I am going to see the Disco Biscuits this evening. It is at this point during the day (1:00) that I begin to get antsy. There aren't many more viscerally pleasing live acts around today....at least that I've had the pleasure of seeing.
The show will likely begin as the previous two have. I'll share a few drinks with a couple friends; the show will start; I'll realize I've situated myself right in the middle of the most obnoxious crystal meth induced orgy fathomable, which will prompt me to bounce around in search of a spot where I can see the stage while beyond the reaches of the aforementioned lunacy.
...Then I'll settle in for the long haul. First, a little head-bobbing with a foot noticibly following along with the music as well. As the song builds toward it's climax, I'll smile and laugh to myself as the rest of my body joins the party. For the remainder of the show, I won't stop dancing (as if this even qualifies). To a sober outsider (the venue staff), I undoubtedly seem to be in a state of altered consciousness similar those of my counterparts who bounce, bob, and writhe around me. My friend's and I will occasionally bump into each other, smile and laugh at the sight of the other's "dancing", but we won't stop. Can't stop. Not til the whole thing's over.
It's going to be great.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
This Might Sound a Little Gay but....
I may have reason in the near future to be proud to hail from New Jersey......or not.
http://www.breitbart.com/news/2006/10/25/D8KVN7OG0.html
http://www.breitbart.com/news/2006/10/25/D8KVN7OG0.html
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Minute by Minute Account of RHCP
My knuckles turned white as they gripped the steering wheel. It never failed. Every single time I have to be somewhere, there's gridlock traffic in Boston. It never fails.
As the weather worsened, so went my mood. Eventually, after an hour and a half commute that's supposed to take a half-hour, I had arrived. My voice was course from screaming and left hand sore from punching my steering wheel, but I had arrived. I received a phone call from Timmy- the friend of mine who had been nice enough to get me a ticket to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers this past Friday at the Boston TD BankNorth Garden. As Timmy lives literally next door to the venue, I was determined to ride my bike over to his apartment rain or shine, disregarding entirely the fact that my bicycle was made 20 years ago from spare parts my uncle found at a dump. An hour earlier, when I was actually at the liquor store, Timmy didn't need any liquor. Now he had conveniently changed his mind.
So I packed up my beers, threw on my rain jacket, hopped on the ol' bike and started off down the street. In my haste I'd forgotten, in addition to the state of disrepair of the bike, that it's rotten tires were also racing tires (and thus provide zero traction in wet road conditions). Naturally, when I went to make the first left hand turn, those old racing tires spun out, leaving me sprawled out in a puddle in the middle of the street. Enraged, I re-mounted the bicycle and continued on. A brief visit to the liquor store for some Kettle One and an uneventful jaunt accross Charlestown to the North End later.....and I had really arrived....at Timmy's place.
Naturally Timmy, who's all business, indicated upon my arrival that we were to be joined by some of his stock-brokering friends. Naturally. Countless drinks and a couple of joints (I abstained) later, we decided it was time to make our way to the concert. I ignored Timmy and my new acquaintences' urges to wear a coat. It wasn't cold out......just rainy. A t-shirt would do me just fine, right?
Wrong. The temperature had dropped by what felt like 20 degrees and the wind had picked up to such a degree that it was extremely difficult to breath (like sticking your head out of a car window while driving on the Mass Pike in December). In my chemically enhanced stupor, I actually thought of recommending we turn back (please bear in mind that The Garden is literally next door). I'm not sure I even talked myself out it, probably just couldn't speak or breath because of the wind.
We continued on....eventually separating at the entrance. Timmy and I would be in the cheap seats. The others; corporate style up front. After running up countless flights of stairs, we were both nauseous. Timmy wanted a drink. I wanted to find our seats. Naturally, Timmy got an Orange Fanta, something we really got a kick out of once we reached our seats and realized what a stoner move Orange Fanta was. This is especially funny when you consider Timmy's 26 years-old.
As we took our seats we realized that we were far and away the oldest people in our section (not to be accompanied by the fruit of our loins). Actually, the perv in front of us had binoculars. We weren't sure if he was just reeeeaaaallly overprotective or a flamboyant child molester. Upon communicating this with one another and breaking out into hysterical laughter, naturally, the lady next to us told us we were in the wrong seats. Laughint all the way, we moved to our rightful perches on the other side of the section. As demographically out of place as we felt, we shared a similar state of mind with much of our section. No, I'm not bragging.
We started listening to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.....who I must say sounded a lot more experimental than usual.....and had added a few new musicians to their lineup. About ten minutes later, Timmy and I turned to one another simultaneously, as if sharing a brain, and mumbled in unison, "This isn't the Chilli Peppers."
Sure enough, the 6 peice melee playing out before our very eyes and ears was The Mars Volta. Having realized how much of a retard I was, I shook myself back to relative lucidity....at least enough to enjoy 3 songs, spanning about a half-hour, of really frenzied jamming. There was much more continuity live than is present throughout Frances the Mute (I have not heard their latest effort), and yet they were still ripping through extended insanity, copious time changes, and my ear drums in much the manner I had expected. I was sad to see them leave the stage.....
Especially because minutes later it was announced that they Peppers' flight had been delayed and they were sitting in traffic somewhere in Boston. It was during the subsequent delay/buzzkill that I realized and brought to Timmy's attention, the 15-ish year old hippie sitting next to me who was smoking his body weight in weed. Over the course of the next 2 and a half hours, a span of time during which this kid never took a breath of air that wasn't full of THC, he brought out all sorts of emotions in us. Guilt, jealousy, shame, exuberance, and awe to name a few....
Which was convenient because the music elicited much of the same. I have to say I did enjoy the Chilli Peppers set. While the reviews I have read claim their new material misses the addictive resonance of their previous two albums, I tend to disagree. It's decidedly less poppy but more resonant. What confused me was the juxtaposition of the song's structures and the constant need for Flea and John Frusciante to take the jams somewhere else entirely. Don't get me wrong. Both musicians are incredible and their ability to play off of one another was probably the best part of the show. Ultimately, I just couldn't help but feel Flea and Frusciante are somewhat bored with the constraints of the Chili Pepper framework. These two dudes want to do something different whether they're willing to admit it or not. Perhaps, out of loyalty to Chad Smith and Anthony Keidis, or out of loyalty to the almighty dollar (which they're surely making hand over fist with this tour), they stretched the music a little too thin....which left me satiated.....but a little lost......
As the weather worsened, so went my mood. Eventually, after an hour and a half commute that's supposed to take a half-hour, I had arrived. My voice was course from screaming and left hand sore from punching my steering wheel, but I had arrived. I received a phone call from Timmy- the friend of mine who had been nice enough to get me a ticket to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers this past Friday at the Boston TD BankNorth Garden. As Timmy lives literally next door to the venue, I was determined to ride my bike over to his apartment rain or shine, disregarding entirely the fact that my bicycle was made 20 years ago from spare parts my uncle found at a dump. An hour earlier, when I was actually at the liquor store, Timmy didn't need any liquor. Now he had conveniently changed his mind.
So I packed up my beers, threw on my rain jacket, hopped on the ol' bike and started off down the street. In my haste I'd forgotten, in addition to the state of disrepair of the bike, that it's rotten tires were also racing tires (and thus provide zero traction in wet road conditions). Naturally, when I went to make the first left hand turn, those old racing tires spun out, leaving me sprawled out in a puddle in the middle of the street. Enraged, I re-mounted the bicycle and continued on. A brief visit to the liquor store for some Kettle One and an uneventful jaunt accross Charlestown to the North End later.....and I had really arrived....at Timmy's place.
Naturally Timmy, who's all business, indicated upon my arrival that we were to be joined by some of his stock-brokering friends. Naturally. Countless drinks and a couple of joints (I abstained) later, we decided it was time to make our way to the concert. I ignored Timmy and my new acquaintences' urges to wear a coat. It wasn't cold out......just rainy. A t-shirt would do me just fine, right?
Wrong. The temperature had dropped by what felt like 20 degrees and the wind had picked up to such a degree that it was extremely difficult to breath (like sticking your head out of a car window while driving on the Mass Pike in December). In my chemically enhanced stupor, I actually thought of recommending we turn back (please bear in mind that The Garden is literally next door). I'm not sure I even talked myself out it, probably just couldn't speak or breath because of the wind.
We continued on....eventually separating at the entrance. Timmy and I would be in the cheap seats. The others; corporate style up front. After running up countless flights of stairs, we were both nauseous. Timmy wanted a drink. I wanted to find our seats. Naturally, Timmy got an Orange Fanta, something we really got a kick out of once we reached our seats and realized what a stoner move Orange Fanta was. This is especially funny when you consider Timmy's 26 years-old.
As we took our seats we realized that we were far and away the oldest people in our section (not to be accompanied by the fruit of our loins). Actually, the perv in front of us had binoculars. We weren't sure if he was just reeeeaaaallly overprotective or a flamboyant child molester. Upon communicating this with one another and breaking out into hysterical laughter, naturally, the lady next to us told us we were in the wrong seats. Laughint all the way, we moved to our rightful perches on the other side of the section. As demographically out of place as we felt, we shared a similar state of mind with much of our section. No, I'm not bragging.
We started listening to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.....who I must say sounded a lot more experimental than usual.....and had added a few new musicians to their lineup. About ten minutes later, Timmy and I turned to one another simultaneously, as if sharing a brain, and mumbled in unison, "This isn't the Chilli Peppers."
Sure enough, the 6 peice melee playing out before our very eyes and ears was The Mars Volta. Having realized how much of a retard I was, I shook myself back to relative lucidity....at least enough to enjoy 3 songs, spanning about a half-hour, of really frenzied jamming. There was much more continuity live than is present throughout Frances the Mute (I have not heard their latest effort), and yet they were still ripping through extended insanity, copious time changes, and my ear drums in much the manner I had expected. I was sad to see them leave the stage.....
Especially because minutes later it was announced that they Peppers' flight had been delayed and they were sitting in traffic somewhere in Boston. It was during the subsequent delay/buzzkill that I realized and brought to Timmy's attention, the 15-ish year old hippie sitting next to me who was smoking his body weight in weed. Over the course of the next 2 and a half hours, a span of time during which this kid never took a breath of air that wasn't full of THC, he brought out all sorts of emotions in us. Guilt, jealousy, shame, exuberance, and awe to name a few....
Which was convenient because the music elicited much of the same. I have to say I did enjoy the Chilli Peppers set. While the reviews I have read claim their new material misses the addictive resonance of their previous two albums, I tend to disagree. It's decidedly less poppy but more resonant. What confused me was the juxtaposition of the song's structures and the constant need for Flea and John Frusciante to take the jams somewhere else entirely. Don't get me wrong. Both musicians are incredible and their ability to play off of one another was probably the best part of the show. Ultimately, I just couldn't help but feel Flea and Frusciante are somewhat bored with the constraints of the Chili Pepper framework. These two dudes want to do something different whether they're willing to admit it or not. Perhaps, out of loyalty to Chad Smith and Anthony Keidis, or out of loyalty to the almighty dollar (which they're surely making hand over fist with this tour), they stretched the music a little too thin....which left me satiated.....but a little lost......
Monday, October 23, 2006
Football
What the hell is going on with the Eagles? If they're not careful, they're going to out-play-opponents-and-lose themselves out of a wild card.
I know an old man that doesn't like Michael Vick because his value cannot be ascertained via traditional means. He runs for two and throws for one touchdown more often than the other way around. He's lucky to complete half of his passes, creating big plays more often than not with awe inspiring athleticism instead. I've been telling the old man, "but he wins.....and he's so much fun to watch." Maybe a few more performances like last night will change the minds of all doubters. Vick THREW for 4 touchdowns in a shootout against the defending Superbowl Champions yesterday en route to an overtime victory.
How about that Notre Dame game?! It seems the UCLA defense is as good as billed. Skeptics pointed out their skimpy PAC 10 schedule to rationalize their [statistically] 10th ranked defense. That game was only the third time in the history of Notre Dame football that the Irish won a game on a touchdown inside the final minute. The first, in 1979, was before my time. The second, in 1993, I remember vividly; against Penn State in South Bend. With no time left, Rick Mirer threw a touchdown pass to Jerome Bettis. Down by 1, Holtz boldly went for two. Amidst the falling snow, Mirer was flushed from the pocket and with his momentum pulling him away from oncoming defenders and towards the sideline, he threw a desperate pass to a diving Reggie Brooks in the back of the end zone....And the crowd roared. Yesterday's heroics will likely stick in a similar manner.
I was engaged in a brief debate during the game on Saturday regarding the possibility Jeff Semardzdja eventually having to choose between playing professional baseball and football. My buddies, with whom I disagreed, made their argument in favor of baseball on the basis of longer careers, more money, and being able to walk at 50 (as opposed to someone like John Elway, for example, who supposedly needs help getting out of bed in the morning).
My stance comes primarily from my preferring football over baseball, however, I feel it is very defensable. I countered with the instant payday. How often do "can't miss" baseball prospects get buried in the minors and never even make it to the show? Pretty often, right? I mean, even if he were lucky enough to have been taken in the first round (he was taken in the fifth because scouts see his desire to play professional football as a negative), you only really get the wow payday after emerging from the minors and proving yourself at the major league level; and this is never a guarantee. By comparison, he's a projected late first/early second round wide receiver....which translates to big (not huge) money right off the bat, albeit with a shorter career ahead, but with the opportunity to play on the big stage from day 1. Also, as a wide receiver, his body wouldn't take the beating of a quarterback or runningback so I don't see how the Elway argument is even relevant.
With that in mind, my official advice to Semardzdja would be to play them both.... and to make a choice between the two only when it becomes necessary or if he ever wants to. If he "makes it" in both sports, even if only for a season or two, he'll be mentioned in the same breathe as Bo Jackson, Deion Sanders, Brian Jordan...... a short list for very obvious reasons.
GIIIIAAAAANNNNNTTTTSSSSSS!!!!!! If the Giants win tonight, they take first place in the NFC East I believe.
I know an old man that doesn't like Michael Vick because his value cannot be ascertained via traditional means. He runs for two and throws for one touchdown more often than the other way around. He's lucky to complete half of his passes, creating big plays more often than not with awe inspiring athleticism instead. I've been telling the old man, "but he wins.....and he's so much fun to watch." Maybe a few more performances like last night will change the minds of all doubters. Vick THREW for 4 touchdowns in a shootout against the defending Superbowl Champions yesterday en route to an overtime victory.
How about that Notre Dame game?! It seems the UCLA defense is as good as billed. Skeptics pointed out their skimpy PAC 10 schedule to rationalize their [statistically] 10th ranked defense. That game was only the third time in the history of Notre Dame football that the Irish won a game on a touchdown inside the final minute. The first, in 1979, was before my time. The second, in 1993, I remember vividly; against Penn State in South Bend. With no time left, Rick Mirer threw a touchdown pass to Jerome Bettis. Down by 1, Holtz boldly went for two. Amidst the falling snow, Mirer was flushed from the pocket and with his momentum pulling him away from oncoming defenders and towards the sideline, he threw a desperate pass to a diving Reggie Brooks in the back of the end zone....And the crowd roared. Yesterday's heroics will likely stick in a similar manner.
I was engaged in a brief debate during the game on Saturday regarding the possibility Jeff Semardzdja eventually having to choose between playing professional baseball and football. My buddies, with whom I disagreed, made their argument in favor of baseball on the basis of longer careers, more money, and being able to walk at 50 (as opposed to someone like John Elway, for example, who supposedly needs help getting out of bed in the morning).
My stance comes primarily from my preferring football over baseball, however, I feel it is very defensable. I countered with the instant payday. How often do "can't miss" baseball prospects get buried in the minors and never even make it to the show? Pretty often, right? I mean, even if he were lucky enough to have been taken in the first round (he was taken in the fifth because scouts see his desire to play professional football as a negative), you only really get the wow payday after emerging from the minors and proving yourself at the major league level; and this is never a guarantee. By comparison, he's a projected late first/early second round wide receiver....which translates to big (not huge) money right off the bat, albeit with a shorter career ahead, but with the opportunity to play on the big stage from day 1. Also, as a wide receiver, his body wouldn't take the beating of a quarterback or runningback so I don't see how the Elway argument is even relevant.
With that in mind, my official advice to Semardzdja would be to play them both.... and to make a choice between the two only when it becomes necessary or if he ever wants to. If he "makes it" in both sports, even if only for a season or two, he'll be mentioned in the same breathe as Bo Jackson, Deion Sanders, Brian Jordan...... a short list for very obvious reasons.
GIIIIAAAAANNNNNTTTTSSSSSS!!!!!! If the Giants win tonight, they take first place in the NFC East I believe.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Keepin' You in the Loop
I finally got to see the hand surgeon. After an arduous two hour wait that left me both exhausted and a little pissed off, I finally got my time with the doctor. When my appointment was an hour behind schedule I asked the receptionist if the doctor would be reimbursing me for my time... He closed the glass in my face....so I turned to my peers in the waiting room making a face and gesturing with my hands as if to say, "Can you believe this shit? Aren't you guys all glad I said something?!" I'm not sure it came off that way.
Over the course of the next hour I began plotting my vengeful verbal assault on the doctor....which pretty much consisted only of repeating the sarcastic remark I'd already lobbed at the receptionist. How dare he overbook on the day I was supposed to see him?!
Buuuuuut as usual, when faced with a person so obviously more intelligent and accomplished than myself, my tail went between my legs the moment my name was called.
"Sorry about the wait," I was told by both nurse and later the doctor.
"Oh, that's ok," I replied on both occasions.
The doctor was kind enough to show me my MRI and explain to me what happened, a courtesy not previously paid by my actual doctor, who doesn't know my name, and always looks like he's coming off of a 48 hour coke binge when I see him.
But I digress. Apparently, when I connected that punch months ago- July 1 to be exact- the bone at the base of my hand, top of my wrist, that connects the bone in the hand and under the pinky to the base of the other finger's portions of the hand (sweet description right?) "shredded" and separated in what I believe was termed a compression fracture. The doctor asked me if I remembered something clicking back into place at some point after the incident. Actually, I vividly remember the morning after and having been able to move a bone around in my swolen hand. I could feel it click. At some point that day, the clicking stopped (probably when I was body surfing at the Jersey Shore)....apparently because the bone popped back into place... the WRONG place. As I was too much of a tough guy to see a doctor right away, the bone healed/calcified about 3.5 mm (according to the Dr. Popular) lower than it should have. As he tells me this, I hold my hands up side by side and notice for the first time that the pinky on my right hand is noticibly shorter than the left. Add that to my ever-growing list of deformities.
To make an already long story a little shorter (something Mussolini tells me I need to work on), there are bone fragments at the base of the bone where the break occurred....obviously they're very small, making the likelyhood of a successful surgery slim. Naturally I had to pose the question....... Had I gone to see a doctor right away they would have pulled my pinky and the bone below it, up and into it's rightful place, and screwed my pinky knuckle to my ring finger knuckle. Only, as we all know, I didn't see a doctor until almost 2 months later.
Prognosis: Not so good. "Therapy. You need to stregnthen your right hand. You may as well take that hand brace off...as it's not doing anything."
It was at this point that my passive-aggressive sense of humor made it's apearance. "So I can start masterbating again?" I asked in a defeated monotone (joking of course...this is why God gave man two hands!). He didn't laugh....just awkardly looked at me for a moment and then started talking about something else.
Over the course of the next hour I began plotting my vengeful verbal assault on the doctor....which pretty much consisted only of repeating the sarcastic remark I'd already lobbed at the receptionist. How dare he overbook on the day I was supposed to see him?!
Buuuuuut as usual, when faced with a person so obviously more intelligent and accomplished than myself, my tail went between my legs the moment my name was called.
"Sorry about the wait," I was told by both nurse and later the doctor.
"Oh, that's ok," I replied on both occasions.
The doctor was kind enough to show me my MRI and explain to me what happened, a courtesy not previously paid by my actual doctor, who doesn't know my name, and always looks like he's coming off of a 48 hour coke binge when I see him.
But I digress. Apparently, when I connected that punch months ago- July 1 to be exact- the bone at the base of my hand, top of my wrist, that connects the bone in the hand and under the pinky to the base of the other finger's portions of the hand (sweet description right?) "shredded" and separated in what I believe was termed a compression fracture. The doctor asked me if I remembered something clicking back into place at some point after the incident. Actually, I vividly remember the morning after and having been able to move a bone around in my swolen hand. I could feel it click. At some point that day, the clicking stopped (probably when I was body surfing at the Jersey Shore)....apparently because the bone popped back into place... the WRONG place. As I was too much of a tough guy to see a doctor right away, the bone healed/calcified about 3.5 mm (according to the Dr. Popular) lower than it should have. As he tells me this, I hold my hands up side by side and notice for the first time that the pinky on my right hand is noticibly shorter than the left. Add that to my ever-growing list of deformities.
To make an already long story a little shorter (something Mussolini tells me I need to work on), there are bone fragments at the base of the bone where the break occurred....obviously they're very small, making the likelyhood of a successful surgery slim. Naturally I had to pose the question....... Had I gone to see a doctor right away they would have pulled my pinky and the bone below it, up and into it's rightful place, and screwed my pinky knuckle to my ring finger knuckle. Only, as we all know, I didn't see a doctor until almost 2 months later.
Prognosis: Not so good. "Therapy. You need to stregnthen your right hand. You may as well take that hand brace off...as it's not doing anything."
It was at this point that my passive-aggressive sense of humor made it's apearance. "So I can start masterbating again?" I asked in a defeated monotone (joking of course...this is why God gave man two hands!). He didn't laugh....just awkardly looked at me for a moment and then started talking about something else.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Smut....Apparently not all Smut
While at the "office" yesterday afternoon, I happened upon a trashy gossip magazine surely purchased by Mussolini. I flipped through it's pages as I am sometimes given to do while at the "office", looking for some revealing photos of some Hollywood babes. To my surprise, I found something that was actually relevant: AN UPDATE ON THE WHEREABOUTS OF THE OF SAVED BY THE BELL CAST!!!!!!!
Instinctually, I began singing the song to myself, "When I wake up in the morning and the wagawogawornin I don't think I'll ever make it on time. By the time I grab my books and I give myself a look, I'm at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by, it's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeellll. When my teacher pops a test I know I'm in a mess, and my dog ate all my homework last night. Ridin' low in my chair, she won't know that I'm there, if I can hand it in tomorrow it will be alright! It's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeeelll." I think Jimmy Page wrote and studio-jammed that guitar solo by the way.
But I digress, these blurbs, from which AC Slater was conspiculously absent....presumably because the rocket scientists that write for this magazine know that their entire readership already knows Mario Lopez is on Dancing with the Stars, were even accompanied by pictures!
Zack, aka "Mark Paul Gosslar", has enjoyed stints in movies and on NYPD Blue. He's married with a couple of kids. He didn't marry Kelly :(
Screech, aka "Dustin Diamond", has reduced himself to something ridiculous (I can't even remember specifics) in order to prevent the bank from forclosing on his house in Wisconsin. Mussolini later mentioned something about a [leaked] porno featuring my favorite tool. Who didn't see this coming? I mean, it's still hysterical but seriously, I knew this was coming before the high school was even transplanted from Indiana to California. Who didn't?
Lisa Turtle, aka "Lark Voorhies", who looks disgusting, apparently wrote a book about the nature of intelligence or something like that; something she had no business even thinking about let alone writing and having published.
Jesse Spanno, "Elizabeth Something", already wowed us with her turn in that movie where she was naked the entire time. Showgirls! Showgirls was it's name. She overdosed on caffeine pills (life imitating art) or something.
Kelly Kopowski, "Tiffany Amber Thiessen", and her career have fizzled. Her head's so round you could stick a finger in each nostril, your thumb in her mouth, and bowl a 250. She's not doing anything interesting and/or funny. I should note, however, that in second grade I carried a little headshot of Kelly Kopowski around in my wallet. Velcro wallet that I'm pretty sure never had any cash in it, just that headshot of my first love.
Last but not least, Principal Belding, aka "Belding?", who's gained some weight but really looks no different than he did when he patrolled the halls of Bayside High, now gives motivational speeches to college students!!!!!!! Now that's hilarious! If someone ever asks you, and they probably will, to rattle off every motivational speaker you know of, just think of the people you know of who are the least qualified but that would sound the most ridiculous while attempting to motivate an auditorium full of college students. Your list will be 90% accurate as the role call of motivational speakers includes every moron/parodyofarealperson you can think of. Sidebar: When he's not giving motivational speeches, Belding's masterbating in the bathrooms of high schools accross America.
Oink oink babe.
Instinctually, I began singing the song to myself, "When I wake up in the morning and the wagawogawornin I don't think I'll ever make it on time. By the time I grab my books and I give myself a look, I'm at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by, it's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeellll. When my teacher pops a test I know I'm in a mess, and my dog ate all my homework last night. Ridin' low in my chair, she won't know that I'm there, if I can hand it in tomorrow it will be alright! It's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeeelll." I think Jimmy Page wrote and studio-jammed that guitar solo by the way.
But I digress, these blurbs, from which AC Slater was conspiculously absent....presumably because the rocket scientists that write for this magazine know that their entire readership already knows Mario Lopez is on Dancing with the Stars, were even accompanied by pictures!
Zack, aka "Mark Paul Gosslar", has enjoyed stints in movies and on NYPD Blue. He's married with a couple of kids. He didn't marry Kelly :(
Screech, aka "Dustin Diamond", has reduced himself to something ridiculous (I can't even remember specifics) in order to prevent the bank from forclosing on his house in Wisconsin. Mussolini later mentioned something about a [leaked] porno featuring my favorite tool. Who didn't see this coming? I mean, it's still hysterical but seriously, I knew this was coming before the high school was even transplanted from Indiana to California. Who didn't?
Lisa Turtle, aka "Lark Voorhies", who looks disgusting, apparently wrote a book about the nature of intelligence or something like that; something she had no business even thinking about let alone writing and having published.
Jesse Spanno, "Elizabeth Something", already wowed us with her turn in that movie where she was naked the entire time. Showgirls! Showgirls was it's name. She overdosed on caffeine pills (life imitating art) or something.
Kelly Kopowski, "Tiffany Amber Thiessen", and her career have fizzled. Her head's so round you could stick a finger in each nostril, your thumb in her mouth, and bowl a 250. She's not doing anything interesting and/or funny. I should note, however, that in second grade I carried a little headshot of Kelly Kopowski around in my wallet. Velcro wallet that I'm pretty sure never had any cash in it, just that headshot of my first love.
Last but not least, Principal Belding, aka "Belding?", who's gained some weight but really looks no different than he did when he patrolled the halls of Bayside High, now gives motivational speeches to college students!!!!!!! Now that's hilarious! If someone ever asks you, and they probably will, to rattle off every motivational speaker you know of, just think of the people you know of who are the least qualified but that would sound the most ridiculous while attempting to motivate an auditorium full of college students. Your list will be 90% accurate as the role call of motivational speakers includes every moron/parodyofarealperson you can think of. Sidebar: When he's not giving motivational speeches, Belding's masterbating in the bathrooms of high schools accross America.
Oink oink babe.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The Departed
As mentioned previously, I am not easily excited by the release of new movies. Yet, for a variety of reasons, I was pretty goddamn excited about "The Departed", a film that proved itself my perfect storm this past weekend.
While I am often accused, understandably but not rightfully so, of being anti-Italian (guineas as I sometimes refer to them), Scorsece's characters are riddled with this prejudice, amongst many others, that help to give the film it's raw sense of Boston's flawed, idiosyncratic reality. In the world of "lace- curtain Irish", the criminal underbelly of South Boston specifically, bravado reigns. As such, a universal fear of outsiders does as well. The duality of this fear, displayed in spades by the State Police and the Irish Mafia alike, is much of what makes the movie so compelling. The good guys are in the same predicament as the bad guys.
This movie is slick. Scorsece doesn't pull any punches in showing us the grim reality of his players. If it happens, we see it. Nothing is left out, overdone, sloppily done, or drags on too long. As I said, it's slick.
I also feel it's necessary to mention that every big name to appear in this movie (and there are tons of them) turns in a performance they can be proud of; top to bottom. From Jack Nicholson (who is from another planet) to Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin to Matt Damon. The ease with which they turn a superb script into a classic movie, reminded me that going to the movies can be oh so sweet. The attention to detail given to the Boston setting, the accents, the xenophobia, the homophobia, the dialogue, the humor....... Go see this movie!
While I am often accused, understandably but not rightfully so, of being anti-Italian (guineas as I sometimes refer to them), Scorsece's characters are riddled with this prejudice, amongst many others, that help to give the film it's raw sense of Boston's flawed, idiosyncratic reality. In the world of "lace- curtain Irish", the criminal underbelly of South Boston specifically, bravado reigns. As such, a universal fear of outsiders does as well. The duality of this fear, displayed in spades by the State Police and the Irish Mafia alike, is much of what makes the movie so compelling. The good guys are in the same predicament as the bad guys.
This movie is slick. Scorsece doesn't pull any punches in showing us the grim reality of his players. If it happens, we see it. Nothing is left out, overdone, sloppily done, or drags on too long. As I said, it's slick.
I also feel it's necessary to mention that every big name to appear in this movie (and there are tons of them) turns in a performance they can be proud of; top to bottom. From Jack Nicholson (who is from another planet) to Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin to Matt Damon. The ease with which they turn a superb script into a classic movie, reminded me that going to the movies can be oh so sweet. The attention to detail given to the Boston setting, the accents, the xenophobia, the homophobia, the dialogue, the humor....... Go see this movie!
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