Ah, the universal question… why do I get so philosophical when I get drunk? (Okay, it may not be universal to you, but it certainly is to me.) Is it that maybe I’m always so deeply lost in thought, that the suppression of ideas spill out when my tongue’s been freed by liquid courage? Or do I talk out my ass and sell the shit out of my bullshit?
Whatever the answer, the fact that remains is this: why am I doing this when I’m at the strip club local ballet?
Now before you go getting all judgmentallyish on me, know that I’m going to blame it on my friends. I’m always going to say they dragged me there. It’s besides the point that they actually did have to drag me there the first time I went (I was still a very, very devout Catholic back then), but nowadays there’s a little less arm twisting (it’s usually bribery that gets me). So anyhoohah, to my point – what was my point?
A couple of my friends recently happened upon a local ballerina establishment. (Actually, it was the night of my Sober Recollection… that was the next stop I could not be bribed into.) One of them later recounted to me that one of the ladies claimed to be a palm reader. He swore she got his name, his occupation, and a few other things right, to which I decried “balogna” (would “baloney” have had more of a visual impact?) I figured our other friend had to give her a heads-up because I don’t believe palm reading works that way (if at all).
This story he told me while at a different joint (oh yeah, this was where I was going). It lead me to ponder (okay it’s not quite philosophizing, but I do that a lot as well) about what I would like to have happen if I ever got my palm read. I would be so excited if the reader started looking over my lines, and then immediately stood up and backed away. “Go! You must leave! Now!” The reader’s voice would crack as they cowered into the corner, crying. Man, that would give me the biggest smile.
Another scenario I always daydream about is more of a prank. I need to find a good recording of screaming demons so that I could call my friends and when they answered, I’d just play the burning in fire and brimstone response.
I also pretend I’m Wolverine or John McClane when I’m in my hallways at work. Man, this post went off rail… must be because of this beer I’m palm reading.
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).
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.
Thanksgiving weekend has come and gone, as has all the turkey (et. al.) through me. With this in mind, I shall impart onto you the various things that I learned over the past four days.
The only lamp of its kind where you quickly touch the live plant to turn it on and off or hold a leaf and it works as a dimmer.
Ain’t that the bees knees! Just stick the Amazing Plant Lamp kit in any plant and voila!
2) Raisins are forcibly put into too many things, like cinnamon bread and puddings. I usually don’t eat any of these foods anyway, but I can relate because of how common it is for bakers to put nuts in fudge brownies (that could be taken out of context)! Enough! I want choices!
(SIDE NOTE: I used to like Fig Newtons as a kid because I thought it was some kind of weird tasting chocolate. Then I learned and thus hated them.)
3) Chocotinis have zero alcohol content, despite what anyone else might claim. My sister was pulled over for having non-working turn signals. She was nervous and forgot her alphabet. The cop made her do the random balance tests and the such, then he gave her a Breathalyzer test. She blew zero. Case closed!
4) You can break the bottom off a beer bottle with water and a hand slap. Basically, take an empty bottle (in this case, it was Coors Light), fill it halfway with water, hold the neck in one hand, and slam the palm of your other hand on the bottle’s mouth. The bottom drops out from the instant air pressure, I guess. Apparently, beer has more shock absorption.
5) My cousin Steve might be a diabolical genius. In discussing the biggest insults one man could make against another (backhanding was #3… spitting in face was #2… we didn’t go beyond what’s to follow), he declared the greatest coup, the most humiliating attack, the most degrading defeat, the biggest insult to be ever perpetrated in the world would be this – to tickle a man in front of his family. Right in front of his wife, his children, and his dog. Tickled to the point of tears and uncontrollable laughter. It’s guaranteed that after the giggles were through, he’d pack up his things and walk out the door, not saying a word, not making any eye contact, swearing to himself to never return again, and all this would be understood. Out of humiliation he’d still support the family, though thousands of miles away. And his family could become your family.
6) As a kid, I watched WXYZ Channel 7 way more than I realized, because they had a special on about their past 60 years, and I got choked up. Stupid nostalgia…
7) I would put that the Detroit Lions suck, but I already knew that.
Jar Jar Binks was the beginning and the end of “Star Wars” for most. It was the clearest sign that George Lucas had lost his damned mind, and the pandering to kids that began with the Ewoks in “Return of the Jedi” (which was fine when I was a kid), had spiraled out of control. And it wasn’t just the fans that thought this.
Additionally, Rob Coleman, who was the lead on the Industrial Light & Magic animation team, warned Lucas that there was concern among the team that the character of Jar Jar was coming across poorly for the team and how the character was to be projected. Lucas told him that he especially put Jar Jar in the film to appeal to small children. After that, the issue was dropped.
So after all is said and done – why would I choose to defend Jar Jar? As he is, I can say nothing. But of what he could have been – I have to say this.
I believe in George Lucas’ out-of-touch brain, he had grander plans for Jar Jar, besides having him be at fault for giving Palpatine power in Episode II (heaven help me for writing this… all of this.) I think it was the fan backlash that shrunk Jar Jar’s role.
Even if he didn’t have better intentions for Jar Jar, I believe the series would have benefited from having a permanent sidekick for Anakin. Jar Jar, the simple creature he was, could have been used to contrast how far into darkness Anakin decended. Jar Jar could have been his confidant when he Obi-Wan pissed him off. Jar Jar could have ran interference to distract others when Anakin was hooking up with Amidala. Then, when the moment arrived where Anakin had chosen his destiny… when he wiped out all those little Jedi kids… how much more powerful would it have been for Anakin’s best bud to walk in and catch him doing such horrible things? Anakin, realizing how far he has fallen, would then lash out and destroy the mirror of his lost innocence – Jar Jar.
Especially after what Jar Jar would probably have said: “Ani, whatsa yooza doin?”
(If you’re brave enough, there’s a pic of the hotness that is me after jump…)
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