1. The Simpsons Movie/Fox Wknd/$ 71.9 Total/$ 71.9
2. I Now Pronounce You Chuck… Wknd/$ 19.1 Total/$ 19.1
3. Harry Potter & The Order of… Wknd/$ 17.1 Total/$ 241.2
4. Hairspray/New Line Wknd/$ 15.6 Total/$ 59.3
5. No Reservations/Warner Wknd/$ 11.8 Total/$ 11.8
6. Transformers/Paramount Wknd/$ 11.5 Total/$ 284.6
7. Ratatouille/Disney Wknd/$ 7.2 Total/$ 179.7
8. Live Free or Die Hard/Fox Wknd/$ 5.4 Total/$ 125.1
9. I Know Who Killed Me/Sony Wknd/$ 3.4 Total/$ 3.4
10. Who’s Your Caddy/MGM Wknd/$ 2.9 Total/$ 2.9

BEST NEWS EVER
The Simpsons Movie opens big at number one, but after twenty years it would have been a disappointment not to. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to see it. In fact it’s going to be my release treat to myself. But this still doesn’t excuse the show for sucking like it has for the last, oh, half a decade. I don’t even bother watching it any longer. I’ve got better things to do with the space on my DVR, like Smallville reruns.

‘CAUSE QUEERS IS FUNNY!
I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry is down to number two and what the fuck is the Gay & Lesbian Alliance smoking to give their clearance to a piece of shit like this? It’s so obvious an excuse to make fun of homosexuals under the guidance of being “progressive.” You can tell because neither character is actually gay. Nope, they’re straight arrow men with Adam Sandler of all fucking people being a ladies man with Jessica Biel as a love interest. Now you know you’re detached from reality. Needless to say if I didn’t have a brain bleed before, seeing this would have given me one and Jessica Biel’s foine ass simply would not have been enough to save me. This movie is for ugly fat guys insecure about their sexuality---which just happens to be Adam Sandler’s main audience (all the way down to the girl too hot for him in the way of Bridgette Wilson, Winona Ryder, Kate Beckinsale), so this is actually for his fans.

THE QUEEN WAS NOT AMUSED BY ON HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE
Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix is down to number three and this franchise is a license to print money. I’ve declined to join this cult so far and nothing is going to change my mind, not even the “Who’s Who” of British acting appearing in them. Indeed, it’s almost unpatriotic not to do one if you’re English. Only if they got a Bond in there would I even think about showing up. But it would have to be Connery or the new blonde kid. Sorry, but Moore, Brosnan and Dalton would just ham it up and I think Lazenby is forbidden to work in England by order of the Crown.

I OFTEN ASK MYSELF, “WHAT WOULD DIVINE DO?”
Hairspray is down to number four and the simple fact they spent so much time and money trying to make John Travolta actually look like a woman means they missed the point! It’s supposed to be a man in drag! It’s camp! I saw the original and enjoyed it so I’m going to leave it there and be happy that John Waters continues to make money hand over fist with this thing.

NOW YOU KNOW HOW THE BLACK FOREST GOT ITS NAME
No Reservations opens at number five and I saw the German original, Mostly Martha, so I will probably see this as well. My only question is will they keep the scene where Martha is in white underwear and her very obvious big, black bush shows that not everyone has fallen prey to the cult of bikini waxing.

YET ANOTHER ANGLE FROM WHICH TO TRASH SHIA
Transformers is down to number six and let’s not pretend this Megan Fox girl isn’t smoking hot. And it’s always a victory when the hottest girl around isn’t a blonde---though like Lindsay Lohan they undo this immediately by then going blonde. Except that this girl is a bit too hot. What the hell else other kinds of roles can she play but “The Hot Girl?” Can you see her as an accountant? The nice girl next door? She may not be bad, but nature sure as hell drew her that way. She actually has that porn girl look going on, resembling the “it” porn girl of the moment recently seen on the Tyra Banks Show, Sasha Grey. At least the story begins with her with a traditionally hot guy to begin with before sticking her with It-Dweeb-of-the-Moment, Shia LeBeouf. She even gets to say that she has a weakness for hot, good-looking guys, so at least they’re not pretending he’s anyone’s first choice. More than the giant robots this is how you know it’s science fiction. Of course Spielberg loves him: he’s the Jewish kid Spielberg always wanted to be, which is why this putz is now the son of Indiana Jones. Sigh.

LUCY LIU: MIA
Ratatouille is down to number seven followed by Live Free or Die Hard at number eight and making an appearance in this is Maggie Q, hopping onto another big franchise hoping it will make her into the “it” Asian girl of the moment, as there doesn’t seem to be one right now. God knows Tom Cruise and Mission Impossible 3 let her down. If this doesn’t work what the hell is left? Maybe they’ll do another Charlie’s Angels and just recast everyone. This time with girls who are actually pretty. Oh, fuck off. You know I’m right.

THIS WHY YOU JUST SAY “NO” KIDS
I know it’s wrong but the continued crashing and burning of Lindsay Lohan helped to ease my blood-irritated membrane. I mean, just when you think it can’t get any worse it in fact does just that. I know the producers of this turd thought they got lucky with all the free publicity of her latest misfortune, but why pay for the cow when you can get the milk for free in the news? This is why I Know Who Killed Me opens at number nine to general critical trashing. And honestly, who the fuck wants to see their favorite actor or actress in a movie where they get their arm and leg amputated? That’s some indie film bullshit, not something for a mainstream actor. But in her own defense, she was probably drunk and high when she agreed to do this. God knows it was how she was conceived, as according to her father he and her mother were dating during the coked-up 80’s. She was probably created off a bump in the bathroom of MK’s one night.

PLANTING CORN ON THE BACK 40, PART 3
Finally Who’s Your Caddy opens up at number ten and on behalf of the Black/African-American/Nergoes of America I would like to apologize. Not since the very existence of Flavor Flav have we been so embarrassed. I mean exactly who keeps going to see these lame-ass “Black” remakes? Someone has to be, otherwise they’d stop already. This time it’s Caddyshack and that is simply an abomination. And what must be going through the minds of the White actors who are in this pretty much to be mocked? At least Jeffery Jones can blame his conviction for pedophilia for having to be here. What about the rest? You have to figure by the second day they’re all regretting turning down farm porn. After your fourth take of being mocked for having no rhythm and having a small penis, suddenly sex with a goat doesn’t seem so bad.

BRAINS, BRAINS!
So this is late because something in my brain exploded. Yes, I like to think it’s genius too, but it was actually just a blood vessel at the base of my brain, which is why I spent 15 days at St. Vincent’s hospital undergoing treatment. It began on Friday night (the 13th no less) while I was working out. I was lifting 200-300 pounds---or riding the life cycle, I can’t remember which---when suddenly I got the most painful headache ever. I thought it would pass, so I tried to man through it. No go. I had to stop and when I did, I realized I couldn’t move my neck and I felt nauseous. Then, on the walk home there was tingling and numbness in my hands. For a moment I wondered if I was having a stroke. After all, I am fucking old. So, in a blinding display of stupidity and fear I first went home to find my insurance information. I didn’t, but hoped they could pull it up anyway. I then walked up to St. Vincent’s on 52nd (an ambulance heading there went right past me) without telling my roommate where I was going or why. I called Nice Jewish Doctor on my way there for her opinion as her husband is a neurologist, formerly a neurosurgeon. I spent about 90 minutes either sitting on the floor of the waiting room or on my side vomiting up nothing in the bathroom. I finally got a bed in the hallway, where I continued vomiting until they took me in to get a catscan. The verdict? It seemed what took Bruce Lee and almost Sharon Stone had come for me. I was bleeding into my brain due to an aneurysm. Because they have no neurosurgery there, I was transferred hours later to St. Vincent’s on 14th. It was during this trip that I got my best news of the day. The EMT workers insisted that I couldn’t be 5’8” or even 5’9” because those people fit perfectly on the bed and I was too tall. Then the female EMT complimented me, saying she could believe I was working out because my body was solid---as she also went to second base on me grabbing my man-boob (which she mistakenly called a pec and hopped it was comforting some woman) and did a little leg squeeze. That was pretty much the highlight of that day. When I was finally at 14th Street I called my dad from the ICU. I closed my eyes for what seemed like a second and then both my aunts and uncles were standing in front of me. They then took me up to Neuro ICU where I was told I’d go in for an angiogram, which is when they insert a wire into your groin and go up into your brain to have a look around. There, if there’s problem they can use this same wire to fix it, which is called coiling. If not, then they have to open your head up and do it that way. The only risk in an angiogram is that while going up your circulatory system they can sometimes knock a clot free causing a stroke. Because of this, I had to sign not one, not two, but three consent forms before they started. Step one: the catheter. Oh. My. God. All the medical technology we have and the only way we can deal with a patient’s urine is to shove a fucking tube up their urethra into their bladder!?! And don’t think I got a fucking local for it either. No, I just watched this guy shove a foot of rubber into my dick and my dick is not a foot long so I have no idea where all of it went. Thankfully, I remember nothing of the angiogram. They knocked me out. One moment I’m breathing deeply, the next it’s all over. They even shoved a tube down my throat and I felt nothing. The angiogram revealed that I did not in fact have an aneurysm, which was good news. They concluded that a small blood vessel at the base of my brain had burst causing the cerebral hemorrhage. This was the best of all possible options because it required no surgery. Just observation and meds to make sure it didn’t get worse. Basically, my body would deal with it. The blood would sink down my spine into the base and then be reabsorbed. Sadly, they left out some details in that process. When I woke up, not only was my dad there, but also my friends had started showing up, most notably Nice Jewish Doctor, who flew down that day to see me. I’m still stunned by it. I’m such a miserable bastard. Why would you people waste the time? And she wasn’t alone. Over the next few days there were visits by:

Former Miss Pretty Boy
Around The Way Girl
Three of My Geek Girl Posse
Dorito Cheeseburger Woman (Karyn Plonsky)
Star Sister
Former Blonde Bombshell (whom I haven’t seen in years)
Surrogate Sister
The French Woman
My Dealer’s Wife
Tall Canadian Blonde (Joan Allen lookalike I met at the real estate agency)
Movie Buddy
Chasing Amy
The Lunatic
Wife of The Young Married Couple
The Libertine
Fitness Girl
Italian Runner (whom I also have not seen in years)
And 4 Dudes including Nightlife Guide and Bad Influence

Needless to say, all these women gave my mother such false hope for grandchildren I was thinking of banning you all. My dad, however, enjoyed meeting every single one of you and was shocked because he thought I had no patience for women. Dorito Cheeseburger Woman (Karyn Plonsky, Karyn Plonsky, Karyn Plonsky) stood out because she made a very thorough introduction to my family to the point where my mother felt like she was meeting her daughter-in-law. She added to this case by coming to see me three days in a row, which is equal the amount of times I’ve actually seen her in the past year and one more than I saw her last year. In addition I’ve apparently got a cousin in Brooklyn who comes to see me and another cousin apparently on staff in the hospital, though he was away on vacation at the moment.

Days 2 & 3
I seem to be recovering. I finally was able to sleep through the night and most of the morning and actually started eating. My mom was there by now and it’s a good thing, because my dad doubted if she could have handled seeing me the first day---though this did not stop her from being pissed about the not telling my roommate of my condition thing. I think I heard it from her everyday about it, along with every person who visited me. Sigh. I still insist if she’d come she would have done nothing but sit in a cold waiting room for 8 hours, but you all say that’s not my decision to make. Well, guess what? I made it my decision! ‘Cause I’m a man, baby! Talk begins of me leaving the Neuro ICU to the general floor where I could use my phone and have internet access because I feel the need to tell people where I am. I’m having my baby sister who has also come up start making phone calls for me. My neurosurgeon comes around on rounds and he looks like Patton Oswalt, but according to Surrogate Sister he was on New York Magazine’s list of “50 Best Doctors in New York” so I lucked.

Day 4
The blood in my brain begins to coagulate to begin its journey down my spine---AND IT HURTS LIKE HELL. I spend the bulk of the day fetal. Not even a combination of perocet and morphine can make me feel better because I can only receive so much of either due to my condition being neurological. The doctors need to be able to tell if it’s my brain that has a problem, which they cannot do if I’m high. So for at least 16 hours I’m a suffering ball. I believe this is when Movie Buddy is able to send out the email, because I’m getting to the point where people will simply be pissed at not being informed sooner---though she ignores my versions where I don’t give what hospital I’m in and insist no one come to see me. See, real men heal alone. In the dark. Beating themselves with chains soaked in kerosene. You’ve all made me weak with your love and support (and sooo much chocolate). I hope you’re happy.

Day 5
The pain breaks and I’m actually able to begin physical therapy. See, after five days of bed rest I’ve forgotten how to walk. Seriously. It goes just that quickly. The physical therapist walks me halfway down the hall and back and I’m wiped out for the day. Also, I’ve learned that looking at my computer screen hurts. So does listening to my iPod or watching movies on the little DVD player Surrogate Sister bought for me. Even trying to read comic books is too much due to the irritated membrane in my brain. The French Woman jokes I’m in “electronic detox.” I just call it hell. And to top it off, my iPod is stolen along with the stuffed lobster toy Nice Jewish Doctor brought me from Maine. Honestly, I’m more upset about the lobster.

Days 6-9
It’s getting better all the time. Every day I can walk more and even though I still have headaches, it’s nothing like before. Percocet does make me feel better (morphine just makes me loopy). My appetite has returned and I’m having my dad bring me paninis from the Westside Market. The old man across from me who has had 26 days of poor response, sudden begins to spring to life and is able to move out onto the floor. He’s replaced by a Drew Barrymore looking Canadian girl of 26 who complains of head pain and a loss of vision. Minutes after she’s brought in, one of the doctors, pulls the curtains around her bed and then proceeds to open her skull for drainage. It’s local so she’s actually awake for it. Holy fucking shit. Mom and dad go home and my other sister comes up for the week to take care of me. For some reason, Soul For Real’s “Every Little Thing I Do” pops into my head and won’t go away.

Day 10
The worst pain I’ve ever experienced, even more than the initial bleeding, as the blood is now at the base of my spine. Blood and spinal fluid were not supposed to mix and for no less that 36 hours, I have to deal with a stabbing pain in my lower spine every 5-10 minutes so intense it leaves my feet numb and I vomit anything given to me. When they finally find a painkiller that allows me to deal with it my heart rate pretty much comes to a dead stop, so I can never have the miracle drug again. It’s also the day I get my second angiogram only this time I’m awake for part of it, which apparently was part of the plan. The knock me out so I don’t feel it going into my groin and I don’t even feel it being pulled out, but I do FEEL IT IN MY FUCKING HEAD. It doesn’t hurt, but I do FEEL IT IN MY FUCKING HEAD. The Canadian girl has her surgery losing about four inches of skull on either side.

Day 11
Still recovering and desperate for sleep, Ambien and I meet for the first time and lo, it is good. The only downside is maybe it is responsible for the two nightmares I have the make me wake up with a start, resulting in a headache, which results in the need for painkillers for the last time. Canadian Girl moves out of the ICU and onto the floor, which is nothing but good news.

Days 12 -13
No painkillers, very little back pain or headache AND THE CATHETER COMES OUT! Sweet relief! As if it didn’t hurt enough before, once I started getting regular REM sleep I experienced the return of “morning wood” WITH A FUCKING CATHETER! I think they’re using that as a torture technique in Cuba right now. I’m hoping to be released on Friday, as Dr. Patton Oswalt said “two weeks from bleed date” before he left on vacation. Unfortunately, my intense back pain from the previous days makes them concerned (along with my parents’ news that both my grandfathers had cerebral hemorrhages, which is news to me) so it looks like at best I’ll just be moving onto the floor. Canadian Girl leaves the hospital entirely. Her replacement in the ward is an old man who looks like trouble the moment I see him and damned if he isn’t. He’s 82, speaks only Spanish and gets pissed when no one can understand him. The poor patient next to him has the burden of translating to the nurses as he complains of his pillows and insists “he’s the boss.” No, dipshit, you are not. I have my sister pull the curtain in front of me at all times so I don’t have to look at him. Yes, I’m evil and going to hell. We established that long ago.

Day 14
I’m not going home, but I am moved into a private room, which is the first step on getting the hell out of Dodge. I’m walking at semi-normal pace and even practicing on the stairs. It’s time to go, goddamnit.

Day 15
The news comes down: I’m out tomorrow if all goes well.

Day 16
Freedom, sweet freedom. It takes most of the morning to process, but this actually allows me to finally meet the doctor cousin who promises to do more research as to why this happened to me, even though I’ve long accepted that it just “does” happen to people all the time and I pretty much got off light. My first mission? I go buy comic books. I don’t even get my drug prescription filled until afterwards. Thankfully, neither the computer, TV nor comic books cause me any pain. But I’m not at full strength by any means (writing this took me two days to complete and my sister had to do all my food shopping for me). It’s sad realizing that I can’t make a run for a light or train. I’m walking at a decidedly slower pace and both my distance and time outside are limited. And god forbid I test it, because my sister is still with me so my parents are instantly notified and these are not phone calls I want. I can’t go back to work until I see the neurosurgeon which won’t be for another two weeks, but before you think that’s a great idea, know that I’m already on 60% salary and it’s not pretty because I’m also not working at the comic book store any longer. Hell, I’m making less than I was when I was temping. So the goal for the next week is to heal as quickly as possible so when I see him I can get the clearance to go right back to work, though I’m thinking the comic book job may be finally over. If one job is too much to go back to, I can only imagine what he’d think of two. But it’s sad because I actually found it relaxing; getting paid to talk about comics. And god knows I need that discount. Looks like it’s time for that career in porn…

THE UPSIDE TO BRAIN BLEEDING
After two weeks in the hospital filled with bouts of literal mind-numbing pain resulting in a renewed state of poverty, there is something good to show for it: I’m 11 pounds lighter (despite all the chocolate). But if I’m 11 pounds lighter WHY DO I STILL HAVE THIS FUCKING POUCH!?! Sigh. 40 so sucks. And of course, this would be the time to be working out to tighten it up, but given I can’t run across the street to catch a bus, that’s not going to be happening. Sigh.

GOD’S WORK
I’m an atheist even after all this, but if there’s anyone on this planet doing God’s work it’s not the clergy, it’s not social workers, it’s not doctors. It’s freaking nurses. The nurses I had for two weeks were the most wonderful people on this earth, especially given what they have to deal with. Doctors may save your life, but they don’t clean up your vomit or feed you or wipe your ass. Nurses do that shit. And as soon as I get paid again on my regular scale, I’m sending the mother of all fruit baskets to the ones in the Neuro ICU who took care of me. Besides, one of the best was this guy named Chris, who was actually planning on attending the San Diego Comic Con this week (so we had lots to talk about) until a family emergency took him home. He won’t be back until the 6th of August and I want him to be there when it comes.

BACK TO THE EGG
So, when you’re down like I was, parents waste no time in dialing it back to when they utterly controlled your life and it’s useless to fight them.

Mom & Dad: So, you got pajamas?
Me: Yes.
Mom & Dad: We bought you some pajamas.
Me: I said I’ve got some.
Mom & Dad: These are better. You got some sandals for the summer?
Me: Yes.
Mom & Dad: We bought you some sandals for the summer.
Me: Sigh.
Mom & Dad: Do you have nice jeans?
Me: I’ve got millions.
Mom & Dad: We bought you some nice jeans.

And it was like that all week. Also, when they left they installed my younger sister as my caretaker with an equally immobile attitude. She stayed in my apartment and I was somewhat surprised to see how quickly she and my roommate bonded. Granted your sister should get along with your common-law-wife, but it kind of threw me for a loop to hear how they’d gone to dinner, how they’d hung out and how my roommate could now do a perfect impression of my mom. But she is the nicest of the three of us. Had it been my baby sister, she just would have shut herself up in my room and watched movies and read comic books.