All this needed was the music from “The Natural” to send me completely over the top, but it does what it promises – forty tear-jerking, spirit-rousing, adreneline-pumping (can that be in the same sentence as tear-jerking?) mashed together speeches from films as diverse as “Braveheart,” “Street Fighter,” “Bring It On,” “Stand and Deliver,” “Swingers,” and “Galaxy Quest.”
Simply put – it’s awesome. I wanted to list it all, but it might spoil it.
Personally, I think Obama should try to use it at his Inaugural Speech.
The towel with which he wiped his face left this image
As the wise and sage-like Gary Busey once said, “Son of a bitch everything’s real,” I too spent my eve teetotaling, and realized there is much to learn while the mind is clean and the thoughts are clear. Namely, I have to write in a pretentious tone, and make use of odd phrasings and word choices.
Fuck that. Here’s some things I learned the night I decided not to drink and still hit four bars. (Maybe that’s how I lasted for four bars… I can get sleepy when I do the brew.) (Image from Drawastar)
Chapter One – Buffalo Wild Wings
Sarcasm doesn’t work in text messages. I knew this was the case with emails, but for some reason that didn’t translate in my brain. Basically, I hurt sumbuwy’s feewings.
Edith Bunker was the first TV character to experience menopause, and not Maude. Who knew that Norman Lear spread the wealth of taboo around? (FYI: Maude was the first to have an abortion.)
Paying cover for a band sucks when you show up right before their set ends, and the group decides to leave before the next set starts because the overall scene is lame. Even if it’s $3. And even though you didn’t pay it (thanks Doctor J).
The Trivia Jockey from my usual Wednesday stop hits this bar after leaving the other bar. Not a big deal. Just if I was a couple pillow cases to the wind I wouldn’t have noticed.
Everybody knows a dude that looks like Al Pacino.
Chapter Three – Kickers Complex (I just learned that’s what it’s called!)
It’s equally nice and sad to be recognized by bartenders.
You never want to hear a man sing Sara Bareilles’ “Love Song.” Not even in an ironic way. Trust me.
This song is supposedly popular, although I’ve never heard of it.
I know it’s country, but I’m familiar with the biggies. This one? I never even heard of its name. Also, the two dudes singing David Allen Coe no favors.
Karaoke in an empty bar sucks.
Chapter Four – Plymouth Roadhouse
It’s equally nice and sad to be recognized by the bartender and the waitress.
When big screen projection TV’s are on their last legs, they look like crooked bootleg DVD’s of movies, minus people walking in front.
In theory, nobody knows shit about what’s going to happen to the Big Three Automakers. The proof (as if you need it) is in the fact that everybody heard and knows something different. Some of my favorite speculations: Ford will be picking up Jeep from GM, Chrysler will go bye-bye, GM will absorb Chrysler’s minivan division and make Dodge Ram their only truck, and Ford will get bought out by the Chinese but will keep the family name as part of the agreement.
And in closing, I learned that what Cerebus did in securing Chrysler was a lot like what Richard Gere’s character did in “Pretty Woman.” They both bought a product at a reduced cost solely to strip it down and liquidate it for profit. In essence – treat it like a whore (a regular one though… not Julia Roberts).
Any dream involving a portion of the cast of “That 70’s Show” should be kind enough to include Mila Kunis. This dream did, but the Brothers Masterson did they’re best to keep her from me.
I was visiting New York City, and I was wondering Times Square. I stumbled upon a falafel shop and Danny and Christopher Masterson were manning the window. They had aprons on and spatulas in their hand. I approached and saw Mila in the background, slaving away at the fryer.
“Hey fellas,” I began. They nodded like they knew me. Mila rushed toward the front, but they held her back.
“Help get me out of here! It’s a trap!” (I think this comes from watching “Empire Strikes Back” over Thanksgiving weekend on Spike.)
The Brothers Masterson slammed the windows shut, and there were no visible doors. As I hurried up and down the street searching for an entrance, I ran into him – Mr. Demi Moore himself, Ashton Kutcher. He had a knit cap on and tried calming me down.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ll help you get in there, but you have to do one thing.” He paused. “You need to find me a cool new hat.” He took a step back and removed the winter garment from his head, revealing this:
...yikes...
It suddenly started raining hats, like in that car commercial where it rains shoes. I found a nifty green pimp hat, handed it to him, and we were off on our way.
Turds of a feather...
Then I was suddenly a cockroach. But I could walk and talk. I sounded sorta dopey, as did my one other buddy, Ralph. It was a lot like “Joe’s Apartment,” which I have not seen since 1996, and coincidentally one of the roaches in that shares the same name.
My roach pal and I were caught in some kind of laboratory we were trying to escape, a la “Secret of NIMH.” Adventures were had, and it culminated in a final battle with the scientist. He was all that stood between us and freedom. Ultimately, every cockroach but me enveloped him and devoured him, like how Professor Screweye died in “We’re Back! A Dinosaur’s Story.” Since I could not find video of that – this will have to do:
I’ve put ideas out into the collective unconscious before, only to have them robbed and bastardized without any input from me. Joe Piscopo’s stinker, “Dead Heat?” Mine first (“Harry Cadaver”). JCVD’s “Timecop?” I had the idea two years earlier with the same title (this one I’ll forgive because it’s not that creative). Eddie Murphy in Eddie Murphy in “Meet Dave?” I originally thought “Osmosis Jones” plucked my idea of having Robin Williams inside of Bill Murray’s spaceship body, but “Meet Dave” robbed us both (“The Neuron Conquest”). Even He-Man stole (or borrowed liberally) a character I entered into a contest. Their Snout Spout was my Elephantom.
Then I saw this commercial for Flagstar bank yesterday at the bar. I guess it premiered in this year’s Super Bowl, but since that game was so good (Giants spanked the ButtPats), I probably hit the can during the ads and missed it.
This reminded me of a story I wrote in high school and submitted to our literary journal called the Curio. No wonder I never dated.
B O X I N GY O U RH E A D
I feel deviated like a septum.Separated, apart from what it seems I should be a part of.Not fitting in, a circle in a world of squares.Here I, Lucas Pendleton, sit at the counter of Sigmund’s Soda Shop, and I watch my peers across the way, celebrating and playing by the jukebox.And I can’t be with them.I’ve tended to put my head in the proverbial box for years.So now’s the time to consider it for real.
Here’s a napkin and… here’s a pencil.I need to write this down or I’ll forget.If I did put a box on my head – cardboard being the only choice – it would need to have strategically placed eyeholes so I wouldn’t stumble through life (I do enough without a cube around my head).
As for eating, I would feed my mouth through the opening in the bottom.I wouldn’t need to talk with anyone.The only thing anyone cares about is your name, if even that, and I can have that printed across my forehead.If no one was asking that question anymore, I wouldn’t need earholes.There, the designs are finished.And I’ll never remove my perfect separator for any reason.
Rain.It’s raining outside now.I need to compensate for the dampening spirit that falls from time to time.I’ll draw a little umbrella that could be attached to the top.
Look at them standing over there.Not a care about my plans of seclusion.Will they be sorry, not at all.
They don’t know me anyway.That’s so clear.
Clear.I see clear because of my contacts.How will I remove them?I’ll get corrective surgery done on my eyes.That’s easy.
What’s another problem?
Hygiene.Well, I’ll deal with that as it comes along.
Sleeping comfort.I’ll pad the walls.
Television, movies, and music.How can I enjoy if I can’t hear?I’ll add earholes to the design, very small ones.
A sneeze, I just heard a sneeze.What if my nose runs, or I sneeze?That could get messy.But only I’d know, and only I-I-d–achooo!
“God bless you.”
–Care.Did someone say that to me, or the other guy?Maybe I’ll respond… just in case… to be polite.“Thanks.”See, it wasn’t–
“You’re welcome.”
Well, it’s a female voice, coming from behind me.Should I look?Or did the other fellow say thanks at the same time I did.I’ll say another thing to check.“That’s nice.Thanks.”Stupid, stupid…
“Really?You think so?”
It’s gotta be me.I’m gonna look.I grabbed the counter and hand over hand I turned around to see a woman standing behind me, beautiful as could be.She wore splashy hued shoes and a colorful box-pattern dress.Her flowing brown hair came down past her shoulders from beneath the box she wore on her head.I couldn’t believe it, I was in love.
“Whatcha doing?” she asked me as she tried to peak at my napkin.I just looked at her eyes shining through the sufficiently cut eyeholes.
I sighed in response to her question.She approached me, and I then noticed the earholes she had made.Her cute ears were exposed enough to easily hear me as well as the other man sneeze, yet she chose to ask God to bless me!
“A box, huh?That umbrella idea will never work.Believe me.Oh, believe me.”
She pointed out my flaws in design, and I didn’t care!She tilted her head to me and smiled.She cut out a space for her mouth… and her gorgeous smile.
“Why do you need a box on your head, anyway?”
“I’m thinking the same thing!” I said.I hope she thought I meant her.She brushed her right hand through the top of her flowing brown hair.I didn’t even notice the top and back portion of the box were missing.
“I mean, you’re attractive.”
“As well as are you.”I saw her cute nose wrinkle when I complimented her.
“And after all, you thanked me… twice.”She laughed an uplifting laugh.“Quit designing that box for your head.It’s a waste of time.Come on and dance with me.”Her smooth rosy cheeks lifted because of her smile.I could see her entire face.Her entire head.
She took my hand and did that twinkle thing with her eye.There was no box on this woman’s head.
With my free hand I crumbled the napkin.There was no box on this man’s head either.
I threw the napkin in a trash can – a trash can in which, as I was informed later, contained several wet pieces of cut cardboard… and a broken umbrella.
As a founding member of the Legion of Seans (along with Mr. Penn, Mr. Connery, Ms. Young, and Mr. Combs), I’m very displeased with Mr. Avery’s recent comments regarding Canadian hottie, Elisha Cuthbert.
Reporters were waiting to speak with Avery about disparaging remarks he’d made last month about Flames star Jarome Iginla when Avery walked over to the group and asked if there was a camera present. When told there was, he said, “I’m just going to say one thing.”
“I’m really happy to be back in Calgary; I love Canada,” he said. “I just want to comment on how it’s become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don’t know what that’s about, but enjoy the game tonight.” He then walked out of the locker room.
Sean Avery used to be a Detroit Red Wing. When he was traded to the L.A. Kings, he dated Cuthbert and Rod Stewart’s ex-wife, Rachel Hunter. Now that he’s in Dallas with the Stars, he’s probably fearful Jessica Simpson might have her sights set on him. Regardless of the situation, the Legion of Seans have released this statement on the matter:
Sean Avery’s ex-girlfriends cannot be referred to as sloppy seconds, due to the fact that Avery is a giant douche.
In closing, a final message from the Legion of Seans to one Mr. Carter: until you change the spelling of your first name to the correct Irish way, you will not be granted entrance. Good day!
I’m almost as hooked on the snooze bar as I am the booze bar, but as of late, I have not recalled many of my dreams. This morning – a whopper, a flopper, and a doozy.
SCENARIO UNO
Do not go Freudian on me.
I was the eldest lad in a family of seafarers. The brood’s Papa was a maritime cop, and he must have had it hard (who wants to have any job that begins with maritime?). Every night it seemed Mama would wait for him to get home to serve dinner, and every night he’d be late (you’d think Mama would have learned). I remember working on a crossword puzzle in a magazine. I also recall the entire decor looking retro 70’s, or maybe it took place in the 70’s. (Hello “Life on Mars.”) Anyway, when Papa would get home, the first thing he’d do was pour a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Then he’d dunk a banana in it. He called it the Cop-a-Cabanana.
SCENARIO DOS
Hot chocolate chips!
I don’t drink coffee. As I’ve stated before, my cup of tea is Mountain Dew. In my brain, I must live for Starbucks. For some reason, while in line to get my iced mochachino espressosaurus rex, the announcement was made that Starbucks was being bought out. That this shocked me in the dream shocks me now. The reason for the buyout: too many people that bought their coffee were losing their jobs, and thus poor Starbucks was going down. The purchaser: Mrs. Field’s Cookies. They also bought out Arby’s for who-know-why. My question was, “How could Mrs. Field’s succeed where Starbucks failed?” The answer: No matter what, everyone eats cookies.
SCENARIO TRES
No Photoshopping here.
This was by far one of the most disturbing – not in content, but in juxtaposition of content. Stitch (the alien experiment to the left) was boozing it up and chomping down cigars faster than George Burns, Bill Clinton, and Monica Lewinsky put together. (He kind of reminded me of the smoking chimp.) And that’s fine. It’s well within Stitch’s personality. But to note: this dream was in cartoon form, and this is where things spiraled into time for me to wake up. Across the room, Stitch spotted an inflatable doll. He stumbled towards it, placed his head between its legs, and bit. Pop!
Needless to say, I had it enough with the snooze bar.
…We’ll see about the regular bar.
INGREDIENTS: Cajun chicken sandwich, soggy bar fries, and mucho de boozo.
My friends have a friend that lives in a world the likes of which none of us has ever seen.
In this world, she looks like Drew Barrymore (she does not), I look like Christian Slater (I do not), and everyone around her is lucky to be around her.
Why this diatribe now when I’ve despised her for so long? Because she may have cost my Trivia Team instant entry into our seasonal tournament. (More on that nerdery to follow.)
There’s a things about Jerkica you need to know (I disguised her name for her protection, although she might still find this post flattering). My last extended encounter with her occurred at her wedding. These are some highlights:
She invited the woman she allowed her husband to have an affair with to her wedding. This woman hung all over her husband the entire night. Uncomfortable: check! Strange: double-check!
People weren’t really dancing to her music selection. Once the crowd started getting into it, they put in requests to the DJ for things like Elvis and the Beatles. This kept them on the dance floor, but the bride was sure to put a stop to it. “Those songs were not on my play list! That’s not what I’m paying you to play!” Coincidentally, people stopped dancing.
It was that special time of the month for her, which is no excuse for her behavior. But the fact-of-the-matter is she made her bridesmaid change out her tampon – the same bridesmaid she forbade to drink because she was making her drive the groom and her home, and otherwise bossed around the entire night. Ironically, the DJ played old rag time music while this occurred.
The camera man came around to ask our table to say a few things. I commented that none of them would be nice, and he lost it. He simply cracked up. I told him to talk to the DJ.
Some random people wandered into the reception to dance, as guests happen to do when halls are connected. Like the place had trip wires, she shot across the dance floor and kicked them out. Later, I heard her complaining to a member of the staff. “My party was so great, I had to get rid of strangers that were trying to enter.”
She took nude pictures of herself and mixed them in with her wedding pictures, which she then sent out to EVERYBODY.
Deep breaths and relax. Simply put – I can’t stand her. I’ve been happy to not hear or see from her in a very long time. It’s not that she has ever done anything directly to me; it’s what she’s said and done to my friends. But now she’s broken that fourth wall. She stopped by my friends’ house and prevented them from going to trivia, thus hindering them from getting precious points we need to secure our spot in the tournament.
I’d still dry-hump the hell out of her though.
With these glasses, the economy is looking up!
(More people I’ve been told I look like after the jump.)
This is a list I have been meaning to make for a while. Presenting Six Reasons Why Canada Rocks! (Plus Three Honorable Mentions)
Sarah Chalke (Ottawa, Ontario) – From playing second Becky in “Roseanne” to second fiddle behind JD and Turk’s bromance in “Scrubs,” Ms. Chalke has always held her own against giant personalities and crazy sitcom-uations. She has a way of pulling off clumsy and sexy in one fell swoop.
Evangeline Lilly (Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta) – I’d like to believe she’s possibly one of the best actresses on this list. Aside from her Live Links ad, all I have to judge her skills on is “Lost.” Her character, Kate, is damaged yet strong, worried yet brave, a dreamer yet a realist. And Evie sells it – hook, line, and underground bunker.
Elisha Cuthbert (Calgary, Alberta) – Where in the world has Elisha been? Since “24,” a minor role in “Old School,” and “The Girl Next Door” (which was awesome BTW), she’s been in schlock like “House of Wax,” “The Quiet,” and “Captivity.” She returns for Season 7 of “24.” Hopefully better roles will follow. (BONUS: check out her appearance on “Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!“)
Erica Durance (Calgary, Alberta) – Possibly the girl next door to Elisha over in Calgary (I’m imagining Erica was her babysitter), Erica came to my attention when she began her role as Lois Lane in “Smallville.” Smart, tough, and a looker enough to make Superman forget his childhood sweetheart (see below). All I know is she can be my Kryptonite any time she likes. (Also, she makes a more believable Lois than Kate Bosworth did in “Superman Returns.” Sorry, Kate!)
Caroline Dhavernas (Montreal, Quebec) – Caroline is definitely the dark horse on this list, and that’s mostly because of one thing – not many people know who she is. Though most of her work is in French Canadian film, I began to appreciate Caroline (pronounced Caro-lean) for her role as Jaye in the underviewed and wonderful, “Wonderfalls” (another of Bryan Fuller’s cancelled projects, along with “Pushing Daisies” and “Dead Like Me”). She was also in the American films “Breach” and “Hollywoodland,” but I’ve yet to see those movies.
Rachel McAdams (London, Ontario) – I fell for Rachel not in “Mean Girls,” not in “Hot Chick,” but in “The Notebook.” Damn that movie. One night playing goal in my soccer game, I threw out my back and made the mistake (or divine choice) of putting “The Notebook” in my DVD player before I passed out. The next day I awakened to realize I couldn’t move, and no one could help me until way later that day, so I was stuck watching “The Notebook” back-to-back-to-back (Ow, my back!) Looking forward to seeing her in Guy Ritchie’s “Sherlock Holmes” with Robert Downey, Jr!
HONORABLE MENTIONS
Kristin Kreuk (Vancouver, British Columbia) – From Lana Lang in “Smallville” to Chun-Li in the upcoming “Street Fighter” movie, she’s a small-town cutie that grew into a big city cutie.
Pamela Anderson (Ladysmith, British Columbia) – Any list like this has to include the most infamous hot Canadian bacon. Although I was more fond of her in her “Home Improvement” days. (A Detroit shout-out to Tim Allen!)
William Shatner (Montreal, Quebec) – The Shat… Mr. King of Canada… “Twilight Zone,” “Star Trek,” speaking Esperanto in “Incubus,” “TJ Hooker,” “Rescue 911,” “Tek Wars,” Priceline commercials, “Boston Legal,” World of Warcraft commercials… a true national treasure…
When I was watching any football game but the Lions this weekend, I couldn’t help but notice announcer Bob Costas was beginning to look like a certain Jedi Knight.
Trust me - watch NBC Sports
Throw a little Botox into Mark Hamill’s visage, and he could be playing the guy giving the play-by-plays (or at least his analysis thereof).
…Or maybe I was just drinking too much this weekend.
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