  At this point, that is enough to make me happy, and proud. 

The real thrill of the movie for me lies in the fact that it is the first project I’ve ever done based directly on my own life experiences.  The movie is about a guy who sweet-talks his way up to a girl’s apartment and has second thoughts about his sexual ambitions.  I don’t know if anyone else has ever gone through this experience, but I have many times and for me it rings true.  And that made my job as director much easier and more enjoyable.

Two strangers face off amongst a sea of narrow dinner tables, white linen, busy waiters and fellow Chicagoans.  Implacable instrumental music plays softly behind quiet chatter.  Small candles light the short dark room.   The menu is the main topic of conversation.  “What are you looking at?”  The guy says as cleverly as such a mundane statement can possibly sound.  “I don’t know.  How about you?”  She replies, a little too quickly.  These people are clearly not meant for each other.  At least that’s clear to everyone else in this trendy Italian ristorante, but these two have more important thoughts on their mind: sex for the first time in months, ex-lovers to spite, insecurities to squash, friends to compete with, and the list goes on.

By the third or maybe the fourth date an unspoken understanding is reached: “I get to fuck you whenever we hang out and you get to feel better about yourself.”  The mismatched duo carries on this way for several weeks until the sex gets old or the self-image returns to normal.  The break-up is as banal as the relationship itself.  The only thing more pitiful is the excuse used by the unhappy party, “I’m just not ready for another relationship yet.”  These easy words never penetrate the thick layer of pride protecting the heart.  Days, weeks and years go by as the cycle continues until both are lucky enough to find true love or dumb enough to marry someone for one of the shitty reasons mentioned above.

No wonder the divorce rate in this country is currently over 50%.

Do yourself a favor, get in and get out!