Oh, and sorry if there are scroll bars on the top and side. I'm still learning about this whole 'HTML code' thing and how to adjust these things. Bite me if you don't like it.
But I have been also having an ailment of epic proportions. Allow me to explain in my own little ciruitous manner.
Not having cable or satellite television has been both a blessing and a hindrance for me over the past several months. I don’t mind not having television since I can watch pretty much every show that I really like on the Interweb or just hassle a friend to let me watch stuff at their house every once in a great while.
But the hindrance has been that I am not coming up with as many ideas as usual for unique blog topics. This has left me with a potentially devastating condition…
Writer’s Block.
Argh.
So in my quest to rectify the situation, I have consulted some of the various pages in the galactic superhighway to try and see what I can do.
Allow me to list a few of those suggestions and my subsequent gut reaction to some of them. And these were all actual suggestions from websites. I'm not making any of these up, as I am usually prone to do.
The Suggestions…
Talk to a monkey.
Um…what? I really don’t even want to know what this one actually means. It is disturbing on so many different levels. What if the monkey throws poo at you? What if it begins to gain intelligence and leads an ape uprising from you tossing ideas at it? There is no winning in talking to a monkey.
Take a walk.
Okay, so not that bad. Scenery can give you ideas. You might see something that you deem interesting or inspiring. But you also might get heat stroke or hypothermia, depending on the season. So be warned.
Take a shower; change clothes.
On the surface, this seems like a really good idea. But here is the problem. You take a shower and change your clothes, what if you feel all sorts of pretty after this and think that the last thing you want to do is sit around and write? Maybe you feel like trolling for bar patrons. Or flying to Paris and walking down the runway with Heidi Klum.
Stretch.
What am I stretching? Because that is the real question.
Add one ritual behavior.
Like a daily touching of myself? Or the morning Bloody Mary? Or periodic harassment of call center people? They need to narrow this one down for me. Give me some parameters here.
Do one chore.
No. That I will absolutely not do. Filth is good.
Make a pointless rule.
Like what? Punch yard gnomes or gerbils? Because I’m not sure that rule would help me write. Feel better? Yes. Write better? No. Unless they mean like some rule that adheres to the writing style. Then maybe. But I’m not sure using the f-word every other sentence would help much with establishing professional credentials or respect. Of course, that style sort of did work for Quentin Tarantino.
Read blogs about your subject.
That one doesn’t do me a lot of good either to remove writer’s block. I would spend the entire day being distracted by others and what they write. And I would probably find out, at least in my own little mind, that what they write is far less acceptable than what I put out.
Visit a museum.
That one is problematic at best. There is only one museum in the area and it is at Bellvidere. And Toad’s is in Bellvidere. So I’d probably just end up at the bar instead. Not particularly productive.
Browse photos.
Also not a good suggestion for me. Because you probably have a pretty good idea of what kind of photos I’d look at. Women, spaceships and funky sci-fi guns.
Look around your house and make associations with inanimate objects.
Do dust bunnies count as inanimate objects? And they appear to be declaring war on the furniture. My money is on the bunnies. They appear to be far more organized than my recliner and couch.
Organize your workspace. A clear desk means a clear mind.
Yes, but a clean desk also indicates a compulsive mind. And I am not compulsive. Even though I have to have the volume on my television in multiples of three. Or eat French fries in twos according to their size. Or never step on sidewalk cracks. But I’m working on that last one.
Take a bubble bath.
Ummmmmm…no. I’m not metrosexual. But thanks for the offer. Unless…an attractive woman is with me. Then count me in. Because then it shows that I can let my guard down and just enjoy frothing, hot water.
Go to a busy place and people watch.
Now, this would be a great suggestion if I lived in a town of more than seven people. But since I don’t, I can’t really just park my butt on a park bench and watch the ones of people walk by over the course of an entire day.
Talk to a kid.
Why? Why would I want to do this? I’d get a barrage of useless jargon and slang that would make me stupider for just being in the vicinity of this person. No thank you.
Stare out a window.
I do that everyday and it hasn’t helped yet. So thanks for nothing Writer’s Block people.
Take a nap.
Again, another thing that I do everyday. And I’m still funkified with my ideas. Stupid suggestions any way.
Meditate.
Isn’t this kind of the same thing as taking a nap?
Dance.
Oh good lord no. That would just make me feel like a jackass. Not because dancing is wrong. But because the way that I dance is wrong. And spastic. And can cause people to go blind from the random arm movements I make that might poke an eye out.
Look at a lava lamp.
And I suppose I should also get myself some illicit substances and ponder the colors of the rainbow.
Lie down in a patch of grass & watch the clouds go by.
This to me, seems a great deal like the nap suggestion.
Eat a stalk of celery.
Why? What would this do? Is celery the magic elixir that will cause genius to spew from my fingers as they whip across the keyboard? Because if it is, I’m buying several tons of it.
Balance your chakras.
Okay……so how do I do this? Do I jab myself with needles? Claim it is acupuncture? Do I drink some herbal tea while slowly caressing myself? I’m confused? How does one balance their chakras? Please, somebody out there tell me.
Change your font or writing instrument.
For some reason, I don’t think that using any of the crazy fonts that I have on my computer would help me. They would just make it harder to read the words that aren’t spewing onto the screen. And changing my instrument wouldn’t help either. Because all of my pens write in the blood of bovines and they are all out. And I’m not killing any more cows this week.
So…after all of that, I still have no creative influence in my body. A day wasted as I tried to find some help from my mental constipation but came up totally empy. I guess I'm left with only one recourse. I’m going to stare out the window some more and balance my chakras.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Dream jobs for me?
Professional day-dreamer.
Monday Morning Quarterback.
Hollywood Genius.
Football Offensive Coordinator.
Sarcasm Specialist.
All of those would be fantastic if the salary was right. Like eleven figures. That would suffice. I’ve got a family to feed and eleven figures in my salary would seem to get the job done.
Of course, I’m not entirely sure that all of those are actually paying positions. In fact, I’m fairly confident that only two of those actually warrant a paycheck. Which kind of bites for somebody like me.
But then I thought…what would be totally suckplentiful jobs? What would be jobs so horrific that you would rather gnaw on your own legs then do these? What would be jobs that were so awful that watching ‘The View’ would be enjoyable by comparison?
And then I made a list of things I would never do. Even though at this point, I may actually take some of these. If the price is right.
Find humor in these, recognize the sarcasm oozing out or just be offended. All in the name of moderately attempted humor.
Fish Egg Squeezer.
Because somebody has to be that guy that squeezes caviar out of those fish. Or perhaps there is a more conventional way to do it but I can only imagine that it would be far more entertaining to grab them by the head and just squeeze towards the tail and see what comes out. Oh, and what kind of noises that process would make.
Elephant Proctologist.
Because even elephants have to worry about prostate cancer. And that would be one big prostate. And since elephants are rumored to never forget, they’d be pretty unhappy every time they see you coming with that big rubber glove and vat of lubricant. Plus, I don’t want to know how far into an elephant you would need to go with an arm. Maybe you are curious, but I am not.
Spam Taste Tester.
Since Spam is really just a gelatinous block of meat-like substance in the first place is doesn’t put forth the most appetizing appearance. Now imagine being the guy that has to sample some of the early test runs on this product. And then imagine wondering what exactly went into the product. Now imagine what will happen to your gastric apparatus after testing some of the early incarnations of it. I’m guessing a color like yellbroange comes to mind for you.
Hamster Wrangler.
I just think there must be some place on the planet where there are herds of hamsters running free in pastures. Cavorting like little balls of furry happiness. And somebody must be the guy or gal to keep them in check. I just have this picture in my mind that trying to keep all of those little fuzzy beasts wrangled up must be like trying to keep your hands on a greased up bag of pudding.
Disney Mascot.
Just because it would suck. You’d be hot, sweaty, covered in toddler juices, be constrained by very strict codes of hygiene and appearance, and probably be paid less than people that get paid to break rocks with other rocks. But at least you would be in the Magic Kingdom. So you’d have that going for you.
Adult Diaper Tester.
Somebody has to do it. You know it. I know it. Dan Quayle knows it. You can’t put a product on the market without first somebody sitting in their own fluids. Delicious images, I know.
Erectile Dysfunction Test Subject.
Just put on your ‘Imagination Hat’ for a moment. Now picture this…somebody had to be the first person to find out that having an erection for more than four hours required immediate medical attention. Just let that horror soak into your brain for a moment as you picture a bunch of doctors sitting around staring at a guy that has been pitching a tent for hours on end and wondering what the hell they should do. If any images of sheep come into your mind as a solution for this problem, you need to seek therapy.
Stripper Pole Cleaner.
Somebody has to do it. And be sure to wear full body protection. Just cover yourself in a giant layer of plastic wrap. Leave no skin uncovered. I’ll let you form your own images on this one. As vivid of a picture as I could paint for you, I don’t want those things in my head at the moment. Or ever. But feel free to imagine away.
Paris Hilton’s BFF.
I just had to throw this job out there. Because I’m sure you get paid just to hang around her for all of the negatives that the job would entail. Being paid would seem like the only way this would actually be a social situation that you would consciously put yourself in. Your chance of catching something from just being around her would be astronomical. You’d get the opportunity to prance about red carpet while somebody tries to capture a shot on your crotch while trying to get out of a car. And you’d always be associated with trying to become the next fame hound of the world and be mocked by millions of people all over the world. What is not to like about this? Well, pretty much everything.
So there you have it. Just the best I could do on a Wednesday morning. Feel free to add anything you wish in the comments. I’m spent.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
So…yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is indeed Nude Recreation Week. Toss off your clothes and run amuck in the streets while feeling the wind brush across your nethers. How fun. And because I found out that it is Nude Recreation Week, I had to address this topic just as fast as I could. So if this seems a little hastily churned out, it is because it was. I couldn't lose the moment. I basically only had one thought running through my head...nudity is awesome and I must talk about it.
I can’t believe this isn’t a more publicized event. This should be front page news, my friends. Every town should have its own little mini-celebration. Oh yes, they should. I nominate myself to film.
Apparently in its 34th year, this is a chance for Americans to shed their clothing and just let nature caress your hidden regions. Interesting to say the least. It is also encouraged that if you decide to partake in this special week, you should do so at a resort or facility that supports this sort of ideals. Like a nude beach or resort or in your own backyard. But if you are inclined to do so in a more public setting, make sure that when the cops show up you cite you are just celebrating this particular holiday. Then prepare all of your screams of protests as they haul you away.
I must admit that I had to, in the interest of speaking intelligently on the subject, do a little bit of research on this most hallowed of holidays. Thankfully, I did not click on many of the images. Not that I am the pinnacle of desired physiques but most of the people that seemed to be frequenting these nudist colonies are not exactly athletically built. One word for you on the few thumbnails that I did peruse…EWWWW.
But if you are interested, Mountain Air Ranch in Colorado has been named the friendliest nude vacation resort the last couple of years by the AANR or American Association of Nude Recreation. And for the bargain basement price of $7.50 you can get a one day pass to the establishment. I’m just throwing that out there for you. Located outside of Denver, you could make a whole weekend of it. A little cavorting in your birthday suit followed by some shopping, a nice dinner, a nice hotel and some drinks and dancing in Denver. Take the whole family. It would be fun.
There is nothing wrong with this kind of philosophy in life. Be naked if you want to be. In fact, there are a number of people out there that I would highly encourage to spend more time in the buff. And try to do it in the presence of my person.
Because the human body is a glorious thing. I spent a number of years teaching Human Physiology and even had a predilection to that area of study before my teaching days and I found out one thing. The human body, while with its faults, is a magnificent piece of machinery and capable of doing some remarkable things both with its mind and muscle.
So to find that there is a week to celebrate the human form is something that is probably long past due.
Still, finding out there is a whole week dedicated to this lifestyle is kind of an interesting tidbit to stumble across.
Anyway, discovery of and subsequent research of this noted holiday made me do what I tend to do most of the time. It turned my brain into a churning mass of neurons firing and got me thinking for a bit.
That thought? What would be some recreational things that might be better enhanced by seeing them done in the nude?
Here is what I came up with…feel free to add your own in the comments. And I will be staying away from more conventional sporting endeavors. Nobody wants to see a person high center themself on a hurdle or the high jump bar or flop around while playing tennis or basketball. Unless that video is going straight onto Youtube for all of us to giggle at.
So some more unconventional activities will be what I suggest instead.
Barbequing.
We will chalk this one up to testing the limits. And to the removal of any excess body hair you happen to be sporting around. Be careful of unwanted flame bursts and searing heat.
Croquette.
I honestly don’t know why this would be enhanced by nudity. Maybe it is because the thought of a stray ball flying up and hitting another stray ball that might be attached to you is kind of amusing.
Marching band.
Suddenly, playing the tuba wouldn’t be so bad if you are the modest sort. But this would sure as shooting make parades a helluva lot more entertaining. You’d go to see this as well as those Shriners in their little cars scooting around.
Golf.
Specifically, several members of the LPGA. That would boost ratings. As far as most of us local duffers, no way in hell should many of those people be in the nude. Even in the shower. But I guess you could have a tournament on your local course purely for the novelty and horror of it all. With a name like ‘The Flop and Slop’ or ‘Swinging Dingaling’ or ‘Dimples Not Just On Golf Balls’ or ‘Balls in the Fairway’ or finally ‘The Annual Breasts, Thighs and Legs Chicken Tournament.’
Poker.
You could weed out the weak minded pretty quickly. They would be distracted by all of the flesh in front of them. Second, you would remove the chance that anybody is stashing cards somewhere. Or at least remove most of the chance. There are still those that will make use of any orifice that they can find. Even if it is yours. So be sure to keep yourself firmly pressed to your chair.
Hiking.
This would have to fall under the ‘living life dangerously’ category. If only because of the heightened chance that a stray stick, batch of poison something or other, or random rabid wild animal might attack and latch onto, pierce or rub across something. But if you like to throw caution to the wind, by all means, give this a try. And take pictures of the ‘before and after’ for me.
Street Vendors.
Depending on the seller, I could see proceeds from selling hotdogs, pretzels, nachos and all sorts of other artery clogging cuisine shooting through the roof. Imagine how much more fun New York would be. You can barely pass up a hotdog or pretzel stand as it is. What would happen if gorgeous people were manning these stations? Health food as we know it would become a thing of the past. As would Vegans. Even they couldn’t resist these types of food if sold by hotties in the buff.
Traffic Directing.
At first glance this might be a dangerous idea. People would be gawking and not watching where they are driving. But if you think about it for a second this is actually a really good idea. You wouldn’t have any road rage from people leaving concerts, sporting events or any other large gatherings of humans. They would be driving at such a creeping pace and checking out the goods on the person with the flashlights that they wouldn’t have any thoughts about anger. Only happiness.
So there you have it…just a few suggestions for ways that you could celebrate Nude Recreation Week. Take what you have just learned and feel free to implement it. And feel free to add your own ideas either in the comments section or send them to me as an email. I’m always up for other new ideas.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
But cheese in movies can be even better. Cheese in movies means over the top action sequences, ridiculous and hilarious one-liners, and even the occasional bouts of unnecessary but very welcome nudity. And most cheesy films are so wildly entertaining that you can’t take your eyes off of them.
The film I re-watched last night, at the behest of a suggestion I received the other day, is one of those such films. So over the top crazy fun that you can’t help but like it.
With that, I give you my review of the movie…
Big Trouble In Little China
First some background…
This film was released in 1986 and stars the immortal Kurt Russell. The film was a box office bust in 1986 but has since become very popular as somewhat of a cult classic through DVD sales, thanks in part to people like me buying it. Directed by John Carpenter, the man responsible for such classics as the original versions of Halloween, The Fog and Assault on Precinct 13, as well as other classics like Escape from New York, Christine and The Thing, this film has all of the required credentials for being a quality hit.
What were those credentials? Kurt + John Carpenter = awesome. End of story.
Sadly, it did not become a huge hit unless you are somebody like me who loves this sort of stuff.
Now…the movie…
Kurt, in all his typical manliness, portrays a truck driver that also enjoys a sharp quip or bad catchphrase as he does anything else. He happens to be making a delivery to Little China and in the process stops to play some game of chance that I really couldn’t determine the rules of. He beats a friend of his rather soundly and wins a tidy sum of money, the majority of which the friend is unable to pay at the moment.
So they journey across town to get the cash and settle up the debt. Cue what seems to be the start of the plot to the film. I think.
But wait…as they are doing so, they first need to stop by the airport and pick up Kurt’s friend’s fiancé. She gets kidnapped, for the moment we do not know why, and now Kurt and pal must find her. So they journey into a dark alley in Kurt’s beastly big rig and stumble across some gang war between two rival groups of Little China ninja-types.
And thus we get our first crazy action sequence in which one group of the ninja-types pulls out automatic weapons and begins to gun down the other group. Hold on a minute…ninjas don’t use guns unless they are part of the G.I. Joe universe. But I’ll give it a pass because the group that gets gunned down regroups and proceeds to kick some major ass. Definitely very fun and cool.
It is at the moment where the formerly beaten down ninjas are laying a swath of human bodies that three fairly imposing sorts descend from the sky. They descend from the sky. FROM THE SKY! How can that not be happy inducing?
And they are wearing some giant wicker hats that make them look a great deal like skinny mushrooms. Each of these guys seem to have some sort of supernatural power that allows them to fly or shoot lightning or other cool things.
It is at this point that I was sold on this film. Descending guys. Wicker hats. Ninjas. Kurt Russell. The spanknormous quotient is pegged right now.
The arrival of these three fellows cause Kurt and his friend to abandon the truck, which will eventually be stolen. So for my money, this entire movie is just about a man trying to get back his stolen truck. He must really love that truck. Because everything else just seems to be superfluous while Kurt tries to track down his missing conveyance. When he is driving his truck, he calls himself the ‘Pork Chop Express.’ Both awesome as a callsign and a little unsettling.
As I was saying, he must really love that truck because along the way they also have to dive into the mystical Chinese underground, fight more ninja-types, the three supernatural guys, a floating eyeball head thing, a 2000-year old sorcerer under a curse and try to rescue the fiancé (who just happens to have green eyes which is somehow important to the plot because the sorcerer needs to marry and then kill her to lift the curse) of Kurt’s friend and a very young and still cute Kim Cattrall is also somehow involved in all of this as well.
So, from what I gathered, the entire film is about trying to rescue the girl with green eyes before the 2000-year old sorcerer type can marry her, kill her and lift his curse. I will still maintain that I think it is just about Kurt trying to get his truck back and everything else is just random background noise.
This movie is littered with faces that you may have seen somewhere but have no idea who they are. Like the guy who played Endo in Lethal Weapon, the guy that tortured Mel Gibson with sponges attached to a car battery while Mel is dangling under a cascade of water and over a tub of that same swishy liquid. Like the guy who played Deep Throat (not the porn film, you pervs) from season one of The X-Files. Like the guy who played the Asian convenience store owner in Tremors. Or the guy who was Cassandra’s father in Wayne’s World 2.
I won’t ruin the ending or give anything else away at this point. Because in all honesty this is a rather large mess of color and noise and at times fairly amusing to try and follow where the story is headed next. Characters show up for no reason, give very little to the plot and basically just take away from screen time for Kurt Russell, which is criminal. Because a film with Kurt Russell should just be him gritting his teeth, dropping one-liners and punching people in the face. That is a hit film right there. I also must say that the ending both sets a precedent for future Hollywood endings and also takes a poo in the face of more convention endings. You’ll just have to watch it to find out what I mean.
In the end, this was a silly, silly film but still a ton of fun. Kurt Russell at times acts like he is channeling his own little internal John Wayne. He chews up the dialogue and spits it out with such fervor that you can’t help but enjoy it.
People are thrown about like rag dolls, walls explode as they fly through them, the hero strips down to his tank top just because he can, automatic weapons (carried by Kurt) seem to have unlimited rounds and the fight scenes are as much a choreographed dance as they are a convoluted mess of bodies flying about. And it was all fantastic.
There are some action sequences, that I kid you not, had to have influenced later more commercially successful films like The Matrix and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
Don’t believe me on that? Watch that last half hour of this film with some of the sword battles and you may actually agree with me.
My final thoughts…
I first saw this film back in junior high with the Moeller boys and we all laughed and cheered at it. And even though the movie does look a bit dated right now and it reeks of the 80s action film clichés at times, I have no problem highly recommending this little bit of celluloid to anybody that likes a good fun time. It is absurd, tongue-in-cheek, unabashedly off the wall and completely lighthearted. And it is an entertaining little bit of fun if you can get past the fashion, hair and lingo of the time.
You want Oscar snobbery nominated films? Watch Brokeback Mountain. Want a hellaciously fun film that you could probably turn into a drinking game? Watch Big Trouble In Little China.
And after watching this film again, I can’t help but wonder what the hell Hollywood executive types were thinking when they actually had the frame of mind that Kurt Russell couldn’t carry an action film by himself in the early 90s. I am thinking of the film Executive Decision where they felt the need to put Steven Seagal on the poster and give him top billing even though his character is in the film for somewhere around ten minutes. For crying out loud, Kurt Russell had already done Escape From New York, Tango and Cash, Backdraft, Tombstone and The Thing at this point. The guy can pull off action. And yet they though he needed a second star to market that film. Morons. But I guess these are the same people that greenlit such epic classics as Battlefield Earth, Freddy Got Fingered and Glitter.
Final rating:
4 Pete’s out of 5.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Anyway, on towards the point of the day...
I know it is only the 2nd of July today but I’m not going to post tomorrow on this topic. And if I’m not going to post tomorrow then I’m certainly not going to post on Saturday. And why? Because I’m going drinking and eating charred flesh with people. And that, my friends, is what the 4th of July is really about. At least in my mind.
Okay, that is not entirely all the 4th of July is about. There is that whole thing about a bunch of guys who wrote one of the most important documents in history and then fought a war that they had no business winning, all with the intention of giving us the opportunity to live their lives as we so choose.
And believe me, I thank them for that.
But if you dare bring up politics and all that crap because I mentioned the Revolutionary War and freedoms, I will find a way to make your computer explode. I do have special powers. This is not the forum for political talk. This is the forum for my ramblings.
I must state that this is my second favorite holiday, only just behind Halloween. And Halloween is my favorite because of all of the horror films that get broadcast. Yay for Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter for the family gatherings that are inevitable but this one tops all of those.
I love the 4th of July.
The 4th of July usually brings about a week long or so bout of explosions, color and flashes of light and maybe flashes of cleavage. Just like a Michael Bay movie. And since I sadly tend to like most Michael Bay movies, this means that the 4th of July is a ton of fun for me.
People stand in the streets and detonate ordinance that is usually saved for people with military credentials. Things shoot in the air. Flashes of light. Loud noises. I love it.
Let me relate to you a few stories of just why I like this holiday so much.
Now, I realize that not everybody likes this holiday. And they are just wrong in the head. I knew a girl once that hated this holiday. I had her deported to Siberia. Commie.
How could she not like the 4th of July? It is almost criminal. I take that back. It is not almost criminal. It is criminal. A celebration of freedom that is accentuated by explosions? What is not to like?
I’ve seen people detonate acetylene bombs in their front yard. Familiar with one of those? Oh, you’re not? Well let just paint the horrific picture for you. A big trash bag full of that fun gas and when it detonates there is a flash of light so bright you blink away retinal blindness for five minutes. And a noise so loud that the concussion wave causes you to temporarily lose control of your bodily functions and motor skills. I never peed myself when I saw one of these, maybe came close to doing so, but I did involuntarily crush a can of beverage when the shock wave hit me.
Now that I think about it, I will blame that moment on my current situation of being follically impaired. I think that shock wave caused all of my hair to shoot out of my head and on to the other people in the area, thus granting them a lifetime of luscious hair. I think I’ll be drawing up a law suit in the coming days against that person.
I once had a person look me straight in the eyes, with a dead serious stare and say to me ‘isn’t all of the color from the fireworks kind of lost on a person like you?’ Obviously, this person knew that I had a fun genetic condition called colorblindness. Obviously, this person was also a minion of Satan. So I tossed some holy water on them and watched as they melted into a puddle of goo just like the Wicked Witch of the West.
They thought they were being either clever or insightful. They were neither. And now they are just a pool of body fluids somewhere around the football field. Take that.
I’ve watched an entire town show up on a rinky dink softball field and conduct their own little fireworks show. Complete with homemade explosives and lots and lots of alcohol. And then I thought to myself, what could possibly go wrong here? Flammable materials? Check. Perception altering substances? Check. That is just the recipe for fun and disaster.
Apparently nothing did go wrong. They have been doing it for so long that their genetic make-up precludes them from getting damaged in the event. Lucky rednecks.
In the end, I really do love this time of the year. A chance to celebrate our country being around for 233 years. A chance to shoot bright, flashy things into the air. And a chance to toss animal flesh onto a hot set of metal and then consume said flesh with the beverage of your choice.
But I would also like to take this moment to send a big, joyous primal scream to a friend of mine that is headed out on assignment in Afghanistan, if I am not mistaken. Chocolate Thunder, you be safe over there. I am looking forward to your Frank the Tank impression in the future.
I guess that is also part of why I love this holiday. Because friends of mine are out there working to make sure that we get the chance to see the 234th birthday for our country. All of you should also take a moment to thank anybody who is serving or has ever served in the military. They have a courage that many of us will never know and a level of respect from me that most people will never ever get.
In the mean time, enjoy the flashy things and loud noises. I know that I will.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
But wait…I should probably give the reason that I have been irked by something I read. Otherwise I will just sound like a bitter, angry old man that feeds squirrels in the park and yells at kids that cross his yard.
And because of that, I had better actually open up as to why I am peeved today.
So here is the general reason, or at least a discussion starter, that I found myself custom-making voodoo dolls last night in an attempt to rectify my malady.
Do you really care the Melissa Rycroft is engaged?
And if you just asked ‘who the hell is Melissa Rycroft’ you get extra special friend points from me. They can be redeemed at any local Target or Jiffy-Lube. But they only last for six months so don’t eff around with them and let them expire.
Again, on one of my weird late night journeys through the Interspace, I stumbled across another article that made me say ‘What?’
I had no idea who this person was and why we should care that she might be getting married. So I clicked on the link, because as you know me, I am a constant searcher for new and useless information. And then I read the article, which you would question why I would do that considering that I didn’t know who this person was and probably had no earthly reason to actually waste a few minutes finding out. Why did I read the article? It is simple. I am a moron.
After a tedious 96 seconds, I sat back and made a decision. I decided to not only say ‘what’ again but I also decided to become a little perturbed and stare blankly in amazement at the sheer stupidity of the story.
It turns out that this Melissa person is a jilted humanoid from ‘The Bachelor.’ Which means she was on a reality TV show. Which means I automatically don’t care about what she does. Unless she is curing cancer, heart disease, some other disease, getting my movie made, or that her tears might cure baldness, I could give a flying ducky less who this person is and why she would warrant front page material on MSN.
For shame, MSN, for shame.
Then I read that she was also on ‘Dancing With The Stars.’ Which means I care even less.
I actually began to care so little about this story and this person that by comparison I must be a huge New York Yankees, USC Trojans, Big Ten and Dallas Cowboy fan. And those of you know me, know how much I generally dislike those programs.
And then the real question dawned on me, why is she a star? Her claim to fame or being a star, which put her on the dancing show, was that she was basically a fame seeker who actually thought that fighting for the love of a single guy that she had never met before, whilst competing against a score of other famewhores was actually going to be a good idea.
And as a colossal shock, much like most of the other ’Bachelor’ and ’Bachelorette’ seasons, this relationship ended with the parties who proclaimed love for one another breaking up and finding out that a choreographed, filmed dating whirl of twenty or so people competing to get laid from one person might not be the best way to find love.
This makes her a star how? Oh, because she was on TV. Nobody ever does that anymore.
And I should care why? Oh, because she was proposed to and then dumped, or so I read. I really didn’t focus that much while looking at the words. I was kind of sleep deprived and possibly drooling at the time.
When I get engaged, if that were to happen, will I get my fifteen minutes of fame? I was on TV multiple times, several times in college and once while at TC. I did the play-by-play for the boys’ basketball team at the high school for like five years or so.
So that makes me a TV star because my voice and face gave joy to millions.
And, for two straight years, I was a member of the Champion Flight first place team in the Club Tournament and placed in several others over the years.
So that makes me a sports star because I won literally tens of dollars at the sport.
I am multi-talented.
But back to the point at hand.
I’ve gone a quite a few rants in my time, several of them either on here or to friends about this exact topic. Why are these people that don’t teach, write, act, play a game, practice medicine, do scientific research, govern, do blue collar work or any other potentially useful job even a blip on the radar for media outlets?
Because they happen to show up at a red carpet event every now and then? Because they were on a ‘reality’ show that is as much staged, re-filmed, and cut and edited to give drama where there might not be any as it is impromptu?
It is hypocritical of the media to at one moment bitch and moan that the Paris Hilton’s and Kim Kardashian’s of the world are always in the spotlight for having done only three things with their lives and those being release a sex tape, breathe and take pictures and then these same media people turn around the next moment and feel the need to inform the world that Melissa Rycroft is getting married. Again.
Have we, and by ’we’ I mean pretty most people that aren’t me, become that enamored with stars that anybody who appears on television for more than one minute is now considered to be news worthy? Then dammit, where are my fifteen minutes.
I’m sure that Melissa and I’m guessing Dirk McMetrobighugeswarthy are very happy together. Great for them. But every day people all over the world get engaged, people that save lives or teach lives or do charity work or something else noble. People that are potentially helping to build something in this world. Not people that mugged, cried, flirted, batted their eyes and trashied themselves out for a television show and then parlayed that into dancing for another shitbucket show so their fifteen of burning brightly wouldn’t peeter (I know it is spelled ‘peter’ but I didn’t want to use any form of my name in conjunction with this story) out like somebody taking a huge tinkle on a campfire to douse the flames.
I’m not going to comment on the timeline of the entire ordeal, from when she was dumped on television to when she became engaged again, because that would mean going into an entirely long spiel about the validity of the previous relationship, the current relationship, the institution of marriage and all sorts of other blah blah that I just don’t have the energy for right now.
I’m not here to judge these two people. I am in no position to judge anybody by any means. But I’m just here to question why we are even finding an article like this, about a person that has done two, count ‘em two, reality shows and the media tagged her with the ‘star‘ label. This is why I cancelled my cable and now only watch about three TV shows and ignore most everything else.
So, again, somebody tell me why this is news?
End of that rant…
And on a completely unrelated note, my favorite science website in this crazy ‘verse, had another great article today. The point of the article?
Women don’t always agree on what makes a man hot. Which is good news for all you ugly guys out there. I’m telling you there’s a chance. For those fortunate dashingly attractive people out there, such as myself, we just need to learn that some women will take pity on you fuglies out there rather than go for us.
It is also quite possible that I should be encouraged by this article because I also fall into the fugly category. Anyway, not for me to judge. Here is the link, read and enjoy. Plus, there are some pretty good hyperlinks on the page that will give you some other fun articles to read.
http://www.livescience.com/culture/0906
They also posted an article of the Michael Jackson Conspiracy theories. Oh, read that one. It is a doozy. Nothing says ‘fun’ like when a real celebrity dies and people automatically begin concocting stories about what really happened. And let it be known that these kinds of theories are not the same as scientific theories. Trust me on this. Read what defines a scientific theory and what defines an everyday theory. I don’t have the time to type all of that here. I’m tired. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t have some fun with this concept. As it stands, I may have to contribute a few of my own down the road.
http://www.livescience.com/strangen
And finally, for your reading pleasure, I will only give you the title and then the link. It is special.
Half of Americans Use Vibrators, Study Claims. That…is…awesome.
http://www.livescience.com/health/09062
Man, I love that website.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Sometimes I don’t choose topics. They choose me. And that happened last night as I skimmed through some of my favorite websites.
I had the worst case of insomnia last night and found myself wandering about the wonders of the Interweb at around 3 AM. I will be the first to admit that there are some terrifying things out there either that late in the night or that early in the morning. Not that those terrifying things aren’t there all the time. But they do seem all the more terrifying when you are quite possibly the only person up in the county.
And the great fun of it is that many of these terrifying things can be found on fairly upscale websites.
What I happened upon was a little article about Brazilian bikini waxes. Now, I know what you are thinking. I was being a perv and looking at disreputable websites. Nay. I was not. I was cruising through MSN’s website because they do have some decent stuff from time to time.
And I’ll even give you the chance to read the article and form your own opinions. Go on, read the damn thing and stop judging me. I’ve got all day to wait. Here is the link.
http://health.msn.com/health-topics/art
Now, don’t you feel silly for making odd assumptions about what I was doing?
But the article did raise several questions in my mind.
First, it is just a little disconcerting that you could actually die from that sort of thing. I am not mocking the plights of those women even the slightest. But there is a certain horror than can be derived from pouring scaling wax around your privates.
Which actually made me think for a minute that maybe people got the idea for this type of grooming by watching Basic Instinct. Or was it that crappy Madonna movie called Body of Evidence where they poured candle wax on people? Or should I not have mentioned that I’ve seen a movie with Madonna in it?
You didn’t read that last paragraph…
Second, that was just a little bit of an odd article to see on MSN. I didn’t expect to see the words ‘mucous,’ ‘pubic hair,’ and ‘genitals’ all in one article. It was like a hat track of fun words.
Third, why is it called a ‘Brazilian Bikini Wax?’ They can’t have been the first country or group of people to decide that smoothing up your nether regions was going to be all the rage around the turn of the century. Or were they? And who was the person that determined this? Was there some guy hired by a lewd agency whose sole job was just fly around the world checking out the grooming habits of various countries? Because if there is that guy or that agency, get me their number. Actually, I take that back. That would be a horrifying job. Imagine the nastiness you could witness. Just imagine it for a second and thank me later for putting that image in your head.
And then one day they stumbled across Brazil and said to themselves, holy crap, these people are as smooth down there are a bunch of Kens and Barbies and we should be doing this as well. I’m doubting that is the way it happened but that would be a fun background story if it were true.
So that set me off on another quest. I wanted more weird science articles so I hit up one of my favorite websites…Livescience.com.
And here is some other fun I found. I highly encourage you reading these articles to see some of the things that give me ideas for new stories and movies. Because all of these are amusing or at least interesting.
Does a 4-year-old Need a Cell Phone?
http://www.livescience.com/culture/0906
In more of the media incited panic we will instill in children these days, some advertisers were listed as claiming that having a cell phone for your child can give you a certain peace of mind. They designed cell phones with functions and ring tones specifically aimed at very young users. Like colorful buttons, flashing lights and happy ring tones.
Fantastic.
Because that is what this youngest generation really needs. It isn’t enough that every home has the possibility of possessing cable networks with a billion channels, the Interweb and more video game systems that any fifteen people need but now they can have a cell phone for those pressing moments while in kindergarten.
As if these kids needed another reason to sit on their ass and do nothing.
Boy Hit By Meteorite.
http://www.livescience.com/space/09
Did you read the article? Did you? Or are you just telling me that you did?
It doesn’t matter. The kid is fine. But I liked the article because they used the rarely seen scientific term ‘bejeezus.’ I had forgot that was a clinical term. Still, it just gives you another reason to never go outside and play. That was for all the fat kids with cell phones.
Curse Word on Roof Spotted from Space.
http://www.livescience.com/strangen
Gotta give those guys some credit for that one. I now have the incredible urge to use a little weed killer to spray a rude word in a large grass field. Probably something like ‘nerglebutter.’ Because scientists would spend weeks trying to determine the meaning of it.
America's Loch Ness Monster? Or a Swimming Deer?
http://www.livescience.com/strangen
First of all, no matter how much I would like to believe that there are lake monsters all over the world, there is no such thing. And that makes me sad. But I must be honest. Because that is what I do. Honesty. Anyhoo, I loved how the article made note of the video stopping just before the creature came out of the water. Because it was a deer. Or a moose. Or a yak. Not a sea monster. But this kind of video footage does give people with shaggy hair and a wispy goatee or beard something to talk about while they are playing World of Warcraft.
U.S Shark Attack Capital Named.
http://www.livescience.com/animals/e
I hate these articles. Because every single knuckle dragger in the world that reads this will declare war on sharks. And even though sharks scare the heebityjeebities out of me, they are still remarkable creatures and if I recall, they were in the ocean first. Now that I think of it, we should just feed all the knuckle draggers to them. I think I could come up with a pretty good list of people that would make good shark food.
World’s Oldest Woman Slips, Falls and Dies.
http://www.livescience.com/strangen
I know in the recent light of Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon and Billy Mays passing I shouldn’t make light of somebody dying. And I won’t. Not yet, but don‘t think that there aren‘t some jokes running around my head right now. Still, there is a certain amount of interest that can be gleaned from a 130-year old woman, yes 130, and what kind of things she must have seen and done. I must also admit that I read that article with a certain amount of dubiousness. I will need concrete proof from somebody in Kazakhstan that the woman was indeed that old.
Bee swarm descends on NYC store.
http://www.livescience.com/strangen
Is this a sign that my proclamation of 2012 will proof false, that we really are getting ready for Armageddon? Should we be getting ready for the next set of plagues? And why is the name of all things George Lucasian did they decide to attack a video game store? That is just rude. Because video game stores either have really cool people like me in them, closet hot chicks that like video games or overweight, pasty guys that use terms like ‘pwn,’ ‘noob’ and ‘1337’ all the time and have never seen a member of the opposite sex naked in the flesh unless they were pressed up against a window somewhere. And as we know, attacking closet hot chicks is rude. And attacking fat, pasty guys is rude as well. They just stink up the joint with fluids when they are threatened. And attacking me is very, very rude. Because when I turn my hat around, it is like a switch. And you don’t want to see me angry. It is a great deal like a hamster being tazered on its little running wheel. Lots of flailing and noise.
Now, feel free to go on your own journey of interesting, random and useless crap.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Okay, Walmart has not put me under house arrest. Just so you know.
Today’s suggestion I take:
Describe your dream house (even if it's not a house).
I will not be describing the house by myself. Because I needed to get some other input as to what would make an awesome house.
In all honesty my dream house would a giant home theater. That is it. Maybe a shower as well. Or a castle complete with trebuchets, giant arrow launchers and a moat.
But neither of those would be a completely functional house for people to visit. I decided that some additional thoughts and ideas would be required if I were to completely design a pimping pad.
So I’ve invited a few people to join me today in the discussion. I tried to select people that would have various viewpoints on the subject and hopefully assist me in putting together the ultimate pad.
My panel today to lay out the ultimate dream house will be comprised of the following people: Jones and Meredith. Vern. Larson and Danielle. And of course, the most important person, Me. And yes, I did capitalize Me. Because I am that cool.
Let me just give you the transcript of the conversation that occurred last night. In all honesty, I felt very good going into this process. What would happen, well, let’s just say that this wasn’t the most productive of evenings I have ever had...
Me: Thank you all for joining me today. This should be a very profitable moment for all of us. Let me just get my pen and paper ready for all of the wisdom you will now impart on me.
Vern: You suck.
Me: Thank you for that. Very helpful. Not really the wisdom I was looking for. Might be time for a new catchphrase, you geezer.
Vern: Bite me. Want to go for a jog and see how long you last? I’m guessing a block.
Me: I’m fast twitch. Not a fair assessment for me.
Vern: What would be then? An employability test?
Me: Okay then…anybody else want to chime in with something that won‘t hurt my feelings? Anybody?
Jones: Why exactly are we here?
Me: An excellent question, Jimberly. We are here to design a dream house.
Larson: Will there be boobs?
Me: I’m not sure if boobs build a good house. Plus, there is the public backlash that could ensue. As uptight as most people are, I’m not sure a house comprised entirely of boobs would be a good idea. And then there is the resale question a boob house brings up.
Jones: I’d buy one.
Me: I’m sure you would. Other suggestions?
Larson: Danielle? A little help on the boob house plan?
Danielle: I’m not flashing.
Jones: BOOBS!
Vern: I think my eardrums just ruptured.
Jones: Then I shall say it louder. Maybe Pete's head will explode as punishment for dragging us all here. BOOOOOOOOOOOOBS!!!
Larson: Holy shit. Did something just fall off the wall?
Vern: I think the World's Largest Porch Swing just broke.
Danielle: I guess they'll to change the sign then.
Me: To what?
Danielle: World's Largest Broken Porch Swing...
Me: Please, back to the topic at hand.
Meredith: Do I really need to be here? Solomon told us not to come over here. He said this was going to be stupid.
Me: Yes you do need to be here. I need input from a couple of women. You have fashion sense. I do not. And Solomon is obviously deranged at this point.
Jones: I’m still waiting to find out if there will be boobs.
Vern: You’ve got bug-eyes, you know that?
Me: Okay, kind of random and no, I don’t. Is there any chance that we can proceed?
Jones: Can we at least make a ‘Boob Room’ with nothing but mams from wall to wall?
Meredith: Do I need to hit him?
Me: Probably.
Larson: Why are we doing this again? I’ve got important stuff to do. If we aren’t going to seriously discuss the boob house, I’m going to work on all of my real projects.
Danielle: Like what? Scratching?
Me: Quiet. Both of you. Have you been paying attention at all? Because I need something to write about tomorrow. I’m having a bit of writer’s block tonight. Just help a brother out.
Danielle: What kind of a place are you buying?
Me: I’m not buying anything. This is merely an attempt to design the coolest house in the entire world. It is purely a fictional moment where we get to dream about what you could do.
Danielle: So we are just day dreaming here?
Me: Yes.
Danielle: This is so gay.
Larson: Pete is gay.
Me: I’m not gay.
Vern: You’re so f$#@ing gay. Do you know how I know?
Me: How?
Vern: You’ve seen Rent.
Me: I have not. That would be Jones. And he has also seen Brokeback AssMountain.
Jones: I was trying to impress Meredith with my worldliness and compassion.
Meredith: It didn’t work.
Jones: But I showed so much tenderness and emotion while watching that. I even wanted to cuddle.
Larson: Were you the pitcher or catcher?
Danielle: Rude…
Me: People...all I want to do is get the input from you about a dream house. Can we do that?
Vern: Not looking promising.
Larson: I think that my nethers itch.
Danielle: Inappropriate.
Me: Yes. Yes, that was. No more from you.
Jones: I have a gas build up here. Shouldn’t have had that third plate of hot wings.
Meredith: Disgusting...
Me: Dammit, people, we have one goal here.
Vern: Stand back from Jones?
Me: Yes...no, not that. Well, yes that. But that is just implied about life. This is still a dream house discussion.
Jones: Boob room.
Larson: Porn room.
Jones: U.S.S. Booberprise.
Larson: Porn’o’plenty.
Jones: Harry Potter and the Booblet of Fire.
Larson: Pornformers: Revenge of the F&*^ing.
Me: No. And more no. Just stop.
Vern: Taco Stand.
Me: I don't even want to know what you are going for with that one, Vern.
Danielle: Good God.
Meredith: I have other places I could be right now.
Me: No you don’t. Sit down.
Danielle: I think that there are.
Me: Like where?
Danielle: Anywhere. Anywhere but here.
Me: Could we please just give an ounce of thought to my idea? The dream house? Please?
Meredith: Fine. Indoor pool. And a spa.
Danielle: And big closets.
Me: Good. Now we are getting somewhere.
Vern: And a trapeze. So that we can try it out.
Me: What? No. Nasty. Nobody in this room is trying that with you. I don’t want to even know.
Jones: Just watch your dismount. Don’t want to sprain something.
Me: Is there even a single reason in the world that I talk to you people?
Danielle: Don’t lump me in with the rest of the idiots.
Meredith: Danielle, you want to head down the bar?
Danielle: Yes. First round is on me.
Me: There is no leaving. We have a job to do here. Sit down and let us accomplish what we started.
Danielle: Suck it, Trebek.
Meredith: Later…losers.
Me: Well done, gentlemen. Screw this. I don’t need your help. I’m just going to live in an RV the rest of my life.
Jones: Or a van…
Vern: Down by the river.
Larson: Did Danielle leave?
Me: Welcome to the conversation.
Larson: I nodded off there for a moment.
Jones: Did she take Meredith? Does this mean it is now a guy’s night?
Vern: Hoo-ah!
Me: What?
Vern: Scent of Woman.
Jones: More like ‘Scent of Somebody Needing a New…’
Larson: Set of testicles?
Vern: My boys swim. So do Jones’s. What about you two?
Me: Do you really want me or Larson to answer that?
Jones: I still want to know why we haven’t designed the boob room.
Larson: And porn room.
Jones: You know who has huge boobs?
Vern: Stop it. Before you even start.
Larson: Pamela Anderson.
Me: John Candy.
Vern: He’s dead.
Me: Still...
Jones: I was going to say that chick from Firefly.
Me: Christina Hendricks. That was her name.
Jones: And that was a geek check.
Larson: Geek check in aisle three...price on Pete.
Vern: Survey says...immense geek.
Me: That doesn’t even make sense, Vern.
Vern: Sure it does.
Jones: Not really. We were going for a grocery store thing. You pull a game show out.
Me: With a host that groped and kissed people.
Larson: My boys still itch.
Jones: I need to drop the kids off at the pool. Now.
Vern: Make sure to spray.
Jones: On the walls? I have better control of my stream than that.
Vern: Ick. No. Lysol or something. We don’t want Jones stench all over us.
Me: This is like dealing with gerbils hopped up on crack.
Larson: Now THAT doesn't make any sense.
Me: Sure it does.
Jones: How would gerbils get their hands...
Vern: Paws...
Jones: ...Paws on crack?
Larson: And why would they use as payment?
Me: ...
Jones: He is speechless.
Larson: First time ever.
Vern: Mark this down.
Me: This was productive. So glad I asked you guys to help me out. I’m getting a drink.
Jones: You buying?
Larson: I’m in then.
Me: You’ll get nothing. And like it.
Vern: I think I have to pee.
Me: Excellent. You have all been a ton of help.
Jones: I still think you need a boob room.
And then I left them all to discuss a house made of boobs on their own.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
I must add that this will be a fairly convoluted spewing of thoughts. Because so many things I stumbled across yesterday just pissed me right the hell off.
And if this isn't my best work it is because this was rambled about on a spew of emotions that just made me feel the need to write.
Maybe my writer's block is gone...or maybe it is just focused on being angry at the moment.
Whichever it is, I was just happy to be able to spew out two blogs in one day for the first time in months.
So...onto the point...
As many of you know, Michael Jackson passed away yesterday.
There are a number of absurd and inappropriate jokes that I could make about his actions and lifestyle over the past few decades but this is not the time for it. I do have an ounce of tact and class.
But I did have this brief thought when I first read it was official he had passed…when will the first rude jokes about Michael start hitting the world.
And because of this I have to give out two medals to the people that first sent me text messages with wildly wrong but still amusing little bits of comedy. Caker and Herm. Gold stars for both of you.
At his best, Michael Jackson was the greatest entertainer in the world for a time. His ‘Thriller’ album was one of the first I possessed and still one of the best pieces of music ever released. He amazed and enraptured millions around the world with his voice and act.
At his worst, he was viewed (rightly or wrongly) as a man of questionable decisions, possible inappropriate relationships with youngsters and being vastly eccentric and not in touch with reality.
But his impact and legacy will live on for years and the reports, then confirmation, of his death struck the Intertube like a bolt of lightning to the head.
So as one perused the various news sites yesterday, I came across MSN and clicked on a little link that talked about stars Twittering on their reactions to the passing of The King of Pop.
Now, I recognize that people in the public limelight are usually contractually obligated to make sympathetic statements to the families who have just lost a loved one. Because it keeps them in the limelight by making such comments. Even if nobody gives a crap what they have to say. Most of the time, it is merely an attempt by said people to stay relevant even if they have never met nor experienced the art of the deceased celebrity.
That is all well and good. Having lost loved ones myself in the recent past, I can understand that human instinct to express condolences to others.
But I do have to raise an eyebrow when some of these ‘stars’ or other public personalities compared the death of Michael Jackson to the impact of the JFK assassination or 9/11. Actually, I raised more than an eyebrow. I projectile vomited for about ten minutes that some of these people would actually compare the death of a singer to an assassination of a world leader or a day the cost the lives of thousands of Americans. They couldn’t really be that vapid…could they?
Well, let me list a few of the ‘stars’ that MSN felt the need to follow…
Carson Daly
Diddy
Mariah Carey
Slash from Guns N' Roses
Kim Kardashian
Heidi Montag
Samantha Ronson
Perez Hilton
Kelly Osbourne
Basically a bunch of useless lesions on the epidermis of society…that provide nothing for us rather than a need to get some sort of antibiotic shot if you pass within fifty yards of them. So basically, yes they could be that vapid and blind to the real world.
And then I continued reading some of the ‘Tweets’ (which made me feel dirty all over for even considering reading Tweets) and found the words ‘tragic loss’ bandied about more than a few times.
I became sad at this moment. Not because Michael Jackson has died but because people apparently have no concept of what a tragedy is these days.
A singer you never knew or met dying is not a tragedy. Your parents dying is. Your child dying is. People killed in a drunk driving accident is. Senseless mass shootings are. Terrorism deaths are. And don’t think that I couldn’t go on and on about what a tragedy really is.
Have we as a society become so enamored with celebrities that every single time one of them dies we feel the need to cry and wail to the heavens?
People are gathering all over the world and weeping over this. And I must ask why? As I stated earlier, he did give the world some very good entertainment for a period of time. But in the end he was nothing more than that. An entertainer. And a very disturbed entertainer at that.
At the end of the day, could you go home and share a moment with this person? Were you close to this person and could share all your thoughts and feelings with them? Did they help you become the stable and successful person that you are today? No, no and no. And if you say yes to any of those, you are a delusional psychopath that needs help and quickly. And I just happen to know some people in the counseling business so I can help set you up on a date with reality.
I will take a moment and think about his music but that is all I will dedicate to the moment. I won’t shed a tear or even waver for a moment. If this were a story involving my brother or parents, it would be a different situation for me altogether. Because they were people I truly care about. Not an entertainer that I merely watched, read or listened to. People that put this much stock in celebrities need to be sterilized and quickly. Your family and friends are the real connections you make in life. Not a mostly plastic, chemically enhanced singer, actor or sports star.
When Michael Crichton died, I felt bad for his family. He was, as you may have read in the past, a person that inspired me to weave my own imaginary tales. It was kind of a shock and I wrote what I deemed a fairly touching, albeit hastily emotionally charged writing, tribute to him. I loved his writings and stories but when I was done with that blog I moved on. The world may have lost a great storyteller but my life would go on. Because the people that I knew, loved and cared about were still with me.
I didn’t know Michael Crichton and I certainly didn’t know Michael Jackson. Were their deaths sad? Yes. Were they tragic? Unless you were somebody that was close to them, the answer should be no.
Everyday, I’m guessing thousands of people are killed in senseless or terrible ways. Cancer, heart disease, accidents befallen upon them, starvation or a billion other things I could list. Why don’t we ‘Tweet’ about them? Because they aren’t on TV. Even if those people may have given something incredible back to the communities that they live in.
Just take a look at a recent event in Iowa. A beloved high school football coach was gunned down in the weight room of the high school. A man that had the field named after him and made a concerted effort to rebuild one of the things the community felt most strongly about after a tornado devastated the town. The high school football field. Because he wanted to give the community back an identity that many of the people loved. He was gunned down in cold blood by a 24 year old man. And do we hear about this? Unless you are a sports follower, no you don’t. Because he wasn’t a glory hound or media whore. He was just a guy that wanted to find his own way to make the world a better place. Outside of that town and that former students and athletes that he worked with, I’m guessing most of the sheep of the world will never hear about his story or give it a second glance.
That, my friends, is a tragedy. A potentially pedophiliac singer dying, whether is be from natural causes or self-inflicted causes is not.
People need to start getting a grip on what really matters in life. Those close to you. And a singer that you liked listening to is not somebody close to you. They were only a singer. Maybe they did give you a bit of joy in life but if this moment is something you wail about and make signs for, you need to take a good long hard look at what is important. Will you act the same way when somebody close to you has something happen to them? Or will you do what so many lemmings out there do and just proclaim is was their time or God‘s will? Because if you do that for a loved one and claim ’tragedy’ for a singer, you have my greatest sympathies.
And I’m spent. Happy mockery will return on Monday. I have some ideas for fun to talk about.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the movie...
2012 The movie due to be released in 2009. And I had to use a bigger font because the movie will be just that powerfull.
Holy, Jedi Masters!!! We are all going to die!!! Run!!! Run as fast as you can!!! Grab your loved ones and just run!!!
Okay, a deep breath and now I am fine...sort of...
Why did this trailer terrify me? Because it is based on a panic inducing bunch of hooey that people fall for. Let me just state this: The world will not end on December 21, 2012. If it does, you can tell me you told me so as we all vaporize into atoms. I'm sure it would be a great moment for you.
If they just wanted to make a fun apocolyptic, loud and dumb film, that is fine with me. There have been a ton of those that may be mindless, but they are still fun. This is attempting to capitolize on the hype surrounding an event that will never happen yet still drive herds of idiots to build bomb shelters, horde Twinkies and stock up on Schlitz.
And I thought to myself that I would do a quick review of the thoughts that ran through my mind while watching this trailer. For your benefit, I will be including times for you to watch and get a further glimpse into my mind.
Keep in mind I watched this trailer very closely. I stopped scenes on occasion just to make sure I saw what I thought I saw. And yes, many times I did indeed saw what I thought I saw.
Onto the analysis...
0:00 - 0:21 --- Let us introduce some fear inducing words to hook the idiots.
0:21 - 0:36 --- Great...more fear inciting moments by using drastic and forboding comments from a news person and cut shots of disasters and panic around the world. I have the urge to cover my house in bulletproof glass and kevlar.
0:36 --- John Cusack is in this. Okay. Maybe I'll give it a shot. John is pretty cool. I wonder if he'll bring his boombox along and save the day with it?
0:39 - 0:47 --- Ominous rumbling is heard from above. HOLY CRAP!!! Giant rocks on fire are falling from the sky!!! How did nobody know this was going to happen? Are the scientists from 'Armageddon' in charge of looking for this sort of stuff? Are they magic, invisible rocks and just show up when they enter the atmosphere? Or was it a massive volcanic eruption that not one single volcanologist on the planet saw coming? Oh, Roland Emmerich, you and your crazy scientific conundrums.
0:52 --- The Cistine Chapel is broken. And apparently it rolls really well. Like a giant rolling pin. How fun. Those people underneath it probably don't think so right now.
1:04 --- Cue the big music for the rest of the trailer. Big music means something dramatic will happen. It means the movie will give you a valuable lesson in the end. I'm being sucked into the power of this film.
1:11 --- A small plane making what looks to be a getaway. Drama is oozing everywhere. I wonder if that little plane, much like the little engine that could, will find a way to succeed?
1:17 --- There has just been a sighting of Amanda Peet. YAY!!! She is hot. Okay, another possible asset for this film.
1:18 --- Can somebody please explain to me why there are huge chunks of the coastline sticking up in the air and parts of it are sliding into the ocean? Where is it sliding to? Did all of the tectonic plates just fall into the core, which was started spinning again by Aaron Eckhardt and Hilary Swank in a previous movie?
1:25 --- Giraffe. With pressure on its giblets. Neat.
1:27 --- Whoa, whoa, whooooaaaaaaa. That was the Operative from Serenity. I'm sure of it. Not the fat white guy, who I think was Oliver Platt, but the cool black guy.
1:35 --- That WAS the Operative from Serenity!!! I'm stoked. That guy is so freaking awesome that be comparison cheese is lame. And you know how I feel about cheese.
1:40 --- Oh good grief. Absurd car stunt. Is Jason Statham driving that car? Because after The Transporter films, that man can do anything with a car. He had to be driving.
1:44 --- That plane again. Again? Really?
1:47 --- That plane again?!?!? Does the whole movie take place in this plane? Did they not have any other footage to use in the trailer? Does this mean there will be a great deal of sitting around and talking about feelings rather than crap blowing the hell up? Because if this is an Emo disaster film, I will drive to Hollywood and do some serious crotch punching.
1:50 --- Enough with the plane already! Crap, we get it. The plane makes it. That plane should get top billing on the movie posters. That Plane, John Cusack and Amanda Peet in...The World Blows Up But This Freaking Plane Will Save The Day. Coming to a theater near you in 2009.
1:50 - 1:54 --- Ominous words to terrify people with four teeth. Just to clarify, it is the people that have four teeth, not the words.
1:56 --- What the hell? Was that a spaceship? Is Captain Kirk there? Is he just going to beam everybody up and save the day? Because that would make this movie really short.
1:59 --- Ahhhh, a touching family moment with a belly dancer before they meet their demise underneath an Oprahillion metric tons of water. Squish.
2:00 --- Air Force One gets whacked, I think. Barack will be pissed he lost his plane. See, Barack, you should have a little spunky plane for Air Force One. They are indestructible.
2:08 --- Where the crap does all that water come from? Are the oceans dry everywhere else? Is all the water now sitting in the Plains States?
2:17 - 2:29 --- Ah, yes, the destruction of a hallowed site in the United States by the disaster. Didn't we see this in Independence Day? Oh wait, Roland directed that movie, too. New ideas, Roland, new ideas.
2:30 --- Okay, okay, okay. Am I to assume John Cusack and Amanda Peet are doinking? Is that what this is? And now John is making an emphatic declaration? This can only mean one thing. He bites it in the end. No doubt. Some majestic gesture to save the day and he bites it long and hard while his woman and kids cry but recognize he did it for the good of all humankind. Like Bruce Willis.
2:41 --- And by all means please do research 2012, as the deep voiced announcer suggests. I'm sure that it could save your life. Or kill a few brain cells.
Here is the trailer so you can see all of that stuff for yourself...
The movie looks to have a pretty decent cast of recognizable faces and some decent actors to boot. And as I said, if it was just a cheesy little disaster film I could munch some popcorn, drink a beverage, mock the implausability of the events while still being entertained. But instead it will be something that there will be far too many people that will believe this is more of a documentary of what could happen, rather than just a loud way to spend two hours. I wish I could give people more credit for being intelligent but I know people. And I can't.
Just a little something for your weekend.
This is Pete...
Over and out.
But not me. I love to learn new things by searching the webisphere.
But there are a few downfalls. Many of the sites are of questionable validity. Many of the facts are tenuous, at best. Anybody can start a webpage and begin to spew random things.
Even unemployed, mildly disturbed people.
It is with that in mind, I present you with today’s little item.
There are several incontrovertible facts or reports that you can find on the Intertube. They can be based on scientific studies, observed moments in history or just general observations from society.
And as we all know…if you read it on the Interthing, it must be freaking true.
And I will now list some of the recent discoveries I have stumbled across for you. Write these down and commit them to memory. They will eventually cure the world of all its ills.
And these may or may not be true. That is up to you to decide.
FACTS:
Watching reality television will give you herpes. Based on a study done in 2007 by noted scientific journal, Universal Scientifiosity.
Prolonged exposure to Eli Roth movies will cause your reproductive cells to spontaneously combust. This was learned from a detailed police report in Las Vegas where it was documented that six college students had their groin regions burst into flames after watching Hostel II. Since that moment, there have been forty-seven more documented cases of crotch combustion due to Eli Roth films.
Staring into the sun for at least one minute will raise your IQ by at least ten points. This was first reported by Spence Pratt and Heidi Montag after a trip to Jamaica. Immediately after telling this to reporters, they both thought they saw something shiny and rushed into the surf, only to hit the side of a speedboat and knock themselves out. So this report is tenuous in its validity, at best.
There is mounting evidence through extensive information gathering that wearing a baseball cap either with a flat bill or sideways will cause you to become sterile. But the reporting scientists also have stated this might be good thing.
And in a related study, wearing your pants so that more than half of your underwear is exposed causes you to look like an asshat.
A one year study, conducted by the National Advancement of Real Documentationing (or N.A.R.D), found that people who like Twilight are twice as likely to own and use gerbils in uses other than as pets. PETA is currently investigating this report.
You are three times more likely to struck by squid falling from the sky after they have been sucked up by typhoons if you watch Desperate Housewives or Grey’s Anatomy. This study was stumbled upon by the Oceanographic Institute of Phoenix after seventeen people were found unconscious and with rotting squid on their heads, all of them in their own living rooms and clutching a pillow with Rosie O’Donnell crocheted on the front. In each case, Desperate Housewives or Grey’s Anatomy was queued up on their DVRs. Conclusions were drawn. I’m just saying.
The World Association of Needed Knowledge (or W.A.N.K.) found that driving down small town main streets with an inordinate amount of bass blaring from your speakers does not make you look cool. It makes you look like a herpetophile, or a person that likes to molest reptiles. The study can be found at the Library of Congress, filed under ‘Why People Are Attracted to Scaly Things.’ Interestingly enough, there is also a section dedicated to Victoria Beckham.
A recent medical journal found that eating a case of Ho-Ho’s and drinking two liters of cola can actually produce enough thrust from the intestines that you can life yourself off of the toilet. Despite the evidence, this is not a recommended use of your time.
There are a dozen reported, although unsubstantiated, cases of people that were psychically lobotomized by walking within twenty yards of Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan. Early evidence found that the brains of each of these people tried to strangle itself with the spinal cord after detecting a void in intelligence somewhere in the area. But as was stated, these hypotheses are pure speculation as of right now.
Eating a giant bacon cheeseburger and fries while downing a quart of Budweiser will cause you to sprout chest hair that forms the face of Harrison Ford. It means that your manly quotient just went up by a factor of a Fillion.
In a related study, it was found that eating a salad while drinking bottled water will cause your testosterone level to drop to Clay Aiken-esque proportions.
Fourteen separate studies were done, covering a three decade time span, that found overwhelming and conclusive evidence that metrosexuals are just dudes that just like to feel pretty and get their asses kicked way more than guys who are not metrosexuals.
The last little nugget I will give you…
A recently borrowed classified U.S. Government file let it be known that the movie Armageddon was actually a documentary filmed by an alien spacecraft, piloted by rogue genius scientists Jerry Springer and the musical group Dixie Chicks, that had been restored after it crashed in Roswell. Michael Bay was actually asked to view the complete footage and tone down the real explosions that were filmed. Mr. Bay was actually also asked to digitally alter the moments on the tape where the action seemed over the top. He actually made the movie more believable for all of us. The un-edited version of the film is said to be far too awesome for any mere mortal to watch. A great round of thanks should be given to Michael Bay for saving the frontal lobes of millions of people.
There you go. Just some new things for you to know.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
I think my face is plastered all over Walmart and there were also a couple of unmarked black sedans parked at both ends of my street. I’m quite certain they were from Wally World. Their license plates read Wally1 and Wally2. I’m not genius but I think I see a connection there. They seem to be watching me and whispering into radios every five minutes.
Later on tonight, if they remain there, I may sneak down the street and shove a couple of bananas in their tailpipes. On their cars. Just to clarify. Get your minds out of the gutter. Or leave them there. I really don’t care.
And yes, I know Mythbusters busted that plan a few years back but it gave me a chance to channel a quote from Beverly Hills Cop.
For the next three days I will be pilfering the suggestions from Livejournal as my inspiration since I think I might be under some form of unofficial house arrest. And because I am just lazy and don’t want to come up with an original thought today. Much like Hollywood.
So what did I borrow?
How long could you survive on your own in the wild?
Unfortunately, I will not be taking this completely as it is stated. First off, I would never go into the wild alone. Because it is the wild. Landsharks, dinosaurs and giant snakes abound. I’ve seen movies with just those sorts of things. And if there is one thing we can learn from the movies it is that those sorts of things are real. I am quite sure that I would need some help to remain animated if such situations arose.
Second, if I am going to be miserable, I’m taking a few friends down with me. Because if I am nothing else, I am a considerate person and want others to enjoy life. Or just share in my own misery. Because as we all know misery loves company. Or a good steak. Unless you are a vegan. Then enjoy that refreshing water on your cereal in the morning. Ick.
So, who would I take?
I sat down and decided upon a group of people that would each offer a unique set of skills to the mission. We would kind of be like the A-Team, except instead of our plan coming together in the end there would probably just be a bunch of running, screaming and crying. But not from me. I would be a rock of stability.
In a perfect world I would just take Liam Neeson, Jason Statham, Bruce Campbell and Nathan Fillion but since it is not a perfect world I have to make due with my friends.
Please do not take offense if you are not listed. This was done of the spur of the moment and I’m sure that somebody with devastating talent will be overlooked. Feel free to add your own name later and what you could offer to the situation.
Oh, and no women will be taken. Not because we don’t need women. They are a ton of fun. But because we can’t be stopping every five minutes for a potty break.
I really wanted to include pictures of these individuals but after a quick search for one of their names came up with a gay porn star, I decided to stop that endeavour. I won’t say which name warranted such a result but it was little disturbing.
Anyway, my own little Rogues Gallery of brilliance to help me out.
Vern: I would definitely take Vern. Hmm. Suddenly that ‘potty break’ comment seems a little out of place. Vern is getting up there in years.
Anyhoo…Vern would offer us a very good voice of reason and some sort of weird father figure. Or crazy uncle that gives all sorts of advice. But he has been around, you know, there was a time when he could see. And he has seen, boys like these, younger than these…sorry, Vern loves ‘Scent of a Woman’ and I just kind of lost it there for a moment while actually discussing what he could provide.
He grew up in Colorado. Mountains and stuff. He might be cagey in the wild.
He is also fairly height impaired so we could shove him into tight areas to maybe acquire us some useful items, if the situation required it.
Plus, Vern could be the camp chef. More on that later.
Jones: I select Jones for a variety of reasons.
First, he would be a very intimidating presence to scare off bears, which by the way would be attracted to the women…another reason we aren’t taking them.
Second, he would have a voice loud enough that it could carry for miles and hopefully get us rescued. Like our own little bullhorn. Or big manly bullhorn, as it were. Regardless, any size of bullhorn is very loud. Just like Jones.
Third, if we were taken by cannibals, Jones would make a nice offering to them thereby allowing us the chance to escape.
Larson: He would be our MacGuyver, John McClane and Jean Claude Van Damme all rolled into one. Clever, indestructible and a badass all rolled into one.
We get into a fight with the local beasties? He could choke them all out from the knowledge he has acquired through all his years of watching MMA. How awesome would that look? Larson in a tete-a-tete with a wolf. The pay-per-view rights alone would be worth millions. Assuming we had a camera to document it all. But I’m guessing Vern would have brought one.
We need to build a makeshift shack, comprised of only twigs, leaves and animal droppings? He could whip that thing out in a second.
We need somebody to build a booby trap, like Ahnuld in Predator? I’m sure he could come up with something.
And he would be the best hunter in the group. Kill us some rodents for a barbeque. And with the right seasonings, even possum tastes pretty good. And I know that a possum is actually a marsupial but they would offer much more sustenance than a squirrel. This is where Vern comes back in. If he can make asparagus not taste like ass, I’m sure that he can make possum delicious.
My Brother: Mainly because he is just plain smart and more clever than he has any right to be.
He could help Larson with the building and planning of items.
He could be a voice of reason, like Vern.
He could be an intimidating presence just like Jones. Because he is tall and has a large surface area. And a goatee. Which once terrified one of his professors in college. But that is a story for another day. And goatees are always intimidating. Unless they are on a barely six foot tall skinny guy.
And if all goes really poorly and the rest of people are gone, he and I could have a brotherly moment at the end of the adventure like Patrick Swaytze and Charlie Sheen in Red Dawn.
So there is my crew. But the real question remains unaddressed. How long would we last?
I foresee it being a very long time. We have the tools, we have the talent. It’s Miller time. And as long as we don’t run into any people playing banjos I think that we would be a very sane and competent group. Capable of lasting for months if not years. We would quite possibly be the template for surviving the 2012 apocolypse. If you buy into that sort of thing. Which I don't. I think a zombie apocolypse is much more likely.
Actually there is one thing left to discuss. What would I give to this group? Pretty much every skill has been addressed. What do I have to give?
That answer is very simple. Nothing. I could provide nary a thing. I would just lay around all day and watch them work. I have no discernable skills for this sort of adventure. Or maybe I do and I’m just biding my time until I release them.
But I’m not entirely sure if randomly blurting out stupid quotes and screaming obscenities would help us out.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Many of you know that I am something of a purchaseophile. Meaning that I love to buy random and occasionally useless crap that seems to be entertaining to me at the moment. Be it movies, books, shiny things or even possibly unsundry items that could get me arrested in fourteen different states. And as one peruses the various bastions of consumerism and Satanism (such as Walmart), you tend to find things that just catch your eye. Then you deem you must possess this particular piece of material goodness. Or on occasion you just have to ask questions and try things out for yourself.
I went on such a journey recently…
Almost immediately after entering the store, I was faced with a blatant product placement attempt. Right there at the front of the store, a gleaming rack made of cardboard and touting an invention that can replace a billion paper towels all by itself.
The Sham Wow. As in ‘Wow is this thing a piece of crap.’ Allow me to remind you what this thing does…
Holy Crap!!! Why would you not pause and stare at such a product? I mean, come on. The guy has a headset on and is obviously in the know about this quality sponge-type thing.
I stared at it for a long moment, the glorious orange color calling to me. I had to touch it. I just had to.
Upon the initial touching, my body began to emit electrical sparks like some really lame Twilight vampire. I was sucked in and felt the uncontrollable urge to wrap myself in all of them. And I mean all of them. Just peel them out of the cardboard wrapping and cover myself in orangey goodness.
It was at this point, I was approached by a person wearing a blue smock, fairly tallish, puffing his chest, flicking about his perfectly coiffed hair and exuding an air of confidence. I was instantly concerned that I was breaking some rules in this house of products I don’t need but surely want to buy. Needless to say, I was going to have some fun with this person that looked distinctively like a frat guy.
Blue Smock Person: Is there something that I can help you with?
(He said this as I was staring back at him, no less than half a dozen Sham Wow’s curled about my body. What did he think the answer would be?)
Me: Nope. I’m doing pretty good. Just looking. Do you think these would make too gaudy of a toga?
BSP: Sir, (he called me sir. I was both excited that I warranted such a professional greeting and horrified that I look old enough to be called sir) we generally don‘t allow this particular use of the produce while in the store.
Me: I’m not using it. If I were using it there would be a now absent puddle of soda on the floor. I am merely feeling it out. Do you think that the Sham Wow can eventually replace toilet paper?
BSP: What? Nasty. I’m just here to ask you to replace the products unless you are planning to buy them. (He said this as he casually rubbed his arm and attempted to show off his rocking Greek letter tattoo. Yep. Definitely a frat guy. Nice tat. Do they make those things in non-ass clown?)
Me: So…you are telling me that if I decide to buy these…I can keep doing this?
BSP: No.
Me: Hmmmm. Then why did you give me that option?
BSP: It wasn’t really an option…wait, what?
Me: Well, I’m just pointing out that you did imply that option for me. By saying that if I am planning to buy I can keep this up.
BSP: Sir, I didn‘t mean to...
Me: Oh but you did. Do these make me look fat? (I said, as I did a quick runway model twirl to give him a chance to answer my question)
BSP: Hygiene and good taste normally dictate that this sort of activity is not acceptable. (He did not acknowledge my twirl. But it was so majestically done.)
Me: You are making the assumption that I have either of those.
BSP: What? (His eyes are darting back and forth furiously as he looks for somebody, anybody that can help him. I ponder gesturing to the guy in the sleeveless NASCAR shirt as a source of comfort for Mr. Frat Guy here.)
Me: Hygiene or good taste. (His eyes are blank and I think I see a lip quiver coming on from him.) Never mind.
BSP: So will you please stop that? Or I’ll have to call management over here.
Me: Don’t taze me bro.
BSP: What?
Me: I’m just prepping for my Youtube moment.
BSP: Your what?
Me: My Youtube moment, that social video uploading site? On the internet. Perhaps you have heard of it. I assume that in a matter of moments there will be people with non-lethal weapons to subdue me. I want to tune my voice up so it can be heard on whatever cell phone camera that eventually documents my fifteen minutes of fame. Can you make sure that they only catch my right side? That is my good side.
BSP: Sir, I know what Youtube is. Could you just put the product back, please?
Me: ATTICA!!!
Four women with blue hair and holding hands just walked by me, their eyes bugging out of their heads. I’m just glad they didn’t break a hip trying to turn and stare at me while acting like they didn’t hear me.
BSP: Are you insane?
Me: What day is it? Nice cart. (A person, no older than 35, just blobbed past me in one of those scooters for the elderly and rotund. Go for a walk once in a while and put down the cheeseburger, you load)
BSP: What?
Me: I need to know what day it is. The fate of Krypton depends on your answer. (I don’t care if BSP is addressing the ‘what day is it’ question of the ‘nice cart’ comment.)
BSP: Monday. (He squints his eyes in a fairly useless gesture. Is he pondering what Krypton is? If so, he is a Communist. Or is he trying to be assertive? Sorry son, squinty eyes are not assertive. They say you lost your glasses.)
Me: Okay. Vital information. Then no. I am not insane. If it were Tuesday or Thursday, then yes, I would be insane. Today is Glue-Sniffing Day. Wednesday is Sharpie Marker Eating Day. Friday thru Sunday is Shakespeare Reading Time.
BSP: (going for his walkie talkie and attempting to ignore my last statement - how dare he.) Can I get a manager to the front, please?
Me: Can’t we all just get along? I’d like to give the world and Coke and live in harmony. We are the world.
BSP: (still holding his walkie talkie but now turning his back to me. How rude. I am merely trying to give him some worldly pieces of social harmony advice.) And can somebody call Carl from the back?
Me: Who is Carl? Did he do time? Was he is the Big House? Not the University of Michigan's football stadium but the gluteal damaging incarceration facility.
BSP: What is wrong with you?
Me: I just want to know my defense plan when Carl gets here. Is he bigger than me? Can he run well? How are his overall motor skills? Can he make a shiv from a toothbrush?
BSP: He didn’t do time. He is just our assistant manager.
Me: Good. That means I can intimidate him with crazy eyes. Had him been in prison, crazy eyes wouldn’t work. I would need to use some form of Tai Chi.
BSP: Please just put back the Sham Wows and we get on with the day.
Me: But they feel so nice. I’ve seen the commercials. They are a fantastic product. They must be. The box says so.
BSP: Sir, I’m just a student that wants to move along his day.
Me: (leaning in to him to convey a sense of closeness between us that I knew we now shared) I know. I’m bored with this. Orange isn't my color anyway.
I wandered off, fresh in my mind the thought of that poor kid trying to figure out what just happened. But I do wish them the best of luck trying to re-sell those things after I managed to cram seven of them down my shorts and then replace them in their original packaging while we were talking. If they are indeed as absorbent as promised then…never mind. I was going to make a nether region sweat joke. But it was really hot yesterday.
Further into this store, set up like a giant labyrinth of confusion so that you have no escape and must buy something before you leave, I stumbled upon the sporting goods section. Toys for big people. I am so excited that my pupils dilate as I walk into the area.
I skip up to the elderly gentleman behind the gun counter and proceeded to engage him in a dialogue. Skipping probably wasn't the best choice to instill a sense of confidence in the man behind the counter. His bushy gray eyebrows raise at the mere sight of me. That might also have been because I did a small curtsy when I stopped at the counter. But one must be polite when addressing another.
Me: I’m going Unicorn hunting in a few weeks with some old Narnian friends. What would you suggest as the weapon of choice?
Elderly Gentleman: Excuse me?
Me: Unicorns. What brings them down the best? They are awfully cagey animals with great speed and I think they can heal themselves so I'm going to need a good 'one shot, one kill' type of a weapon. I would think a top end rifle but my friends claim to use only bows, citing the challenge of it all. Of course, one of them is fond of using a grenade launcher he bought on the black market while on vacation in Guam. Don’t ask me how he got it back into the country but it may have involved breaking it down and storing it in body cavities.
EG: I…I’m not sure…
Me: Never mind. I’ll just go with some homemade explosives and an elaborate set of booby traps. That ought to do it, don’t you think?
EG: I would think so.
Me: Thanks for your help.
As I stomped off towards the toy section to find some good Nerf weapons I think that nice, helpful man may have called the people that bring fun white jackets where the sleeves tie behind your back. If so, I will have to decline their invitation to put one on. White is not my color.
Several more encounters just like the first two would ensue as I walked about the store. I began to get the impression, from all of the other Blue Smock People as they daftly moved to the opposite sides of their respective areas whenever I approached, that they weren’t taking me serious as a potential consumer. Family friendly shopping, my ass. I have so many other questions at this point about various products but nobody will help me. Sam Waltonmart would not be pleased right now.
It would be their loss of what could have been a potential large purchase by me and I would have my revenge. I filled a cart completely up with feminine hygiene products, Spam, Vaseline, taco shells, bottom shelf gin, toothpaste and plastic wrap…along with a note that read ‘Saturday Night Party Checklist’ and left it in the aisle with sewing products.
I guess I’ll just head over to Target and see if they are any more help.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
I am a fanboy. There is no denying that. I am a Star Wars fanboy. I am not a total apologist for the faults this series has like many fanboys but I do consider myself to be a little bit of a connoisseur of the films and the expanded universe that includes the comic books, video games, graphic novels and fictional novels. I will admit that I can take on pretty much any ten people I know in Star Wars Trivial Pursuit and win. By myself. Against all of them.
Sorry, that was a little off topic for this particular rant. Back to the point…
Most of you out there have probably either not heard of this film or merely gave it a cursory glance before you mocked it for the subject matter it covered.
What is that subject matter? It is a story of five friends that are huge Star Wars fans in 1998. One of these friends happens to have about four months to live, due to a terminal case of cancer. One of the friends has lost touch with them and upon finding out the cancer news attempts to re-establish contact with his former best friends. And he decides that there is only one course of action to take.
The friends decide that they are going to roadtrip cross-country to hijack a copy of ‘Star Wars: The Phantom Menace’ from the venerable Skywalker Ranch so that the terminal friend can view the movie before he passes. Because, who wouldn't try to do that in a similar situation?
Before I discuss the film, I must first give a brief respite of the travails this film had while trying to get released for general viewing by the public. Not the Star Wars film, this film…Fanboys.
The film’s release date was pushed back multiple times because some felt the cancer storyline would be too depressing and a more raunchy turn should have been taken with the movie. Like the crapnormous American Pie films. Fans revolted and eventually the original premise of the story was restored and it was released over a year after the original intended date.
My thoughts...
This film isn’t perfect. I can admit that. It was lambasted by the reviewers at Rottentomatoes.com, one of the sites I frequent in my attempts to further my knowledge of movieology and one of the few sites that I actually give an ounce of respect to. Most of the reviews claimed something along the lines that the movie didn’t poke enough fun at geeks and that it should have. But they forget one thing…just because some of us like Star Wars, it doesn’t necessarily make us geeks. Or they claimed it was just a slurping at the altar of George Lucas. Or that it was short on laughs, which to me it wasn't. Or they wanted it to be a raunchy roadtrip film with fart jokes, gross out humor and tons of boobs since that is kind of the pattern comedies are following these days.
But like Star Wars in 1977, this film does not follow the set conventions.
I should be irritated that they, the worldly movie reviewers, blasted this film but I’m not. Why? Because I liked it. So they can suck on that. And because the film was as much of a homage to people that like Star Wars as it was a comedy film.
The four principle male stars are people that you may have seen in other films but you maybe can’t wrap your hands around just where.
Sam Huntington - Superman Returns, Not Another Teen Movie, and that rather unfortunate Caveman television show based off of the Geico ads.
Chris Marquette - The Girl Next Door
Dan Fogler - Balls of Fury
Jay Baruchel - Tropic Thunder, Night at the Museum 2, Knocked Up
And then we have the particularly delightful Kristen Bell, with very dark hair in this film.
So as you examine the main cast, you might see what I do. Four guys that are certainly not Brad Pitt and a hot chick that thinks Wookies are cool and intentionally hangs around with these gentlemen. And there are times it is fairly apparent that Kristen Bell is the brains of the operation, or at least the one in charge telling the periodically distracted boys what needs to be done. Which most women will say is the way things should be anyway.
There are a herd of cameos by others in this, including a few near and dear former Star Wars actors like Carrie Fisher, Billy Dee Williams and Ray Park (who was Darth Maul)...(DARTH MAUL!!!).
Darth Maul is awesome. I just needed to include a picture to remind you. Feel free to take a moment and just soak in the awesome.
Toss in appearances by Jay and Silent Bob, Seth Rogen in multiple roles (including one that is most likely an inbred pimp), Shooter McGavin and the immortal William Shatner and you have a near nerdgasm for somebody like me.
And DANNY TREJO!!!
Which alone should have garnered this film for some Oscar consideration. Because Danny Trejo is one of the baddest dudes on the planet.
Plus, there is an older brother character, played by the guy that was the deaf Tight End in The Replacements, who is basically a caricature of Chet from Weird Science. He really only had one speaking volume in the film. And it was along the lines of a Jack Black performance. Loud as hell just so people can hear you. No matter what is coming out. But he was fairly amusing in some scenes. Not Jack Black. This guy. I think his name was Chaz.
The leads have some chemistry with each other and all of the random faces, references to other movies, some rather amusing Star Wars vs. Star Trek moments, Star Wars trivia that I knew all the answers to and a slew jokes that are for mainly the Star Wars fans and more than enough random humor to appease the un-initiated viewer.
So why did I really like this film?
If you were a person that grew up as a Star Wars fan you can relate to many of the thoughts the protagonists have during the course of this film. Yes, this is kind of a niche film. It is marketed at a small group of people and most out there won’t get it. Or understand why these people would go to such lengths just to see a film. When I watched this film and listened to the dialogue between the characters, debating the nuances of the mythos that is Star Wars, discussing if Harrison Ford is the greatest actor of all-time...I could see myself in those situations. I could imagine myself with three or four certain individuals as we may have discussed the various stories this universe wove, both from the movies and other source material.
I could relate to what these characters were thinking when they decided to make the trip and I couldn’t help but begin to see myself doing something ridiculous like this. For most people, they will never get the chance to see a film that changes everything. The film Star Wars was like that and these characters gave testament to that mantra.
Remember this…these five people are all supposed to be around the age of 24 in the year 1998. That makes them very close to what age I would have been then. And the thought of trying to pull off a mission like this made me tingle all over. After all, when you see Star Wars in the theater at the ripe old age of 5, you can and probably will become skewed for the rest of your life.
Allow me to explain. Until Star Wars, special effects had been by and large very rudimentary. Ships just hung there in space and did nothing even remotely interesting. And don’t spew to me that ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ is a great movie. It was mind-numbingly boring and not even the least bit entertaining to me. Aliens had usually be mostly people with weird rubber glued to their heads or giant ridiculous monstrosities that were less convincing than your average Halloween costume. I’m looking at you, Star Trek and all your jackass-imbued Trekkies. Battles were static endeavors of nothingness.
And then came along Star Wars…where George Lucas changed everything we thought we knew about what movies could be.
If Star Wars never would have came to fruition, there is no ILM, no THX Surround Sound, no Pixar, no Lucasfilm Limited. Nothing like that. It means that pretty much every giant, special effects-laden blockbuster of the last twenty-five years would have never come about. George Lucas did that with his vision and his passion for a subject that most people don’t get or mocked. Yet those same people reap the benefits of his imagination and belief in what movies could be.
The first time that text crawl stating ‘A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…’ comes across the screen and John Williams' epic score for the film begins to burst out of the speakers no matter when and where I watch one of these movies, my heart begins to thump just like it did when I saw these films for the first time. I can’t help it. Certain things resonate with you no matter how far away you are from the moment it first happened.
When ‘The Phantom Menace’ came out in 1999 I went to the first matinee showing on premier day. I missed the midnight showing but I hit the very next chance to see it. There was a herd of us, if I recall correctly, that went down to see it and we actually may have sent a couple of people down early in the morning to snag us tickets and a place in line. No, we didn’t dress up as any characters but I did see more than my share of lightsabers and Stormtrooper blasters.
And I remember feeling like every other person in that crowd. I cheered and clapped when that crawl and music hit the screen. Call me a dork. Call me a nerd. I’m fine with that. It was one of those moments that was just pure exhilaration. I really didn’t even care that the film wasn’t that great.
Mr. Lucas may have lost his way over the last decade whether it be from failure to remember what made the original films so special or from his own hubris or just a general lack of storytelling in the new trilogy, but he did change everything once upon a time. And the characters of this film paid a great tribute to that thought.
In the end, as I may have mentioned, this film is probably not for everybody. The filmmakers specifically aimed at a PG-13 rating which means most of the naughtiness is very tame. You will have to go elsewhere for you quota of random frontal nudity, people eating human waste or fluids, wholly improbable embarrassing situations and four-letter words spewing forth like water over Niagara Falls. This film and filmmakers did that as a tribute to the child-like atmosphere that Star Wars usually possessed. Like the Star Wars series, it is mostly lighthearted but does have moments where the subject matter is a little deeper.
But if you want a possibly amusing comedy and caring tribute to the passion and impact of Star Wars, there are far worse ways for you to spend 90 minutes.
Final Rating: 4 Pete’s out of 5.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Why did I start that way? Because several weeks back I asked for feedback on what I should write about down the road. I gave a variety of suggestions of what I could give my own take on but one of the comments that I received through text, email and comment section piqued my curiosity and made me decide to discuss it. Albeit just a little delayed in my response, I shall respond nonetheless.
That comment was College Alcohol types. And with the suggestion of alcohol, the connection with the weekends was inevitably drawn. So I decided to address this topic.
It just made me think a little bit. It threw me into the Wayback Machine and made me ponder what we used to partake in back in the day.
First off, let me state for the record and whether you believe me or not I don’t care, me and my roommates were not seven day a week drinkers back in college. Fridays and Saturdays, yes. Maybe on Thursday if nobody had a test or big assignment due. We pretty much kept it to the weekends. We only deviated from that course of action if there was something really cool happening around campus, like a huge basketball or volleyball game. But those didn’t happen very often.
And as a huge disclaimer, I must state that I don’t condone rampant alcohol usage and any of you underage people out there that read this should be consuming milk, juice and water to make sure your growth isn’t stunted and your reproductive cells aren’t tainted by illicit substances. So sayeth the Professaur.
Got that out of the way. Onwards and upwards….
So, I took a look back and tried to think about the things the crazy All-American kids we were back in the day used to partake in. I will be only sticking with the greatest and most absurd of those things. Because if I made a list of all the things that my friends (notice not me…I was the good kid in the group…the voice of reason…the moral compass for all that encountered me) used to drink I would end up with a rant longer than War and Peace.
Where to start? Let us start with the simple things. Beer.
Of course we did consume the standard beers, assuming we had the cash to purchase something as top end as Bud Light, Busch Light, Coors Light or the other popular things. But talking about those wouldn’t be any fun whatsoever. So I will look at the more absurd things that came across our coffee tables.
Coors Artic Ice…
Also know as Coors Artic Ass to us. Because within 12 hours of consuming this beverage you would inevitably be stricken with near catastrophic gastric fallout. In other words, the massive poopies. But for at least one spring you could buy yourself a case of bottles of this garbage for six bucks of which a friend of mine went straight out and bought 17 cases of it. Which caused one to weight the pros and the cons of the situation. Cheap booze or intestinal distress. Most took the booze. At least he did.
Bud Ice/Bud Ice Light…
The bottles were shaped like chiseled ice. The beer was pimped by the NHL. It tasted kind of like feet. But it was pimped by the NHL for a time. So that made it tolerable in my mind. And as I mentioned, the bottles were neat.
Natural Ice
Seeing a trend here? Most of the supposed brilliant beer inventions around the mid to late 1990’s were centered around the ‘ice’ brewing process. This particular brand was the worst of the worst. Worse than pretty much anything else out there. And as much as you tried to convince yourself you drank this on occasion because of an absurdly high alcohol content for a domestic beer, you couldn’t convince yourself that it tasted good. It tasted like six day old cabbage that had been left to stew in a broth of dead gerbils and seaweed. Let that image soak in.
But they did have some fun marketing campaigns…
Pabst Blue Ribbon…
Or PBR me ASAP, as their marketing campaign touted. Just look at those cans…red, white and blue. If you didn’t enjoy this beer, you were thoroughly un-American. I must relent, this wasn’t the worst thing ever, even though most of my friends and/or acquaintances would disagree. But one friend of mine and I would buy this stuff to take to parties because you knew nobody would try to pilfer one. As an added bonus, the cases were sold in giant plastic rings and not cardboard boxes.
Party Balls…
The fairly ridiculous alternative to kegs. These plastic 5-gallon spheres became something of a rage for us college kids on football Saturdays. That is assuming you knew somebody with a tap for that blasted containers. Otherwise you had to spend twenty bucks on something that looked like a medieval torture device so that you could begin sipping on the frothy goodness inside.
Keystone Premium…
This was consumed by one person. One of my best friends. And why he chose to drink this I will never know. It was awful in ways that awful shouldn’t be. Remember my description of Natural Ice? Imagine that times like a billion with a few pounds of crap thrown in for good measure. Shockingly enough, I couldn’t find a decent enough picture to include here. I guess that says something about the overall quality of this particular beverage.
But the thing that I remember most of all can be summed up in two words…Mystery Bottle. And this will be the only entry on the category of liquor. Because after this entry, no other liquors will ever seem up to par for anybody. This thing was that incredible.
The Mystery Bottle…
It was the single greatest invention that we ever came up with in college. More so than our Santa Claus goalie for street hockey. More so than homerun derbies at the fast pitch softball field. More so than the elaborate TV setup that we had for simultaneous TV viewing and video game playing.
It was a bottle that started out as a liter of cherry vodka we had acquired from a friend's parents. They didn't want it and we were always up for free cheap booze. Part of the bottle was consumed when we came up with a brilliant idea. We decided to make it something very, very special. So over time we just started pouring one shot of any other booze we came across into it. Any and all booze went into this thing we could get our hands on. Whiskey, tequila, rum, gin, vodka of other flavors, moonshine, it didn't matter. It went from a very bright red coloration to something that can only be described as broweenange. Or perhaps blurplellow.
I must qualify that we never drank the thing. Not after the first month of its life, that is. It became a festering stew of ickitudes that we knew was quite possibly evil in a bottle.
But it was a right of passage for our house. Allow me to explain...
You want to enter our house for the first time? You need to take a pull off of that infernal mix of nasty. And it didn’t matter who you were. Younger sibling down for the weekend to visit? Happy birthday, little bro or sis, enjoy an ounce of swishy goodness. Pizza girl? Take a pull before you can enter to give us our Italian goodness. And that actually did happen once. Poor pizza girl. She was so taken by the bottle that she sat down and had another beer with us. She seemed like a keeper. First date of one of our roommates or friends? Down the hatch, my little vixen or your date will be very brief because you have just failed a major character test.
This thing became so nasty over the years that we wouldn’t even open it indoors for fear of causing the EPA to show up at our house and declare it a hazardous waste site. But for some reason known only to some of those fringe people we knew, they still liked to take a swig ever now and then at parties. Because we took it everywhere just for the chance to walk up to a semi-acquaintance or total stranger, thrust the bottle at theme and say 'Mystery Bottle?' I can only imagine that after one drink of this thing that they had the incredible urge to find a lavatory and purge their intestines.
The Mystery Bottle would eventually die a very inglorious death when we tossed a shot of Bailey’s Irish Crème into it and the entire thing curdled. We tried to strain the chunks out of it but we knew we were fighting a losing battle. The bottle was eventually laid to rest in a very touching ceremony. We said a small eulogy and then tossed it into the dumpster.
Enough about the booze…
Whatever you decide to do this weekend, make sure you exercise a modicum of good decision making skills. Somebody should. Because I most likely will not.
And as a final parting shot, let me wish Chad and Megan the best of luck on the journey they will be starting this weekend together. May your days be filled with joy and happiness.
This is Professaur Pete, ruler of all Cybertron…
Over and out.
Of course it might have just been one of those rogue blonde hairs that grows in my traffic-stopping facial hair. I couldn't tell. I'm colorblind. And perhaps I over-reacted from the whole ordeal. I guess we will see.
And now you are wondering if I actually did that. Well, you will just have to find me to figure out the answer to that little question. Maybe I'm just jerking you around. Who can tell?
Back to the point…
If you know me, I thoroughly enjoy a number of things about life. We won't go into all of the things that I like but one of them is visual entertainment. Things like movies, TV shows, or even random video clips. And in this day and age when we have literally a billion TV stations and thousands of movies coming out a year, I thought I’d take this moment to post some thoughts on TV shows that I’d like to see made. Afterall, these suggestions can't be worse that some of the other crap out there.
Believe me, after reading this you will realize just how much potential we have yet to tap in the television market. Or not. Because as always, I usually do this to amuse myself and if you get a titter or two, all the better. And if you don't, I won't lose much sleep. So there.
But this will end up being a view interactive post. I will throw some of my own ideas out there but I hope that all of you inhabiting the webosphere have your own thoughts as to what would make riveting television. Comment away and if the deities of Valhalla shine upon you, I may respond.
My thoughts on television shows that would make great entertainment…
‘The Idiot News Hour’
Hosted by Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag.
Just imagine the potential here. Two colossal vacuums that are sucking up oxygen the rest of the planet could be using report the news for those dim bulbs out there that actually think these two are cool. It would be like Forrest Gump leading a herd of slasher flick fodder on a quest to find the Holy Grail. Essentially what I'm going for there is the dumb leading the brainless. I foresee an entire broadcast of ‘whatevers,’ ‘likes,’ and ‘you knows’ headed our way. I threw this show in there for the sheer mockery that Joel McHale could make of it on ‘The Soup.’ Because that guy is one of the funniest people on the planet. And you can't go wrong with giving Joel some more fodder to skewer.
‘Shock Collar TV’
Hosted by Alex Trebek.
This would be an interactive program where viewers possess a remote control that can shock that total piss out of people while watching the action unfold if things are not to the viewer's liking.
I envision this program as some sort of ‘OC’ or ‘The Hills’ or a loosely titled celebrity-type program where you can view idiots on television and then shock them whenever they get all sorts of emotional, irritating, self-important or oblivious. So, basically the entire time you would be hammering away on the remote. And as always, Alex could sit back and tell them just how wrong they were for their jackassery and craptastic behavior. It would be fascinating.
‘The Real Survivor’
Hosted by Paris Hilton.
The brand name of ‘Survivor’ brings out all of the urchins seeking their own 15 minutes of fame. But let us put some real stakes on this. No more of this just getting voted off of the island patheticness. Not anymore. That is far too lame of a punishment. You may go away and not win the big prize but you still had your moment to shine with some sort of schtick that people clamor for .
Let us raise the stakes. If you so choose to be a part of this show then there must be some sort of real punishment. You get voted off…and then you are sterilized so that your spotlight wishing genes are now taken out of the gene pool. Contestants get their moment in the sun. We remove their breeding potential so that the human race will actually have a chance to continue. I call it a ‘win-win’ situation. And at the end of the season we get to play Jiggly Ball on the host. If you don’t get that reference, you should watch more ‘Scrubs.’
‘Bouncing and Explosions’
Hosted by Christina Hendricks.
This show is simple enough. There is no plot. There are no themes. It is just pretty people running and jumping while explosions ravage the landscape behind them. Preferably the pretty people (both men and women, for the female viewers out there) will be wearing short shorts and very tight t-shirts. It could be a half-hour long program but preferably an hour. I would watch that.
As I may have stated in the past if the new ‘Transformers’ movie were nothing but Megan Fox running amuck in tight clothing while giant explosions go off in the background then that would be an Oscar winning film. Now take that image and imagine a weekly show like that. I know, awesome right? But with some dudes running as well for the chicks to tune in so that your girlfriend/wife/mistress has a reason to watch some jiggleness with you. Thank me later for that chance to have some togetherness time.
‘Firefly Season 2’
No host needed. Because this would be a scripted show.
Dammit bring this show back. Fox sucks so hard that we are lucky the board of directors at that network haven’t caused a black hole to form around the west coast which will eventually suck us all in to an inky void. That is all.
Sorry about that comment. There are just times that I don’t think TV or movie execs would know a good idea and thought if it was a great white shark biting them in their groinal region.
And my final suggestion….
‘DisneyDome’
Hosted by Tom Hanks.
Picture this…famous characters from all of the Disney library in a Mortal Kombat death arena. Goofy versus Fox (from Fox and the Hound). Mickey Mouse versus Beast (from Beauty and the Beast). Aladdin versus Simba. Ariel versus Jasmine.
Kuzko versus Herbie the Love Bug. Woody and Buzz versus Nemo, Marlin, Dory and Gill. Bambi versus Mufasa. Snow White versus the Seven Dwarves.
And just think for a second what kind of cool powers they could have. Mickey could fling explosive mouse pellets. Kuzko could use his llama power. Simba could channel lion rage. Buzz actually has lasers. Aladdin calls upon a big blue spastic genie. I can’t even think of a word to convey the sheer awesometasticnormousness of that idea. I think I just fainted even trying.
And now…your suggestions. Because I’m all used up right this moment…
This is Professaur Pete, ruler of all Eternia…
Over and out.
Back in the day, that was what the lifeguards looked like to us when we were just wee chitlins growing up back in V-Town. Just a quick example of the V-Town lifeguards.
Yes, our lifeguards actually did look like that.
All of them. And if you don’t believe me I can provide some names of the women who were the lifeguards and perhaps a pilfered yearbook photo or two. They were smoking hot. Smoking. Hot. And they had huge 80s bangs. Even more way hot.
Okay, if you call me out on the whole 'providing photos' of them thing, I may have been bluffing. But I can give you names and phones numbers of people that you could call and ask them about it. I'm not above dragging all of my friends down with me. If I had friends. Actually, having friends would be sweet. They could comb my hair and tell me that I'm pretty. So pretty...Sigh...
Refocusing now...back to the fantasticness of lifeguards...
They were those bronzed and oiled up goddesses that stood over us while wearing their red little suits that highlighted their fantastic traits (like the color of their eyes), keeping us safe and protecting our substantial futures, all the while still managing to be both sexy and intelligent at the same time. They may also have elicited some interesting sensations in our own bodies that we were not quite prepared to come to grips with. But I digress. Because I love to digress. It is so much better than being regressed. Or stressed. Or undressed. Wait...I take that back. Being undressed isn't so bad.
Perhaps you are wondering why I chose this particular topic for the day. Perhaps you are not. Perhaps I am a sarcastic, obnoxious person that is not particularly concerned about what you are thinking. Perhaps it could be all of the above.
The reason, whether you want it or not, is because on my way back to H-Town on Tuesday I passed a little local pool in some small town in which most of the local folk probably married somebody on their own family tree. And it was a place where there were a herd of obese children just bobbing up in the down in the water while they gnawed on junk food, looking remarkably like otters. Because as we all know, fat floats. That is why...never mind. I was going to make a joke in poor taste about a relative or friend. I'm better than that.
But I caught a glimpse of a lifeguard sitting in a chair (not a stand, not a stand, not a stand. We’re talking about not a stand. Which is criminal. That whole diatribe was meant to be a mockery of the Allen Iverson "We're talking 'bout practice" thing from a few years ago. Did you get that? Didn't think so. Epic fail by me.) underneath an umbrella and wearing a t-shirt and shorts (which is even more criminal - sort of like Donte Stallworth getting 30 days in prison for killing a person while driving drunk).
I guess the point of all of that was that it made me very sad. Sad like finding out Milli Vanilli was just lip-syncing. Because I took a moment to think back to what lifeguards meant to us growing up. It was most certainly not cute girls that wore full body coverings. Cute girls should not cover up. Let that be known at this point. And you cuties out there know who you are. I have some fashion suggestions for you. Just ask. I am a giver in that way.
Anyhoo, I jumped in the Wayback Machine and began to ponder what life was like when you were an overly hyperactive child (that would probably be unjustly put on some anti-ADHD drug just because you happen to be a normal active boy or girl or gender confused person).
Lifeguards were those bastions of sexiness that you stared at for hours on end while splashing about showing off the athleticism you would eventually grow into. Because at that age we all felt we would be the next Walter Payton or Magic Johnson or Reggie Jackson and those hotties on the stands would fall for our inherent sexiness some day. For those of you who don't know who those people I just mentioned are, Google them and enlighten yourselves. Because there actually was athletics before the days of stupid puppets telling us to drink Vitamin Water.
The lifeguards were those high school girls that you ogled while trying to puff out your concave boy chests and flex those stringy things hanging from your shoulders. In other words, your arms. Unfortunately, some of us still look like that. Not me. I'm huge. Ahnuld huge. But I also have a mirror that is from the circus Funhouse that makes me look that way. I love that mirror.
And the most important part they played in a day of swimming? Trying to get in trouble with them so that you had to lay out behind their lifeguard stand in a moment of penalty that wasn't really that much of a penalty. Why? Because you knew you made an impression on them. Then you could gaze longingly up at them and hope to catch a shot of a little sideboob. For an example of what sideboob means, just take a look at this.
Now, how can that not do a little something for you?
Back to the point of the lifeguards.
Play a little too rambunctious? Check. Splash people that didn’t want to be splashed? Check. Do machine gun-like maneuvers off the diving boards where a rapid procession of skinny kids launched themselves off of that springy board into a pile of frothing humanity? Check and double check.
There were other things that I’m sure we did but all of those brought with it the reward of knowing that you have indelibly made a mark in their mind. They would not forget you. And hopefully you might be that kid they thought would be pretty hot once you got older.
I didn’t have to worry about that. I was a super skinny kid with glasses you could burn ants with. So basically, a nerd. A phase of which I have not grown out of. But I'm okay with that. Embrace your own person.
Still, that little glance to the side while driving this afternoon caused a whole flood of history to hit me upside the head like a pillowcase full of dead hamsters.
And I was glad for that moment. So, all of you, take a moment to reflect back on the past. Of those hot women, men or shims that you had the chance to take in while you were growing up. Whether it be at the pool, the local cafe, the dri ve-in or wherever and remember just how hot those people were. And then also remember that all of them are now ten years older than yourself and probably flabby. Let that soak in for a moment.
This is Pete...nay...because somebody had to be a smart ass...THE PROFESSAUR (which is a combination of professor and dinosaur I am guessing - because I am a beast with brains)...
Over and out.
What I will attempt to do today is just rank 5 anti-Havelian people or things and 5 mega-Havelian people or things. And for those of you who don’t know, Havelian is a new term to mean something so infinity times a gazillion incredible or magnificent that all other words fail to describe it.
This one may be a little rough around the edges and feel a bit rushed. I wrote it last night/this morning while watching The Dark Knight. Next week will be much more prepared, if I indeed decide to keep these things up.
Bottom Five
Honorable Mention for Suckiness: Playboy. For putting one of my new celebrity crushes on their cover, even though she isn’t actually showing the goods in the magazine (at least I hope she isn’t because those sights are for my eyes only).
5. Lakers fans for being tools just like everybody else and lighting shit on fire, fighting cops and generally being big-mclarge-huge ass clowns. Really? That was the best you could come up with for a celebration? Burn stuff? Go after cops when all they want to do just ask you to go home? Flip stuff over and generally act like wankers? When will people stop this kind of stupid behavior? Those of you out there that think a good riot is the way to celebrate will soon be on the short list for elimination through Natural Selection. Bank on it. Still, it is now only a matter of time before, like around later October or the first week of November, when some MLB city will go nuts and light their city on fire.
4. Celebrities and Athletes apologizing for every little thing they say in this hyper-politically correct world we live in. David Letterman was the most recent of the celebrity crowd to apologize for a comment he made. You have heard, perhaps, about his joke made in direction of one of Sarah Palin’s daughter but was misconstrued at being aimed at the other, younger daughter. Ladies and gentlemen, I am so sick of this ultra-sensitive mentality that we have here these days. I’ve got some bad news for you out there, you bleeding heart overly sensitive fantastic foofers: Life is hard and people tell jokes and feelings will be hurt and everything doesn’t end up like a movie where the good guy wins and the bad guy loses. So deal with it. If you don’t like the joke, ignore it. If you don’t like losing, get better.
3. The Fox Network. For managing to f-up yet another good show and cancel it way too early. In the past they have axed Firefly, Space: Above and Beyond, Family Guy, Futurama, Drive, Arrested Development and I’m sure a few others that I’ve forgot. And now it is Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. For a minimal sci-fi goober like myself this was a chance to enter, on a weekly basis, the Terminator mythos and just see other stories that could have been told. It wasn’t perfect but the main characters (Lena Headey as Sarah Connor, Summer Glau as Cameron The Hot Terminator, and some white guy that looks like every other preppy young white actor as John Connor. Okay his name was Thomas Dekker. But my saying that changes nothing about what I also just said) had a chemistry with each other and there was some genuine tension in the show from week to week. It filled in the gaps that the movies could never hope to. And just like pretty much every other great sci-fi show or quirky show that they get a hold of, the Fox Network finds a way to goat-violated the program and send it down the road. At least they can hang their hats on such winning shows as: America’s Most Wanted, American Idiot…Idol, Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader, The Cleveland Show, Cops, Don’t Forget The Lyrics, Glee, Hell’s Kitchen, Hole in the Wall, Kitchen Nightmares, The Moment of Truth, More To Love, Osbornes: Reloaded, Secret Millionaire, Sit Down Shut Up, So You Think You Can Dance. I’m not entirely sure how many of those shows have made their fall line-up but still, just look at that detritus.
2. Reality TV ‘Stars.’ This goes out to basically all reality TV stars that find a way to squeeze more fame out of their fleeting moment than they really should. In particular, there are apparently a pair of people named Spencer and Heidi who were on some show called ‘The Hills’ or ‘The Plateaus’ or ‘The Large Remarkably Useless Lumps That Just Sit Around And Attempt To Look Productive.’ I’m not sure which one of those it was but I’m sure on close on the last one. Anyhoo, it seems from my information gathering attempts that many of these people are so oblivious to the rest of the world that they actually think they are what we all clamor for. As a small reference to the vacuousnesss of some of these people, Spencer and Heidi in particular, they didn’t know who Al Roker was. Al Freaking Roker from the Today Show. The guy that has been doing weather on NBC’s famous morning show since the invention of the television. And these two pinheads had no idea who he was. Here is a small piece of advice for all those 15-minutes of fame people out there, you are nowhere near as important as you think you are. And if you disagree with me, just comment on this site and I will be more than happy to have a face to face meeting with you to confuse you with my big words.
1. G.I. Joe Movie. I barely have anything to say here. And I know it may seem strange that I have nothing to say. But this film is going to have non-consensual physical relations with my childhood. I have no problem with loud and bombastic films. I liked ‘The Island.’ I liked ‘Transformers.’ I liked ‘Shoot Em Up.’ G.I. Joe looks like it has the ingredients to fall into the same category of those movies. But it will not. G.I. Joe was one of my favorite toys growing up and I have this feeling that had my parents filmed some of the full scale battles that took place in the basement of my house or the giant dirt pile where our garage now stands, that footage will probably be better than the monkey-schnog that will be this film. I am keeping my fingers crossed but I am prepping myself for the worst. Especially after reading some disturbing commentary on this film over the last few days.
Top Five
Honorable Mention: City wide Fairs and/or Celebrations. Because nothing says a whole herd of fun like a bunch of people celebrating some ethnic or cultural festival by sitting around a field or street or backyard-like area drinking beer from the side of a refrigerator truck. In all honesty, I am giddy just thinking about those sorts of things. We need more of those in this state.
5. Lakers win 15th Title. I gave up being a fan of the NBA around 1995. I gave up being a fan of the Lakers when Magic retired. But one still must recognize the accomplishment this team achieved. But I swear on all that is good and shiny that if anybody brings up a Kobe vs. MJ discussion, I will drive to your house and make good on the words of Bob Barker: Help control the pet population. Have your pets spayed or neutered. Except this time, the pets are you.
4. Air Sex Championships commences. Apparently this is like an air guitar contest. Except instead of pretending you are playing the air guitar, you are enacting a sex act aimed at violating the atmosphere around you. Yes, you read that correct. You air hump. And from what I can tell, you get two minutes, your own choice of music and you get to thrust to your heart’s delight. Sign me up.
3. College World Series Starts. Yes. This goes above the Lakers. Because here, the kids are still playing for the sake of the game. They hustle on and off the field. They rarely make the ‘what the hell face’ when a call goes against them. And because it is college athletics, you may get to see something incredible every time a game is played. Plus it is in Omaha, Nebraska. Gotta support and give props to the Corn State.
2. Pittsburgh Penguins win Stanley cup. You know me. I eat, breathe and drink hockey. Okay, so maybe it is not that much any more but I do love me some hockey. And listening to tons of sports talking heads eat their own excrement after declaring the series over when Detroit took a 2-0 lead, well, that made my day. I love it when know-it-alls have to do a ton of backtracking and eat their own words. Plus, the Stanley Cup is the single greatest trophy in the history of any sporting event. Better than the big gold basketball they get for winning the NBA title. Better than the big silver football they get for winning the Super Bowl. Better than whatever the hell that thing is they getting for winning the World Series. When your trophy is so revered that players who haven’t won it won’t touch it or be in the same room with it because they feel they are not worthy, then my friends, you must recognize the greatest of the win. Congrats, Pens.
1. Women that look good in baseball hats. A guy I worked with back in college once told me this little nugget of information: If a girl looks good while wearing a hat, then you know she is hot. His point? That not all women, no matter how attractive can pull off the ‘hat look.’ And I’m not talking about a visor or a big floppy hat. I mean a baseball hat. With the bill sculpted a little bit. None of that flat bill crap that makes you look like you couldn’t figure out the process to bend the bill a bit. Okay, refocused now. Girls that look good in a baseball hat have a leg up on the vast majority of the competition out there. I just wish they would have a leg up on me.
This is Pete…
Over and out.
Then I recalled that some of you out there used to read that site as well and might pick up on my inherent laziness. But I was going to use the rationale that if network television stations can just re-run shows or propel some brain cell killing reality show in the summer, I can re-run an article or two in the summer. Then I remembered that I have morals and standards. They may be low but they are there.
Still, I’m having a hard time coming up with something to talk about today that won’t offend some people. And after this weekend, I now have some interesting facts and quotes that I picked up that could be offensive and just a little wrong. Because you all know me, I carry that little notebook with me pretty much everywhere I go just so that I can write down moments that catch my attention. Believe me, I filled that little thing this weekend. Love Peace and Hair Grease to all of you.
A great many things piqued my curiosity this weekend but since I want to protect the innocent, I decided that I would go with the one thing that hit my mind that won’t announce any new fun facts to the world about my friends or enemies out there. It is just a topic that I feel needs addressed.
Thus, I announce the topic of the day: People Watching. Allow me to define, as stated by the great fountain of knowledge that is Wikipedia: People watching or crowd watching is the act of observing people and their interactions, usually without their knowledge.
And I dedicate this topic to Veronica Vaughn.
On to the topic.
People watching is the single greatest thing in the world outside of cheese, bacon, football, hockey and buffalo wings. I’m not saying, I’m just saying.
Why, you ask, is people watching so awesome that I would put it in front of booze, chicks and firepits? How could I dare put this single little event in front of things that are maybe the epitome of human evolution and achievements?
The answer is very simple. Allow me to explain. And when I say the answer is simple, it is actually very long winded with maybe a few of stupid examples from my past. I love to tell stories, rant and I am incapable of putting together a thought in less than 140 characters you Twitter-heads so prepare yourself.
Here are my reasons, take a deep breath.
My first real memorable people watching moment came in Lincoln, several many years back. I was sitting in a bar with my brother, the woman that would eventually become his fiancée (spelling?, who cares) and my girlfriend at the time. For reasons unknown to most people, I believe my brother and I were sitting on the same side of the booth we were in and the women were on the other. Or maybe not. I can’t really remember these days. It was years ago.
Anyway, my brother and I just started doing a little commentary on everybody and everything that we were witnessing. Frat guys with popped collars. Sorority chicks with spaghetti strap shirts. Drunken staggering people that laughed way too loud at everything. And other such Lincoln bar patrons that you see every night.
It was a veritable cornucopia of mockery for the two of us. The chance to imagine that guys were actually using lines such as: Nice shirt, would look better on my floor in the morning. Are your pants made of mirrors? Because I can see myself in them. How about we grab a pizza and do the nasty. What’s the matter? Don’t you like pizza?
We started making up the conversations that were taking place between the various people. It was our own little version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. We did voices and accents for every person just to give them a little unique personality in our own little theater of absurdity. I wish I had the transcripts from those conversations that we made up but I lost them when I was backpacking through Turkey several years back.
A brief aside: if you ever want to laugh so hard that you might wet yourself a little bit (be sure to bring adult diapers) just sit down at a family dinner with me, my brother, The Gregg and then prepare yourself for insightfulness that could save the world. Or at least cause you to ooze something out of your nostrils. We are that humorous. It is what we do. Just ask my father.
For nothing less than two hours my brother and I sat there and amused ourselves with our witty commentary while the two women on the other side of the booth stared at us with horrified faces. But in our defense, they knew what they were getting into when they started dating us. One stuck around (my brother’s wife) and the other ran for the hills like a fat kid hearing that there was a free Ho-Ho party down the street.
That was just one of the first moments where I really recall sitting and watching people and observing them. It was at that moment that I decided that watching the behavior of other people with another person is absolutely one of the best ways to get to know another human being.
Doing such a thing can allow you to get insight as to what somebody else is thinking or their personality. Do they think that the guy walking about the bar or beer garden with no sleeves is awesome? Is he a fashion template for the rest of us? Do they think that the overly round person wearing skintight clothing is making a good fashion choice? Will they mock that guy who is overly handsy on people and always trying to cop a feel on the women he is around? Can they find the capacity to laugh heartily at the girl or woman who is proclaiming loudly ‘Oh my God, I never drink this much. I am so drunk right now.’ Do they find humor in the guy or girl who is slumped in the corner, still holding on to their drink, while their head bobs up and down as they fight off the urge to pass out?
Basically the point of that was: Can the person you are sitting with enjoy a good bout of mockery on others? Or do they just stare at you like you have just turned into a spider? If the answer is the former, then hold on to that person like you in possession of the last brick of cheese on the planet.
Now, I recognize that I am certainly far from perfect when it comes to my behavior in life. Still, it has and always will be human nature to observe and grin at others when they are acting like tools. If for no other reason that it is in our genes to take an opportunity to make ourselves feel better while watching the travails of others. I would like to think that I have given my friends more than a few moments where I looked like a jackhole and they found a moment to grin and mock me.
This entertainment venture doesn’t just have to be at a bar or beer garden. In fact, the best places are anywhere that people happen to be doing everyday activities. Such as the mall or Wal-Mart. If I am ever feeling a bit in the doldrums and need a pick me up, I just venture to someplace like that. And then I realize that my life is pretty darn good after watching a herd of people wearing NASCAR shirts dragging their 43 children around behind them while they debate if buying another Dale Earnhardt Junior shirt is better than a case of Natural Light. Feel free to insert a random ’Woooooo!!!!!’ while thinking about NASCAR. Or that person wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off and yet he/she/shim still has a ‘farmers tan.’ Feel free to insert a random ’boy, you sure got a purty mouth’ thought here. Perhaps that family with the skin tight clothing that is actually a bunch of 2XL shirts being pushed to the limits of their stretchiness. Feel free to cover your eyes in horror while thinking about morbidly obese people wearing spandex.
Granted, after this weekend, I found tons of amusement from watching people around alcohol serving establishments. And in one of those establishments I found myself reflecting back to a term a friend of mine and I coined back in college. The ‘Hey…Ho’ person. That person that you see across an arena and say, ‘that person is pretty cute/good looking/hot when all you can see is their face. And then you see the rest of them at some point and they look like Jessica Alba’s face on Jabba the Hutt’s body. Eeesh.
Sorry, that was a little off topic. I just needed to get that out. Accept it.
Back to the point. Try people watching some time. Go to a local place where other humanoids frequent and just watch them. Watch the way they walk. Observe how the non-verbal communications dictate what they are thinking. Check out a guy and girl talking and determine if the girl is into the guy or not. Keep your eyes open for that one person who carries themselves with far more confidence then they ought to. Or, if you get really lucky you might strike the jackpot…that family that is probably just married cousins and their children are just biding their time until they can dawn a mask made of other people and carry a chain saw around the county.
Until tomorrow…
This is Pete…
Over and out.
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