It's impossible to know for sure, but I have to assume that I've eaten at least fourteen million saltine crackers over the course of my many years spent on your fair planet.

Tastiness and soup condimentiness aside, my voracity for saltine crackers had less to do with palatability and more to do with achieving a goal set long ago, when I was just a wee little boy without a hair on my knuckle.  It's a goal that I've continually striven for and met constant failure with for over two decades, but last night, finally, I fucking did it:

I managed to eat the entire top layer off of a saltine cracker without breaking the bottom layer.

Immediately realizing this as a personal milestone worthy of archiving, I grabbed the camera and had myself a big yo-ho holy Kodak moment.  I've come close to doing this before, but I never actually did it.  There would always be some irremovable portion of the top layer that refused to allow me the gold ribbon, or worse, I'd manage to get the top layer completely off only to watch the remaining bottom layer instantaneously crumble under the pressure of being a solo act.

But not this time.  This time, I did it.

I managed to eat the entire top layer off of a saltine cracker without breaking the bottom layer.

Now, when the Reaper comes, I can take his hand with readiness and ease.  In this world if not the next, my work is done.

With a rare weekend work project taking place early this morning, I stayed at a hotel in the city last night to avoid being late and/or needing to get up three hours earlier just to make it there in time from my humble abode.  A cumbersome opening sentence for sure; I'm not too tired to notice it, but I'm definitely too tired to fix it.

Around 11 PM, I checked into the Millennium Hotel, which was adequate but totally not worth the 400 bucks that I've now gotta weasel my way into T&E'ing.  Though the room featured a mini-bar, I kind of assumed that 400 bucks would merit a mini-bar stuffed with peanut M&M's and those oh-so-glorious hermetically sealed jars of fashionably shaped pretzels.  But there weren't any.  I was sad.

I was also sad because the room lacked Internet access, meaning that all of my last minute work preparations had to transpire over my cell phone's poor excuse for a web browser.  How could a $400 hotel room not come equipped with that stupid Ethernet cable thing?  I started feeling plenty stupid over spending so much money, especially after glancing out the window and spotting the same office I go to multiple times a week not more than two blocks away.  Surely it wouldn't have been that hard to make it in on time on a Sunday morning.

Defeated, I perused the hotel's collection of overpriced pay-per-view movies, and after deducing that I didn't want to watch Cloverfield while sitting inside a building that was probably destroyed during the course of it, I settled on The Mist.

And HOLY FUCK, where the hell have I been?  I absolutely LOVED this movie.  LOVED it!  Still…before I continue gushing, I need to come clean and admit that I always love movies when I watch them on pay-per-view from inside hotel rooms.  It's one the quirks that makes me me.

For whatever reason, I wrote The Mist off as just another in the long, long line of recent horror movies that carefully treaded the fine line between PG-13 and R, putting mood and music before visceral awesomeness in the name of a suspected broader audience.  Or something.  I didn't say that too well, but I think you know what I mean.  Course, had I bothered to spend more than three seconds drawing that conclusion, I would've realized that The Mist was rated R.

I was under the impression that the movie's titular gimmick would've provided the filmmakers an excuse to avoid showing a lot; instead, it was creature after creature after creature, and every single one of 'em was creepy as shit.  I'm tempted to toss in the "literally" descriptor, but then I'd have to justify it with a scary looking photo of a pile of horse mud, and that isn't the kind of Google Image Search that I want to end the weekend with.

The creatures were fashioned without any set pattern or "laws" — some looked like exaggerated critters of our world, while others were so beyond comprehension that I'm still digging up YouTube videos to figure out what the heck I was watching.

While I'll give most films a passing grade just for the inclusion of weird and wacky monsters, I loved the story, the characters, the pacing, the acting….basically, I loved everything that all of the "External Link" reviewers on IMDB complained about.  Maybe that's the aforementioned "pay-per-view in hotel room" nuance acting up, but even as someone who so often utilizes his online voice for nonpartisan opinions that take half-stances at best, I feel perfectly comfortable giving The Mist a solid recommendation.

Oh, and if I was at all on the fence about that, something that happened in the movie's last scene pushed it over the edge.  Spoilers ahead… [more]

It's gorgeous out.  Sitting inside to write about toys I bought a week ago probably isn't the best way to take advantage of this, but the joke's on you: I snapped the pictures for this entry outside.

It's time to recap the best of the rest from my $100 Toys "R" Us shopping spree, but first, some filler thoughts on the TOY INDUSTRY.  It's no secret that all-toy chains like TRU have had trouble staying afloat in recent years, and it's easy to see why.  They have oodles and oodles of floor space, and yet, I can't say with much certainty that they carry more "good" toys than any Wal-Mart or Target does — and those stores barely need the scant few aisles worth of playthings to survive.

We complain that Toys "R" Us isn't the same as it used to be.  Well, that's kind of by necessity.  They sell what sells, and if you've gotta peddle ten thousand baby strollers to keep out of the red, who can blame you?  It's not the store that's changed…it's the industry.  That there are still stores as large as TRU dedicated primarily to toys seems miraculous, and I can't help but feel that it won't be too many years before that particular concept goes the way of the dodo, or if you're looking for a more thematically tied analogy, the way of Tacky Stretchoid Warriors.

By and large, today's kids are far more into video games and electrogizmos than dolls made out of plastic, and they have every right to be.  Today's action figures are pretty much the same action figures that I cried for when I was in the womb, but anything that runs on batteries or plug power has evolved in extreme ways.  It's for this reason that I give five dollar bills to any kid I spot playing with a six-inch superhero: They're doing their part in a world that gives them far cooler options.

Still, traditional dolls and action figures will never die, for what video game or high-tech gadget could afford a person the ability to complete their home decor with a twenty-seven inch, two-headed rubber dragon?

Giant Foam Dragon - $19.99: Twenty bucks for this guy didn't seem like a bad deal, but now that I've done the math, I can confirm that he cost two thousand times more than the dragon seen in Part 2.  Then again, that dragon was only about a third the size of this one, and that dragon most certainly did not have two heads.  Frankly, I don't feel the need to struggle for justification when I've got a dog-sized, two-headed rubber dragon.  I'll just say "you win" and go back to pretending to play cards with him.

I've yet to name my giant foam dragon, but that's less to do with a lack of love and more to do with there not being pronouns currently associated with something as insanely awesome as he is.  He's gigantic, he's really detailed, he's got two heads, and he looks like he's kind of happy about all of that.  Though Casa de X-E is rife with controversy over the giant foam dragon's final placement, I'm probably going to win the argument and make him a permanent couch-side fixture in our living room.  My theory is that the position of his two heads will allow for easy ash tray mounting, and if you can find any legitimate purpose for a 27" two-headed dragon doll, you've done well in the world.

Pokemon Throw Ball - $9.99: I once loved Pokemon enough to warrant a Bulbasaur tattoo above my left ankle, and though time has proven that this tribute wasn't the most well-considered idea, I take solace in knowing that my legs will only ever be seen by the person who drains my blood out after I die.  That said, I still really like Pokemon, and "really liking" Pokemon was good enough for me to spend ten bucks on this crappy Pikachu "Throw Ball."

Well, it's not so much that it's crappy.  It works well enough, with the Pikachu doll popping out of the Pokeball like a true Pokemon warrior just a moment after it hits the floor.  My complaint has more to do with the pricing.  The doll is something I wouldn't have been satisfied with winning out of a twenty-five cent arcade crane machine, and I can't honestly claim that a pop-action Pokeball is worth anywhere near ten bucks.  I still can't figure out how the toymakers came up with the retail price for this.  Perhaps they adopted the theory that people will pay a mint just for firm permission to throw something.

Mostly, I'm just pissed that the Pikachu doll isn't wearing a red hat like the one I beat the fuck out of Samus with does. [more]

I might be too tired to write this tonight, but since tomorrow boasts the only morning that I don't need to be somewhere by 9 AM, let's give it a shot.  Please heed the caveat that my current level of exhaustion may be conveyed in the form of utter gibberish.  I reserve the right to ninja edit when I wake up.

The stuff I covered in Part 1 was purchased more on the merits of whimsy than anything else.  This batch reflects a truer sense of what I'd grab on a Toys "R" Us shopping spree if I was eight-years-old today.  I'm not sure if that makes much sense, but since that will be a running theme in tonight's entry, I might as well establish it early on.

Animal Planet Foam Dragon - $0.01: I'm absolutely serious.  This beautiful, silvery blue beast cost exactly one penny.  I have no way to explain it.  We figured that it was a pricing error, but a TRU employee confirmed that if it rung up for a penny, the store was obligated to sell it to us for that.  Of course, after confirming this, she snatched up the remaining dragons to buy for herself.  No clue what grand intentions this lady had for a series of devil-faced dino-demons; I was just pissed that we didn't have the chance to grab more of them.

Spending a penny on anything is a thrill, but when you spend it on something that you were prepared to pay full retail for, it's cause for the kind of in-store victory dance that only seems embarrassing in retrospect.  It's not that I mind being pegged as the kind of guy who'd twist and shout over a cheap foam dragon; it's just that I dance like an asthmatic folding chair.  You may cry foul over such a poorly conceived analogy, but you'd also have to concede that asthmatic folding chairs really can't dance all that well.

The fact that I swiped this foam dragon for an amount of money that I'd sooner vacuum than lean over to collect was only part of the glory.  In truth, I really wanted this guy.  I had a ton of similarly styled random dragon figures as a kid, and Animal Planet's version really seems like a throwback to those lost beauts.  I tried to give you some sense of scale with the Dasani bottle, but if it isn't helping, Mr. Foam Dragon stands at about a foot tall, and rides a fine line between being soft enough to throw at someone without killing them and hard enough to do exactly that  I know that Animal Planet didn't intend for us to throw dragons at people, but any item prefaced with the word "foam" must be construed that way.

Star Wars "Galactic Heroes" Two-Pack - $5.99: Hasbro really stumbled onto something brilliant with the "Galactic Heroes" collection, along with all of the like-styled lines that they make for Transformers, Marvel Comics and so forth.  I've covered them before, but the figures are essentially super-deformed versions of the classic characters we love and adore, maintaining their typical weaponry and facial scowls, but in an oh-so-cute way.

With the Star Wars collection in particular, it's extra cool.  Since the line was so successful, they've already blasted past the typical characters and moved into way more obscure territory.  One two-pack features Ponda Baba and Snaggletooth, and the fact that only three of you know who I'm talking about just proves my point.  If I had to pick one line to start collecting outright, it'd be this.  The collection is large enough to really get into, but the figures are ironic enough to place around your cubicle without looking like too much of an asshole.

I picked the Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader set, for the very simple reason that Vader came with a removable mask.  Darth Fester!  To stay in tune with Return of the Jedi: The Special Edition Version 8.9, Hasbro portrayed Vader completely and totally without eyebrows.  I can't decide what I miss more: Sebastian Shaw in the Jedi ghost scene, or Sebastian Shaw's fucking eyebrows in the unmasked Vader scene.

And now, SAD NEWS! 

As happy as I was to see Toys "R" Us carrying the resurgent Madballs collection, I was appalled by their in-store placement: Hanging on the bottom rack in a pathetic aisle two hundred feet away from the normal action figure toys.  If I didn't go into this shopping spree thing with the goal of perusing every square inch of the store, there's no way I would've seen them.  I could understand their placement if Toys "R" Us had already given up on Madballs and had 'em on clearance, but this didn't seem to be the case.  The toys are still new enough to be pushed as such, but they don't stand a chance when you can only find them under a pile of imported cowboy dress-up kits in Aisle 236.

Clearly, I had to buy one. [more]

I was originally going to compile all of this into one big article, but then I remembered that I work during the week and tend to dissolve into slush on the weekends.  Rather than fuck myself again, let's split it into parts and strike while I'm still excited.  It's time for PART ONE of my great, big, huge, gigantic, enormous $100 Toys "R" Us shopping spree report!

As you'll recall, Toys "R" Us received the popular vote in this thread, where I challenged you to tell me where to blow my $100 American Express gift card.  Truth be told, I had no doubt that TRU would take the prize, and I probably would've rigged the poll with fake comments from "George223" and "PlanetAwesome" had it been necessary.  I've always wanted to do a Toys "R" Us shopping spree.

In fact, I can't imagine that anyone who grew up when I did would feel any differently.  I can't count the number of sweepstakes I entered and lost for such an opportunity.  It seemed like the chance to win a thousand dollar TRU shopping spree sprung up at least once every six months throughout the '80s, and though I was only afforded one-tenth the budget for this project, the joy was still enough to make good on the trillion childhood dreams I had — dreams of combing the aisles with a shopping cart full of everything, tossing in video game after action figure after candy bar with all the gleeful abandon of a pig in shit.

No two Toys "R" Us stores are exactly alike, even if they seem to be on the surface.  For this expedition, I had to pick my local store, which had stood in the same spot since before I was even born, and was ground zero for virtually every toy-related hunt of my life.  It wouldn't be even a slight exaggeration to say that I could fill a book with memories of this single Toys "R" Us store.  From meeting Darth Vader there in '84 to begging workers to "check the back" for an elusive Mondo Gecko all throughout '89, this has been one of my very few chosen places where all is right with the world.

I can't say for sure if I became a collector in adulthood out of mere appreciation for toys, or simply because I refused to let go of that sense of euphoria during my youth.  Even today, where my toy store runs are limited to finding kids' birthday presents or something new to write about on the site, I still muster the same sense of tranquility that I assume other people feel when they step foot into their local sports team's arena, or, I dunno, Grandma's house.

The $100 shopping spree commenced this past Sunday afternoon, and the photo above does little to convey the absolute pandemonium I endured.  Clumsily navigating a worn-out wagon around aloof parents and at least a dozen kids who had those ridiculous wheels built into their sneakers (I'm just jealous), my mission wasn't easy.  I didn't want to limit myself to the two or three aisles of "major" brands.  My goal was to comb through every last crevice of the store, questing to dig up all of the weird-but-amazing crap that isn't popular enough to be stocked where anyone incapable of crouching can find it.

With bruised knees and calloused fingers, I return to you now, the proud owner of $100.17 worth of brilliant garbage.  It would've been $99.17, but the lady at the register had a really good hook for her "donate a dollar to autistic kids" speech.  As much as I wanted to come in on budget, it's tough to respond indifferently to such phrases as, "hey, since you saved so much money on our clearance sales, would you mind donating a dollar to save an autistic child's life?"  And even if I was considering saying no, she asked it loud enough for five other people to turn our way in wait of my inevitable response: "Sure, you bet!"

I digress.  It's time to talk toys.  Tonight's entry covers 33.3333% of the goods; I'll cover the remaining throughout the week.  Oh, and should anyone doubt the validity of my wild stories about the prices I paid, keep in mind that I will scan and provide the full receipt when we wrap this up in Part 3.

TMNT "Michelangelo" Figure - $7.99: During my journey, I tried to steer clear of the big brands.  But this guy just called to me.  I can't remember if I've ever told this story — probably have — but I fell into the original Ninja Turtles toy collection by pure incidence.  My brother gave me a few of the figures for Christmas in '88, which was technically a misfire for him since I'd only seen the cartoon a few times and hadn't at all been bit by the still-burgeoning wave of Turlemania.

And yet, something about those figures touched me immediately.  They were brightly colored, being turtles and all, but they such an innate simplicity that one could've very well pictured Santa's elves crafting them with bits of plastic and small tubes of paint.  As the toy industry headed into the '90s, most of the action figure lines became detailed to the point of being overdetailed.  You couldn't run your finger down a four-inch dude's leg without trying to figure out if he had grenades sculpted over his calves or was merely happy to see you.

Many of the newer TMNT figures continue on with this intangible charm, but none to the level of the bug-eyed Michelangelo shown above, with skin three shades lighter than his brothers, and an expression shared only by Kevin McCallister when he stumbled upon the in-room mini-bar during Home Alone 2.  Though an eight dollar price tag seemed a bit steep, I take solace in knowing that Michelangelo is exactly the type of turtle who'd get a real kick out of costing more than a dollar per inch.

Edu Science Authentic Fossils Collection - $4.99: Hidden near the back of the store, even beyond the lesser-visited Play-Doh and Crayola aisles, Toys "R" Us has a rather impressive section of "real learning" toys, ranging from virtual frog dissection kits to Sea-Monkeys, with a couple of foam great white shark dolls thrown in for good measure.  I could've easily blown the entire hundred bucks on that stuff, but since I didn't want to bore anyone, I limited myself to this five dollar collection of totally legitimate fossils.

While I'll concede that the glory is lost once you open the package and have nothing but a handful of oddly shaped coral to show for it, the bubbly, term-filled window display makes that an easy folly to avoid.  I mean, why bother opening the package if you're going to lose the ability to tell the difference between your trilobite and ammonite?  The shark's tooth seems like the odd man out of the bunch, but I think we can all agree that no fossil collection is worth buying if it doesn't include at least one shark's tooth.  It's kind of an unspoken law. [more]

It took almost an hour to cook up the right mix of junk, but I'm back from Toys "R" Us with a hundred bucks worth of whatever.

And it was freakin' fun, let me tell you.  Notwithstanding the pain one must endure if he or she chooses to plow through the virtual Land of the Dead that is a Toys "R" Us store on a Sunday afternoon, the experience was delightfully ridiculous, and I can't recommend it enough for anyone who is both in the black and not at all opposed to looking like an idiot.

I'm taking pictures today and will work on the article this week, but suffice to say, it's a great collection of completely pointless trinkets ranging from mainstream action figures to all of the weird junk they hide two aisles beyond the Hot Wheels section.  You can get a general sense of the wealth of toys from the photo above.  Also take note of our super genius talking cat, seen thumbing through a pile of books in the hopes of finding something intellectually challenging.  (I believe she settled on a Far Side compilation.)

Now for something completely different, with a catch: I reserve the right to expand this into a full article at a later date, assuming I find the other things that I'd need to do so.

---

My utter fascination with the many marketing hits and misses of the McDonald's company has been well documented across the site, but outside of slight mentions in one or two blog entries, we've never seriously discussed one of their best promotions of all time: Chicken McNuggets Shanghai.

I can't remember if it happened in 1986 or 1988, but it was one of the two.  In a promotion that wouldn't fly today since we're all so uptight about everything, McDonald's issued special takeout-style boxes of Chicken McNuggets, complete with a fortune cookie, teriyaki sauce and most holily of all, a pair of chopsticks.  (Holily is an actual word; I can't believe it either.)

The commercials for Chicken McNuggets Shanghai featured patrons goofily trying to work the chopsticks and failing miserably, treating them like such insane novelties that we must assume that sushi didn't once touch American soil until the '90s.  I can't speak to the validity of chopsticks being totally foreign objects in the late '80s, but since I was just a kid at the time, they were certainly new to me.  McDonald's food always had an intangible "play factor" to it, but here we had an open invitation.

Between the fancy red boxes that housed the nuggets to the individually wrapped fortune cookies (which were actually imported by the planeload from China), Chicken McNuggets Shanghai thrived on its presentation.  The meal was served in a themed bag filled with four different dippping sauces, and when all was said and done, nobody could deny that a Chicken McNugget just tasted better when you ate it with chopsticks.

Which got me to thinking: Chicken McNuggets Shanghai might be history, but chopsticks and Chicken McNuggets aren't.  I've got a stockpile of the original McDonald's chopsticks in one of my many drawers full of mirth, but you don't need to be so lucky.  Any regular pair of chopsticks will do, and nothing is stopping you from reliving the glory of a high class Chicken McNugget.

Whether you eat them once a week or once a year, I'm really going to have to insist that you use chopsticks the next time you down a pack of Chicken McNuggets.  What was merely delicious before transforms into a distinctly religious experience, and I can think of no simpler way to make shitty McDonald's food reek of top floor metropolitan class.

I'd originally intended to show you how to recreate the discontinued McDonald's Salad Shaker collection by using a few Slurpee cups and a pair of scissors, but this is way cooler.  Try it.  You'll feel distinguished and sooo less greasy than usual.

PS: You don't need to be a chopsticks wizard to make the magic happen.  Shown above is how I did the deed back in '86, and it worked just as well.  Actually, it worked even better: Poke two holes, and you've created your very own McNugget Buddy, free to cavort around McDonaldland as Ronald continually suggests an innocent round of Marco Polo in a pool full of barbecue sauce.  It's a good thing dead chicken parts can't sleep; clown will eat them.

I suck.  I guess my current status as a nonentity can't be attributed to any single thing.  I've been really, really busy with work, but not in a bad way, and Lord knows that I've managed to post even when I was busy with work in a bad way.  I think it's just been my cover excuse: I've been busy enough to make myself believe that that was the reason I wasn't writing anything, rather than figuring out what it really is.

I'm still not entirely sure what it really is; I guess I can sum it up best as a consistent feeling of being "unplugged."  I struggle to find a relevant word for weeks, never once reminding myself that this entire site has been built on irrelevance, and that it would've been easier to just write about the damn Iron Man Slurpee three days ago rather than sitting around trying to come up with some kind of magnificent return post.

Also, when I do this, I feel old.  I mean, I have this glorious, absolutely glorious television special wherein 50% of the Golden Girls host the 25th anniversary of Disney World live from the park, and I can't muster the gusto to build the review, because it's from 1985 and I feel like nobody who would be willing to read sentences in my chosen structure was even born by then anymore.  It's a far cry from the site's infancy, where I could say "He-Man" and 10,000 people would hold up posterboard signs in tribute.

Then again, I'll write light confessions like the paragraphs above, read them over, and only then do I get how utterly stupid I'm being.  Why?  Because in the time it took for me to write that, I could've been writing about something you'd actually be interested in, like, say, the Iron Man Slurpee.  (It comes in an Iron Man head-shaped mug, you know.)

The other part of it is this: In my head, I always know I'll eventually come back and write consistently, whether it happens this minute or in a week or a month.  And I assume that everyone who reads the site also knows that, and expect them to keep checking, even though I know how annoying that is.  There are plenty of sites that I've read for years that've progressed into having a more casual update schedule, whether by official announcement or pure happenstance.  And I know that I've felt disconnected from those people after a while, because they seemed to stay on as a lark and not as a lifestyle.

So, I'm sorry if the site seemed to be at the bottom of my checklist lately.  It was in action, but not in thought.  To help make amends, here's what I'll do:

I was recently gifted a swank $100 American Express gift card.  I could use the money for something practical — perhaps a pair of jeans that aren't two inches taller than my legs, or maybe a horde of energy-efficient light bulbs which will scream to the neighbors that I ain't afraid to go green.  Or, I could let you tell me what to buy.

You pick the store, and I'll go on a $100 shopping spree there, buying only the most ridiculous, weird junk I can find.

The only catch is that I'm not going to travel 50 miles out of town for this, so your choices will be limited to the following:

1) Toys "R" Us
2) Best Buy
3) A Supermarket
4) Amazon.com (okay, so an online choice is lame, but they've got some weird shit)

Whichever establishment gets the popular vote in tonight's thread will win, and I'll spend tomorrow doing the hunting for the report.  I was going to throw a dollar store in the mix, but really, I know that everyone would choose that, and I'm still a good three weeks away from being desperate enough for fresh content that I'd spend a hundred bucks on generic shampoo and obsolete Colorforms playsets.

Aside from that, this is your normal SNT.  Tonight's extra theme?  Halloween.  Serious.  I'm jonesing.  Not so much for Halloween proper, but rather just a cold night in some scary log cabin with nothing but space heaters, blankets and crappy food to protect me from the various horror icons who'd dare to make live appearances after I watch them on a shitty fifteen-inch tube television.  Seeing as how my psychological clock is so fucked, it makes perfect sense that this notion would hit as soon as it actually feels like springtime outside.

Oh, and my Smash code is 4425-1199-9569.  I usually frown upon every thread turning into an exchange of Wii friend codes, but in this case, I really want to spend the night pounding you with my absolutely invincible Pikachu.