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Drunken Recollection… There Just Aren’t Enough Figure Skating Movies

Posted on May 23, 2009 by sgottahurt

Yesterday was a bittersweet sports night in Detroit. On one hand, the Tigers won their seventh straight game (barely… thanks, Zumaya). On the other, the Red Wings lost in overtime to the Chicago Blackhawks.

Somehow, through the course of starting the night at Comerica Park and stopping at the bar to watch the second half of the playoff game, the conversation veered to figure skating movies. Well, it started with the mere mention of figure skating; I steered it toward chatting about film.

The topic: What’s the best movie about figure skating?

The answer: The Cutting Edge (natch).

: When I finish this post, I just might watch it again. That is, if I owned the DVD. Who am I kidding? I own it…

I mean, it could be argued that since Ice Castles was the first, it’s the best by some (I’ve never seen it, but after watching this video featuring its theme song, I feel like I have to).

Some tidbit facts about Ice Castles:

There’s a remake coming out next year to coincide with the 2010 Winter Olympics.
Star Lynn-Holly Johnson went on to be a Bond Girl to Roger Moore in For Your Eyes Only.
Co-star Robby Benson almost won the role of Luke Skywalker in some movie I don’t recall, but he did voice The Beast in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. He also directed episodes of Friends, apropos of nothing.
It’s also a song by Ween.

Arguments for The Cutting Edge:

It was awesome.
It was funny.
It was heartwarming.
It spawned a trilogy.

There really need to be five movies to tell the full story.

According to Wikipedia, there have been only 7 films about figure skating, while

skiing gets 9
surfing gets 11
wrestling and ice hockey get 14
(and oh yeah – cheerleading, skateboarding, and rodeo also get 7)

Forget the major leagues and any kind of racing, and you realize Hollywood hasn’t explored other sports all that much. Especially when you consider that the 14 ice hockey movies include the Mighty Ducks trilogy, a second Slap Shot film, MVP: Most Valuable Primate, and The Guru – heaven help all ice-skating related works.

JusWondering… Can You Get Drunk Off Milk?

Posted on May 4, 2009 by sgottahurt

For the month of May I’ve decided to cut out some of the things that have made my life worth living… Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, beer, um, Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, and beer, yeah…

So far, four days in, I’ve managed to keep up with the plan and maintain the social habits in which my usuals are consumed.

Friday – MGM Casino and Detroit Tigers’ game (drunk kids behind us would have been more fun had I also been smashed)
Saturday – My brother’s play (totally would have drank afterwards normally, but it was actually really entertaining)
Sunday – My friend’s softball game (I’m the scorekeeper, usually armed with a pen in one hand and a beer in the other)
Today – 80’s Night at Comerica Park (booze fest, natch)

Yet alas, here I am, prodding through with my plan, having nightmares about caving in and drinking Mt. Dew (seriously), getting tempted like crazy.

But something strange has been occurring the last few nights. As I sit down on my couch to prepare for a late night, pre-bedtime viewing of TV shows on DVD (just finished the hilarious It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia… Burn Notice is next), I’ve been partaking of a glass or two of low fat organic milk. And after drinking that second glass, I’ve been feeling a wee bit tipsy.

So I decided to investigate if this was a phenomenon, or merely something in my head. I remember in the short-lived comic book, X-Nation 2099, the mutants would get drunk off of milk. So why can’t I?

Apparently babies can get drunk off of breast milk. In Japan. Of course.

There are many cases of infantile beriberi (kakke) in Japan.In most instances the mother of the afflicted infant has beriberi.However, sometimes the mother is healthy (concealed beriberi).Ito observed such a case in which the mother did not have beriberiand called the condition “mother’s milk intoxication.” But heafterward changed this name to “breast milk intoxication” becausehe saw cases in babies who were nourished with the milk of wet-nurses.

PETA wants us to drink beer and wine, and not milk. Of course.

PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) is very provocative in its media campaign about milk, but it is correct in its message. Beer is indeed better than milk for health, as are both wine and distilled spirits.

Doing too many shots of milk produces the same result as too many shots of liquor:
Bill Murray drinks a glass of warm milk before he goes to bed.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

more about “Bill Murray in FCU: Fact Checkers Uni…“, posted with vodpod

Drunken Recollection… Return Of The Hangover

Posted on April 23, 2009 by sgottahurt

On the taxi ride from Tom’s Restaurant back to East Village, Steve passed out quickly, and not soon after, I followed suit. Tim bid us farewell, and I remained awake for our ride back to Midtown. The taxi that narrowly missed crashing into the backseat where I was sitting probably helped…

EPISODE VI
RETURN OF THE HANGOVER

Upon reaching our final destination without reaching the final destination, Steve decided he wanted some more food. I think I agreed. We remembered seeing a Taco Bell on our way to the pizzeria the day before, so we ambled forth in search of late night seasoned beef and cheese and tortillas and rice…

The next morning, after awakening in our dirty Snuggies, we tried recalling the run for the border. We remembered that it was more like a regular deli that had a Taco Bell in the back. The Taco Bell was closed, yet the front remained in business. Weird. Steve didn’t think he purchased any food, and I cannot confirm or deny that fact, but I do know he inquired about it.

Steve – “How much for pizza?”

Worker – “$3.50 a slice.”

Steve – “I’ll give you three for a half.”

The rest is fuzzy, and so was Steve. He wasn’t feeling too hot on the morning of our ride home, whereas this time, I felt fine. Upon learning of my faux pas regarding the hot dog joint/secret bar, we made the decision to seek it out properly before leaving. We had to know if it truly did exist.

So on the way to the subway station at Times Square, we stopped at this place to get cupcakes:

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

While outside enjoying “da bomb frostins,” we bore witness to a scene straight out of Police Academy. A short cop was surrounded by tall European women, in their late teens to mid-twenties (with an elder or two over-seeing them), and he was posing for pictures with them.

There were well over a dozen of them (a baker’s dozen?), and he had to make sure there was variety in his stylings. When Steve and I walked into Magnolia, he was letting them put on his hat and hold his night stick. When we were eating, he was fastening handcuffs on one of the girls. I just imagined that if he was called for an emergency, he’d leave her behind locked up.

From there, we took the subway to Union Square, and met up with Tim and Mike again. Tim was excited and had this to say:

I’ve finally made a union with someone at Union Square.

Anyhotdog, our final mission before leaving NYC was to locate this secret bar. It was not far from our point of departure the night before, and here’s what we found:

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Once inside, I stared at the counter of the narrow establishment seeking out the phone booth that would lead us to the bar called P.D.T. (Please Don’t Tell). I turned left, and there it was:

Get Smart... or Superman?

I pushed open the door, and the guy behind the counter told me it didn’t open until six. Bummer city.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

We ordered some dogs. I had mine made Seattle-style, in honor of this upcoming weekend’s trip. (It’s cream cheese on a hot dog in a bun.) From there, we made our way back to Madison Square Garden and Penn Station. And from there back to Newark, and then back

toward

home.

*sniff*

Drunken Recollection… The Empire Snuggies Back

Posted on April 22, 2009 by sgottahurt

In the middle of the night, a strange cough – that sounded distinctly male – startled me awake. I was passed out in a queen-size bed with my cousin Steve. We were in a hotel in New York City recovering from a long day of travelling and a longer night of drinking.

…And we were each wearing a Snuggie.

EPISODE V
THE EMPIRE SNUGGIES BACK

The pub crawl on which the trip was focused was starting at noon. It was ten when we started moving. Steve kept mentioning how well he felt; I kept quiet about how much I was not. We had set our sights on getting back to East Village by noon, but our first mission was to stop at the store to buy a vital item.

Steve called them safety pins; I referred to them as diaper pins. Steve thought we could find them at Staples; I thought that was funny. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they were still made. Was there a need for diaper pins anymore? (Safety pins? Maybe.) And why did we need them? We each had grown fond of our Snuggies and didn’t want to ruin them. (Oh, and we ended up finding some at Walgreen’s. They weren’t by the baby supplies, but amazingly, condoms were. Hmm.)

We had a plan to carry the three Snuggies we possessed in a backpack, and to don them as required (the third was Mike’s – another friend that was coming in from DC for his birthday). It was New York though, and we probably could have worn them the entire way from Midtown, but… well, I don’t have a clever excuse. I guess we weren’t 100% convinced the Snuggie Pub Crawl was real, and didn’t want to be left out in the cold heat (it was such a nice day… 70+ degrees).

Our first stop was the sign-up location. We had purchased four tickets in advance (even though we thought it might not be real we used credit card information on the web… go figure), and on the train ride over, Steve verified the first bar stop on those four tickets. When we arrived at the sign-up, Steve checked his pockets.

“I have some bad news.” Apparently, somewhere between checking them on the subway and walking to this bar, the printed up sheets fell out and blew away. We weighed our options. We thought of alternatives. They guy told us we needed tickets, and we didn’t want to have to purchase them again. Luckily, he accepted viewing the receipts on my iPhone, gave us four tickets and four cups (Tim from Episode IV would be also joining us), and we arrived at our first official spot:

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Now properly attired in our blankets with sleeves and with full crew in tow, the drinking began. The three of them were off in a mad dash, but I was limping. Mike put it best:

The days that start off slow very often end in a hurry.

Now I’ll let some pictures do the talking.

Needless to say – some drinks were poured, some drinks were spilled, some conversation was had, and the Yankees got blown out by the Indians! All-in-all, the crawl was a success. But the night was not yet finished…

———————————————————————–

Over the course of the day, I had received information about a secret place. The specifications were these:

It was a hot dog joint in Manhattan.
This hot dog joint had a “secret bar” located within it.
To access this “secret bar” you had to enter a phone booth and pick up the receiver to enter.
The location I was texted stated: 113 St Marks Pl

Here’s where my hubris caused an issue (and maybe drinking… maybe). I thought I understood the lay the island, and I took the location to mean “113 St. @ Marks Place”… not what it said. And the little torn brochure map I carried with me cut off around 110 St. at the the top, so how could I be wrong? Birthday boy Mike passed out at Tim’s place (near East Village), and Steve, Tim, and I made our drunken way out to the fictional 113 St. and Marks Place.

The taxi driver didn’t even correct us, and brought us to 113 St. and Broadway, way up on the west end. As I approached the waterfront, I stumbled into a closing bakery.

“Excuse me, do you know where Marks Place is?”

The confused baker answered, “He probably lives down by the river.”

As we brewed and stewed and reviewed my mistake, something caught my eye down the road. It wasn’t a wasted trip after all! This is where we had a late night burger before returning to home base (to pass out in our dirty Snuggies in a queen-size bed):

"Doo doo doo doo, doo doo-doo-doo..." - Suzanne Vega / "Tippy toes, tippy toes, tippy toes!" - George Costanza

Drunken Recollection… A Canadian, A T-Shirt, A.I., And Some Bars

Posted on April 17, 2009 by sgottahurt

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Drunken Recollection. It’s not so much that I have no Recollection. It’s moreso that I haven’t been Drunken (or I give it all up to Twitter – damn!)

This past night was an odd collection of Items to Note:

Note 1) Our live trivia host sounded identical to Norm MacDonald.

How cool would it be if the pic on the mug was holding a picture of Norm holding a mug?

And that wasn’t a bad thing. It was simply strange, because the guy looked more like this:

Not to be confused with Kris Kross.

Note 2) There was a guy that was very proud of his t-shirt that read, “My Giveadamner Is Broken.”

I couldn’t find the exact t-shirt he had, but there are plenty of varities out there. Apparently, I could have cared less, so I guess my giveadamner was broken, too.

Note 3) The American Idol judges saved someone?

This was playing in the background on the TV, so I have an excuse. Okay, I really don’t have an excuse because I watched the show the day before, and I thought local-yokel Matt Giraud didn’t perform that great.

More "grating" than "great."

Albeit, I would listen to him for 100 years before listening to Adam Lambert sing Born to Be Wild ever again. Or anything, for that matter. (I hope Allison wins, or maybe even Anoop!)

Note 4) CBGB stood for Country, Blue Grass, & Blues?

ZOMG! It's closed!

CBGB’s, as far as I knew, was the place where hardcore punk was born, not country, blue grass, and blues?

This topic brought up conversation about the Fillmore in San Francisco, and how there’s one here in Detroit since Live Nation gobbled up the State Theater and renamed it.

I tried bringing up the historic place in Detroit, where groups like the MC5 got their start, but no one knew. So I had to research it.

Found it:

ZOMG! It's abandonned!

I was thinking of the Grande Ballroom.

………

That’s all I got. I already mentioned my giveadamner’s broken.

Drunken Recollection… Supercalifrag-Religion-Expialidocious

Posted on April 8, 2009 by sgottahurt

Religion would not seem to be a great topic of conversation while imbibing libations, but in my group of friends… well, you can only tell so many bathroom horror stories.

Since all of us (pretty much) were born and raised Catholics, all of us (pretty much) are no longer. So topics about what we are, where we’ll go, and how many blue cars there are come up often. One of the common ones – which bands are religious and claim/pretend not to be.

Recently, it was brought up about this band, and this album, and the song Shine:

Whoa... heaven let your light shine down.

Does it mean they are religious? Quite the opposite. From their Wikipedia page:

Ed Roland was reading Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead and came across the phrase “collection of souls.” Although author Ayn Rand actually uses the phrase in a negative connotation, using the “collective soul” as a threat to the main character’s sense of individualism, Ed is quick to point out, “…we’re not preaching Ayn Rand, objectivism, egoism, or anything…we just dug the name…” and “it [the band’s name] could’ve come out of a Motorcycle Magazine.”

There have been other bands we’ve accused, such as Vertical Horizon (because their name describes a cross, but they seem like a basic college band), The Fray (made up of non-proselytizing Christians), Lifehouse (started as Christian band called Blyss, but they’re no longer that way) , and Switchfoot (name comes from surfing, but they have played Christian rock concerts). It’s interesting that none of them claim to be 100% Christian Rock bands (because how else could they sell to the masses, so to speak).

I just think they’re afraid to be associated with this kind of stuff:

(via the incredible Everything is Terrible)

And in the same way, could I say I enjoyed their music if they were considered CCM (Contempory Christian Music)?

Why OHIO? Why not YMCA?

Drunken Recollection… More Or Less Than Jake

Posted on March 22, 2009 by sgottahurt

Let me begin with this: last night I saw Less Than Jake in concert at St. Andrew’s Hall in Detroit, and I. Had. A. Blast.

It was quite possibly one of the best concerts I’ve been to in a long time, and I’m pretty sure it can be attributed to going with my brother, Scott, and my cousin, Steve, the fact that I’ve been a fan of LTJ since their Losing Streak album came out in 1996, and lots and lots of draft beer.

I swore to try to remember as much of the highlights as possible. So here I go:

We started at the casino. Scott and Steve had been drinking prior to, and I was playing catch-up (I think Steve was playing mustard). Scott was recounting how at one concert he was hit in the head with a full water bottle and got knocked out for a bit. This will play out later.
Having only one phone between us, we decided we should make our way to the show so as not to miss LTJ. We got there in time to see the Flatliners (not the Julia Roberts/Kiefer Sutherland pic). We were glad not to miss any of the main act, but we wished we could have gambled more. Especially once I realized they had Star Wars penny slots. May the force be with the 30-line spin!
We laughed at a woman wearing Mom Jeans and her man that looked like Tom Cruise circa The Firm. Steve would end up befriending them and giving them high fives later, but still…
I thought of a pickup line. Then I thought it might work as a pickup line to ask if the pickup line would work as a pickup line. I was going to ask one girl but her man came back. So I turned to another girl who was way too crossed-eyed to be so snotty in my opinion, and I said, “I heard your brother’s the drummer in the band.” Her response, “If my brother was in the band, I’d be backstage, duh. But nice try on the pickup line.” Steve returned from the restroom or a beer run, and he heard the ending. He thought I asked about the line, but I informed him that I just used it as is.
A gaggle of older dudes (my age) started moshing at the back during the second opening act, which was the more more accessible band called the Expendables. One dude bumped me more than once which caused me to spill beer on Scott’s phone. I turned to face them and the dude’s friend apologized. What I said to appease him, I want to put on t-shirts:

: Like this, but better… not much better, though.

Also, the dude that made me spill my beer wanted to get punched in the face… he told me so. I said I would, but he had to punch me too, kinda like a Rocky/Apollo Creed freeze frame kind of thing. His friend told us to wait until after the concert. I agreed.
Once LTJ started, the mosh pit was incredible. Being one of the taller guys, I’m usually asked to lift people to body surf, but not as many people were willing to for some reason. At the end of the regular show, I decided to go. The bouncer that flipped me over told me I was too big to be doing this. I agreed.
When the encore was in full swing, some of the kids that helped me up before wanted me to do it again. I told them I was yelled at last time, which only spurned them on more. So I went up again, and the bouncer repeated the fact that I was too big to be doing this. If I did it again, I was going to get kicked out. I didn’t go back by those other kids again.
It was about this time that Steve was high-fiving Tom Cruise and Mom Jeans. Scott had been hit in the head, but by something other than a water bottle. This little kid appeared out of nowhere as the main floor cleared, and he was picking up who-knows-what off the floor. I saw the friends of the dude I was supposed to punch, but they lost him. They informed me that if I saw him, I should swing for his right eye, because his left eye was already bruised. I agreed.
Scott was going to sleep in the car while Steve and I would gamble more. We parted ways at the garage. As we were wandering around in the casino, we ran into Scott. He couldn’t find the car. It was amazing to stumble across each other because only Scott had a phone. Lucky!
I lost ten bucks in the Star Wars penny slots. I would have only lost five, but a woman asked me to watch her spot so she could run to the restroom. I only had thirty cents left, so I threw in another five. More or Less Than Jake, it was a good night.

Drunken Recollection… Drips Ahoy!

Posted on March 16, 2009 by sgottahurt

There has been a Drunken Recollection I’ve been meaning to get to for awhile, but the moment has passed and the recollection is fuzzier than it ever was. My notes on the matter:

Frois grois was typed as a note in my phone, which is actually foie gras… it was a conversation I had with my sister, Tammie, about how ducks and geese are force-fed to fatten up their livers. I never heard of it, but apparently it’s getting banned in various states courtesy of animal activists. I have no opinion or witty quip on the matter now – if I did then, consider it “pissed away.”
Another thing my sister brought up was an artist she knows that wrote the saying, “War leads to Poverty, Poverty leads to Peace, Peace leads to Greed, Greed leads to War.” Man, were we in a bummy mood that night.*
The only light highlight was a comment from my observant sibling. On Friday, I missed out on homemade macaroni and cheese at my old grade school because they ran out. On Sunday, I missed hanging out with an old friend downtown at a place that serves the best homemade macaroni and cheese. Tammie said, “This was your Mac and Cheese Denial weekend.”

Now onto the most current D.R. It occurred at a private boat club in Wyandotte, where the usual crew set out to play an exclusive game of trivia. There were cash prizes to be had – $50 for 1st, $30 for 2nd, and $10 for 3rd.

I arrived first, and its location reminded me of a scene in a movie where people that need to exchange a suitcase full of money, a nuclear warhead, or “whatever’s-in-the-trunk” would meet.

Inside, I had to knock on the port door to be let in. Then I had to sign a book. All the old regulars surrounded the bar, and all they served was beer in cans that had that faint odor of old ice. I ordered my can and sat my can at the table near the window overlooking Lake Erie.

The others arrived and we decided to split into two teams (the better to win more money – which we did, natch!) We quickly learned that the regulars weren’t too fond of us being there, and, oh yeah – there was a certain spot at the bar you had to order from. The bartender could look right at you standing anywhere else and he’d look through you.

We ended up drinking enough to build a beer can pyramid, a.k.a. a beeramid, which made the regulars mad. We each walked out with an extra five bucks each and our tab paid back. All-in-all, I will never return there again. Maybe.

In closing, I also learned that cenosillicaphobia meant “fear of an empty beer glass” and that I am cenosillicaphobic.

Not pictured: our beeramid. This is based on a true story.

*Okay, I was completely (well not completely) off on the quote. It’s from a folk song and her fiancé’s uncle wrote it down and framed it:

ALL IN A NUT SHELL

War begets poverty
Poverty peace
Peace begets wealth
Wealth beget pride
Pride is war’s ground
War begets poverty

So the world goes round

Drunken Recollection… Dressed To Kill (This Is A Funny Title… Trust Me)*

Posted on March 7, 2009 by sgottahurt

At night at the bar does not always provide teachings, but last night, I learned two things:

Sometimes, to get the girl, a guy’s gotta wear a zip-up fleece and corduroy khakis. I’m not a zip-up fleece and corduroy khaki kinda guy, so I would never get the pointy shoe and $100 blue jeans girl – not that I would want to. Introduce me to the girl in Target jeans and Keds anytime.
Is this not possibly one of the greatest movies of all time?!
I just ordered it on DVD, so I’ll be sure to let you know. Brian DePalma made this in 1974, a year before Sisters and two before Carrie. It played on a background TV out of earshot, behind the couple from Hell Hell Bean. I’m still not sure which display was more frightening.

*check out #18 on this list

Drunken Recollection… Bible Thumping, Veggie Trumping, And Movie Pumping

Posted on March 4, 2009 by sgottahurt

Some of the conversations the crew and I have had over brews lately make me feel like I should be running my sister’s sister-site, SomethingKnew. On her page, she goes over all the new things she learns every day – mine are things I learn over every beer.

Which Testament of the Bible has more books (at least according to what us Roamin’ Catholics were taught)? We honestly had no idea, but courtesy of the TripleDoubleU on my new iPhone, there are 46 books in the Old Testament vs. 27 books in the New Testament. The number I have heard of from both? Maybe 30 (I didn’t feel like counting). The number I have read? Zero.
Carotene is found in carrots. Carotene? Carrots! Is there bananatene in bananas? Does Ovaltine come from ovals (sorry about the Seinfeld rip)? Perhaps teenatene is what causes youngsters to turn emo (because it’s like the stuff in onions that makes you cry)? Okay, I’m done.
Teenatene was first discovered by German scientists.
What is the longest running film series? I didn’t want to include James Bond because I figured it was automatically the longest at 22 films. Research lead me to this: a lot people argue about this. Some consider the length to start from the first in the series; some count every incarnation. Many webheads reference different foreign film series that are unknown to me, so I’ve decided the second longest series is this:

Part 14 will be “roaring” into stores this year.

And the third longest is this:

Part 10 will be “pulling your strings” soon!

(Friday the 13th could be argued for hitting 12 films, but that series is dead to me.)

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