All I Want For Christmas Is… More Scrubs Soundtracks

Aaah, “Scrubs.”  You are the middle child between “E.R.” (the secondone with George Clooney, not the first… look it up) and the highly comedic, though at most times unintentional, “Grey’s Anatomy,” and you’re still the best at what you do.  (I picked Michael Crichton’s show as a reference point because it was an issue when “Scrubs” premiered.  People wondered why they would need two shows about interns.  Ask CBS what they think about crime scene investigators… and for that matter, what NBC thinks about blending cop procedural and court cases.)

Mixing pathos and humor so well for seven seasons, like a fine chef or bottle-flipping bartender (more Bryan Brown than Tom Cruise), you finally started getting some respect once you hit that magical 100th episode (that’s when shows can get syndicated).  NBC had been dicking you around for years, and when the seventh season was up for grabs, ABC – your owner – was ready to take over.  Having little else going on over at NBC, they used up the short season (due to the writer’s strike), and then hung you out to dry.  You’ll get to finish your magnificent run on ABC starting in January, but that’s not what this post is about.

scrubsIt’s all about the music, baby.  No other show utilizes the music to advance the story quite like “Scrubs.”  Check out the integration of Colin Hay’s Overkill (formerly of Men at Work).  What upsets me is that they’ve only released one CD for sale after the first season (after the fifth season they did a collection only available on iTunes… 14 songs to cover four seasons), but i want more.

greyscd“Grey’s Anatomy” gets three CD’s, but they push their music, not quite like “Smallville” did at the end of its early episodes, but there still is a hey, check out this quirky new artist quality about it.  Hence them releasing three CD’s.  “Scrubs” just lets it be, and maybe that’s why I prefer music from them.  It’s between the show and the audience – there is no marketing department forcing the producers’ hands.  So when season six ends on Say Anything’s Alive with the Glory of Love, I should just accept it as the way it is and be happy.

What?  There’s a torrent full of “Scrubs” music?  Never mind.

In My Brain While Sleeping… Sacrilege X-Treme!

Yesterday, I had a snow day.  Yes, adults can have them to… when they’re lazy.

Michigan had a huge snow fall, so all I did was sit on my couch all day, laptop in, um, lap, reading and milling about.  I almost forget to eat about midday, and when I stood up from the couch, my legs weren’t ready to work and I’ll fell back again.  They were sleeping… I guess they were just being lazy and took a snow day too.

Anyhardsalamisandwich, I finally ate a hard salami sandwich and returned to the couch for the rest of the eve.  At a very late hour (10:30ish if I recall), I opted for some cake (see below).  Not too long after, I brushed my chompers and opted for bed.  (Did you know that I brush my teeth with a hair brush?  I goes much quicker.  Ha!  No, I don’t.  I fooled you.  But I do use a swatch of human hair.)

In my slumber, I had a mess of messed-up dreams.  Here’s the snippets I recall:

  • Vampires.  It was fucking scary as hell, and all I know is I was one too.  There were various forms and sizes that you could only see if you were a blood-sucker, and it answered my question of, “why would anyone say they wouldn’t want to be a vampire?”  I’ve been asking my friends this lately, and some say they want to die (to which I said a stake would work) and some said they didn’t want to outlive their loved ones (to which I brought up the benefit of turning your loved ones undead as well).  But srsly… this one was wicked.  It woke me up in the wee hours of the morning, like at 1am.
  • Dog Baptism.  I don’t remember much other than the brouhaha surrounding the church when this plan was going down.  It was a golden retriever (a Sandy shout-out), but I’ve never had one.  (We had two mini mutts, a mini schnauzer, a cairn terrier, and mini daschund – little dogs, little poop + no crotch shots).  I feel like the walls started crumbling down as beams of light shone through the stain-glass windows.  It could have been reporters for all I know.
  • Spaghetti Sauce Made With Ice Cream.  A friend was showing me how to replace butter and milk in a recipe for spaghetti sauce (as you can guess, I have no idea how anything is made).  He used a lot of French vanilla ice cream and threw black and bell corn pepper into a container of it, then he mixed it with an equal amount of tomato sauce.  It looked nasty, but I never got to taste it.  A few things to note here: I dream way too much about spaghetti.  Don’t get me wrong – I enjoy it, but it’s not like I’m obsessed with it.  And why is this sacrilegious?  It’s a waste of perfectlygood French vanilla ice cream… which I’m obsessed with.
  • Unnatural Childbirth.  In the future, a woman swallows a device called Point A.  Point B is then placed on a rolling poll, much like I.V. drips, and positioned accordingly between her legs.  Point C and D (which look like Point B) are placed to the left and right of her womb.  Point E is under her table, and Point F is on a movable arm above her belly, like a light at the dentist.  A doctor managing a computer checks the coordinates and engages the devices.  A portal appears beside him which contains the child.  He scoops the small one out, snips and ties the umbilical cord, and hands the baby to the nurse.  He disengages the portal and hands the newborn over to mother.  No cesarean section nor vaginal tearing.  It’s not really sacrilegious either, but do you think this kind of technology will get an easy pass from fundamentals?  Doubt it.

INGREDIENTS: Pepperidge Farm Fudge Stripe 3-Layer Cake that was best if used by December 10th, which was the third item I tried to eat in the last two days that was expired.  The others were a plastic box of lettuce and a bag of grilled chicken (I planned to make chicken and salad when I bought them two weeks ago).  Oddly, the lettuce smelled like ass although it didn’t look rotten (for being a week overdue), and although the bag o’ chicken expanded like it had botulism or something, it did not smell, so I ate it.  (In case you didn’t know, I you buy a bag of any food and it expands, that means bacteria is growing inside… it’s some report I saw… I think…) 

Back to the chicken for a second – since I wasn’t in doubt (although I was, but it was minor), I didn’t throw it out.  I put it in the mickyfor two minutes, and since I had no idea what to eat it with since I had no lettuce, I threw shredded mozzarella on it and Italian dressing anyway.

Now back to that cake – even though it doesn’t say so (check the pic below), I’m beginning to wonder if it was actually devil’s food cake.

Too rich for my boiling blood... in hell!

Too rich for my boiling blood... in hell!

Happy Find… Cheetah Lady

Tears of joys are still spilling from my eyes.  As soon as I finish watching this video, I can’t wait to watch it again.  IT’S THAT FUCKING GOOD.

I don’t know if Cheetah Lady is trying to be ironic, or if she took acting lessons from Christian Bale on how to talk like a humanimal, but I think my most favorite thing about this is how she goes off script (if there even is a script) and rolls with the punches.  She’s sick of being a wide animal, and she doesn’t want a phone, but she wants a phone.  If even a quarter of Saturday Night Live’s cast members could improv like CL, it’d be like the 90’s all over again at 30 Rockefeller.

(P.S. If you pay attention, I think you can see her panties through her costume’s opening… if you’re into that kind of thing.  I’m certainly not.)

(via Videogum… thank you oh so much for this… I mean it)

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All I Want For Christmas Is… Heidi Montag To Get Divorced… I Think

 
16341PCN_montag
Is this what Nickelodeon meant by salute your shorts?
Here’s the sitch…

There once was a girl back in high school that straight-up annoyed the piss out of me.  She was in a handful of classes, she was on pom, and again – her voice, her slouch, and her demeanor grated on me.  So of course I developed a crush on her.  Call it “thin line between love and hate”… I call it dysfunctional.  And I’m afraid the same thing is happening with Heidi Montag… I think.  It’s all so confusing this thing called love lust indifference love.

Let me say this: I-should-not-know-who-this-person-is.  I should not know the names Lauren Conrad, Audrina Patridge (when she has NSFW pix like this and this it’s hard not to), and Spencer Pratt because I do not watch MTV.  I am not “The Hills” target audience, yet I read blogs with similar sentiments about the cast and show, and lo and behold – I’m savvy.

Why do you taunt me?

Is this how she sleeps? Uncomfortable...

So I guess what I’m asking Santa for a divorce proceeding between my dear sweet Heidi and that douchenozzle, Spencer.  By the time the paperwork’s filed, I may no longer want to be with her, but at least she’ll be available if I change my mind.  Bonus: she’ll be free of the douchenozzle.

P.S. Does she do anything other than hang out in a bikini?  The answer is yes – she sings in a bikini, too.

(SIDENOTE: Heidi, I could have directed a video at least TWICE as good as your boy did.)

Musical Musings… Annoying Repetition

A Literal EarwormThe posts where I bitch about music never seem to go over too well, but since people aren’t always in the car with me when some annoying song comes on (and I often forget to bring it up later), I now have this forum to gripe.  And gripe I will (my apologies if you don’t care, but press on because you may agree).

The theme for this short list is Annoying Repetition.  Before you get in an uproar saying all music is repetitive, I’m talking more about the hooks that cycle throughout the song and seem to go nowhere fast.  They feel incomplete and prod at the mind and soul and I’m being melodramatic.  Songs can be super-repetitive and work.  Take Green Day’s Brain Stew as a positive example.

But some songs set out to destroy ear drums.  Mobile’s The Killer is the latest entry into the mix, and what ultimately prompted this disdainful account.  (To note: I would have embedded the video if Universal wasn’t a bunch of douchenozzles.)  Aside from the whining, winding musical arrangement, the “yeah-yeah’s” dispersed in the track make me think of Bono on “South Park” as he walks through a poor village singing “hello-hello” and “yeah-yeah” (it’s his special brand of helping).

I know there are other recent examples like Britney Spears’ Womanizer or tATu’s All the Things She Said, but they’re radio pop and to call it crap is an understatement.  On the other hand, these kinds of songs are programmed to be catchy and get stuck in your head, and they do it quite well.  Just the mere mention of the titles might cause earworms.

Before I go, I have two other odd entries: a couple songs of yesteryear that when I catch wind of them, they spiral me into a rage.  One is John Mellencamp’s Wild Night and the other is 24 Gone’s Girl of Colours (video below).  At least Shana Zadrick is in the Coug’s video.  Too bad I didn’t know about her in the 90’s (I was in love with Laetitia Casta at the time.)

Goodbye To Polaroid (And Instant Kinky Pics)

This just screams porno stash.

This just screams porno stash.

I only recently found out (courtesy of Year in Review lists all over the TripleDoubleYou) that Polaroid Instant Cameras went the way of Zima and no longer exist.

How can there be a world without “shake it like a Polaroid picture?”  Digital photography does not cut it in the kinky department (so I’ve been lead to believe by my imagination).  The iconic white frame and bleeding colors are a staple of perverts everywhere.

I just don’t know if I can handle such a loss.  Why did I have to even find those stupid lists?  I could have gone the rest of my life and been happy not knowing that Polaroid didn’t exist anymore.  Now that this nugget of information has permeated my noggin, my nostalgia for other bygone products grows.  VCR’s, cassette tapes, record players, sundials… what’s next?  CD’s and DVD’s?  Wait a minute!  They really are next?

Well at least my iPod and TiVo will never leave me.

All I Want For Christmas Is… Government Subsidized Gas Prices (99 Cents, Biotch!)

I dare you to tell me that America is not the Greatest Country on Planet Earth!  (I can’t vouch for countries on other planets… there might be some better ones than us.)  And how do we make this country even better?  By insuring, by guaranteeing, by swearing, by stick a needle in my eye not lying, by promising that we will never have to pay more than 99 cents for a gallon of gas ever again!  (And $1.09 for Midgrade and $1.19 for Premium, you douches.)

How can this be done?  I don’t fucking care how they get it done!  The government simply needs to git’r dun!  If it’s by funneling the money that’s funding the war or inventing more money like they did for the fucking lenders, git’r dun!  It’s the fastest way to save the country.

How’s that you ask?  If gas is cheap, people will drive more. 

If people drive more, they’ll go to the store more. 

If they go to the store, they’ll buy more because they have more money since the gas is cheap. 

If people are buying more things, more companies will need to make more things to sell.  Hell, people might even buy full-size SUV’s and trucks again to carry all the shit they’ll be buying, thus rendering an auto bailout unneccessary (because everyone knows American trucks and SUV’s are the best, right?) 

Back to the companies making things – they’ll need to hire more people to make things so there will be less unemployed people and more taxes being paid back to the government. 

In turn, these returning consumers will need cheap gas and want to buy more shit and see where I’m going?

If this is Socialism – sign me up!  So long as I can still buy shit.

If you don’t – watch this video:

Drunken Recollection… I Have No Idea What I Recollected

I’m going to let everyone in on a little secret about the mysterious workings behind this blog.  I wake up at the crack of dawn everyday (I just love beating the sun) and walk to my corner gas station to pick up a local paper.  Sure, I could have the delivery boy bring it, but the exercise keeps the ol’ pumper pumping (besides, I leave the paper boy a tip every Christmas as if I subscribed to help make up for his losses).  As I mill through the ink print to discover what’s going on in this world, I pour myself some whole grain cereal and organic milk, with a side of orange juice and toast (I use real butter to lather my heated wheat treat – it’s my only vice!)  I even slice up bananas and strawberries to put on top, like in the commercials.  After immediately washing the dishes and separating my recyclables, I ready the tub for a nice bubble bath and who am I kidding… I barely wake up on time to get to work at 10:30ish.  I should be there at 9!  This is the case due to the habit of my evening imbibing of carbonated, fermented brown water.

While at the draft tap establishments, conversations erupt, and often I’m reminded of something clever to write about, and I make a note in my cell phone.  Usually, I can translate.  Most times, I find messages like this:

  1. dancing caveman jukebox
  2. baby jacket
  3. think straw when see
  4. deli 25 bux
  5. whoprvirgins baby coat
  6. mr. wizard
  7. getn away w murdr
  8. angus young black
  9. martha quinn med woman
  10. kidbits

There are other notes of which I do remember, and will be inevitable posts, but these strike little or no chord.  Or I remember having a drunken laugh about them, such as 3, 8, and 9.  I believe 3 refers to how when I see a straw in somebody else’s drink at the table, I move toward my drink as though it also has a straw (I don’t drink beer with a straw anymore… not since I got rid of my “Cast Away” Halloween costume beard… although at times I have joined many straws so I wouldn’t have to pick up my mug).  8 and 9 were common mix-ups I have about AC/DC’s lead singer and the old MTV VJ.

1 and 4 were going to be big to-do’s, but I really had no fodder.  I cannot stand the dancing Geico caveman on digital jukeboxes, and I love how you don’t have to sign credit card statements on things less than $25.  I have no idea what the “deli” has to do with anything.  Much like number 7 – that one scares me because I’m 100% clueless about it.

2 and 5 repeated the theme of those stupid small coats that the ladies wear nowadays.  I wanted to bring up how pointless and stupid and trendy they are – much like Uggs boots.  I don’t know why I jotted down the Burger King website in conjunction with the jacket, though.

6 and 10 probably had to do with the same chit chat about childhood TV science shows.  I don’t know “Mr. Wizard,” per se, but “Kidbits” taught me how to make a chair out of three baseball bats (I also believe the demonstration was with knives or forks… I’m leaning toward knives though) and how to poke a straw through a potato. 

In closing, here’s “Kidbits” theme:

All I Want For Christmas Is… A Toilet That Doesn’t Clog

I’ll spare you the details, but just know that in the last 24 hrs. I’ve eaten:
  • A Hungry Howies pizza – size small – with pepperoni, cheese, and heavy Cajun crust
  • A Smokehouse Bacon Triple-the-Cheese Big Mouth Burger, with fries, chips, and queso dip
  • A Bob Evans homestyle breakfast containing flapjacks, sausage, eggs, and mashed potatoes with gravy

And after a recent incident occurred, all I’m dreaming about is a better toilet.  The industrial ones at my office building are forces of nature (so to speak).  It’s my home John J. Crapper that’s a “wholey tearer.”

Not to be much cruder, but I’ve taken dumps in many places around the world, and I wonder if the alternatives might be worth it.  In Japan, this is how they go Niban (a.k.a. #2):

New visual for Pop-a-Squat.

New visual for Pop-a-Squat.

In Amsterdam, I discovered “the shelf,” courtesy of German toilet engineering:

Goodbye floaters!  Hello shelfers!

Goodbye floaters! Hello shelfers!

I thought I might try to find out something about Australian toilets, like, maybe the “reverse flush” might have a stronger pull, but all I ended up doing was watching a crap load of videos like this:

All-in-all, I guess anything is better than this:

I... think I can wait until I get home.

I... think I can wait until I get home.

Oh, They Only Pick On You Because They’re Jealous – The Tom Cruise Story

Poor Tom Cruise… I think I’m growing a soft spot for the little guy.  Of late, he’s making the talk show circuit to promote his new movie, “Valkyrie,” and every time I’ve caught his interview, something inside me dies.

It’s pitiful, really, how much pandering he seems to have to go through to get back into the public’s good graces.  Back in the day, when he kept his life private – Mega Movie Star.  Since “meeting” Katie Holmes and doing that crazy interview on Oprah – not so much.

(Although I must say this: when I’m 44, if I hook up with a woman 16 years younger than me, I can’t promise I’m not jumping on some couches, too.  Hopefully, she’s hotter than Holmes.)

Watch his appearance on Letterman last night and tell me if it doesn’t feel like the sap just wants to be liked? 

He’s trying too hard, and it reeks of bad parental advice.  Imagine:

Mommy, they’re being mean to me at school.  I don’t think nobody likes me.

To which Mommy (a.k.a. Daddy Hubbard or Uncle Miscavige) replies:

They’re jealous, my boy.  You can’t let them get to you.  Just get back out there and be the best you you can be.  If they pick on you – ignore them.  Better yet… laugh with them.

A lot of good it did me, Mom.  All I have to show for being the best me I can be is an ass-kicking that left me with a head scar and a detached testicle.  Thanks for a lifetime of explaning why my nutsack hangs to my knees, and that no, I did not steal your _____!