I'm about to start the second script featuring the characters of Deuce Neutron and the Funk Bombs. For the two or three of you who've read that script and care, it's somewhat obvious that The Blues Brothers (movie and band) were something of an inspiration for the characters and the movie, so here's this little tidbit:
I was watching this thing last night about the movie The Blues Brothers, and how the act was taking off so Universal wanted to make a movie, and this was Dan Aykroyd's response:
"I need 20,000 dollars in cash, a used California police cruiser, and three months on the road. Then you'll have your movie."
Three months later, he threw copies of the 325 page script- each copy bearing the covers of a different city's phone book- onto the property of the producers, the director, and John Belushi. In the middle of the night, mind you.
Dan Aykroyd, by the way? My new hero.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
2/24/2004- They're Not My Favorite Band Anymore, But This Was Still Cool
Tom, Dan, Michelle and I saw Barenaked Ladies at Continental Airlines (nee Brendan Byrne) Arena in Jersey the other night. So I'm sitting there, watching these pudgy Canadian pop-music guys do their goofy little dance number, and laughing at their goofy little show, and having a grand old time, and I started to wonder if I'd lost my edge, at which point I started to wonder if I had an edge to lose in the first place. Then I wrote off that line of thinking as stupid, punched the guy in front of me, and continued enjoying the show.
But in all seriousness, those guys put on a good show. Edge or no edge, they're my favorite band (though only because I think of the E Street Band as "Bruce's band" and not really an entity unto themselves, but that's another entry altogether), and it was one of the more unique concerts I've been to. Most of the other concerts I've been to have been these venerable old acts like Aerosmith or Elton John or Billy Joel or Bruce, and in a way, being at those shows was sort of like being in Church. There were just certain points where people would go "Shut up, shut up, Bruce is gonna say something before they sing 'The River'"
or
"Oh, wow, he's doing Piano Man, he never does that anymore,"
or
"Oh, they're gonna play 'Big Ten Inch,' everyone pipe down!"
This show was more like everyone was just out to have a good time, including the band, and the only time it got like serious or anything was really unexpected and effective, so that was cool.
They have this one song called "War On Drugs," which is about a bridge in Toronto off of which people jump to kill themselves all the time, and it's sort of like a serious, sometimes-depressing song about suicide and stuff, and before he sings it, the singer (Steven Page) starts talking about how they put a fence up to keep people from jumping, which is all well and good till they go down the road to the next bridge and jump off that, and how society and government doesn't really understand mental illness or depression or suicide and it's up to individual people to help other individual people. Then near the end of the song, they turn all the stage lights onto the audience so everyone could see everyone else, and from where I was sitting there was just this sea of people. I was looking all around and best I could tell, that's what everyone in the arena was doing too. It was just really striking and effective.
That's all I've got to say on that topic.
But in all seriousness, those guys put on a good show. Edge or no edge, they're my favorite band (though only because I think of the E Street Band as "Bruce's band" and not really an entity unto themselves, but that's another entry altogether), and it was one of the more unique concerts I've been to. Most of the other concerts I've been to have been these venerable old acts like Aerosmith or Elton John or Billy Joel or Bruce, and in a way, being at those shows was sort of like being in Church. There were just certain points where people would go "Shut up, shut up, Bruce is gonna say something before they sing 'The River'"
or
"Oh, wow, he's doing Piano Man, he never does that anymore,"
or
"Oh, they're gonna play 'Big Ten Inch,' everyone pipe down!"
This show was more like everyone was just out to have a good time, including the band, and the only time it got like serious or anything was really unexpected and effective, so that was cool.
They have this one song called "War On Drugs," which is about a bridge in Toronto off of which people jump to kill themselves all the time, and it's sort of like a serious, sometimes-depressing song about suicide and stuff, and before he sings it, the singer (Steven Page) starts talking about how they put a fence up to keep people from jumping, which is all well and good till they go down the road to the next bridge and jump off that, and how society and government doesn't really understand mental illness or depression or suicide and it's up to individual people to help other individual people. Then near the end of the song, they turn all the stage lights onto the audience so everyone could see everyone else, and from where I was sitting there was just this sea of people. I was looking all around and best I could tell, that's what everyone in the arena was doing too. It was just really striking and effective.
That's all I've got to say on that topic.
3/12/2004 The Obligatory Blog Post About Hating My Job
Close to five years ago, I wrote a short play and a short story that were so good the College of Mount Saint Vincent was going to let me go there for free. Then I went crazy. So I went to Saint John's. I graduated with honors with a minimum of effort. For two years, I and a few of my friends pretty much ran the Stagers Society, and I acted in several plays in addition to doing some sketch comedy writing. In my senior year of college, I wrote a play which was produced at Manhattan College under the direction of my oldest friend.
I have to be at work in two hours. You know what I do at work? I sell suits, sometimes. Shirts. Pants. Jackets. Whatever. At least that's what I'm supposed to do. More often than not I just stand around, listening to the stereo or one of my co-workers.
One of my co-workers is from upstate New York. I think he graduated from high school, but I'm honestly not sure. He is, technically, my boss and, honestly, one of the stupidest people I've ever met. He's a genuinely nice guy, a good person, a real shirt-off-his-back kind of guy; a little messed-up in his stance on women, but whatever. I honestly like him as a person and wish him nothing but the best. But the fact remains that on my slowest day I am still exponentially smarter than he is.Two of the company's big guns are going to be there tonight. One of them if the wife of the nephew of the heads of Sarar. The other is the son of one of the former owners of Archie Jacobson, which was bought out by Sarar over the summer. The woman barely speaks English and admits to knowing nothing about running a business. The man is a strung-out former musician who speaks in riddles and got a job because his daddy ran the show.
I am a gifted writer. I know this about myself. "It ain't bragging if it's true." Muhammad Ali said that, back when he was a young man, back when he was Cassius Clay, before he fought too many fights and left his brain inside the ring. (Dan Bern, a Canadian folk singer whose name, coincidentally, when re-arranged, is "Brendan.) When I write, I work hard at it and do well at it. Beyond that, in my life up until this point I have done everything I was supposed to do, and then some, and was told that I would be rewarded for it once school ended. I go to Church. I give a few dollars a week to various charities. I respect my elders. I obey the speed limit. I won't let my friends ride shotgun because the seatbelt is broken and I don't want to risk them getting hurt. I don't drink, or smoke, or take drugs. I am not a homophobe, or a racist. By all modern standards, I am an exceptional person if only by virtue of my lack of vices.
And yet I work for people who can't carry on long conversations with me because I use words that are too big. And they, in turn, work for people who got well-paying, high-ranking jobs through accidents of marriage or genetics, and are in charge of my life because my best friend happens to work for them, and I came in one day to complain about the job I got through my cousin Cathleen, chasing carts like Richmond Avenue's answer to a sheepdog in the freezing cold parking lot of the Costco Wholesale. A $3.50 pay cut and half a block away, I am warm, and well-dressed, and completely and utterly disgusted with what has become my life, and the only consolation I can give myself is, "It beats Costco." Which isn't saying a great deal.
The adage, "It's know what you know, it's who you know," which I used to dismiss as jaded cynicism has come painfully true for me. And while it may be the way of the world, it doesn't make it suck any less.
I have to be at work in two hours. You know what I do at work? I sell suits, sometimes. Shirts. Pants. Jackets. Whatever. At least that's what I'm supposed to do. More often than not I just stand around, listening to the stereo or one of my co-workers.
One of my co-workers is from upstate New York. I think he graduated from high school, but I'm honestly not sure. He is, technically, my boss and, honestly, one of the stupidest people I've ever met. He's a genuinely nice guy, a good person, a real shirt-off-his-back kind of guy; a little messed-up in his stance on women, but whatever. I honestly like him as a person and wish him nothing but the best. But the fact remains that on my slowest day I am still exponentially smarter than he is.Two of the company's big guns are going to be there tonight. One of them if the wife of the nephew of the heads of Sarar. The other is the son of one of the former owners of Archie Jacobson, which was bought out by Sarar over the summer. The woman barely speaks English and admits to knowing nothing about running a business. The man is a strung-out former musician who speaks in riddles and got a job because his daddy ran the show.
I am a gifted writer. I know this about myself. "It ain't bragging if it's true." Muhammad Ali said that, back when he was a young man, back when he was Cassius Clay, before he fought too many fights and left his brain inside the ring. (Dan Bern, a Canadian folk singer whose name, coincidentally, when re-arranged, is "Brendan.) When I write, I work hard at it and do well at it. Beyond that, in my life up until this point I have done everything I was supposed to do, and then some, and was told that I would be rewarded for it once school ended. I go to Church. I give a few dollars a week to various charities. I respect my elders. I obey the speed limit. I won't let my friends ride shotgun because the seatbelt is broken and I don't want to risk them getting hurt. I don't drink, or smoke, or take drugs. I am not a homophobe, or a racist. By all modern standards, I am an exceptional person if only by virtue of my lack of vices.
And yet I work for people who can't carry on long conversations with me because I use words that are too big. And they, in turn, work for people who got well-paying, high-ranking jobs through accidents of marriage or genetics, and are in charge of my life because my best friend happens to work for them, and I came in one day to complain about the job I got through my cousin Cathleen, chasing carts like Richmond Avenue's answer to a sheepdog in the freezing cold parking lot of the Costco Wholesale. A $3.50 pay cut and half a block away, I am warm, and well-dressed, and completely and utterly disgusted with what has become my life, and the only consolation I can give myself is, "It beats Costco." Which isn't saying a great deal.
The adage, "It's know what you know, it's who you know," which I used to dismiss as jaded cynicism has come painfully true for me. And while it may be the way of the world, it doesn't make it suck any less.
3/16/2004- Final Destination III?
So I almost died last night. That was fun.
Followers of Jen's journal will have already heard this heartwarming story, but here's my version. After being lost for a while in Jersey, Tony, Tom, Jen, Michelle and I had to get off the turnpike and get back on. In our attempt to do so, we encountered a three-way fork in the road. None of these forks were labeled, so I took the one that looked like an on-ramp.
It was in fact an off-ramp. And coming off the off-ramp was an enormous 18-wheeler truck.
Yeah.
So I did the only logical thing and thought: "Oh my god. I'm going to die. Right now."
Then I jumped the curb and didn't. Blew out the right front tire of the car, but there was no further damage and I and all my friends (none of whom wanted to put their SEATBELTS ON) are fine. Jen called AAA once it was decided we weren't going to be able to get the nuts off the tire, and Jen, Lou and Dan met us. The mechanic from AAA was calling me Evel Kenievel, but honestly, the guy could have called me Ratcock Assface if he'd wanted to at that point. I was just glad to get the new tire on and get the hell out of there.
It didn't occur to me until I was driving home that if I was even a slightly worse or less reflexive driver, I and several of my good friends would be quite dead right now. And that is one disconcerting motherfucker of a thought.
Of course, true to nerd form, Tony and I were trying to figure out the DC (difficulty class, for the uncool amongst us) was for making that curb jump and not dying, and what kind of penalties would have been applied to my roll: -1 for darkness, -1 for clogged ears, -1 for disorientation. When you think about it, I did pretty well. (SUCH dorks!) Joe was also comparing me to Magnum PI later on, which I guess makes him Higgins. I dunno.
I feel bad that everyone missed Raw, but I feel a lot better that we're alive. Raw didn't sound that good from what I read anyway.
Followers of Jen's journal will have already heard this heartwarming story, but here's my version. After being lost for a while in Jersey, Tony, Tom, Jen, Michelle and I had to get off the turnpike and get back on. In our attempt to do so, we encountered a three-way fork in the road. None of these forks were labeled, so I took the one that looked like an on-ramp.
It was in fact an off-ramp. And coming off the off-ramp was an enormous 18-wheeler truck.
Yeah.
So I did the only logical thing and thought: "Oh my god. I'm going to die. Right now."
Then I jumped the curb and didn't. Blew out the right front tire of the car, but there was no further damage and I and all my friends (none of whom wanted to put their SEATBELTS ON) are fine. Jen called AAA once it was decided we weren't going to be able to get the nuts off the tire, and Jen, Lou and Dan met us. The mechanic from AAA was calling me Evel Kenievel, but honestly, the guy could have called me Ratcock Assface if he'd wanted to at that point. I was just glad to get the new tire on and get the hell out of there.
It didn't occur to me until I was driving home that if I was even a slightly worse or less reflexive driver, I and several of my good friends would be quite dead right now. And that is one disconcerting motherfucker of a thought.
Of course, true to nerd form, Tony and I were trying to figure out the DC (difficulty class, for the uncool amongst us) was for making that curb jump and not dying, and what kind of penalties would have been applied to my roll: -1 for darkness, -1 for clogged ears, -1 for disorientation. When you think about it, I did pretty well. (SUCH dorks!) Joe was also comparing me to Magnum PI later on, which I guess makes him Higgins. I dunno.
I feel bad that everyone missed Raw, but I feel a lot better that we're alive. Raw didn't sound that good from what I read anyway.
4/26/2004- Home Sick
Me: There's a "Murder She Wrote/Magnum PI" crossover episode on A&E.
Me: Of all things.
Jen: There's always a reason why you're sick. This is it.
Now that's comedy.
Me: Of all things.
Jen: There's always a reason why you're sick. This is it.
Now that's comedy.
5/27/2004- You Know What's Sick?
I've watched Law & Order so much and for so long that I can actually tell simply based on Benjamin Bratt's haircut who the D.A. staff is going to be.
"Oh, he's got short hair and a lot of gel. It must be a Carey Lowell episode."
I gotta get out more.
"Oh, he's got short hair and a lot of gel. It must be a Carey Lowell episode."
I gotta get out more.
6/15/2004- A MEDAL, People!
The following exchange just took place via Instant Messenger...
Beej9181: Morning.
DiFFiGrL81: Hey.
DiFFiGrL81: Should I order French Toast or do you think it's too ricky?
Beej9181: You're right.
Beej9181: Ordering French toast is something your brother would do.
I deserve a medal for being that quick-witted so soon after getting up. Do you hear me, world? A MEDAL!
Somebody in a position of power get on that, okay?
Man... I ought to just go the hell back to bed. I'm not topping that today
Beej9181: Morning.
DiFFiGrL81: Hey.
DiFFiGrL81: Should I order French Toast or do you think it's too ricky?
Beej9181: You're right.
Beej9181: Ordering French toast is something your brother would do.
I deserve a medal for being that quick-witted so soon after getting up. Do you hear me, world? A MEDAL!
Somebody in a position of power get on that, okay?
Man... I ought to just go the hell back to bed. I'm not topping that today
6/21/2004- Flippin' It Mode-Time
Okay, long story short, I called Devon up the other day and the following exchange took place.
Devo: What's up with you?
Brendan: Not much. Working. You?
Devo: Oh, you know, not much. Sitting here. Kicking back. Flippin' it mode-time.
Brendan: Flippin' it mode-time?
Devo: Yep.
Brendan: The fuck does that mean?
Devo: Damned if I know. We'll just have to start using it and let a meaning arise naturally.
So get on it, people! Flip it mode-time until a meaning arises!
Flip it, America! Flip it mode-time!
Devo: What's up with you?
Brendan: Not much. Working. You?
Devo: Oh, you know, not much. Sitting here. Kicking back. Flippin' it mode-time.
Brendan: Flippin' it mode-time?
Devo: Yep.
Brendan: The fuck does that mean?
Devo: Damned if I know. We'll just have to start using it and let a meaning arise naturally.
So get on it, people! Flip it mode-time until a meaning arises!
Flip it, America! Flip it mode-time!
10/13/2004- Quick and Easy Lunacy
So want a quick and easy way to drive yourself totally and completely insane?Go lay down. Or sit down. But preferably lay down. Close your eyes. Lay/sit there for a few minutes. Get comfortable. Try not to fall asleep.
Now. Here’s the maddening part.
Try not to move your arm. Think to yourself, “I will not move my arm. No matter what. I will not move my arm.”
Now, still thinking that, try to move your arm. Now try to figure out if it’s your subconscious mind or your conscious mind that’s trying to move your arm. Keep trying to move your arm while thinking, “I will not move my arm.”
I did this for five minutes and slowly felt my sanity dribbling away.
Enjoy.
Now. Here’s the maddening part.
Try not to move your arm. Think to yourself, “I will not move my arm. No matter what. I will not move my arm.”
Now, still thinking that, try to move your arm. Now try to figure out if it’s your subconscious mind or your conscious mind that’s trying to move your arm. Keep trying to move your arm while thinking, “I will not move my arm.”
I did this for five minutes and slowly felt my sanity dribbling away.
Enjoy.
11/8/2004- The Future As Envisioned by the Past, Recalled in the Present
Went down to see Devon this weekend with Tom and Vin. Highlights...
Devon's "Mutha Fuckin' Jetpack"
My Space Coke
After being up for nineteen hours, realizing "Wait... so this is why they say caffeine is a drug."
Eugene: "Brendan, I'm sure you're making a good point but all I hear is 'I'm huge, but I don't drink!'"
"But Devo, that's your crotch dollar!"
Stacey: "Cozy in here." Brendan: "Well shove over, it's about to get cozier."
Bringing that kid's wallet back.
Jackie Kennedy punching Devon in the nipples.
Some girl named Kristin singing "Happy Birthday" to Devon.
"I thought he was a macho womanizer who conquered the Moon!"
"I just keep dripping condensation on myself."
Being introduced to that Maggie girl four times.
Finding out I was calling Cecille "Celine" for the last fifteen minutes of what I'd thought was a good conversation.
That waitress giving me crap about wanting extra toast.
4:30 AM- Stacey: "Aren't you cold?" Brendan: "Stacey, it's this cold at high noon where I'm from."
Someone: "It's like walking on pudding."
Tom: "I was talking to Kate..." Brendan: "Wait. Shiny Kate or radioactive Kate?"
Good time had by all, but all in all, good to be home. It was fun but it was kind of like spending the weekend at PCU, and one can only handle so much of that.
Devon's "Mutha Fuckin' Jetpack"
My Space Coke
After being up for nineteen hours, realizing "Wait... so this is why they say caffeine is a drug."
Eugene: "Brendan, I'm sure you're making a good point but all I hear is 'I'm huge, but I don't drink!'"
"But Devo, that's your crotch dollar!"
Stacey: "Cozy in here." Brendan: "Well shove over, it's about to get cozier."
Bringing that kid's wallet back.
Jackie Kennedy punching Devon in the nipples.
Some girl named Kristin singing "Happy Birthday" to Devon.
"I thought he was a macho womanizer who conquered the Moon!"
"I just keep dripping condensation on myself."
Being introduced to that Maggie girl four times.
Finding out I was calling Cecille "Celine" for the last fifteen minutes of what I'd thought was a good conversation.
That waitress giving me crap about wanting extra toast.
4:30 AM- Stacey: "Aren't you cold?" Brendan: "Stacey, it's this cold at high noon where I'm from."
Someone: "It's like walking on pudding."
Tom: "I was talking to Kate..." Brendan: "Wait. Shiny Kate or radioactive Kate?"
Good time had by all, but all in all, good to be home. It was fun but it was kind of like spending the weekend at PCU, and one can only handle so much of that.
2/14/2005- Instead, We Got Cavemen. Pff...
There's this commercial out for some new SUV. Because God knows the world needs a new SUV. It's this young couple looking at the car, and the guy really wants it but the wife's not sure, so the guy keeps telling her all this stuff that the car can do and all the high ratings it's gotten, and she's still not convinced.
So the guy rolls his eyes and says, "It's the perfect size for that family we've been talking about," and the girl gets all happy and hugs him and starts talking about how much seating room there is and the guy just looks so disgusted and upset.So this guy lies to his wife about wanting children SO HE CAN BUY A TRUCK!!!!!!
I nominate this clown for "Worst Person Ever Depicted On Television Ever." Who's with me?
(Responses follow.)
Jen: I laughed out loud at this. Because women buy cars based solely on whether or not they'll be able to fit all the children they're just dying to have.
I see your nomination but I raise you the guy whose wife finds a pair of underwear and asks him whose they are and he says, "My sister's," and laughs, uncomfortably and the VO says, "Have a bad poker face?"
A bad poker face? He's cheating on his wife!! God damn, that commercial makes me sick.
Me: There should be a commercial where those two get together to go bowling with Hitler and Ghengis Khan, and they all talk about what they've been doing, and at the end Hitler and Khan look at the two guys and say, "Man, that's fucked up."
Then Khan eats them.
And it turns out to be a Geico commercial.
Jen: Khan: I have some good news for you boys.
Cheating guy: You're not going to eat us?
Khan: Oh, no, I am. I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico.(Hitler tents his fingers.)
Me: Gecko dances by."Everybody was kung-fu fighting! Do-da-da-da-do-do-do-do-do! Those cats were fast as lightni-ing! Do-da-da-da-do-do-do-do-do!"
Then Khan bludgeons the SUV guy, hard cut to Geico logo.
Jen: I see it more like, the same audio from the commercial, where he comes in dancing, sees Khan bludgeoning them, slowly stops singing and backs out of the bowling alley."Those cats were fast as... light.... ning."
Me: Sounds good. Why aren't we in advertising?
Jen: Because the world needs us to sit online all day and crack wise at each other all day.Or, at least, that's what I've made myself believe.
Me: Employers: "Brendan, Jen, we'd really like to give you guys legitimate, rewarding, high paying jobs, but if the two of you don't go back and forth on Instant Messenger all day talking about TV and annoying people, well... then the terrorists have already won."
Brendan & Jen: (hang heads, walk away)
So the guy rolls his eyes and says, "It's the perfect size for that family we've been talking about," and the girl gets all happy and hugs him and starts talking about how much seating room there is and the guy just looks so disgusted and upset.So this guy lies to his wife about wanting children SO HE CAN BUY A TRUCK!!!!!!
I nominate this clown for "Worst Person Ever Depicted On Television Ever." Who's with me?
(Responses follow.)
Jen: I laughed out loud at this. Because women buy cars based solely on whether or not they'll be able to fit all the children they're just dying to have.
I see your nomination but I raise you the guy whose wife finds a pair of underwear and asks him whose they are and he says, "My sister's," and laughs, uncomfortably and the VO says, "Have a bad poker face?"
A bad poker face? He's cheating on his wife!! God damn, that commercial makes me sick.
Me: There should be a commercial where those two get together to go bowling with Hitler and Ghengis Khan, and they all talk about what they've been doing, and at the end Hitler and Khan look at the two guys and say, "Man, that's fucked up."
Then Khan eats them.
And it turns out to be a Geico commercial.
Jen: Khan: I have some good news for you boys.
Cheating guy: You're not going to eat us?
Khan: Oh, no, I am. I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico.(Hitler tents his fingers.)
Me: Gecko dances by."Everybody was kung-fu fighting! Do-da-da-da-do-do-do-do-do! Those cats were fast as lightni-ing! Do-da-da-da-do-do-do-do-do!"
Then Khan bludgeons the SUV guy, hard cut to Geico logo.
Jen: I see it more like, the same audio from the commercial, where he comes in dancing, sees Khan bludgeoning them, slowly stops singing and backs out of the bowling alley."Those cats were fast as... light.... ning."
Me: Sounds good. Why aren't we in advertising?
Jen: Because the world needs us to sit online all day and crack wise at each other all day.Or, at least, that's what I've made myself believe.
Me: Employers: "Brendan, Jen, we'd really like to give you guys legitimate, rewarding, high paying jobs, but if the two of you don't go back and forth on Instant Messenger all day talking about TV and annoying people, well... then the terrorists have already won."
Brendan & Jen: (hang heads, walk away)
2/17/2005- Brilliant Idea
I was brushing my teeth with some "Crest with Peroxide & Scope(TM)" or "Colgate with Baking Soda and Whitening Formula" or one of those toothpastes that have a million different things in them, and I came up with something ingenious.
New, from Johnston Pharmaceuticals (which exists): "Balanced: The Toothpaste With Breakfast!"
In addition to fluoride, baking soda and whitening agents, Balanced comes complete with all the elements of that mythical balanced breakfast you always see in cereal ads. Every toothbrush-sized droplet of Balanced contains, in convenient paste form...
-three strips of crispy bacon
-two eggs, scrambled (fried and over easy varieties coming soon)
-an 8 ounce glass of milk
-an 8 ounce glass of orange juice
-two slices of toast
-one bowl of sugar-free cereal
-the morning paper
9 out of 10 dentists agree: That other guy's just being contrary.
Balanced- Because Why Eat Your Breakfast?
Coming soon to a tooth-care aisle near you!
(Also comes in Balanced: Adult, with a cup of black coffee thrown in; not recommended for children under 10)
New, from Johnston Pharmaceuticals (which exists): "Balanced: The Toothpaste With Breakfast!"
In addition to fluoride, baking soda and whitening agents, Balanced comes complete with all the elements of that mythical balanced breakfast you always see in cereal ads. Every toothbrush-sized droplet of Balanced contains, in convenient paste form...
-three strips of crispy bacon
-two eggs, scrambled (fried and over easy varieties coming soon)
-an 8 ounce glass of milk
-an 8 ounce glass of orange juice
-two slices of toast
-one bowl of sugar-free cereal
-the morning paper
9 out of 10 dentists agree: That other guy's just being contrary.
Balanced- Because Why Eat Your Breakfast?
Coming soon to a tooth-care aisle near you!
(Also comes in Balanced: Adult, with a cup of black coffee thrown in; not recommended for children under 10)
2/23/2005- Ten Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't
1. Gotten an A in a thrice-weekly, spring semester class I attended exactly four times.
2. Been cornered by three guys and won the fight.
3. Written a 50 page screenplay in four hours.
4. Never been drunk.
5. Run from the cops, blindly into a tree and had the tree end up in worse shape.
6. Drank sake.
7. Performed the play "12 Angry Men" while wearing a Robin, the Boy Wonder* costume.
8. Got into a street fight (literally, middle of the street) with one of my closest friends simply for lack of anything better to do.
9. Beat Mega Man 2 through Mega Man 8 in the course of a single day, managing to get myself into a car accident and invent a chicken dish during breaks and still get the job done.
10. Won an arm-wrestling match against a Marine.
*I know how gay it sounds. Screw you for judging me.
2. Been cornered by three guys and won the fight.
3. Written a 50 page screenplay in four hours.
4. Never been drunk.
5. Run from the cops, blindly into a tree and had the tree end up in worse shape.
6. Drank sake.
7. Performed the play "12 Angry Men" while wearing a Robin, the Boy Wonder* costume.
8. Got into a street fight (literally, middle of the street) with one of my closest friends simply for lack of anything better to do.
9. Beat Mega Man 2 through Mega Man 8 in the course of a single day, managing to get myself into a car accident and invent a chicken dish during breaks and still get the job done.
10. Won an arm-wrestling match against a Marine.
*I know how gay it sounds. Screw you for judging me.
3/9/2005- Weird Dream Involving a Wrestler
I was walking in the street, late at night, with Chris Benoit, and we were mugged by Brad Pitt, who beat me up and stabbed me with a Bowie knife at the juncture between my thigh and my crotch, and I lay there bleeding profusely while Benoit put him in the Crossface. I tried to call 911 but got no reception on my cell phone. The dream ended when I either passed out from blood loss or bled out and died.
...
Yeah.
...
Yeah.
4/4/2005- My Own Worst Enemy
Last Few Days In Review...
Friday:
- Motherless Goats in Hoboken. Loud, but good as usual. Thumbs Up
- Random drunk girl repeatedly insisting that she knew me through my mom and that her sister was a Stager with me. Thumbs Down
- Random drunken bald guy told me I could have any girl in the place which I assume was just drunkenness talking. Thumbs Up
- Jen thought I was going to kick his ass. Thumbs Up
Saturday:
- Rain. Thumbs Down
- Forgot Pete was moving and didn't even try to get out to help him. Thumbs Down
- Pope died. Thumbs Down
- Appeared instantaneously in Heaven. Thumbs Up
- Kevin Smith Q&A in Red Bank. Five hours of one of my biggest creative influences telling some pretty funny stories. Thumbs Up
- Slurpee. Thumbs Up
Sunday:
- New issue and collected edition of The Goon. Thumbs Up
- Sin City. Awesome. Thumbs Up
- Left the lights on in the van when I parked at the movies. Thumbs Down
- Tony saw it and called me, thus giving me the opportunity to save the battery. Thumbs Up
- Mozzarella Chicken Supreme from Wendy's. My favorite sandwich EVER returns. Thumbs Up
- Wrestlemania 21. Edge won the ladder match but Batista won the World Title and Triple H bled like a stuck pig on anticoagulants, so Thumbs Up. (And yes: a man making himself bleed from the face is enough to make something more enjoyable for me. I'm not saying it's not sick, but there it is.)
- Inexplicable mental breakdown on the ride home. Thumbs Down
Today:
- Sniffed by a Great Dane roughly the size of Diffendale on the way into the ferry terminal. This was neither good nor bad; it was just a BIG fucking dog.
- Stomach started bothering me on the ferry and I was forced to use the facilities on the boat. Thumbs Way The Fuck Down
- Started reading It by Stephen King. Not sure about this one
.Till whenever, folks.
Friday:
- Motherless Goats in Hoboken. Loud, but good as usual. Thumbs Up
- Random drunk girl repeatedly insisting that she knew me through my mom and that her sister was a Stager with me. Thumbs Down
- Random drunken bald guy told me I could have any girl in the place which I assume was just drunkenness talking. Thumbs Up
- Jen thought I was going to kick his ass. Thumbs Up
Saturday:
- Rain. Thumbs Down
- Forgot Pete was moving and didn't even try to get out to help him. Thumbs Down
- Pope died. Thumbs Down
- Appeared instantaneously in Heaven. Thumbs Up
- Kevin Smith Q&A in Red Bank. Five hours of one of my biggest creative influences telling some pretty funny stories. Thumbs Up
- Slurpee. Thumbs Up
Sunday:
- New issue and collected edition of The Goon. Thumbs Up
- Sin City. Awesome. Thumbs Up
- Left the lights on in the van when I parked at the movies. Thumbs Down
- Tony saw it and called me, thus giving me the opportunity to save the battery. Thumbs Up
- Mozzarella Chicken Supreme from Wendy's. My favorite sandwich EVER returns. Thumbs Up
- Wrestlemania 21. Edge won the ladder match but Batista won the World Title and Triple H bled like a stuck pig on anticoagulants, so Thumbs Up. (And yes: a man making himself bleed from the face is enough to make something more enjoyable for me. I'm not saying it's not sick, but there it is.)
- Inexplicable mental breakdown on the ride home. Thumbs Down
Today:
- Sniffed by a Great Dane roughly the size of Diffendale on the way into the ferry terminal. This was neither good nor bad; it was just a BIG fucking dog.
- Stomach started bothering me on the ferry and I was forced to use the facilities on the boat. Thumbs Way The Fuck Down
- Started reading It by Stephen King. Not sure about this one
.Till whenever, folks.
4/21/2005- Nothing Like a Little Syntax Humor
I just overheard something on the news about "new technology that tracks sex offenders from space."
...
FROM SPACE! The sick bastards are coming from SPACE now?!
I now, of course, must write the greatest TV show ever: Star Trek: Special Victims Unit
...
FROM SPACE! The sick bastards are coming from SPACE now?!
I now, of course, must write the greatest TV show ever: Star Trek: Special Victims Unit
4/26/2005- Weird Dream Involving a Bug
So apparently I had a nightmare last night about an insect so large and horrifying it propelled me out of my bed and halfway down the stairs (which involves negotiating some pretty tight turns) before I actually attained consciousness. I seriously forgot all about it until my mother mentioned it this morning, and recollection of the event kept coming to me all day.
Fun.
Fun.
5/22/2005- My Father the Thief
So I was reading a magazine the other day and saw an ad for a new Joe Cocker album. Joe Cocker, for those unfamiliar with older music, is the guy who covered “With A Little Help from My Friends” (the theme to The Wonder Years) and had some other songs, like “Feelin’ Alright” and I think “You Are So Beautiful (To Me)”. Hell of a voice, really gritty and soulful and passionate. Also, he’s only like three feet tall, keeping Jen from being the shortest person with the best voice I’ve ever encountered. His new album, “Heart and Soul” is an album of covers (since he’s not really a songwriter) of a lot of good songs, among them U2’s “One” (one of my personal favorites), Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed”, REM’s “Everybody Hurts,” some others.
I showed the ad to my Dad the other night, because I know my dad likes his stuff and he said, “Looks pretty good.” So today, I pick the album up at Best Buy, come home and show him the album. He takes it from me, looks at the back, says, “Oh. Didn’t think it was out yet. Cool……
Thanks.”
And he walks away.
Mind you, I certainly don’t begrudge my father the album. It’s in the house, and I can always just copy it and listen to it whenever I want. It’s fine.
But I was thinking about it and realized that he pulled the EXACT same thing with the Warren Zevon tribute album I bought earlier this year. Bought it, left it on the desk, pointed it out to him, he picked it up, said “Thanks” and walked off.
The hell of it is he was genuinely grateful for both of them, so what the hell am I supposed to say? Nothing, that’s what.
My dad… one slick operator.
I showed the ad to my Dad the other night, because I know my dad likes his stuff and he said, “Looks pretty good.” So today, I pick the album up at Best Buy, come home and show him the album. He takes it from me, looks at the back, says, “Oh. Didn’t think it was out yet. Cool……
Thanks.”
And he walks away.
Mind you, I certainly don’t begrudge my father the album. It’s in the house, and I can always just copy it and listen to it whenever I want. It’s fine.
But I was thinking about it and realized that he pulled the EXACT same thing with the Warren Zevon tribute album I bought earlier this year. Bought it, left it on the desk, pointed it out to him, he picked it up, said “Thanks” and walked off.
The hell of it is he was genuinely grateful for both of them, so what the hell am I supposed to say? Nothing, that’s what.
My dad… one slick operator.
6/8/2005- From Heck
So the power was out on my block from two this afternoon till about half an hour ago. Thus, no air conditioning. The worst part was that every forty-five minutes or so it would come on for thirty seconds, maybe a minute, then shut off again. Almost needless to say, my rage was palpable. It is very difficult to keep one's cool in 90 degree weather.
My parents' suggested solution to my discomfort and anger: "Take a cold shower."
Right. Take a cold shower by candlelight. What am I, a serial killer?
My parents' suggested solution to my discomfort and anger: "Take a cold shower."
Right. Take a cold shower by candlelight. What am I, a serial killer?
7/23/2005- Weird Dream Involving a Wrestler AND a Bug
So I woke up this morning thrashing around in my bed. Why? Because I had a dream that I was in the Carriage House- only it was in space- talking with Cari and recently released WWE wrestler Charlie Haas, and in this dream the conversation was interrupted when I was attacked by a tiny purple spaceman fighting a bug.
Yeah. That's right.
Yeah. That's right.
8/16/2005- "We're All Crazy Mennonites..."
So my usually hellish commute home was somewhat alleviated today when I walked into the ferry terminal and saw not one, not five, not ten, but somewhere between fifteen and twenty Amish teenagers waiting on line to buy MetroCards.
Sometimes wacky stuff just happens, and thank god I'm there for it.
Sometimes wacky stuff just happens, and thank god I'm there for it.
9/15/2005- Open Letter
Dear Ladies on the Ferry,
Guess who doesn't need to hear about how your sister-in-law had a C-section so she wouldn't be affected sexually after giving birth?
Okay, pencils down.
The answer is... this guy doesn't.
Thank you.
Sincerely yours,The Big Guy Trying to Read
Guess who doesn't need to hear about how your sister-in-law had a C-section so she wouldn't be affected sexually after giving birth?
Okay, pencils down.
The answer is... this guy doesn't.
Thank you.
Sincerely yours,The Big Guy Trying to Read
9/24/2005- Where Have You Gone, Lionel Hutz? Our Nation Turns Its Lonely Eyes to You...
Today would have been Phil Hartman's fifty-seventh birthday if his psychotic wife hadn't shot him dead seven years ago.Here's to you, Troy McClure; our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
(Responses follow.)
Joe: Hail to Phil
Lou B: I told you women suck. Let's not forget, let's NOT forget, that a WOMAN broke up The Beatles too.
Me: You know, I'm trying to pay tribute to a comedy legend here and you keep bringing everything back to your misogyny/closet homosexuality.Not cool, dude. Not cool.
Devon: Phil Hartman remains the only celebrity that I would chose to bring back to life if given the option. Taken too soon. Too soon.-Devon
(Responses follow.)
Joe: Hail to Phil
Lou B: I told you women suck. Let's not forget, let's NOT forget, that a WOMAN broke up The Beatles too.
Me: You know, I'm trying to pay tribute to a comedy legend here and you keep bringing everything back to your misogyny/closet homosexuality.Not cool, dude. Not cool.
Devon: Phil Hartman remains the only celebrity that I would chose to bring back to life if given the option. Taken too soon. Too soon.-Devon
11/8/2005- I Feel a "Jerry Maguire" Memo Coming On...
Those of you who are regular followers of my trials and tribulations are probably aware that I work at an insurance company. For those of you who don’t… hi, I’m Brendan. I work at an insurance company.
One of the things my company insures clients against loss from, in our standard policy, is “acts of God.” What this means is that should an insured business be destroyed or damaged by an event classified as an “act of God,” the good people at my company will reimburse the client within the pre-established limits of insurance.
I have a four-fold problem with this….
1.) Insuring against an act of god assumes the existence of a god. This is not a problem for me as I believe in God, but I don’t really think that officially endorsing a deity is something an insurance company needs to be doing.
2.) Assuming God does exist- which I and, apparently, my employers believe He does- who are we mere mortals to insure against His acts? Let’s say a fishmarket is struck by lightning and burns to the ground. This is deemed an act of God. If such is the case, why did God strike the fishmarket with lightning? He probably had a good reason. Maybe that fishmarket was an evil fishmarket. Why should we pay for the owner to rebuild his evil fishmarket?
3.) A client who is an atheist or an agnostic is immediately put into a philosophical compromise when he purchases the insurance policy. Let’s say Joe Businessman wants to insure his business, Joe’s Business, and Joe is a confirmed atheist. He is convinced that God does not exist. He purchases a policy insuring, among other things, against acts of a God in which he does not believe. Not only does my company force him to subvert his beliefs in exchange for insurance, it charges him an obscene amount of money for the privilege to do so.
4.) The policy does not specify which God. It can be assumed that it is referring to a Judeo-Christian Yahweh figure, which pretty much puts any Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, etc. client in a similar philosophical quagmire to the one experienced by Joe Businessman in the above example. And, what if, as implausible as it may sound, the “act of God” can be attributed to another god? The Norse god Thor could have struck the evil fishmarket with lightning, or the Greek god Zeus. Not only is the coverage presumptuous, it is exceedingly vague.
And there that is.
One of the things my company insures clients against loss from, in our standard policy, is “acts of God.” What this means is that should an insured business be destroyed or damaged by an event classified as an “act of God,” the good people at my company will reimburse the client within the pre-established limits of insurance.
I have a four-fold problem with this….
1.) Insuring against an act of god assumes the existence of a god. This is not a problem for me as I believe in God, but I don’t really think that officially endorsing a deity is something an insurance company needs to be doing.
2.) Assuming God does exist- which I and, apparently, my employers believe He does- who are we mere mortals to insure against His acts? Let’s say a fishmarket is struck by lightning and burns to the ground. This is deemed an act of God. If such is the case, why did God strike the fishmarket with lightning? He probably had a good reason. Maybe that fishmarket was an evil fishmarket. Why should we pay for the owner to rebuild his evil fishmarket?
3.) A client who is an atheist or an agnostic is immediately put into a philosophical compromise when he purchases the insurance policy. Let’s say Joe Businessman wants to insure his business, Joe’s Business, and Joe is a confirmed atheist. He is convinced that God does not exist. He purchases a policy insuring, among other things, against acts of a God in which he does not believe. Not only does my company force him to subvert his beliefs in exchange for insurance, it charges him an obscene amount of money for the privilege to do so.
4.) The policy does not specify which God. It can be assumed that it is referring to a Judeo-Christian Yahweh figure, which pretty much puts any Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, etc. client in a similar philosophical quagmire to the one experienced by Joe Businessman in the above example. And, what if, as implausible as it may sound, the “act of God” can be attributed to another god? The Norse god Thor could have struck the evil fishmarket with lightning, or the Greek god Zeus. Not only is the coverage presumptuous, it is exceedingly vague.
And there that is.
Monday, April 6, 2009
11/23/2005- Three Plus Years Later, and We're STILL Fucking Hearing About These Two...
So this morning I was down at the newsstand getting a water and I saw the cover of the new issue of InTouch magazine. The cover story? "Who's Sexier Now?" with a picture of Angelina Jolie and another of Jennifer Aniston and, between them, a picture of Jennifer Aniston's "side boob" GQ "First Ever Woman of the Year" cover.
When did we, as a culture, become so retarded and shallow that we now have magazine cover stories ABOUT OTHER MAGAZINE COVERS?!!?!??!?!
When did we, as a culture, become so retarded and shallow that we now have magazine cover stories ABOUT OTHER MAGAZINE COVERS?!!?!??!?!
11/25/2005- Rest in Peace, Miyagi-San
You know, you have a perfectly nice post-Thanksgiving day where you go to the comic book store at eight in the morning, then come home and take a five hour nap, and you wake up and find out that Pat Morita upped and died.
It's enough to ruin the whole day you were barely conscious for.
It's enough to ruin the whole day you were barely conscious for.
12/30/2005- The Year In Humor 2005
It's not quite Jen's year in review, but these are 12 of the funnier things I've heard in the past year...
12. Me: "I like soul music as much as the next guy.
Devon: "If the next guy's Smokey Robinson, we're fucked!"
11. Me, to Tony: "They have a special place in Hell for people who make jokes like that."
Vin: "They also have a special place in school for people who make jokes like that."
10. Me, regarding a cockroach at work: "I stepped on it three times and it didn't die!"
Rob, a coworker: "They're tough."
Me: "I weigh close to three hundred pounds! If I stomped on you three times you'd slow down."
9. Jen, regarding my attempt to strangle Paul: "Finish the job..."
8. Black guy on subway: "You know who I like in that Lord of the Rings?"
Other black guy: "Who?"
Black guy: "The little guy."
Other black guy: "N***a, they all little."
Black guy: "Nah, nah, the real little one."
Other black guy: "Gimli?"
Black guy: "Who?"
Other black guy: "N***a wit' the axe."
Black guy: "Nah, not him. Real little dude, with the precious."
Other black guy: "Ohhh, Smeagol."
Black guy: "Yeah, yeah, little crackhead with the precious."
7. Tony: "It's science!"
6. Mr T: “Kristen’s bam!”
5. Lou B: "That's what life's all about. Taking risks. Like the other day the vending machine was out of Coke... so I got Cherry Coke."
4. John Ross.: “STOP! … Lettuce…. Is not… a ball!”
3. Jen, re: my new Kid Flash shirt; “What shirt is this now?”
Me: “It’s Kid Flash.”
Jen: “I’m going to kill you.”
2. Cari: “I drank a lot of seltzer.”
Me: “There are worse things to drink a lot of. Formaldehyde. Paint thinner.”
Cari: “The blood of a Chinaman.”
1. Me: “If I didn’t go too far, how would I ever know when to stop?”
12. Me: "I like soul music as much as the next guy.
Devon: "If the next guy's Smokey Robinson, we're fucked!"
11. Me, to Tony: "They have a special place in Hell for people who make jokes like that."
Vin: "They also have a special place in school for people who make jokes like that."
10. Me, regarding a cockroach at work: "I stepped on it three times and it didn't die!"
Rob, a coworker: "They're tough."
Me: "I weigh close to three hundred pounds! If I stomped on you three times you'd slow down."
9. Jen, regarding my attempt to strangle Paul: "Finish the job..."
8. Black guy on subway: "You know who I like in that Lord of the Rings?"
Other black guy: "Who?"
Black guy: "The little guy."
Other black guy: "N***a, they all little."
Black guy: "Nah, nah, the real little one."
Other black guy: "Gimli?"
Black guy: "Who?"
Other black guy: "N***a wit' the axe."
Black guy: "Nah, not him. Real little dude, with the precious."
Other black guy: "Ohhh, Smeagol."
Black guy: "Yeah, yeah, little crackhead with the precious."
7. Tony: "It's science!"
6. Mr T: “Kristen’s bam!”
5. Lou B: "That's what life's all about. Taking risks. Like the other day the vending machine was out of Coke... so I got Cherry Coke."
4. John Ross.: “STOP! … Lettuce…. Is not… a ball!”
3. Jen, re: my new Kid Flash shirt; “What shirt is this now?”
Me: “It’s Kid Flash.”
Jen: “I’m going to kill you.”
2. Cari: “I drank a lot of seltzer.”
Me: “There are worse things to drink a lot of. Formaldehyde. Paint thinner.”
Cari: “The blood of a Chinaman.”
1. Me: “If I didn’t go too far, how would I ever know when to stop?”
1/24/2006- Over Three Years Later, and I Still Can't Get Enough of the Wiki...
From wikipedia.org
"The question of Skeletor's head"
It has never been clarified as to what extent any version of Skeletor is supposed to have any remaining fleshy matter in his head, and thus to what extent Skeletor retains normal biological functions, if any. Although all versions of Skeletor (apart from the 1987 film) depict him as having either permanently or intermittently visible glowing points of scarlet energy within his eye sockets instead of actual biological eyes, it is unclear whether he has a tongue (and thus if he talks by magical means, because while it is possible to speak without lips one still requires a tongue) or if he needs to eat or drink, as neither have ever been depicted. Whether he still possesses a biological brain inside his skull is also unkown.
I fucking LOVE this site.
"The question of Skeletor's head"
It has never been clarified as to what extent any version of Skeletor is supposed to have any remaining fleshy matter in his head, and thus to what extent Skeletor retains normal biological functions, if any. Although all versions of Skeletor (apart from the 1987 film) depict him as having either permanently or intermittently visible glowing points of scarlet energy within his eye sockets instead of actual biological eyes, it is unclear whether he has a tongue (and thus if he talks by magical means, because while it is possible to speak without lips one still requires a tongue) or if he needs to eat or drink, as neither have ever been depicted. Whether he still possesses a biological brain inside his skull is also unkown.
I fucking LOVE this site.
4/29/2006- Christmas Card from a Hooker in Mineapolis
The above is the title of a Tom Waits song I've never heard till tonight. I've always heard good things about this song so I intentionally avoided ever reading the lyrics online or anything. So tonight I finally get around to downloading the song, and I listen to it... and holy shit, it is the most depressing fucking song I've ever heard. It's written from the perspective of, as the title would suggest, a hooker in Minneapolis, and she's writing a Christmas card to her old friend Charlie about how great her life is now that she's cleaned up and stopped being a hooker and all; she's got a husband who loves her and all this and her life's great. Then the last verse is just her saying that everything she just wrote was bullshit and she's really writing from jail because she needs to borrow money to pay a lawyer. Over the course of three and a half minutes he makes you so happy for this poor girl who's turned her life around and then he completely destroys all of it.So now I'm just depressed... fucking Tom Waits...
(Responses follow.)
Lou B: Wanna talk about a one-two knock out punch of depression? Try listening to "Misery is the River of the World" and "God's Away on Business" back to back.
Me: Why would I want a one-two punch of depression?
Lou B: It was a rhetorical question, numb nut.
Devon: For my money, the songs that will give you a real kidney shot of depression are "All The World Is Green" and "Coney Island Baby".-DEVON!
Me: While I agree with you both about the general content of the Blood Money album, I feel a lot of the really downbeat stuff comes in his earlier work, like "Bad Liver & A Broken Heart" or "Martha". Blood Money is brilliant, but almost- almost- too strange sounding to be as affecting as his earlier work.
(Responses follow.)
Lou B: Wanna talk about a one-two knock out punch of depression? Try listening to "Misery is the River of the World" and "God's Away on Business" back to back.
Me: Why would I want a one-two punch of depression?
Lou B: It was a rhetorical question, numb nut.
Devon: For my money, the songs that will give you a real kidney shot of depression are "All The World Is Green" and "Coney Island Baby".-DEVON!
Me: While I agree with you both about the general content of the Blood Money album, I feel a lot of the really downbeat stuff comes in his earlier work, like "Bad Liver & A Broken Heart" or "Martha". Blood Money is brilliant, but almost- almost- too strange sounding to be as affecting as his earlier work.
12/27/2006- The Year in Humor- Preview
Holy crap, I still have a livejournal?
Anyway, some of you may remember that around this time last year I posted... a list of the twelve funniest things I'd heard in 2005 (which seems so very long ago). Well, due to popular demand (namely Jen), I will be doing the same for 2006, probably posting the final list on New Year's Day or possibly before I go out on New Year's Eve.
Over the last few weeks I've gone over my notebook, flagging the quips, exchanges and observations I feel are worth recalling over the last year, and managed to narrow it down to thirty. But obviously some of them had to be cut to keep it to the manageable dozen I decided on last year.
But, fuck that, here's the ones I cut anyway, because they're pretty damn funny too. The ones in bold are the four that almost made the final cut of 12... enjoy.
“I was watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on TV last night… yo, that Santa’s an asshole.” –Rob, a coworker.
“What if one day I’m living on the street with no hands and I need to whistle for money?!” –Vin Cocozza
“Justice will be served spicy.” – a bus stop ad for “Judge Maria Lopez”’s TV show.
“Tough, tough, tough! Gay, gay, gay! Do the next fucking scene.” –Me performing Mike McGrail and Paul’s scene in Judas Iscariot in their absence
“What’s the plural of fish?”“Fish.”“Except?”“… except when referring to multiple species of fish?”“That’s right!”“Oh, shut up…” -Cari, then me, then Cari, then me, then Cari, then Jen (to me).
“If I leave without giving you your birthday present, I’m gonna murder you.” –Jen, to Michelle.
“Like a jungle cat. An old, wounded jungle cat.” –Me, regarding my own reflexes
“That is a violation of my cupcake’s civil rights.”“Cupcakes don’t have civil rights.”“They have the right to be delicious.” –Devon, then me, then Devon
“You need to specify your package.” – a (female) coworker, regarding part of an insurance policy and not realizing why I started laughing.
“Is that when he does her in the art gallery?”“Art gallery of course being code for ‘butt.’” –Perry, then me
“Chickens don’t have hands, ya fuckin’ retard.” –Jen
“He’s so close, he’s not that far away.” –Yankees radio commentator John Sterling, regarding the positions of Tampa Bay’s shortstop relative to the second baseman during the Giambi overshift.
“Whatever, dude. Babies kick your ass.” –Nancy
“You know, people have no consideration. Do this on a weekend!” – a coworker of mine, regarding someone who committed suicide by throwing himself on a train track, causing rush hour delays.
“It’s not a lie. It’s just a combination of unrelated truths.” -Me
“Okay, okay, now we’re even.”“Even?! You borrow things for a long time; no one wants to love me!” Jen, then me, immediately following a previous exchange.
“Jedi Master Mattel Kaybee.” –Jen
“He’s a doctor, Brendan! Show some respect for a doctor!” –Jen, re: Dr. Michael Hutmaker
The final twelve, in a few days...
Anyway, some of you may remember that around this time last year I posted... a list of the twelve funniest things I'd heard in 2005 (which seems so very long ago). Well, due to popular demand (namely Jen), I will be doing the same for 2006, probably posting the final list on New Year's Day or possibly before I go out on New Year's Eve.
Over the last few weeks I've gone over my notebook, flagging the quips, exchanges and observations I feel are worth recalling over the last year, and managed to narrow it down to thirty. But obviously some of them had to be cut to keep it to the manageable dozen I decided on last year.
But, fuck that, here's the ones I cut anyway, because they're pretty damn funny too. The ones in bold are the four that almost made the final cut of 12... enjoy.
“I was watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on TV last night… yo, that Santa’s an asshole.” –Rob, a coworker.
“What if one day I’m living on the street with no hands and I need to whistle for money?!” –Vin Cocozza
“Justice will be served spicy.” – a bus stop ad for “Judge Maria Lopez”’s TV show.
“Tough, tough, tough! Gay, gay, gay! Do the next fucking scene.” –Me performing Mike McGrail and Paul’s scene in Judas Iscariot in their absence
“What’s the plural of fish?”“Fish.”“Except?”“… except when referring to multiple species of fish?”“That’s right!”“Oh, shut up…” -Cari, then me, then Cari, then me, then Cari, then Jen (to me).
“If I leave without giving you your birthday present, I’m gonna murder you.” –Jen, to Michelle.
“Like a jungle cat. An old, wounded jungle cat.” –Me, regarding my own reflexes
“That is a violation of my cupcake’s civil rights.”“Cupcakes don’t have civil rights.”“They have the right to be delicious.” –Devon, then me, then Devon
“You need to specify your package.” – a (female) coworker, regarding part of an insurance policy and not realizing why I started laughing.
“Is that when he does her in the art gallery?”“Art gallery of course being code for ‘butt.’” –Perry, then me
“Chickens don’t have hands, ya fuckin’ retard.” –Jen
“He’s so close, he’s not that far away.” –Yankees radio commentator John Sterling, regarding the positions of Tampa Bay’s shortstop relative to the second baseman during the Giambi overshift.
“Whatever, dude. Babies kick your ass.” –Nancy
“You know, people have no consideration. Do this on a weekend!” – a coworker of mine, regarding someone who committed suicide by throwing himself on a train track, causing rush hour delays.
“It’s not a lie. It’s just a combination of unrelated truths.” -Me
“Okay, okay, now we’re even.”“Even?! You borrow things for a long time; no one wants to love me!” Jen, then me, immediately following a previous exchange.
“Jedi Master Mattel Kaybee.” –Jen
“He’s a doctor, Brendan! Show some respect for a doctor!” –Jen, re: Dr. Michael Hutmaker
The final twelve, in a few days...
12/31/2006- The Year in Humor 2006
And now, the funniest things I've heard all year...
1.) “I have anger issues; I get angry when everyone else is a retard.” –Me
2.) “Tricked by one’s conscience is still tricked.” –Tom
3.) “I want to fuck her in the worst way.”
“Standing up in a hammock?” –Someone, then Paul
4.) “It’s like someone called 1-800-Fuck-Brendan.”
“Who wants to call that number?” –Someone, then Jen
5.) “I know your fucking ‘making fun of girls’ voice!” –Jen
6.) “Worst case scenario, you go, have a bad time and leave early. Best case scenario, you meet some hot older woman and end up having sex in a closet… and you get a race car.” –Devon, regarding a party I didn’t want to go to. (I ended up getting lost and not going.)
7.) “I thought you said, ‘a kid who can beat me at volleyball.’” –Cari, after I said “a kid who I could not conceivably be the father of.” (It was a rather bad cell phone connection.)
8.) “Did you know Goodfellas and My Blue Heaven are based on the same guy?”
“That’s like finding out Dude, Where’s My Car? was based on Oskar Schindler.” –Tom, then me.
9.) “That’s the first thing I do to anything that needs fixing: turn it off, then turn it back on. That’s why I never would have made it as a doctor.” –Me
10.) “Well you have to sleep in a pool of your own shit, but you get to cum for a day and a half.” –Me, regarding the fact that pigs apparently orgasm for 36 hours
11.) “It does too.”
“It does not.”
“… are we really going to do this?” –Lou Bara, then me, then Bara again, having a mercifully truncated argument.
12.) “Everyone knows how gay you are. That woman over there, she knows you’re gay. I just told her. I used secret heterosexual code so you wouldn’t understand.” –Me, to Tom.
Happy New Year, everyone.
1.) “I have anger issues; I get angry when everyone else is a retard.” –Me
2.) “Tricked by one’s conscience is still tricked.” –Tom
3.) “I want to fuck her in the worst way.”
“Standing up in a hammock?” –Someone, then Paul
4.) “It’s like someone called 1-800-Fuck-Brendan.”
“Who wants to call that number?” –Someone, then Jen
5.) “I know your fucking ‘making fun of girls’ voice!” –Jen
6.) “Worst case scenario, you go, have a bad time and leave early. Best case scenario, you meet some hot older woman and end up having sex in a closet… and you get a race car.” –Devon, regarding a party I didn’t want to go to. (I ended up getting lost and not going.)
7.) “I thought you said, ‘a kid who can beat me at volleyball.’” –Cari, after I said “a kid who I could not conceivably be the father of.” (It was a rather bad cell phone connection.)
8.) “Did you know Goodfellas and My Blue Heaven are based on the same guy?”
“That’s like finding out Dude, Where’s My Car? was based on Oskar Schindler.” –Tom, then me.
9.) “That’s the first thing I do to anything that needs fixing: turn it off, then turn it back on. That’s why I never would have made it as a doctor.” –Me
10.) “Well you have to sleep in a pool of your own shit, but you get to cum for a day and a half.” –Me, regarding the fact that pigs apparently orgasm for 36 hours
11.) “It does too.”
“It does not.”
“… are we really going to do this?” –Lou Bara, then me, then Bara again, having a mercifully truncated argument.
12.) “Everyone knows how gay you are. That woman over there, she knows you’re gay. I just told her. I used secret heterosexual code so you wouldn’t understand.” –Me, to Tom.
Happy New Year, everyone.
1/10/2007- Algebra Dogs
I was just wondering why there wasn't a "Mister Red" in Reservoir Dogs when I realized that "Mister Red" could easily be misheard as "Mister Ed." And that just wouldn't have worked.
(Responses Follow.)
Lou B: I totally know this one:Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) + Mr. Red (x) = Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi)SO, x= Colin Farrell
Devon: So then if:Colin Farrell= Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
then:Steve Buscemi - Harvey Keitel = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
or
Steve Buscemi = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt + Harvey Keitel
I don't know if this works out mathematically. We may need to throw a "square root" in there somewhere.-DEVON!
Me: Actually I think it may be
Steve Buscemi + Harvey Keitel = Colin Farrell = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
But I could be wrong. I majored in English for a reason
Lou B: That equation makes no sense. What's wrong with you?
Jen: I'm sorry, I like Steve Buscemi as much as the next girl but there is no way he should be involved in any equation with Brad Pitt. Unless it's Steve Buscemi is not equal to Brad Pitt.
(Responses Follow.)
Lou B: I totally know this one:Mr. White (Harvey Keitel) + Mr. Red (x) = Mr. Pink (Steve Buscemi)SO, x= Colin Farrell
Devon: So then if:Colin Farrell= Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
then:Steve Buscemi - Harvey Keitel = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
or
Steve Buscemi = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt + Harvey Keitel
I don't know if this works out mathematically. We may need to throw a "square root" in there somewhere.-DEVON!
Me: Actually I think it may be
Steve Buscemi + Harvey Keitel = Colin Farrell = Liam Neeson + Brad Pitt
But I could be wrong. I majored in English for a reason
Lou B: That equation makes no sense. What's wrong with you?
Jen: I'm sorry, I like Steve Buscemi as much as the next girl but there is no way he should be involved in any equation with Brad Pitt. Unless it's Steve Buscemi is not equal to Brad Pitt.
2/18/2007- Show Me That Smile Again; or How Kirk Cameron Accidentally Ruined My Life
A while back, while killing some time before a rehearsal, I found myself wandering around the Film/TV/Radio section of Barnes & Noble and briefly skimmed a book about the greatest flops in Hollywood history. I was momentarily chagrined to find that I had seen and thoroughly enjoyed four of the fourteen films listed in the table of contents, then realized that any book that has a harsh word to say about Hudson Hawk is not a book I care to read. This, perhaps oddly, made me think about Kirk Cameron.
Kirk Cameron was the star of Growing Pains, one of my favorite sitcoms as a kid. He played a character named Mike Seaver, the oldest of a group of siblings (which I am) and a fast-talking, unflappable rebel (which I perceived myself to be, despite being eight.) As such, I identified very strongly with the Mike Seaver character, as much as one can identify with a character whose exploits stopped being broadcast shortly before one reaches puberty. I liked the show for other reasons, among them that an entire season (1989) was erased from continuity when it was revealed to be a dream of Mike’s. This was the season where Mike dated and almost married a blond girl named Julie (played, in what I suppose could be considered an advanced form of method acting, by a blond girl named Julie.) I disliked this development, as I was still about two years from realizing why anyone would want to hang out with a tall-ish, blond Playboy model. Another of my favorites was the 1991 episode called “Meet the Seavers,” in which the younger son -Ben Seaver, played by actor Jeremy Miller- dreams that he is an actor named Jeremy Miller appearing on a television sitcom called Growing Pains about a family named Seaver. I like to think I enjoyed this episode because even at the tender age of eleven, I was into postmodernism and satire, but really it was probably because I thought it’d be kind of cool to find out I was in fact the star of a sitcom. Growing Pains was a great show (and just sitting here typing this, I’m amazed I don’t own the DVDs), and I remember privately drawing comparisons as a kid to Family Ties, and longing for an episode of either show where Mike Seaver would meet Alex P. Keaton and teach him how to be cool. Because apparently I disliked Republicans as a kid, too.
Then in my senior year of high school (1999) I re-watched the show in syndication. I didn’t go out much, so I probably managed to watch the entire run of the show in a half a year or so, as there were two episodes on every afternoon. Upon my second long-term exposure to the show, I noticed a striking dichotomy between Mike Seaver’s behavior and personality in early episodes and his behavior and personality in later episodes. For the first seventy episodes or so, Mike is a habitual liar and troublemaker, forever being called to Principal DeWitt’s office or being scolded firmly but fairly (and hilariously!) by father Jason or mother Maggie. Then, all of a sudden, Mike becomes a model citizen. He stops lying to his parents, cleans up his act, takes a stab at acting and, when that doesn’t work out, finds his way into a job teaching underprivileged children and eventually half-adopting one (played by Leonardo DiCaprio, but that’s neither here nor there, really). I was surprised at this to say the least, and saw no compelling storyline reason for this sudden shift in Mike’s character arc. I don’t know if watching the show at, basically, one clip accentuated it more than watching it with a week in between episodes and a summer in between seasons would have, and barring the acquisition of a flux capacitor, I suppose I never will.
A few years later, the E! Network aired one of their trademark True Hollywood Stories covering Growing Pains and its cast. I of course watched this episode (possibly the only full episode of E!THS I ever watched, including the one on Saved by the Bell) and my mystery was solved. Apparently between the 1989 and 1990 seasons of the show, Kirk Cameron embraced born-again Christianity and insisted that Mike Seaver straighten up and fly right as well; no more lying to Jason and Maggie, no more slacking off at school and having no direction, and certainly no romantic relationship with Julie, who got fired (possibly at Cameron’s insistence) when she posed for Playboy magazine. At the time, this confused the producers and, eleven years later, angered me; ”Mike Seaver has to stop lying to his parents?” Excuse me? Lying to his parents was the entire point of Mike Seaver. Lying to his parents was what made Mike Seaver cool, damn it!
Back in 2001, I thought about this newfound knowledge for what can safely be classified as an excessive amount of time. Here’s the thing: a lot of social critics claim that recent generations of kids have been raised by television. This theory does not apply to me. I was not raised by TV, but by my sainted mother and my selfless, hardworking father, with a moderate amount of assistance from two sets of grandparents. For better or worse, all our fathers are our (in my case, utterly unattainable) models for manhood, which is as it should be. But, in my case, I had no model for childhood.
I am, as I mentioned, the oldest of three children. The sole older male influence of my generation was my cousin Kevin, who is two years older than me and, as far as I was always concerned, more a peer than a role model. I had no big brother to show me how I was supposed to act between the ages of, say, five and sixteen (to arbitrarily define the ages when, respectively, infancy ends and young adulthood begins). By the time I was three, I was the big brother; my sister Alicia was born in 1984, and Veronica came along in 1989, just when I’d gotten used to Alicia.
Enter Mike Seaver. Despite being a fictional character, he had enough years on me that I viewed him as a role model (subconsciously, of course; no seven year old thinks about this stuff... hell, twenty-five year olds only think of it while dealing with bouts of insomnia) of how a pubescent American male should act. Through my observations of his behavior, I patterned my own development as a member of youth culture. But what initially attracted me to the concept of Mike Seaver was his (admittedly G-rated) rebelliousness. I admit to speculating here; there is no way of telling what I thought when I first watched the show, but I can theorize. Mike misbehaved and everyone in the studio audience loved it. He got into trouble, but it was never lasting trouble, the punishments were always supposedly severe but never harsh (and certainly never physical; Jason and Maggie Seaver never raised a hand to their kids... my parents did on occasion, but when it happened it was because we goddamn well deserved it) and always forgotten by the time the next episode rolled around. Mike lived in a world without consequences for his troublesome actions, and even when caught, scolded and ultimately punished, usually got the last word anyway, before the credits ran over a freeze-frame. There is no way anyone can tell me this is not an attractive concept, even (especially?) to an adult.
But herein lies the rub: by the time I was of an age to do any serious, Mike-esque rabble-rousing, Mike mutated into a good kid through Kirk Cameron’s backstage, Jesus-driven machinations. He was nice to his brother and sister. His grades picked up. He stopped spinning outrageous fabrications to mom and dad. He was still funny, and he was still kind of cool, but in a different way. Watching this and not knowing about any of the religious awakenings or power plays going on out in Hollywood, I came to the only logical assumption I could: “Well... I guess that’s just what happens.” You hit a certain age and you just, over one summer, grow the hell up. You graduate high school and go to the only college that’ll take you because you were such a screw-up over the last few years (seasons… whatever). You get dumped by the blonde and end up dating the (in my opinion) hotter brunette. (If anyone thinks I’m overdoing it here, I should make it clear that I fully expect to have two girlfriends in my entire life; the one I won’t marry, and the one I will marry. I have believed this, for all intents and purposes, for my entire adult life. I realize now that this is Mike Seaver’s fault.) You become responsible and trustworthy and virtuous by the time you turn twenty and that’s that. So (again, subconsciously), this became my model for what the next eight to ten years of my life were supposed to be like. I never got to do any of the troublemaking, because by the time I was old enough to start, my model for troublemaking had evolved beyond that. I skipped it altogether and did well all through high school, got accepted with a full scholarship to a good college, and ended up going to an okay one.
Now, however, with the power of E! and the internet at my disposal, I know that Mike didn’t evolve at all. Kirk Cameron evolved, and forced a thoroughly inexplicable metamorphosis on Mike. (That sentence, in a way, espouses the concepts of both evolution and intelligent design/creationism, because I am awesome.) So my decision to not become a rakish ne’er do-well was not an organic one at all; it was forced on me by some actor out in California. The entire last seventeen years of my life have been shaped (albeit vaguely and indirectly) by the older brother of the chick who played DJ Tanner.
Which leads me back to why skimming this book about movie flops makes me think of Kirk Cameron. Despite my general interest in film, I’m never going to buy and/or read this book lest my way of thinking about movies like Hudson Hawk and The Last Action Hero be tainted by someone else’s opinions. I know myself to be very impressionable and open to outside ideas, and this is the exact same reason I won’t read a book called Left Behind. This book is the first in a series of Christianity-themed adventure novels, and there is a series of films based on them, which star (you guessed it) Kirk Cameron. Set after the Biblical “Rapture”, during which all the good and faithful people in the world are taken bodily by God into Heaven, the series focuses on those “left behind” and focuses on their coming war with the Antichrist; it sounds kind of like The Stand, only the deus ex machina comes at the beginning of the story. I only know this because of an essay by Chuck Klosterman and liberal readings at the IMDb and Wikipedia. I have never read any of these books nor seen any of the films (which - surprise!- all went straight to video), nor do I intend to despite my sincere, purely intellectual curiosity about the subject matter and why it is so popular. As far as I can tell, there are roughly four hundred books in this series, and they all spend significant periods of time on the New York Times’ bestseller list. As a fan of popular culture in general, the concept of these books intrigues me; there’s this whole subsection of entertainment that’s never explored by the majority of the world because it is classified as being for born-again Christians. They could be the most entertaining, engaging reads this side of the Harry Potter novels, but no one knows except the (relative) handful of hardcore evangelical Christians at whom they are aimed.
So why don’t I read them? Or at least watch the first movie and give it a chance? Well, reader, here’s why:
I am terrified that if I do so I will become a born-again Christian.
To be clear, I’ve done things out of intellectual curiosity before. Several years ago, I watched a professional wrestling event- something I had literally never done before- solely because I was curious to see what the big deal was; I ended up writing television recaps for a wrestling fan website for close to a year. A few years after that I watched the 2003 American League Championship Series between the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees because I was interested in baseball as “an American mythical construct.” (Quoting myself there. How obnoxious, both the statement and the fact that I’m goddamn quoting myself.) Now, in 2006, close to half of the conversations I have with my closer friends center around baseball and how I really hope the Angels don’t make the playoffs, because if they do, they will eliminate the Yankees (again) and this will irritate me. So, I have a history of approaching things from a dispassionate, intellectual standpoint and ending up completely sucked in by them. Pro wrestling and baseball are one thing; becoming a Bible-thumper is just something I’m not willing to risk. One could argue that the three things are completely different, or at least that the first two are completely different from the third; pro wrestling and baseball are things you watch on TV, whereas born-again Christianity is a serious life choice that alters your entire perspective on life and the world. And I grant that this is true. Also, it would take a hell of a lot more effort on my part to become a born-again Christian (as opposed to a very cynical though usually practicing Catholic) than it did for me to become a baseball fan; born-again Christianity doesn’t have a TV network devoted to it, and baseball didn’t force me to develop opinions on abortion and gay marriage. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s having to put an effort into anything.
But these Left Behind guys have Kirk Cameron on their side. Quite frankly, I’m not willing to take the risk of him throwing a wrench into my development as a person ever again. Fool me once, Mike Seaver, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
Kirk Cameron was the star of Growing Pains, one of my favorite sitcoms as a kid. He played a character named Mike Seaver, the oldest of a group of siblings (which I am) and a fast-talking, unflappable rebel (which I perceived myself to be, despite being eight.) As such, I identified very strongly with the Mike Seaver character, as much as one can identify with a character whose exploits stopped being broadcast shortly before one reaches puberty. I liked the show for other reasons, among them that an entire season (1989) was erased from continuity when it was revealed to be a dream of Mike’s. This was the season where Mike dated and almost married a blond girl named Julie (played, in what I suppose could be considered an advanced form of method acting, by a blond girl named Julie.) I disliked this development, as I was still about two years from realizing why anyone would want to hang out with a tall-ish, blond Playboy model. Another of my favorites was the 1991 episode called “Meet the Seavers,” in which the younger son -Ben Seaver, played by actor Jeremy Miller- dreams that he is an actor named Jeremy Miller appearing on a television sitcom called Growing Pains about a family named Seaver. I like to think I enjoyed this episode because even at the tender age of eleven, I was into postmodernism and satire, but really it was probably because I thought it’d be kind of cool to find out I was in fact the star of a sitcom. Growing Pains was a great show (and just sitting here typing this, I’m amazed I don’t own the DVDs), and I remember privately drawing comparisons as a kid to Family Ties, and longing for an episode of either show where Mike Seaver would meet Alex P. Keaton and teach him how to be cool. Because apparently I disliked Republicans as a kid, too.
Then in my senior year of high school (1999) I re-watched the show in syndication. I didn’t go out much, so I probably managed to watch the entire run of the show in a half a year or so, as there were two episodes on every afternoon. Upon my second long-term exposure to the show, I noticed a striking dichotomy between Mike Seaver’s behavior and personality in early episodes and his behavior and personality in later episodes. For the first seventy episodes or so, Mike is a habitual liar and troublemaker, forever being called to Principal DeWitt’s office or being scolded firmly but fairly (and hilariously!) by father Jason or mother Maggie. Then, all of a sudden, Mike becomes a model citizen. He stops lying to his parents, cleans up his act, takes a stab at acting and, when that doesn’t work out, finds his way into a job teaching underprivileged children and eventually half-adopting one (played by Leonardo DiCaprio, but that’s neither here nor there, really). I was surprised at this to say the least, and saw no compelling storyline reason for this sudden shift in Mike’s character arc. I don’t know if watching the show at, basically, one clip accentuated it more than watching it with a week in between episodes and a summer in between seasons would have, and barring the acquisition of a flux capacitor, I suppose I never will.
A few years later, the E! Network aired one of their trademark True Hollywood Stories covering Growing Pains and its cast. I of course watched this episode (possibly the only full episode of E!THS I ever watched, including the one on Saved by the Bell) and my mystery was solved. Apparently between the 1989 and 1990 seasons of the show, Kirk Cameron embraced born-again Christianity and insisted that Mike Seaver straighten up and fly right as well; no more lying to Jason and Maggie, no more slacking off at school and having no direction, and certainly no romantic relationship with Julie, who got fired (possibly at Cameron’s insistence) when she posed for Playboy magazine. At the time, this confused the producers and, eleven years later, angered me; ”Mike Seaver has to stop lying to his parents?” Excuse me? Lying to his parents was the entire point of Mike Seaver. Lying to his parents was what made Mike Seaver cool, damn it!
Back in 2001, I thought about this newfound knowledge for what can safely be classified as an excessive amount of time. Here’s the thing: a lot of social critics claim that recent generations of kids have been raised by television. This theory does not apply to me. I was not raised by TV, but by my sainted mother and my selfless, hardworking father, with a moderate amount of assistance from two sets of grandparents. For better or worse, all our fathers are our (in my case, utterly unattainable) models for manhood, which is as it should be. But, in my case, I had no model for childhood.
I am, as I mentioned, the oldest of three children. The sole older male influence of my generation was my cousin Kevin, who is two years older than me and, as far as I was always concerned, more a peer than a role model. I had no big brother to show me how I was supposed to act between the ages of, say, five and sixteen (to arbitrarily define the ages when, respectively, infancy ends and young adulthood begins). By the time I was three, I was the big brother; my sister Alicia was born in 1984, and Veronica came along in 1989, just when I’d gotten used to Alicia.
Enter Mike Seaver. Despite being a fictional character, he had enough years on me that I viewed him as a role model (subconsciously, of course; no seven year old thinks about this stuff... hell, twenty-five year olds only think of it while dealing with bouts of insomnia) of how a pubescent American male should act. Through my observations of his behavior, I patterned my own development as a member of youth culture. But what initially attracted me to the concept of Mike Seaver was his (admittedly G-rated) rebelliousness. I admit to speculating here; there is no way of telling what I thought when I first watched the show, but I can theorize. Mike misbehaved and everyone in the studio audience loved it. He got into trouble, but it was never lasting trouble, the punishments were always supposedly severe but never harsh (and certainly never physical; Jason and Maggie Seaver never raised a hand to their kids... my parents did on occasion, but when it happened it was because we goddamn well deserved it) and always forgotten by the time the next episode rolled around. Mike lived in a world without consequences for his troublesome actions, and even when caught, scolded and ultimately punished, usually got the last word anyway, before the credits ran over a freeze-frame. There is no way anyone can tell me this is not an attractive concept, even (especially?) to an adult.
But herein lies the rub: by the time I was of an age to do any serious, Mike-esque rabble-rousing, Mike mutated into a good kid through Kirk Cameron’s backstage, Jesus-driven machinations. He was nice to his brother and sister. His grades picked up. He stopped spinning outrageous fabrications to mom and dad. He was still funny, and he was still kind of cool, but in a different way. Watching this and not knowing about any of the religious awakenings or power plays going on out in Hollywood, I came to the only logical assumption I could: “Well... I guess that’s just what happens.” You hit a certain age and you just, over one summer, grow the hell up. You graduate high school and go to the only college that’ll take you because you were such a screw-up over the last few years (seasons… whatever). You get dumped by the blonde and end up dating the (in my opinion) hotter brunette. (If anyone thinks I’m overdoing it here, I should make it clear that I fully expect to have two girlfriends in my entire life; the one I won’t marry, and the one I will marry. I have believed this, for all intents and purposes, for my entire adult life. I realize now that this is Mike Seaver’s fault.) You become responsible and trustworthy and virtuous by the time you turn twenty and that’s that. So (again, subconsciously), this became my model for what the next eight to ten years of my life were supposed to be like. I never got to do any of the troublemaking, because by the time I was old enough to start, my model for troublemaking had evolved beyond that. I skipped it altogether and did well all through high school, got accepted with a full scholarship to a good college, and ended up going to an okay one.
Now, however, with the power of E! and the internet at my disposal, I know that Mike didn’t evolve at all. Kirk Cameron evolved, and forced a thoroughly inexplicable metamorphosis on Mike. (That sentence, in a way, espouses the concepts of both evolution and intelligent design/creationism, because I am awesome.) So my decision to not become a rakish ne’er do-well was not an organic one at all; it was forced on me by some actor out in California. The entire last seventeen years of my life have been shaped (albeit vaguely and indirectly) by the older brother of the chick who played DJ Tanner.
Which leads me back to why skimming this book about movie flops makes me think of Kirk Cameron. Despite my general interest in film, I’m never going to buy and/or read this book lest my way of thinking about movies like Hudson Hawk and The Last Action Hero be tainted by someone else’s opinions. I know myself to be very impressionable and open to outside ideas, and this is the exact same reason I won’t read a book called Left Behind. This book is the first in a series of Christianity-themed adventure novels, and there is a series of films based on them, which star (you guessed it) Kirk Cameron. Set after the Biblical “Rapture”, during which all the good and faithful people in the world are taken bodily by God into Heaven, the series focuses on those “left behind” and focuses on their coming war with the Antichrist; it sounds kind of like The Stand, only the deus ex machina comes at the beginning of the story. I only know this because of an essay by Chuck Klosterman and liberal readings at the IMDb and Wikipedia. I have never read any of these books nor seen any of the films (which - surprise!- all went straight to video), nor do I intend to despite my sincere, purely intellectual curiosity about the subject matter and why it is so popular. As far as I can tell, there are roughly four hundred books in this series, and they all spend significant periods of time on the New York Times’ bestseller list. As a fan of popular culture in general, the concept of these books intrigues me; there’s this whole subsection of entertainment that’s never explored by the majority of the world because it is classified as being for born-again Christians. They could be the most entertaining, engaging reads this side of the Harry Potter novels, but no one knows except the (relative) handful of hardcore evangelical Christians at whom they are aimed.
So why don’t I read them? Or at least watch the first movie and give it a chance? Well, reader, here’s why:
I am terrified that if I do so I will become a born-again Christian.
To be clear, I’ve done things out of intellectual curiosity before. Several years ago, I watched a professional wrestling event- something I had literally never done before- solely because I was curious to see what the big deal was; I ended up writing television recaps for a wrestling fan website for close to a year. A few years after that I watched the 2003 American League Championship Series between the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees because I was interested in baseball as “an American mythical construct.” (Quoting myself there. How obnoxious, both the statement and the fact that I’m goddamn quoting myself.) Now, in 2006, close to half of the conversations I have with my closer friends center around baseball and how I really hope the Angels don’t make the playoffs, because if they do, they will eliminate the Yankees (again) and this will irritate me. So, I have a history of approaching things from a dispassionate, intellectual standpoint and ending up completely sucked in by them. Pro wrestling and baseball are one thing; becoming a Bible-thumper is just something I’m not willing to risk. One could argue that the three things are completely different, or at least that the first two are completely different from the third; pro wrestling and baseball are things you watch on TV, whereas born-again Christianity is a serious life choice that alters your entire perspective on life and the world. And I grant that this is true. Also, it would take a hell of a lot more effort on my part to become a born-again Christian (as opposed to a very cynical though usually practicing Catholic) than it did for me to become a baseball fan; born-again Christianity doesn’t have a TV network devoted to it, and baseball didn’t force me to develop opinions on abortion and gay marriage. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s having to put an effort into anything.
But these Left Behind guys have Kirk Cameron on their side. Quite frankly, I’m not willing to take the risk of him throwing a wrench into my development as a person ever again. Fool me once, Mike Seaver, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
2/19/2007- Mister Jones & Me
While driving home this afternoon, I heard the song "Mister Jones" by Counting Crows on the radio. Now, while I like this song, I usually don't listen to it, as I've heard it roughly nine hundred bojillion times since it was released way back in 1994. But this time I left it on, and near the end of the song (at around the three minute, thirty-five second mark), there is a line which goes, and I quote...
"I wanna be Bob Dylan,
Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky.
When everybody loves you, ah, son,
You're just about as funky as you can be."
Now, does this line mean A) that everybody loves Bob Dylan, and therefore Bob Dylan is as funky as he can be?; or
B) that everybody loves Mister Jones and therefore Mister Jones is as funky as he can be?
(Responses follow)
Lou B: My question is regarding the first two lines:
"I wanna be Bob Dylan,
Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky."
Does Mister Jones want to be someone more funky than Bob Dylan or does Mister Jones want to be a little more funky than himself? I've always liked this song. It has some really great lines.
Jen: Brendan I think (b).Bara I think more funky than Bob Dylan.So the song should say, "I wanna be Bob Dylan, Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky (than Dylan), When everybody loves you (Mister Jones), Ah, son, you're just about funky as you can be." At least that's what I always thought.
Me: Fair enough. I actually half agree with you; I think Mister Jones is saying he wishes he was someone more funky than both Dylan and himself, and Adam Duritz is saying that Mister Jones is already as funky as he can be because everybody loves him.
Angela: they are both as funky as they can be...BUT the singer doesnt think he's funky enough or that everyone loves him, so he wants to be bob dylan.
Nancy: yup Ditto to B.
Devon: Mr. Jones might want to try to be a little more funky, because according to the song "Me and Mrs. Jones", released in 1972, his lady and soul singer Billy Paul have "got a thing going on".
"Me and Mrs.Jones
We got a thing goin'on
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong
To let it go now."
He then goes on to say:
"We meet every day at the same cafe
Six-thirty and no one knows she'll be there
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the juke box plays our favorite songs"
I mean seriously, Billy Paul must not think much of Mr Jones because he is basically broadcasting the time, location and specifics of the "thing" that he's got going on with Mrs. Jones.
Of course, while writing this it dawned on me that "Me and Mrs. Jones" was released in 1972 and "Me Jones and Me" was released in 1993. So it is very possible that the reason Mr. Jones no longer feels that he is funky or that everyone loves him is that he heard Billy Paul's song and realized that there was a thing goin' on behind his back. Then perhaps he spent the better part of the next twenty years down at the New Amsterdam drinking himself to death until eventually he formed a friendship with a young man who shared his feelings of loneliness, although it seems that the young man felt that the ultimate solution to being lonely is to "be a lion". Personally, I hope Mr. Jones ends up with the Flamenco dancer after he is inspred by his friend's rise to stardom, rather than just sitting in the New Amsterdam thinking about his ex-wife making sweet, sweet love to soul singer Billy Paul.-DEVON!
Me: That would mean that Adam Duritz(who was a surprisingly old 29 when this song was released) was hanging out with someone who was old enough to have been both married and cheated upon all the way back in 1972. Even if we really stretch it, would make him at least 38; married in '71 at sixteen, cheated on by '72 at seventeen, twenty-one years later, he's thirty-eight.) Now, twenty-nine to thirty-eight is not an insurmountable age difference for a friendship; I personally spent several hours last night hanging out with a guy thirteen years my senior and had a wonderful time, but I don't necessarily see cuckolded middle-aged men hanging out with aspiring rock singers, particularly if their marriage had been sullied by the interference of a musician so long ago.I think more likely, given the scenario Devon has posited, that the "Mister Jones" of the song is the illegitimate spawn of the affair between Billy Paul and Mrs. Jones, but was raised as the son of her husband. Mister Jones wishes he was more funky, but when he says "more funky," he really means, "not a bastard child, raised by my harlot of a mother and wimpy non-father who was powerless to stop his wife's affair even though he knew where she and the cocky soul singer who is actually my dad were going to meet every day."
Song... solved.
Devon: I'm glad we've finally put that mystery to rest. So now, it's time to move on to a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes, "McArthur Park":
"MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down...
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no!"
What in the name of sweet and merciful Papa Smurf could that possibly mean?!I mean seriously, what the hell?!-DEVON!
Me: According to Wikipedia, it's a about a lost love and a rendezvous in the titular park, and a lot of the lyrics are metaphorical or something, which I find ridiculous. Though I find it curious that this song was originally recorded by Irish actor Richard Harris, probably most famous for the playing the role of Dumbledore in the first two Harry Potter movies. Also this song has been referenced no fewer than three times on The Simpsons and has been voted, in a nationwide survey conducted by Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist/novelist Dave Barry as "The Worst Song Ever Recorded."
Devon: Using Wikipedia is cheating. You are disqualified. Thank you for playing. Here is a copy of our home game.-DEVON! (Pst! Don't tell anyone but I used Wikipedia to find out who sang "Me and Mrs. Jones". Shhhh, it's a secret.)
"I wanna be Bob Dylan,
Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky.
When everybody loves you, ah, son,
You're just about as funky as you can be."
Now, does this line mean A) that everybody loves Bob Dylan, and therefore Bob Dylan is as funky as he can be?; or
B) that everybody loves Mister Jones and therefore Mister Jones is as funky as he can be?
(Responses follow)
Lou B: My question is regarding the first two lines:
"I wanna be Bob Dylan,
Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky."
Does Mister Jones want to be someone more funky than Bob Dylan or does Mister Jones want to be a little more funky than himself? I've always liked this song. It has some really great lines.
Jen: Brendan I think (b).Bara I think more funky than Bob Dylan.So the song should say, "I wanna be Bob Dylan, Mister Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky (than Dylan), When everybody loves you (Mister Jones), Ah, son, you're just about funky as you can be." At least that's what I always thought.
Me: Fair enough. I actually half agree with you; I think Mister Jones is saying he wishes he was someone more funky than both Dylan and himself, and Adam Duritz is saying that Mister Jones is already as funky as he can be because everybody loves him.
Angela: they are both as funky as they can be...BUT the singer doesnt think he's funky enough or that everyone loves him, so he wants to be bob dylan.
Nancy: yup Ditto to B.
Devon: Mr. Jones might want to try to be a little more funky, because according to the song "Me and Mrs. Jones", released in 1972, his lady and soul singer Billy Paul have "got a thing going on".
"Me and Mrs.Jones
We got a thing goin'on
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong
To let it go now."
He then goes on to say:
"We meet every day at the same cafe
Six-thirty and no one knows she'll be there
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the juke box plays our favorite songs"
I mean seriously, Billy Paul must not think much of Mr Jones because he is basically broadcasting the time, location and specifics of the "thing" that he's got going on with Mrs. Jones.
Of course, while writing this it dawned on me that "Me and Mrs. Jones" was released in 1972 and "Me Jones and Me" was released in 1993. So it is very possible that the reason Mr. Jones no longer feels that he is funky or that everyone loves him is that he heard Billy Paul's song and realized that there was a thing goin' on behind his back. Then perhaps he spent the better part of the next twenty years down at the New Amsterdam drinking himself to death until eventually he formed a friendship with a young man who shared his feelings of loneliness, although it seems that the young man felt that the ultimate solution to being lonely is to "be a lion". Personally, I hope Mr. Jones ends up with the Flamenco dancer after he is inspred by his friend's rise to stardom, rather than just sitting in the New Amsterdam thinking about his ex-wife making sweet, sweet love to soul singer Billy Paul.-DEVON!
Me: That would mean that Adam Duritz(who was a surprisingly old 29 when this song was released) was hanging out with someone who was old enough to have been both married and cheated upon all the way back in 1972. Even if we really stretch it, would make him at least 38; married in '71 at sixteen, cheated on by '72 at seventeen, twenty-one years later, he's thirty-eight.) Now, twenty-nine to thirty-eight is not an insurmountable age difference for a friendship; I personally spent several hours last night hanging out with a guy thirteen years my senior and had a wonderful time, but I don't necessarily see cuckolded middle-aged men hanging out with aspiring rock singers, particularly if their marriage had been sullied by the interference of a musician so long ago.I think more likely, given the scenario Devon has posited, that the "Mister Jones" of the song is the illegitimate spawn of the affair between Billy Paul and Mrs. Jones, but was raised as the son of her husband. Mister Jones wishes he was more funky, but when he says "more funky," he really means, "not a bastard child, raised by my harlot of a mother and wimpy non-father who was powerless to stop his wife's affair even though he knew where she and the cocky soul singer who is actually my dad were going to meet every day."
Song... solved.
Devon: I'm glad we've finally put that mystery to rest. So now, it's time to move on to a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes, "McArthur Park":
"MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down...
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh, no!"
What in the name of sweet and merciful Papa Smurf could that possibly mean?!I mean seriously, what the hell?!-DEVON!
Me: According to Wikipedia, it's a about a lost love and a rendezvous in the titular park, and a lot of the lyrics are metaphorical or something, which I find ridiculous. Though I find it curious that this song was originally recorded by Irish actor Richard Harris, probably most famous for the playing the role of Dumbledore in the first two Harry Potter movies. Also this song has been referenced no fewer than three times on The Simpsons and has been voted, in a nationwide survey conducted by Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist/novelist Dave Barry as "The Worst Song Ever Recorded."
Devon: Using Wikipedia is cheating. You are disqualified. Thank you for playing. Here is a copy of our home game.-DEVON! (Pst! Don't tell anyone but I used Wikipedia to find out who sang "Me and Mrs. Jones". Shhhh, it's a secret.)
3/3/2007- @#$%!
Lately, at Devon’s recommendation, I’ve been watching DVDs of a show called Battlestar Galactica, a science-fiction drama about a war between man and machine. As a borderline Luddite in a lot of situations, this is one of my favorite genres of story; if they threw a monkey and some zombies in there, it would pretty much be my favorite show ever. On this show, the characters, most of whom are tough-talking military types who often become frustrated, they substitute the word "frak" for "fuck," as it's a Sci-Fi Channel show and they can't get away with actually saying "fuck." As an unexpected result, I've actually found myself doing the same when I curse in my head. This is strange, as anyone who knows me will testify that I curse like a sailor who drives a truck in his spare time.
This has raised, for me, an internal debate about the nature of language, which I have now decided to externalize. Bear with me here: rather than use the word “fuck”- a word whose usage the network and/or FCC would not allow- the writers of this show have instead chosen to create for themselves an alternative to that word, and use it instead, in any and all situations where the characters would use “fuck.” “Frakking,” “frakked up,” “motherfrakker,” etc. In the parlance of the show’s vernacular, “to frak” someone is to have sexual intercourse with them, and if a situation goes from good to bad or bad to worse, it is referred to as having become “totally frakked,” and so on.
So my question is this: If the intent behind the usage of this “frak” codeword is the same as the one behind the use of “fuck,” (which it is) and they’re not allowed to say “fuck” because it’s a supposedly “bad” word that parents don’t want kids to hear and repeat, then how is “frak” any better? Logic would appear to dictate that it isn’t. If a kid is watching this show and hearing the characters say “Frak this” and “Stupid motherfrakker,” he’s going to repeat it and eventually if not immediately figure out the intention behind it, and in that viewer’s personal sphere of linguistic influence, the word “frak” becomes just as bad (or innocuous, depending on your viewpoint) as the word “fuck.”
The whole thing reminds me of an anecdote. I used to work at a menswear store in the mall. On one occasion, I had to more or less give a talking-to to the stockboy (who was older than me, mind you) because during the course of an argument, he told the acting manager "Go one yourself." See, this guy was a born-again Christian, and as such didn't use profanity but instead replaced curse words with numbers. "Fuck" was one, I believe "shit" was two (appropriately), and so on... in retrospect, those may have been the only two.
Anyway, these two were arguing and he said this and walked away, and I followed him back to the stockroom and told him, "Dude, listen. You can't say shit like that to Konlee*. You may disagree with him and you may not even like him, but he's still your boss, and I don't think he will, but if he felt like it he could still fire you." And his argument was, basically, that since he didn't actually say the word "fuck," then it didn't "count" as cursing at his boss. But, as I explained to him, since everyone knew what he actually meant, then it was in fact exactly the same as cursing at his boss. Even though I thought I was more or less talking out my ass, he actually accepted this and went out to apologize. It's worth noting that I didn't like this individual, and was only trying to save his job because, if I didn't, then I would have had to do his job, and he had a really shitty job. Several months later this individual challenged me to fight him because I questioned his vacuuming technique. (I wish that was a joke.)
But I digress.Back to the “fuck”/”frak” question. Unfortunately, I find myself unable to decide what my ultimate point is here. Do I think the Sci-Fi Channel should let the producers and writers of BSG use the word “fuck”? No, I don’t; it’s basic cable, and there’s certain things you can’t do on basic cable. If you could do them, it would be pay cable, and there would be nudity involved… which, after monkeys and zombies, is one of the few things that could make me like the show more.Do I think they should, conversely, bar the producers and writers of the show from uncensored usage of the word “frak”? I don’t think that either; it’s a made up word on a show about robots, who the hell cares what they say? Well, clearly I do, but who am I?
I realize now that I have no answer to my personal debate, which may well be, subconsciously, why I chose to write it out and submit it for your consideration, friends. So I hope someone comes up with something, because otherwise the last nine paragraphs may have just been a huge waste of everybody’s frakking time.
*- That was the manager’s name. Konlee. I have no idea why his parents chose to name him that, but to paraphrase Chuck Klosterman, he was a terminally sweet if kind of dim guy, with a heart like a mastodon. Wherever he is now, I hope like crazy that he’s doing well, and- thankfully- I have no reason to expect otherwise.
This has raised, for me, an internal debate about the nature of language, which I have now decided to externalize. Bear with me here: rather than use the word “fuck”- a word whose usage the network and/or FCC would not allow- the writers of this show have instead chosen to create for themselves an alternative to that word, and use it instead, in any and all situations where the characters would use “fuck.” “Frakking,” “frakked up,” “motherfrakker,” etc. In the parlance of the show’s vernacular, “to frak” someone is to have sexual intercourse with them, and if a situation goes from good to bad or bad to worse, it is referred to as having become “totally frakked,” and so on.
So my question is this: If the intent behind the usage of this “frak” codeword is the same as the one behind the use of “fuck,” (which it is) and they’re not allowed to say “fuck” because it’s a supposedly “bad” word that parents don’t want kids to hear and repeat, then how is “frak” any better? Logic would appear to dictate that it isn’t. If a kid is watching this show and hearing the characters say “Frak this” and “Stupid motherfrakker,” he’s going to repeat it and eventually if not immediately figure out the intention behind it, and in that viewer’s personal sphere of linguistic influence, the word “frak” becomes just as bad (or innocuous, depending on your viewpoint) as the word “fuck.”
The whole thing reminds me of an anecdote. I used to work at a menswear store in the mall. On one occasion, I had to more or less give a talking-to to the stockboy (who was older than me, mind you) because during the course of an argument, he told the acting manager "Go one yourself." See, this guy was a born-again Christian, and as such didn't use profanity but instead replaced curse words with numbers. "Fuck" was one, I believe "shit" was two (appropriately), and so on... in retrospect, those may have been the only two.
Anyway, these two were arguing and he said this and walked away, and I followed him back to the stockroom and told him, "Dude, listen. You can't say shit like that to Konlee*. You may disagree with him and you may not even like him, but he's still your boss, and I don't think he will, but if he felt like it he could still fire you." And his argument was, basically, that since he didn't actually say the word "fuck," then it didn't "count" as cursing at his boss. But, as I explained to him, since everyone knew what he actually meant, then it was in fact exactly the same as cursing at his boss. Even though I thought I was more or less talking out my ass, he actually accepted this and went out to apologize. It's worth noting that I didn't like this individual, and was only trying to save his job because, if I didn't, then I would have had to do his job, and he had a really shitty job. Several months later this individual challenged me to fight him because I questioned his vacuuming technique. (I wish that was a joke.)
But I digress.Back to the “fuck”/”frak” question. Unfortunately, I find myself unable to decide what my ultimate point is here. Do I think the Sci-Fi Channel should let the producers and writers of BSG use the word “fuck”? No, I don’t; it’s basic cable, and there’s certain things you can’t do on basic cable. If you could do them, it would be pay cable, and there would be nudity involved… which, after monkeys and zombies, is one of the few things that could make me like the show more.Do I think they should, conversely, bar the producers and writers of the show from uncensored usage of the word “frak”? I don’t think that either; it’s a made up word on a show about robots, who the hell cares what they say? Well, clearly I do, but who am I?
I realize now that I have no answer to my personal debate, which may well be, subconsciously, why I chose to write it out and submit it for your consideration, friends. So I hope someone comes up with something, because otherwise the last nine paragraphs may have just been a huge waste of everybody’s frakking time.
*- That was the manager’s name. Konlee. I have no idea why his parents chose to name him that, but to paraphrase Chuck Klosterman, he was a terminally sweet if kind of dim guy, with a heart like a mastodon. Wherever he is now, I hope like crazy that he’s doing well, and- thankfully- I have no reason to expect otherwise.
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