Sorry this is so late, I was playing football under the Whitehurst Freeway in the street for 7 straight days

Back in the early 90s, cable TV provided three things well for pre-teen boys.

1. Nickelodeon
2. Scrambled pornography that resulted less in arousal and more in migraines.
3. The first 15 minutes of each pay-per-view movie for that month unscrambled every two hours.

Most of the time, catching 15 minutes of movies like The Fabulous Baker Boys did nothing but cultivate a distaste for piano bars. But some months featured awesome things like Ghostbusters 2 even though nothing good happens for about 30 minutes when they go underground to fight the ghost Metro.

Then there was Roadhouse. I’ve never seen it in its sum but I have watched the first 15 minutes perhaps 300 times. Unlike the toothless rendering I imagine you can see on cable these days, the pay-per-view version that aired in 1989 was shown in its entire R-rated glory. And do you know how the first substantial fight occurred in Roadhouse? It involved boobs.

This is the closest I can find to a transcript. (attitudes = tits, for some reason)

Ever seen a better pair of attitudes?
Fine, ain't they?
I’ll tell you what, for 20 bucks,...you can kiss 'em.
Are you kidding?
Ten a kiss. Here and now.
Go ahead. Do it, go on.
Go on. - Come on. Come on.
Ten a kiss. Go ahead.
Yeah!
Hey, buddy, what are you doin'? Are you gonna kiss 'em or not?
I can't.
What do you mean, you can't?
I ain't got 20 bucks.
Oh, shit. - Fight!
Break it up!
(glass shattering)
You son of a bitch!
Bastard!
Baby!
Havin' us some fun tonight!


I understand if that’s hard to follow. Basically some redneck with a hot girlfriend allows another redneck to fondle her tats with the understanding that he will fork over more money for more access. But the jokes on Redneck #1 because Redneck #2 ain’t got no $20! OH TWIST!

Then there’s a fight, obviously.

I don’t exactly know how old I was in 1989. But it was an age when seeing boobs every two hours was the most important thing in life. My friends and I would stop whatever we were doing that summer, find the TV that was farthest away from our mothers and watch this scene every time it was on.

I have never seen Ghost. I have never seen Dirty Dancing. But I still believe this is the greatest thing Patrick Swayze ever contributed to mankind, ever.

Filling your head with lies and your pants with hands

This is how Celebrity Jeopardy ended tonight.*



How is it that one of these people has their own show and the other doesn’t?


Now go watch an old episode of Andy Barker P.I. on Hulu and feel bad about yourself for not watching it when it was on TV. Go on, it has a one-legged Amy Sedaris in it.





*Technically, the one on the left finished final Jeopardy with $2000 since they give celebrities at least $1000 to play with, even if they finish with -$4600.

ball. ball. ball? ball. ball. ball. BALL. BALL! ball! ball. ball?

happy Year One, my little nerdling.

This is what Democracy smells like!

Distressing news has been filling my in-box for the past two days. Our two starting flag football offensive linemen have dropped out for the season because they are giant babies. Actually, that’s not true but it’s what I will call them to their faces. The real reason they dropped out is because they are giant fatties.

That is 100% true. But it’s the reason they are offensive lineman. It’s harder for punk-assed GW frat guys to run around these two fatties and sack our quarterback than it is to run around me with my bad knee and soft, excellent hands. However, being that big means your body isn’t always going to do what you want. Especially if what you want is to not blow out your Achilles and go to the emergency room and end up bankrupt because you don’t have insurance.

I don’t want to stray into the health care debate because I don’t understand things like that and stuff. But the real reason our two linemen have dropped out because they have no insurance and don’t want to risk injury in our full contact, no pads league. Unfortunately, it’s a legitimate concern and it puts our ability to repeat as divisional champions at risk.

So I’m starting a movement.



We need Congress to draft bipartisan legislation that will guarantee out nation’s offensive lineman health insurance. Actually, scratch that. We only need wording that pledges coverage for sports related injuries. Treatments for pig flu or monkey pox or whatever that one was you got from eating civets in China are not covered. Nor is anything that would assist in losing weight or encourage healthier eating. The only things to be covered are medical treatments in the emergency room, ice, pain and anti-inflammatory medication, crutches and maybe a soft pillow to prop your leg on to prevent swelling.

So call your Senators and Congresspeoples today. Tell them that only they can save my flag football season. Unless, of course, you live in the District because you don’t have representation and are a giant sucker. And have fun getting your bike stolen for the third time and riding the metro, you train-loving hump.

and the summer comes undone

august/september accomplishments:

- eaten unidentified parts of a whole suckling pig (it was dark out. brains on toast!)

- used the term "avatar" as a verb

- IM'd with AMattos about "Guiding Light" plotlines (I've never seen this show but it sounds awesome?) Actually most of my summer has been spent coming up with crazy awesome ideas with Amanda. It's amazing we aren't famous/rich/both yet; or quickly becoming less famous/rich because we're blowing our money on cocaine and bentleys. ("15 to 20 cars???? We only need 3 or 4.")

- threatened to create a totally for real food blog called "justmicrowavethatshit dot com"

- watched a lot of "Ghost Hunters" on youtube thanks to a friend's recommendations (it's incredibly stupid awesome)

- drank a LOT of blue moon

- played softball very very poorly; let strangers comfort my offspring as I failed to field grounders

- read a few music websites thinking "who the HELL are these bands?" and then given up completely on identifying any modern music i like. i feel like my mom.

- fantasy plotted the of elaborate homicides of people (old dudes) who have treated me like some sort of 1950s era secretary

- finished Infinite Jest (or will have by tonight)

- Cheap pitchers of beer at the Knights of Columbus pool (important: befriend the Catholics!)

- have read a Curious George book aloud 5600 times & counting.



So I'll cap off a pretty great summer by going to Chicago then going to the beach to watch the sibs gets hitched.

Also, did you hear about Jason Biggs getting attacked by a monkey? I know, right?

The only thing people hate worse than looking at your vacation pictures is being told about your dreams

I don’t really like doing this but I had a dream last night that was so upsetting that I woke up at 5am and couldn’t get back to a sleep state because I refused the potential of revisiting it. I was working for a Chinese local TV station and we had to break into live coverage after Wesley Snipes was killed. Apparently, this was big, breaking news in China and I had to dictate an obit live into the reporter’s ear.

優秀美國演員 Wesley Snipes 今天死了. Snipes 為他的在展示他的love of Asian culture 和unremarkable martial arts skills 的动作片的角色是最響譽. 他的最著名的影片是 Passenger 57 和 Blade trilogy 為時也擔任主角 Kris Kristofferson 和 Patton Oswalt. 最近， Snipes 與 IRS 衝突，並且他被判了刑對 3 年徒刑，雖然他保持自由，當 the case is being appealed. 他继续行動，但是大多他的影片是 straight to DVD 包括最近 發現的西部 Snipes fighting zombies in Africa. 詞組在美國高中一瞬間成為了普遍的口頭禪 "Always bet on black."

I can’t remember if I’ve ever discussed this here but I few years ago I was hypnotized on stage as part of a comedy routine at the Improv. Among other embarrassing things, I made some incredibly racially insensitive remarks. I think this dream is related.

Or maybe in the car with the windows rolled up?

Imagine you went to a nice, classy New Jersey wedding and they had a college sports-themed ice luge with 6 different kinds of vodka and you eat so many hor d'oeuvres that you split your tuxedo pants while dancing from the zipper all the way to the belt in the back. (Good thing you paid the $1 tuxedo rental fee! Suckers tuxedo rental place!) That would be a fun wedding.

Now imagine that you went to a much less fancier wedding in New Jersey and the most exotic alcohol related stunt was a crappy champagne glass pyramid fountain. But then suddenly you were required to take that fountain to a baseball game! In fact, you have to play in that game! But you must keep the fountain safe or the bride and her mother will get so angry that their combined rage will gain sentience and attack an out-of-the -way Antarctica research facility six days before the next supply cargo plane is scheduled to arrive.

Do you leave it on the sidelines where a foul ball could hit it and knock all the Korbel goodness to the ground? Or with a player on the other team who has little to no champagne glass pyramid fountain tending experience and may resent being asked? Or maybe behind a fence but also next to a hornets’ nest?

Upon further reflection, I still think my decision was the right one - take the fountain out to left field with you. If the ball comes near you – which it will obviously will on the very first pitch – you are in the best place to protect it. You can judge the trajectory better, the speed better and, unless you completely useless outfielder, throw you entire body onto the ground to prevent the ball from rolling into the fountain.

Sure, it may cry some when you leave it to chase a grounder that slips past the shortstop and its mother will furiously shoot daggers with her eyes at you from second base. But that champagne glass pyramid fountain made it home a-okay and slept for 10 hours that night. Just like a baby, in fact. The champagne fountain was a person. A tiny, fragile person.