Now You're A MAN! A Man, Man, Man....

I've never really understood home ownership....
None of the "responsible" explanations for why it makes sense to buy a house ring true with me. For instance, people will say things like "Your home increases in value over time, blah blah blah..." and throw crazy words like "equity" around. Look, I don't know what that means, nor do I want to know (the day I start referring to my "equity" in any serious way is the day I want someone to run me down with a front-end loader). And what difference does it make if your home goes up in value? Does that mean you're planning to sell it for a profit or something?? If all you're going to do is unload the thing after a few years, why bother putting so much effort into it??? Maybe I'm in the minority on stuff like this, but I personally would not be willing to maintain something as complicated as a house for two or three decades, fully knowing the whole time that I'm just gonna SELL the lousy thing for a modest profit (if I'm lucky) in the end, anyway. Couldn't I rent an apartment for less money, and SAVE an equivalent amount over that same period of time?


Additionally, in my line of work (radio), people are always getting fired and moving around. I went into my field accepting that I'd have to relocate every two or three years; buying a house in every town I might pass through would be downright insane. If I'm responsible for an entire BUILDING of my own, what am I supposed to do if I get canned and have to skip town suddenly? You can't just ditch A BUILDING like you can ditch an apartment or some rented trailer. Someone from a bank or something will notice and come looking for you. They'll want to know why you stopped paying for the friggin' thing and, unfortunately, you can't just say, "Well, I stopped living there, so I stopped paying for it." They won't accept such an answer! You're responsible for the house even when you're done with it, and if you want to move out, you've got to sell it to someone else, which is a massive hassle.

Having an apartment is so much simpler because no one tries to claim that you OWN it -- you're simply RENTING the dump, which means that you're under few obligations to do anything other than write a check each month. When you have a HOUSE, you must actually suffer the indignity of being treated a though something belongs to you when, in fact, it does not. The jerks at the bank can take the place back from you any time they want, and all of your effort will have been for nothing. Suppose you get sick and can no longer work. SWISH -- there goes the house! Plus, there's all that ridiculous yard work that comes with home ownership, something for which I have little tolerance....


Of course, a lot of stuff has changed for me in the past year and, although I still do not technically own a house, I'm at least LIVING in one now. See, my FIANCE has one, and I moved into with her about twelve months ago. This means that I am now getting a regular taste of what having a real home is all about (without actually having to be legally "responsible" for anything). It's a nice place, and she does a lovely job of keeping it comfortable. I LIKE IT! Well...except for one thing.

Really, the only downside of such house dwelling is the fact that one is forced to DEAL with stuff when it breaks. In an apartment, you can break anything, and some guy will come and fix it for you. Like, I remember in my last place, I at different times encountered failed garbage disposals, broken faucets, and heating systems that flat out did not work. In each of those instances, I simply called the renters office, and THEY dealt with it. I didn't have to pay for nothin' and nobody yelled at me, even when the problem was all my fault. It was so easy!

There is no need to understand even the most basic principles of home maintenance in an apartment. Tools are rarely required, and skilled contractors are never negotiated with first-hand (at least by the renter). Heck, in my old place, I didn't worry at all when something broke, and wouldn't even bother to call the superintendent 50 percent of the time. For example, I remember when the bathroom cabinet came apart. I was just like, "Meh, I guess I don't have a bathroom cabinet anymore." Now, THAT was freedom! Yes, friends -- freedom means never having to feel stressed out, and as an apartment resident, there is a lot of that. Life is great when you can say, "It's not my problem."


NOW, of course, I must contend with all sorts of home repair matters, and when I first moved in with my lady, I was at a loss about how to approach them. Like, this one time the kitchen sink got clogged up, and I couldn't understand why she was so troubled. I figured that the problem would solve itself someday...somehow. Or, maybe it wouldn't. Really, would the loss of a sink be such a big deal??? I once went two years with a clogged sink in my first apartment, and simply avoided using that one. Hey, who cares, right???

Wrong. I guess when it's your HOUSE, you've got to do something. SO, after messing around with a plunger and repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) urging the use of Liquid Plumber to solve the issue, we learned how to use a "snake." Yeah, it's a tool...and it worked! Problem taken care of.

Of course, not long after THAT, we had another issue -- this time, a leaky shower. Once again, had this been MY old place, I would have let the shower leak forever. After all, in an apartment, one is not usually required to pay a water bill and therefore need not trifle with matters like a worn out rubber washer. Whatevs. LET THE WATER FLOW!!! Under this NEW living arrangement, though, I can't really say that. Action was required, and I had to read a home repair manual to figure out how to disassemble a shower faucet handle and replace the stuff inside. After playing around for a few hours, we got it right. The lady and I successfully stopped a shower leak and, although I felt somewhat satisfied, I was perhaps more troubled by the uneasy realization that I had just spent an evening fixing something in a bathroom. That's not supposed to be who I am, man! When something breaks, OTHER GUYS get called in; I'M SUPPOSED TO BE THE USELESS LUMP WHO JUST STANDS THERE AND WATCHES!!! Yet, there I was, solving a practical problem. I felt like my Dad or something.

(Yes, Al from Home Improvement was there.)

Last week, my fiance and I encountered our biggest challenge yet: replacing a toilet seat. She had wanted to undertake this particular project for a while, and I was nervous because, honestly, I had no friggin' IDEA how they get those seats on to them toilets. I mean, LOOK at 'em -- you can't even see any screws! Where the heck do those seats attach? I thought that maybe some industrial glue would be needed or something. Or duct tape. Yes, duct tape can be used to fix anything. It was all over every surface in my old apartment, and if we could only TAPE the new seat on to the old one, we could...er...no, no, no -- she'd never accept that kind of solution.

OK, fine. So we bought a seat and proceeded to inspect the unit for proper installation avenues. After several uncomfortable minutes of jamming a metal poky thing into what looked like a big plastic screw, I happened to notice a long, like, bolt (or something) underneath the toilet bowl. Eureka! I had unraveled the mystery of modern toilets through the sheer power of my ability to blindly play with an item until it does something. Turns out that toilet seat replacement is actually quite simple, if you just think to check UNDER the unit. There's a cleverly-hidden screw there! Man, American toilet engineers must be geniuses; masters of illusion, capable of making the fusion of two distinctly different materials seem thoroughly seamless! I applaud them!

An hour later, we had installed the new toilet seat, and there it remains -- a testament to my technical ability and superior intellect. Years from now, that monument will still be there, reminding all of my contributions to the world. Huzzah! I guess home repair isn't a total loss, after all. I mean, if you learn how to do one thing around the house, you won't have to learn it again. And if it involves something IMPORTANT (like, say, the toilet, or maybe the TV), such knowledge could just save your life someday. It looks like my woman is making...something that kind of resembles a man out of me.


Anyway, here's a movie that is probably best watched with a functional toilet nearby. It was made in Michigan!

Weenie Roast Massacre (2007)
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0446801/


Netflix description:
Mentally disabled Marty Flaherty (David Prouty) watches an innocent gathering with his friends take a bloody turn in this slasher flick. Following a debilitating accident, Marty, a once-promising high school football star, is resigned to living an uneventful life in his parents' home. When his friends organize a weenie roast to lift his spirits, the event turns deadly once a mysterious psychopath begins picking off the partygoers one by one.

Apparently, there's a group of guys someplace in my home state making movies, and Weenie Roast Massacre is one of them. I found out about it accidentally, but was intrigued at first sight for obvious reasons: ONE, it comes from Michigan, and TWO, it's called WEENIE ROAST MASSACRE. Need I say more to explain why I rented this bad boy???

First of all, this picture is not about a "mentally-disabled" guy, as the Netflix synopsis would lead you to believe. Rather, it's about a hot-shot high school football player named Marty who suffers a head injury and must stop playing the game. The ordeal does not leave him "disabled," really; it just leaves him a little...um...what's the word? Oh, right -- PSYCHOTIC. Yeah, Marty becomes completely psychotic.

Anyway, he joins his former teammates on some traditional football player camping trip not long after the career-ending accident and things, in general, don't end so well for everyone. Now, this movie may be called "Weenie Roast MASSACRE", but the real action actually takes a while to get underway, and the first hour of this film is mostly just backstory and character development. Marty just sort of sits there experiencing hallucinations while his buddies get hammered in the great outdoors and joke around. There's also some kind of love triangle brewing between the various ladies in attendance and a few of the fellas, which makes Marty all the more jealous. He stops taking his medication, and teenagers turn up dead in short order.


Now, Weenie Roast Massacre surprised me on some levels. Its production values are slightly higher than the average amateur slasher flick, even if performances are beyond bad and all dialogue is laughable. I also liked the film's soundtrack and remained engaged by the cheese factor longer than I might have in most other cases. Really, you can sit through the first half hour of this one and find amusement its After School Special-caliber dramatic moments (Marty's interactions with an overbearing father are priceless) before beginning to wonder when the blood will flow.

We're also kept entertained by the character of Stan Wackerman, a local TV news reporter who is investigating the disappearance of Marty's football coach. Wackerman is ridiculously opportunistic and dodgy, and I loved each scene that featured his antics. He steals a station van and heads off into the woods where the annual weenie roast is taking place to catch up with our hero and, in the end, actually saves the day on a certain level. Above all, you've GOT to see Wackerman's newscast -- it's so bad that it reminds me of the mock broadcasts I had to do as training in college. I would TOTALLY get all of my news from Stan Wackerman if he were on the air in my town!

(That's him.)

Wackerman tides us over until the killer unleashes his repressed fury...and when that happens, it's actually rather satisfying. I gotta hand it to Weenie Roast Massacre for getting the payoff scenes right, as gore is plentiful and methods are inventive. Writer-director John Kerr kind of knows what he's doing! I mean, he gives us all of the things I just complained in this very blog about other horror films NOT giving us: there's ample time allowed here for character and plot development; efforts are made to establish a tense atmosphere; there's nudity; and our psycho killer carries out his grim mission with some style. Wow, I'm encouraged!

The real downfall of Weenie Roast Massacre is the fact that we as an audience rarely have reason to question the identity of our killer. There are only a handful of characters who could plausibly be responsible, and although the film makes a vague attempt towards the end at throwing us off for a few seconds, it should be pretty clear what's really happening. I would have preferred a little more mystery in this picture.

Weenie Roast Massacre has several other problems, but most of them can be attributed to the film's obviously-low budget. I dunno. Fundamentally, this is a cheap, poorly-acted, and occasionally boring (my fiance almost dozed off at one point) amateur slasher movie that shouldn't stand out from the thousands of others currently on the market. Nevertheless, it still seems to be making an earnest effort to beat the odds in areas where that may be feasible, and SATISFY us. You know, it TRIES, and I admire that. Plus, the movie comes from Michigan, so...you know...I automatically have to give it a little credit.

Oh, what the heck? I can't help but rate Weenie Roast Massacre as a...

3 out of 5.

b.