Maurice Sendak & Spike Jonze.

One of the very first thing's that I did after my daughter was born in 2006, was hop in my car, high-tail it to the bookstore and buy "Where The Wild Things Are."

I wanted to be sure that it was in her room before she got home.

In my opinion, it's one of the most amazing children's books ever.

Maurice Sendak reminds me of Cormac McCarthy. Obviously two different types of writers. But, like McCarthy, he chooses his words wisely - especially in this book. The punctuation, commas and pages are all calculated to create a truly remarkable experience.

In fact, when I'm chasing my kids around the house - my monster cry is a large roar followed by "We'll Eat You Up! We Love You So!" They absolutelty love it. It terrifies them to glee.

It's only eight words. But when tossed together, they form something truly magical.

That said, here's a promo for "Where the Wild Things Are' film with tidbits from Director Spike Jonze and Author Sendak, who I didn't even know was still alive.

It's 3:00, but worth the time to watch...



If you don't have this book in your collection, buy it now. Or I'll Eat You Up!

What makes me laugh.

I don't know why this shit makes me laugh...but it does.

Thanks FAIL BLOG!

Blood Tests & Not-So-Bad News

I just had a blood test yesterday. Not by choice. Doctor’s orders.

The blood test was at 8 a.m.

After they drained my arm, I hopped into my car and went on with my daily life. You know - work, creating unique ads and copy for various cell-phone, pharmaceutical and retail companies, day-dreaming about not working, running, drinking a cocktail or two and - more importantly - contemplating my life.

You see, the night before, I had just heard from a friend that Adam Yauch (MCA from The Beastie Boys) was diagnosed with cancer. So, suffice to say, I was feeling a little weird about life, death, giving blood, and the pursuit - or the end - of happiness.

In any event, around 4 p.m. my cellphone rang. It was a number that I didn’t recognize.

Out of curiosity, I answered.

“Hello, Mr. Eimer?” The voice on the other end said.

“Yeah?” I asked thinking it might be a telemarketer.

“Uh, yeah, this is Doc Brown.”

My eyes perked up. “Oh hey! How’s it going?”

“Um, not so good. We received your package today.”

“Really?” I said. “That was fast. They said it would take a couple days for the results.”

“Mmm, yeah,” the man said on the other line. “I’m afraid we have some very bad news.”

The blood drained out of my head. My heart started to pound.

“Hold on a sec.”

I was driving, so I decided to pull into the next available driveway to brace myself for the bad news to come.

I swallowed, regained my composure and calmly put my face to the phone.

“What is it?”

“Well sir, I opened your order, here and -"

For a split second, my mind shot out all the possibilities. Was it Leukemia? Diabetes? Crohn's Disease? The big C?

"Annnnd?" I asked.

"And....well, I'm sorry to say this, but none of your pictures turned out.”

Wha? Pictures? Order? Package? Could this be some sort of cruel joke?

“What pictures, exactly, are your referring to?” I asked. "X-rays or something?"

"No, no X-rays," he said. “The black and white film roll that you dropped off last week."

My mind went blank.

“Who is this, again?” I asked.

The guy seem perturbed. “Doc Brown from McCallister Photo.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Nope," he said. "That’s just what they always called me.”

I let out a deep sigh, thanked the man, hung up the phone and smiled.

That was the best bad news I heard all week.

Hell, I'd even wager all year.

I just wanna bang on a drum all day

It was 8 a.m. (today actually)

As I opened the door to exit my home to begin my 35-minute commute to Beachwood, I took a minute, or two, to take in the natural surroundings around me.

A warm wind was blowing in from the west.

Trees were opening their leaves happily gasping for CO2.

A rabbit hopped around the field.

The clouds were white and puffy, like little fluffy feminine napkins.

The sky as blue as Windex.

It was then that my attention turned to a man, in full Lance Armstrong biking gear, peddling up the road. He was huffing and puffing but had a intense, yet content, look on his face.

"Must be nice," I bellowed out to the man as I tossed my laptop bag into the car.

The man looked over and smiled.

"Yep," he yelled back. "It is."

(sigh)

For the first time in my life I realized that this work stuff is definitely getting in the way of my free time.

Eimer Debris Gets Props In The Plain D!

Today, as I did a Yahoo search on my blog, I was pleasantly surprised to see that Eimer Debris got mentioned in The Plain Dealer. Sweet.

Check it out right here (scroll down).

However, I should note - the way the article is written, it seems that in my post, I made a rather disparaging comment about the city. That's not the case. Far from it.

To make the record clear, I love it here in Northeast Ohio!

I came from Columbus, Ohio, which I lived for 13 years prior to my move up North. Compared to Columbus, there's a ton more stuff to do here.

From the CVNP, to the pro sports, to the Metro Parks, to the endless bike paths, lets not forget the great nightlife and restaurants, free summer concerts, the theater district, blah, blah, blah, blah and blah - there's shit load of stuff to enjoy up here throughout the four seasons.

Of course, you have to be motivated enough to go out and find it. I'm not going to help you. In fact, I'd prefer it if you stayed off the Metro Park and CVNP trails - I rather like them a bit barren.

In any event, my move up to Northeast Ohio is probably one of the best decisions I've ever made - well besides going to college, getting married and having two healthy kids.

Later.

Has Entertainment Weekly Jumped the Shark?

EIMER NOTE: A while ago, my buddy Mac, who has contributed a number of articles to this page, published this post on Eimer Debris about a year ago lambasting Entertainment Weekly.

Turns out he's completely through with the magazine. I'll let you read his thoughts below:

Entertainment Weekly now officially sucks!

I am cancelling my subscription to the so-called pop culture magazine called ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY. At one time. EW was a great resource for movies, music, and books. That was about ten years ago.

I've been reading Entertainment Weekly since 1991 when Al Pacino was on the cover sporting a pair of cool-as-hell shades. This was right around the time I really started to get into movies and great actors like Al. So I started buying evey issue after that until finally I got a subscription that I have kept for the last seventeen years...until now.

Somewhere in the past 5 to 10 years, EW has shifted away from serious movies and focuses more on crappy reality TV. Television is in the toilet right now if you ask me. There's only about a dozen shows that are good enough to be called 'must-see tv' and most of them are on HBO. But EW writes about it as if we are in the golden age of TV with shows like American Idol and Project Runway.

And the books that they praise are mostly stupid memiors from female writers who sleep around with a ton of men and then write detailed stories about what assholes we are.

The actors and actresses they cover are mostly models who get away with acting via their good looks. Two weeks ago Ryan Reynolds was on the cover wearing nothing but a couple floaties and a snorkel. The week before, Megan Fox was on the cover with her legs spread. That girl couldn't act her way out of a paper bag! They loved Adam Lambert of American Idol because they thought he might be gay. You know who might be gay? Entertainment Weekly, that's who!

What pisses me off the most is their critics of movies. Owen Gleiberman at one time was a fine movie critic. Someone I enjoyed reading and agreed with 65% of the time. But I think his co-worker is starting to rub off on him. Lisa Schwarzbaum is the other film critic of EW and could quite possibly be one of the worst critics since Ralph Novak of People Magaizine or Michael Medved, who only adores movies that are about magical fairies or princesses. Just by reading her reviews, I can tell that Lisa Schwarzbaum doesn't know shit about movies!

And in a recent video in which the two of them pan Michael Mann's new movie 'PUBLIC ENEMIES', I'm convinced that Owen Gleiberman has lost his integrity as a film critic becuase the editor at EW and the rest of his bosses are now influencing his reviews.

Because PUBLIC ENEMIES is a great fuckin' movie!

One sidenote: Dave Karger is the only writer left at that magazine that I still like a lot. I will continue to read his articles on ew.com.

EIMER NOTE: I wholeheartedly agree with Mac. However, I often visit ew.com to read Jeff Jensen's detailed plot summaries for LOST and all other LOST news. But that's about it. Maybe EW has turned into Watermelon Bubbalicious Bubble Gum - very sweet in the beginning, but a slightly nasty aftertaste after you chew it. Maybe Premiere magazine is the last vestige of great movie reporting. Maybe we're just turning into grumpy middle-aged men.

Thanks again for submitting Mac.

Funny Michael Cartoon.

When it comes to recent devastation or a celebrity death, I always turn to the political cartoonists to turn an colorful spin on an otherwise sad tragedy.

Everyone has their opinions about Michael Jackson, but I thought this cartoon, illustrated by cartoonist Peter Broelman, was a humorous pearly gates tribute to a talented, misunderstood and strange man.

Appletrees, Bonfires, Bath and Cidiots

While we were on our vacation, our backyard apple tree was knocked down in a wind/thunder/rain storm.

It’s a bummer because the apple tree itself, was a nice accoutrement to our backyard. It evened out the entire feng shui of the property. Plus, it was always the first thing that caught my eye when I looked out my kitchen window.

A neighbor and I cut down the remainder of the tree for firewood. My neighbor took his turn and cut horizontally into the base of the tree. Black ants poured out, like the scene from The Mummy when the scarab beatles attacked Indiana-Jones wannabe Brendan Fraser and made him scream like a little girl.

Since my neighbor is almost 60 years old, I had the unique pleasure of dragging the deathly remains of the apple tree to a burn pile.

Now, in Bath, Ohio, it’s illegal to have bonfires. Big roaring bonfires. However, I have only witnessed one summons from the fire department since I moved here in 2006. Some knucklehead across the street was burning leaves in his front yard on an Autumn Saturday morning, which created a blanket of smoke visible from the outer space.

So, this past Saturday night, I decided to light said pile of brush on fire. We didn’t invite anyone over. We didn’t buy stuff for s'mores. We didn’t haul a keg next to the fire and start drinking. We just lit the goddamn thing and watched what happened.

Prior to starting the bonfire, I poured about a half-gallon of gas onto the dry wood, just to ensure that we would have a successful fire.

After a big ‘POOF’, the fire took shape. And started getting higher, and hotter, and higher, and hotter. In fact, the highness and the hotness of the fire caught the attention of my neighbors who live in a cul-de-sac about a half-mile away from my house. It was a man and woman, and they both had beverages in their hand complete with red, puffy Catholic faces.

“Hey there,” the guy said. “We saw the fire and thought we’d come over and introduce ourselves.”

As I was shaking their hands, I already had my reservations about these two. Something shouted out ‘nosy neighbor worried about forest fire’ instead of ‘future friends’.

We started talking about life, liberty and the future of Bath.

“So, how do you like it here?”the dude asked.

“Pretty good, we moved in about…”

“Holy shit,” the guy interrupted. “Is that a gas can!” He pointed the red can that said “GASOLINE” on the front.

“Yeah, I thought I’d toss a little on the fire to, you know, get it started.”

The couple looked at each other.

“That’s a cidiot for ya!” the man said and they both cackled like hyenas.

I chuckled. “What’s a cidiot?”

“Oh nothing,” the woman answered. “Just our little term for city folks who move out to the country and try to do country things.”

The smile was wiped off my face.

“Well,” I said. “Technically, this isn’t the country. I mean we’re about a mile and a half from an Old Navy. And I grew up in the country (I did the fake parentheses with my hands) for 18 years of my life until I moved away for college.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get upset,” the guy said. “We was only joking. A little mineral oil, dry newspaper or motor oil will do the trick just fine.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said almost instantly forgetting his advice. Just to spite this guy, I already knew the next fire I was going to start was going to be with my good, ol' trusty gas can.

After a couple more minutes of conversation they moseyed along their way. Pointing at trees. Taking about property and other stuff that ‘country’ people talk about.

Don’t know what my point was.
Maybe it was my new introduction to the word ‘cidiots’.

Maybe it’s, as a get older and older, I’m starting to call people out on their bullshit.

Maybe I’m just sick of people that think they know everything, but – after they open their mouth and start talking for a couple seconds – you realize they don’t really know anything at all.
Now that I think of it, it’s probably the latter.