I was about to list a handful of reporters, and tell them to get the fuck out of the way, but then I realized I was hard pressed to find any that could hold a torch to CNN’s Sara Sidner. I don’t think in all my recent years I’ve ever seen a modern reporter handle a situation like this:
To me, she is already reminiscent of those I consider to be the Greats – your Cronkites, your Brokaws, your Jennings. I need to keep an eye on Sara Sidner. I need to believe there are journalists out there willing to report their findings… not their opinions. Here’s a bit about Sara Sidner from an article by Leslie Griffith from the Huffington Post:
Objectification to reach a goal is not Sara’s style. Instead she chose the unknown. She chose to walk away from the comforts of home toward potential terror. She has a reporter’s heart and mind, and if she could be cloned, Americans would be better informed and democracy would be safer. She chose to immerse herself in Indian culture while surrounded by countries with itchy trigger-fingers, twisted loyalties and sectarian and political killing fields.
The lump in my throat melted when I saw Sara reporting from Mumbai. I knew her ability to gather information and relate it to viewers, and I also know America cannot avoid another 9/11 without understanding these conflicts.
As a counter-point, imagine if this guy had been in India during the attack:
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 big a fan as I am of the nostalgia provided by the 80’s, there is a pretty sunny darkside to the fonder memories. Prime example: Juice Newton’s “Love’s Been a Little Hard on Me.”
Sounds a little bit like some rodents I used to know:
And not to completely wring Juice of having any nostalgic value, she’ll always be my “Angel of the Morning.”
Necessity is often credited as the mother of invention. Allow me to add alcohol-induced dreams as another mother.
FIRST INVENTION: ROCK RIGGER
One four awl!
Why drag bulldozers, dump trucks, and cranes to a house about to be torn down, when you can pull up with a ROCK RIGGER! The Rock Rigger comes equipped with a drill on its crane, which neatly ploughs through a diliapidated home’s roof (and if there’s no roof – even better!) Next, rocks, stones, concrete… whatever’s in the hauling bed, move up the crane’s conveyor belt to be spilled into the second floor. Once filled, the Rock Rigger backs away and waits. And waits. And after waiting awhile, the home should collapse under its weight, and voila! No more house! (BTW, the crushed houses looked awesome in my dream.) Then you’d bring in the other vehicles for clean up… it’s so simple!
SECOND INVENTION: EYE IN THE SKY
It's like a dream! (It was a dream!)
With nanotechnology (or some other smart sounding thing nobody really understands yet), the EYE IN THE SKY will allow the user to access a plethora of entertainment and general use options… in your brain! Stare into the heavens – or at a wall – and select with a point of your finger whatever application may suit your needs. Via the enhanced contact lenses in your eyes, menu options will appear for phone, GPS, music, and more! (WARNING: Do not use when driving, walking, sleeping, eating, swimming, dancing, typing, shooting, or throwing, as it may cause nausea or interference. Most definitely will cause headaches.)
INGREDIENTS: An early Burger King feast, followed by buckets of Miller Lite
If the strangely painted on taped-on yarn moustache wasn’t indication enough, this nerdy tune is sure to make the ladies swoon – provided they have played and love playing Mario Kart. Otherwise, the allusions might go unnoticed, and that would truly be a heart-breaking shame. My favorite lyric:
The finish line
is just around the bend
I’ll pause this game
so our love will never end
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 saw this one awhile ago, but awhile ago, I did not have a blog. It’s the best of the videos pertaining to Eddie Vedder’s grumbling style of singing. In this case, it’s Yellow Ledbetter.
Here’s a little known fact: If Yellow Ledbetter, would Orange follow Yellow? (That doesn’t make any sense.)
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.)
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