Thoughts, Barely, by Xmastime

The worst part of this whole Paula Dean thing will be 6 months from now when she has her "I've gone-to-rehab, now I'm cured and looking for redemption" photo shoot for Maxim. Yeesh.

Mad Men Finale

THIS is an interesting idea:

The Sixties figure Don resembles now is Brian Epstein, the doomed Beatles manager. Another self-made man in a suit, a master at shaping people's dreams and fantasies – not to mention a self-destructive alcoholic with guilty secrets. Like Epstein, Don's a golden boy of the early 1960s, but when the Beatles change the conversation with Revolver, he's behind the times with no clue how to update his old-school show-biz tricks. By 1968, Epstein was dead from all the booze and pills; who knows how long Dick Baby-You're-a-Whitman can outlive him. (And the finale takes place the week the Beatles released The White Album, just in time for Thanksgiving 1968 – their first post-Epstein record.)

Congratulations, Texas

Texas just celebrated its 500th execution since 1976. Texas being Texas, we'll go ahead and assume this is the record.

Mostly, this gives us a chance to go deeeeeeeeeeeeeeep into the annals (heh heh heh) of Xmastime history, with one of the first posts ever! Hello, 2005!!

Each of us has MAYBE one chance at greatness in our lives. Robin Lovitt had a chance of becoming a milestone, a Trivial Pursuit Genus 6 edition answer, a footnote in history - until Governor Warner granted him clemency, thereby preventing him from becoming the 1,000th person in the United States to be executed since the death penalty was brought back (like "The Family Guy"!!) in 1976. How sad. Now instead of having his name roll off the lips of Alec Trebek, Robin goes back to a life of weightlifting, trading cartons of smokes, anal rape and, worse, finding God. Poor bastard. A dubious distinction, yes, but how the hell else could the dude have made a name for himself? And, as I'm thinking about it, I'm not sure I wanna be in the Big House with a name like "Robin." "Hey Fang and Throatslash, this is Robin..." yeesh. Holy Prison Bukkake, Batman. Got a feeling I know who does the salad-tossing in that relationship. I'm sure there's a box of letters from Robin to Gov Warner: "Please!! Kill me!! Please!!!" I'm hereby dedicating this short list of "I'D LIKE TO BE THE 1,000 PERSON TO..." to my man, Robin:  (ED. note: awesome list ensues)

Hey, Hey

I never cared about Hole, or Courtney Love, but I will say that the other day I found myself pleasantly surprised at how much I remembered loving the chorus to Malibu. Possibly because it's a memory from my first weeks in Brooklyn after moving there, but hey. hey.

"Death Likes This"

THIS ARTICLE attempts to answer the new valid question of our age:

What do you do when a Facebook friend who you vaguely know dies suddenly? What's the most sanity-inducing route of dealing with the fact that you have weird online links to their internet presence? A childhood friend passed away this week at the age of 32. It was a surprise. I had not talked to her in about five years.

As you surely remember, I was struck with surprise awhile back re: finding out a person I knew was not only dead, but had been dead for a while. I didn't find this out on Facebook, but it was online:

And it turns out not only is she dead, but she's been dead for 13 years. Died at the age of 24. After I met her, she only lived another six years. Mind-boggling. It's not even as if she's just died, and the scars are fresh; people close to her have had almost a decade and a half to move on. She's the ghost in the yearbook, a goddam black and white photo. Yellowed pages. But I can still see her in that blue/yellow Heidelberg High sweatshirt, getting on the elevator. Goddam. 1997. It's amazing what can take the wind out of your sails on any given night. 

Hmm. The second time someone from the 2006 Mrs. Xmastime list has been mentioned today. Hmm.

Happy Birthday, The Lottery

Shirley Jackson's classic The Lottery came out on this date back in 1948, and raised the hairs on the back of more than a few necks:

“The Lottery” takes the classic theme of man’s inhumanity to man and gives it an additional twist: the randomness inherent in brutality. It anticipates the way we would come to understand the twentieth century’s unique lessons about the capacity of ordinary citizens to do evil—from the Nazi camp bureaucracy, to the Communist societies that depended on the betrayal of neighbor by neighbor and the experiments by the psychologists Stanley Milgram and Philip Zimbardo demonstrating how little is required to induce strangers to turn against each other. In 1948, with the fresh horrors of the Second World War barely receding into memory and the Red Scare just beginning, it is no wonder that the story’s first readers reacted so vehemently to this ugly glimpse of their own faces in the mirror, even if they did not realize exactly what they were looking at.

Of course as you well know, The Gnat and I were in a 7th grade performance of The Lottery:

Also, it reminds me of the time in 7th grade when Mr. Russell's class performed Shirley Jackson's The Lottery. I can't remember who I played, for some reason I'm thinking Devareaux, but I might not know what the fuck I'm talking about. Maybe The Gnat remembers who he played?

There's also this:

Larry Yust's short film, The Lottery (1969), produced as part of Encyclopædia Britannica's 'Short Story Showcase' series, was ranked by the Academic Film Archive "as one of the two bestselling educational films ever". It has an accompanying ten-minute commentary film, Discussion of "The Lottery" by USC English professor Dr. James Durbin.  

Xmastime Thoughts on the Death of DOMA

What’s next – letting people marry their pets? A goldfish lives what, one, two years? Then its replaced, so now I gotta go out and buy ANOTHER gift, and get dressed up and go to ANOTHER wedding? Really? "I'm marrying this shoe, we're registered at Macy's." Should I just go ahead and get a second job so I can afford all these fucking weddings?!?

Yes!!!

From the original Mrs. Xmastime list of 2006:

DENISE RICH
(ex-wife of Mark rich, dude pardoned by Clinton)
WEEKS ON THE CHARTS: 198
PROS: Another horse-face, and with over-tanned orange skin that gives her a slutty, fake look. Always seems to wear silky sexy clothes. RICH. Can hook me up with Bill Clinton. Has that “happy-dumb-fuck-bunny” look, so I might be able to fool her into hooking up with me.
CONS: Appears to live on another planet. Also she’s a “songwriter”, so I’ll be forced to sit there while she plays me her dreadful Lilith Fair-esque cuts. Ugh. Also, looks to be too dumb even for me. Would drive Theodore insane with her comments during "Entertainment Tonight"
ODDS: 20%. Might be the only girl on this list I’d hafta dump after a few weeks. “Denise! Shut up! You’re an idiot!! And your songs SUCK!!”

WELL well well...LOOK who's a widow now!  Don't worry baby, I'm coming! (breaking my IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS case of Canoe cologne.)

Thanks, Dickhead

As a veteran A-Rod apologist, I groaned when news came out that he was on Twitter now. Of COURSE it would only be a matter of time before he tweeted something stupid. Hey, it’s A-Rod.

But this tweet was not the one. A couple hundred of his fans noticed it. And nobody who even remotely follows the Yankees would see this as “A-Rod’s playing against Toronto tomorrow!!!” Everybody knows it’s still a long way away.

And yet Brian Cashman decides to be Mr. Tough Guy:

"You know what, when the Yankees want to announce something, [we will]," Cashman told ESPN New York. "Alex should just shut the f--- up. That's it. I'm going to call Alex now."

So NOW it’s a huge news story. Cashman has taken a semi-nebulous tweet that nobody really noticed and now it’s another national story that ESPN can gleefully trot as as yet another “A-Rod’s the worst!!!” trope. Thanks, Cashman.

20 Years Ago Today

Twenty years ago tonight, June 25, 1993, David Letterman landed his dream guest for his final 'Late Night' show on NBC. "I believe, honestly, in about eleven-and-a-half years that we've been on this program, there is, I think, really only one person who has not been on this show who I always really, really wanted as a guest. One person, in eleven-and-a-half years. And happily, all that changes here tonight, ladies and gentlemen.... So better late than never, please welcome Bruce Springsteen."

Xmastime Announcement

Finally, the Axl Rose appearance, I dunno…I mean, were we supposed to lose our shit about this? “OMYGODAXLSCOMINGONSATGE!!!!HOLYSHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” He was introduced like we were supposed to have heart attacks as we spooge ourselves. What the fuck. I realized as he’s walking out you know, this guy made one album that anyone gives a shit about….and it was 20 years ago. 20 years! I dont remember watching these things as a kid and losing my shit if they trotted Norman Greenbaum out on the stage. Camon. Since then he’s been famous solely for canceling concerts and growing dreadlocks. Let’s step back and reign in this G n R worship we’re all supposed to have. It was a fine record, but completely overrated throughout the years. Yes, it looks better when stacked up against its genre contemporaries Poison and Skid Row. Wow. Not exactly The Beatles and Beach Boys trying to top each other, is it?  - XMASTIME

Guns 'n Roses fucking blow. Meanwhile, Gordon Ramsay fucking rocks. Therefore, I am officially declaring that Gordon gets to keep the "G 'n effin' R!" title, and Guns and Roses can go eat a bag of dicks.

I Remain,
Xmastime

Mad Men Finale

I haven't decided if I like how things turned out. But I do agree with TNC:

I miss the Don Draper for whom adultery seemed but the smallest of his sins. And I don't need him to be redeemed.

Same as a few weeks ago, when someone wrote: 

Why should I care anymore about this miserable soul? Because he gets to his front door, slumps down to the ground, and feels sad?

Speaking of Family Ties

Fantastic rundown of sitcoms in the 80s.

G is for Gary

Gary David Goldberg died this weekend. Esquire has a piece on How Family Ties Healed America:

...and it captures an element of “Family Ties” that helped elevate it from diversion to something more important: No matter how much we sympathized with the parents, it was Alex we loved.

Just last week I happened to watch the series finale, and, even though I've always loved the show, I was still surprised at how flat-out funny Alex was.

I highly recommend watching the A is for Alex episode, which teetered by the moment back and forth from earnest and almost over-wrought to howling out-loud funny. More on the episode HERE:

And yet, something funny happened as I was watching “‘A’ My Name Is Alex.” I’d braced myself for the worst, but when the big therapy scene began—that half-hour stage play appended to the end of a 20-minute sitcom—I found it much better than I’d expected. I probably would’ve laughed derisively at it when I was 20. Perhaps I would’ve groaned at it at 30. But at 40, I experienced the episode more like I did at 16: as a heartfelt, occasionally clever attempt by the Family Ties creators to break the mold a little, while still trying to be funny and to talk about the issues important to them. 

Maybe people remember “‘A’ My Name Is Alex” as being more issue-driven than it actually is; maybe that’s one reason it gets a bad rap. But Alex’s friend Greg didn’t commit suicide, die of a drug overdose, or get killed by a drunk driver. He was involved in an ordinary, arbitrary accident, and the episode is primarily about how someone with a life as planned out as Alex’s deals with the revelation that everything can change overnight, for no good reason.

LOL du Jour

More Sopranos Music Moments

Sopranos Question

Was Tony ever seen wearing jeans?

Mad Men, Season Finale

I thought Dick Wittman grew up in the Midwest somewhere -  did Don's kids not notice they were in a car for like 19 hours?

Mad Men Season Finale

Pete's "She loved the sea" line has me ROFLMAO. Awesome.

Xmastime Says

Happy Birfday

To my old friend Mike, he of The Chinn Dome:

Our basketball home away from home was my friend Michael’s house, "The Chinn Dome." He had a big outdoor light, so we could play there after dark. I had a spot about 18 feet out that I shot from so much it was called “Xmas’ fucking crater," I wouldn’t be surprised if my footprints were still there. Usually we’d play 2 on 2, I must’ve run the only 2-man zone defense in the history of basketball – “you got the left side, I got the right.” Cause like I said before, I ain’t wasting my breath chasing nobody round playing defense for chrissake. The closest I’ve ever come to crying during a game was one night my brother got pissed at me bout something and vowed to shut me down, and gotdam if I even fucking touched the ball for two hours. I’m running round and round like a smack addict needing some junk, in a panic cause I’m not getting my shots. Motherfucker. It was quite a setup, we’d bust our asses playing, then take a break in the grass, guzzling water from the hose while the smoking hot Dryden girls from next door would slide over to gab/flirt/watch the moon reflect off my sweaty, sinewed heaving 16 year-old chest, perhaps noticing a bead of my gilded sweat as it slowly ran down over one of my pecs, easing down to my chiseled stomach, achingly just barely moving as it made its way past each abdominal until it hit the top of my shorts which are just barely covering my hip bone, part of it getting soaked into the cloth material, but some of it making it past, finding itself working down my inner thigh, losing speed but not want, still on the thigh, still sliding down, still on the thigh, now twisting around my knee and finding the soft, lily-white pillow of flesh directly opposite of my knee cap before picking up speed on the smooth, rock-hard asphalt land that makes up my calf before settling once and for all in my sock, joining the dirt, the dust, the blood and other dude’s tears who had tried to guard me. Sweet girls.

Anyways, it was also the site of one of my most almost-embarrassing moments. In December of 1988 I was in the midst of courting the girl who was to become my first girlfriend, and my desperation and teenage lust had been driven to such ludicrous heights that I had made up my mind that if I was going to win her affection I would have to get her a Christmas present to show my never-ending love and devotion, thereby sending out the signal that I wanted to get up in them lady Umbros. A few days before Christmas we’re getting ready to go to the Chinn Dome, which I saw as the perfect opportunity as she lived about a 5-minute drive from Michaels house. Grab a gift, swing it by her joint after gunning the rock. Giving no thought, of course, to 1) what the hell I would get her 2) how I would wrap it 3) the plight of blacks in the country 4) how I would hide it from the rest of the guys, including my brother, with whom I would be riding to the Chinn Dome. There were 2 things that would get you razzed: liking a girl, and liking a guy. One meant you would be ribbed by the fellas, the other meant you were probably Tommy Waters. Even at the age of 16 you didn’t want anyone finding out you “liked” a girl, you just didn’t need anything else for the guys to pile on about; the fear of getting caught masturbating or being Asian was enough. Particularly if the chances of being rejected were still pretty good. So I make up a reason to pop into the drugstore on the way to the Chinn Dome so I can get a gift. That’s right, the drugstore. The Tiffany’s of Tappahannock. I quickly found the absolute perfect gift: a little piano that opened up and played “Memories.” Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I remember it being $14.99. My first ever romantic gift, and I hit a home run!!!

I make it to Mike’s without my brother finding out what I had done, and we start playing. I’m ecstatic; boy I’m thinking, a piano that opens up and plays a song!! You, my man, are a romance GENIUS!! As I’m playing above the rim putting on a skywalking clinic for the fellas, I’m planning my bachelor party: playing ball at the Chinn Dome, some video-game wrestling at Roma’s and then “open bar” at Shoney’s buffet. Simpler times, I reckon. And then my day got even better: during a break, Katie Dryden came over. My exuberance was bubbling over, I knew I had to show somebody the present or I would burst, so I took her to the car and showed her and not only did she agree that I should probably make a living as a shopping consultant for lovelorn dudes, but she volunteered to sneak it over to her house and wrap it for me!! She snuck off with it, I went back to embarrassing the guys with out-of-my-head shooting and no look passes that would make Magic weep. Of course I’m lying about passing. A little while later we’re playing and I see Katie surreptitiously drop off my gift under my jacket on the deck off the porch. Nobody noticed, I was just about home free, and now I'm gay cause I used the word "surreptitiously."

By now it’s getting time to go, so we’re all sitting on the deck, getting ready to leave, kinda just sitting round bullshitting etc. I’m sittin on the railing, not paying attention to anything in particular, thinking only of mon couer. My legs are dangling aimlessly when I feel my heel bump into something, and then I hear it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

And then everyone ELSE hears it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK! Bad enough they’ll know I got a gift, but now they get to HEAR my show tunes? Kill me! I look around and everyone has a confused look, everyone’s looking around and I hear somebody’s voice.

“What the fuck is that noise?”
“aaah...what noise?” I’m so clever.
“Fucking a” someone else says “where’s that noise coming from? What the fuck?”

Before it was ruined by cheap beer and repeated viewings of “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" and “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" my brain was sharp, and I quickly came up with a brilliant plan.

“I think it’s in the woods!”

Which of course was followed by several “yeah, it’s coming from the woods!” and we all spent the next 5 minutes searching in the woods until the fucking song finally wound down.

End of humiliation? of course not. After spending the 5 minute drive over to her house being upbraided by my brother about being a fucking idiot for liking her and getting her something for Christmas like an idiot, and of course for him having to drive me there, we get to her house and I start walking up to her door. Slowly realizing of course that I was wearing thin gym shorts that covered my down-theres like the skin on a grape (pre-baggy shorts days, peeps) and a mesh football practice jersey that came down to oh, just below the ribcage; the only thing saving me from looking like I had just rolled out of “Lenny’s Man Fuck-Hut” being the football with the number 82 on the jersey. My only hope was she’d be distracted from my Chelsea Boy-ness by my being caked head to toe with dirt and sweat from gunning the rock for 3 hours. Brilliant. So I knock on the door and of course her mother answers, and she’s dressed to the nines in her Sunday impressing-other-rich folks best. Turns out they’re hosting a party. Greeeeeeaaaaaatt. The door is open, everyone is looking at me like I just cut one, and my girl is finally dragged to the door. I present the gift, I can’t remember how she reacted. I do remember her pulling out the piano and looking at it quizzically. “Oh,” I proudly say as if I had just invented the cool ranch nacho “it opens up and plays a tune!” She opens it up and...nothing. Of course it was still unwound from before. So I take it and start winding it, and voila!! now the fucking thing is covered in dirt. But I’m determined, I got a smile painted on and I’m winding, goddam it I ain’t leaving til she hears it. Finally Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I quickly hand it back to her, don’t even try to wipe it clean, give a weak I’m-retarded wave to all the adults who had been standing watching speechless, took the loooooong walk back to my brother’s car and rode off. My brother shaking his head the whole way home.

Always love the Chinn Dome, though. Ain’t played there in prolly 15 years, maybe we’ll have an Old-Timers Day Soon.

Has Someone Already Done...

...the Hitler hears about The Replacements reunion video? Surely, it's happening, right?

Thoughts, Barely, by Xmastime

I can remember clear as day being a 7th grader and wishing I had written "Remember, that everybody has to wait in line, oh Blue Jean, look out world, you know I've got mine." Gotdam. Still do.

Three Memorable Sopranos Music Moments (to me)

Late Mothers Day Present

Are these the two best white songs with "mama" in the chorus?

Paula Deen

It's hard to figure what to make of the whole Paula Dean fiasco. Of course we're horrified if she said or did any racist things. And I'm sure we'll all pop our hamstrings to out-do each other re: being the least-racist person in human history. But let's remember we're talking about a virtual Foghorn Leghorn deep-fried Southern cartoon character, shot up the flagpole on day one as some way of clinging to old, Southern values (accent + unlocked screendoors + butter + lots more butter)...are we all REALLY supposed to be surprised? At all? And shouldn't we all feel a little guilty for being cheerleaders of hers for as long as we were? Didn't we already know this?

Musician on Musician Hate

...fucking RHCP should be put before a firing squad for not only being incredibly shitty and unlistenable themselves but also single-handedly spawning the "rap-funk-punk-metal" genre that shit out such awful bands as Limp Bizkit et al.  Ugh.  For fuck's sake. - XMASTIME

Here's the 30 Greatest Musician on Musician Insults, and this one is my favorite not only because it's funny but because it's fucking true:

18. Nick Cave on Red Hot Chili Peppers
“I’m forever near a stereo saying, ‘What the fuck is this garbage?’ And the answer is always the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

Waterworks du Jour

Bobby Baccalieri visits Fatcesa to talk about the death of James Gandolfini.

Snakes. No Thanks.

The thing about sharks is that, just like snakes, they're especially scary because here's something that could kill you and it doesn't even have arms and legs. Normally you'd think "well, this guys got no limbs, this should be no problem" but next thing you know you're shark doo-doo. The difference being, of course, to get eaten by a shark you hafta make the effort to go to the shark - unlike a snake, you pretty much know that sharks are in the ocean and that's it. You're not gonna find a Great White curled up under your sink, waiting for you like a snake would. - XMASTIME 

I'm sorry a dude who used snakes to help people overcome their fear of snakes has died after being bitten by one of his colleagues, but, talking as someone with a healthy fear of snakes, why the fuck would people even WANT to overcome this fear? Wtf?
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“Oh camon, you don’t wanna read this one again, do you?”

“Rats!  Rats!”

He was pushing me to sit down, so I flopped back into the easy chair and he scooted up into The Nook.  I opened the book and voila, first page: a humungous, smiling snake.  Every one of these books, there's a fucking snake with fangs the size of hammers that's supposed to be cute and friendly.  Hey look, a fluffy, happy puppy looking for a hug.  There’s a sweet baby duck splashing around with a beach ball.  Oh, and sliding down a tree?  A copperhead that looks like it just swallowed a fucking golf cart.  What the hell?  “Oh, but it’s so cute and cuddly!”

I didn’t want Chuck to be scared of snakes.  I didn’t want him to be scared of anything.  But I also didn’t want him thinking it was okay to go up and hug a snake.  Why not have ‘happy, jolly drug dealers’ in these books too?

Paranoia Revisited

This example of Why Parents Shouldn't Text cracked me up, reminding me of an old paranoia of my own:

...whenever she was slow to return an email, I'd start fidgeting with anxiety...After guzzling a liter of so of Diet Coke while hitting CHECK MAIL (or whatever the fuck the equivalent was back in the Dark Ages of Hotmail) approximately 91,000 times, finally I would shoot an as-casual-as-could-seem possible, just shootin' the breeze email over to Op, "hey, checking to see if my email is down, hit me back."  To which he would reply within about 30 seconds.  "Works here." Of course once he caught on to what I was doing with my little recon/scouting emails, his replies would come in about 4 seconds, with a MUCH more gleeful tone: "working great, pods!  :)"  Grrrr.

Sigh. I have officially become the un-shameable.

Quelle surprise.

Via Sully, we see that for all its claims of being a totally rational organization built on adherence to the Constitution and a sensible, learned stance on macroeconomics,  the Tea Party appears to exist because of and be singularly fueled by their hatred of Obama. Hmm.

Xmastime Worlds Colliding

You're Welcome, Earth.

1:27 Dog just tried to say "Colorado." After three fly-bys, finally just plowed thru it "Carararro." Sounds like a Chinese guy ordering Sammy Hagar’s tequila. Ugly.

If you're worried it's been a long time since I've re-posted THE SINGLE GREATEST BLOG POST OF ALL TIME don't worry, this article about dumb sports fans gives me the perfect excuse to.

Thanks, article!

The Sopranos Through the Years with Xmastime

One thing I never got about The Sopranos is how Tony would walk down to the end of the driveway every day to get his newspaper. I mean, we're supposed to believe that at any given moment someone wants to knock him off, right? And how long would it take someone with a brain to see that every morning, at such and such time he comes waddling down to the end of his own driveway, gets the newspaper, STANDS THERE FOR A FEW MINUTES LOOKING AT IT, all while in his dopey bathrobe? And yet nothing ever happens. I guess it never occurred to any of these geniuses. Wtf? - XMASTIME

Why couldn’t these people eat normal food?

Don’t Stop Bereavin'

How’d they get away with all those beatdowns in broad daylight?

My not-so-glowing review of the finale.

How gay was this show?

Photo below via.

It's Official: I Need a Girlfriend

Or this is my future:
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Unfortunately, the same would come true for myself when it came to women, which is why getting a hug from a woman in a bar was actually a lot more impressive than it should’ve been for a grown man.  I broke up with my college girlfriend just before the end of my senior year having grown accustomed to having a beautiful, wonderful girl be completely devoted to me, so I assumed that’s the way it would always be.  Then I made the mistake of actually graduating, and went from being somewhat of a “Big Man on Campus” to “the guy that works at Sir Speedy.”  I hadn’t realized that the reason girls were perfectly happy with guys who lived like college students was because they were, in fact, college students, and living like a fat slob in arrested adolescence wasn’t so lovable in the real world.  I found myself demanding women accept “me for who I am!”, growing more and more bitter each time an accomplished and beautiful woman “thought she was too good” to be with a fat, drunk loser living in glorified squalor.  The more years that passed, the more I clung to this lifestyle in a sort of pathetic defiance, and began to just fantasize about women (any woman I saw was in danger of being a “Mrs. _______”, and a complete relationship would be played out in my mind, varying in length from minutes to years, with her remaining completely oblivious to the life she was living in my head) instead of trying to better myself in order to actually get one.  I was in danger of becoming like the old, retarded guy from my hometown who created “baseball lineups” of women around town that he wanted on his “team,” and I knew that eventually, as with him, avoiding my sloppy, amorous greetings would be a talent passed on from mother to daughter for generations to come.

Photo Replacements

These lining-up-photos-with-the-past things are amazing.

Say, nobody wants to recreate this one, do they?

Happy Birfday Paul McCartney

The only man who ever (almost) topped Little Richard.

Suicide Isn't Painless

Sully has been discussing suicide, including the VICE photo shoot thingee:

And while time doesn’t necessarily lessen the grief of suicide, it’s perhaps especially distressing that some of the people Vice depicts died very recently — [Iris] Chang in just 2004 — leaving still-living loved ones behind. These weren’t fictional characters; these were real women, who lived and struggled and died, and to treat their lowest moments as fodder for a silly fashion spread is shameful and sad.

 Thoughts on the subject from a certain sexy somebody's unpublished novel:

As I was paralyzed on my bed in my room, thoughts of suicide came to me.  Maybe I’d just kill myself, and then everybody would stand around at my funeral shaking their heads in admiration about how honorable I’d been, ending my life before I became someone else’s problem.  “What a class act,” they’d all say as they toasted glass after glass to me.  Or, even better, maybe everyone would be so grief-stricken with guilt they’d spend years wondering what terrible things they had done to make me do such a thing, other than living their own lives as fully as possible and being perfectly nice to me.  It’d be like my dreaming that if I ever did become a success, I’d tell everybody to go fuck themselves since they never believed in me, even though they’d never done or said anything even remotely close to insinuating such a thing.

But of course death’s permanence meant I wouldn’t be able to stroll through my own memorial service and accept all the pats on the back I’d be hoping for; besides, even in my depths of wallowing I knew I’d never have the guts to do the right thing, that for once my incredible lack of initiative would be useful to my own survival.  Also, I was pretty sure that the day after I killed myself would be the day beautiful woman all around the globe would collectively announce they were only having sex with fat, broke drunks.  My main reason for living was hoping that the next moment would offer a reason to live. 

All this awful realization, just because of a little kid.  I might have been completely miserable before Chuck, but at least I was happy.

Christ. They Got Me.

I'm not made of stone, people.

The Replacements

There's a lot of guessing about what song The Replacements will open their first show in 22 years up with. According to a small poll taken from my friends, I seem to be the only person on Earth who thinks ks this song is apropos.

1988

The other day I read a celebration of the 25-year anniversary of the release of Bull Durham, and Xmastime buddy A Trifle Further reminded me that today is the day The Great Outdoors was released in 1988. I wouldn't normally think of 1988 as being a great year for movies but these two along with Midnight Run and Naked Gun means that its quite quickly in the running for a banner fucking year for movies.

Humble Beginnings

Lighten Up, Francis

Bob Costas is getting some shit:

Veteran broadcaster Bob Costas called out the Mets on NBC Sunday for celebrating their 4-3 walk-off win against the Cubs too much to his liking.

During a U.S. Open golf update, Costas showed a clip of the Mets' comeback victory and the celebration that followed Kirk Nieuwenhuis' game-winning three-run homer at Citi Field.

"A team 14 games under .500 celebrates as if it just won the seventh game of the World Series," Costas said. "Another indication of the ongoing decline of Western Civilization."

Of course since its 2013, Mets fans took to their Twitter handles to blast Costas for crushing their buzz.

On one hand, Costas is right. Nothing bugs the shit out of me more than when some scrub sacks the qb while down 44-3 and then takes ten minutes to celebrate with some choreographed Flight-of-the-Bumblebee-meets-Randy-fucking-Savage bullshit.


But on the other other hand, baseball is a looooooooong, hot fucking season. If you have a reason, ANY reason to let loose and have some fun, you gotta fucking do it. Look at Swish. And the Yankees went on to win it all.*


DISCLAIMER: the Mets will not win it all.

Here We Go Again

Apparently, we're supposed to be laughing at a Miss Whatever at the latest Miss America Who Gives a Shit  USA pageant for saying something that wouldn't hold muster in a meeting of the minds at an economic think tank. Haven't we fucking been through this time and time again?

But what’s up with the question in the first place...why are we dressing up these teenage girls in skimpy little outfits with their titties taped and parading them around a stage and then asking a heavy question like that? Hell, some girl called in a radio show yesterday and said that in another teen pageant she was asked what she would have done to prevent the Holocaust. Fucking Christ. I'm sorry - that wasn't her answer, that's my usual expression for exasperation. All these pageants, it’s always “how would you solve world hunger, how would you create world peace forever?”  We put these girls on the spot in front of millions of people and ask these these ponderous, world-changing questions. Yet in a televised debate while choosing the next leader of the free world, we only ask the same fucking questions over and over: “what’s your stance on abortion? Will you make sure gays can’t get married? what’s your stance on abortion..."

I mean, who gives a shit? Do I care how Tim Geitner looks in a bikini? For fuck's sake already. Relax. I know pouncing on this girl (heh heh heh) is an easy way to make yourself feel smarter, but if you're wondering just how seriously this event should be taken in the first place, all you need to know is this guy was in the room. It wasn't exactly the Algonquin Table to begin with, was it?

Who Is THIS Delicious Mrs. Xmastime I've Been Missing??!??!

Michelle Chamuel, finalist on The Voice.

Chompers? CHECK.
Schnozz? CHECK.
Glasses? CHECK.

I do believe we have found the perfect Mrs. Xmastime. And now the dance begins (ordering new crate of Canoe Cologne.)

Empire Records Was Almost 20 Fucking Years Ago?!?!?!?!?

I've written before that Empire Records is a terrible yet rewatchable move:

Empire Records is an oddly re-watchable movie. Also, the last time Renee Zellweger was in any way even remotely fuckable. 

But I must say - is that really Renee Zellweger singing? If so, did she ever try singing again? Because if it is her, I have to say, her voice fucking rocks.

Quite a Friday Night I'm Putting Together Here

Curled up in bed eating a peanut butter sandwich while watching Brideshead Revisted? Sure, why the hell not.

"Rats!”

“Exactly.  And there’s no way she’s gonna see all those shiny, new clothes and not wanna try some on herself, right?  Even the crap she has NO intention of buying she’ll still wanna try on!  We’re gonna be in there all day.”

 “Rats!”

“But I’ll tell you what the WORST thing is, lil buddy.”

Chuck was pointing at a dog walking by.

“Hey!  Are you even listening to me?”

“Rats!”

I almost caught his sippy cup before it hit the ground, but bobbled it.

“The worst part is that, unbelievably, during all this trying crap on, guess who has to hold her freaking purse?”

“Rats!”

“You’re gotdam right it’s Rats,” I smacked the table with my palm.  “’Just for one second!’ she’ll tell you.”

“Wha second Rats!”

“You’re know it’s never just for one second, lil’ buddy. And of course this is the moment your old high school football coach decides to stroll through the middle of freaking Daffy’s in Midtown Manhattan for no particular reason.  He sees you standing there holding a girl’s handbag, and just says ‘I knew it.’  Man.  Brutal.”

I'll Be Honest.

This was one of my favorite moments of the last year.

Where Did Life Start?

Well. This is creepy.

The Greatest

What a mess by mmr421

It's Official.

Well. I Guess That's That.

Via.

Wait - Could This Be True? (Squealing like little girl)

Begging for a Broken Heart

Brouhaha of an actual Replacements reunion are brewing:

Both Westerberg and Stinson, on the other hand, have sounded more open and less cynical about the idea of reuniting in recent months, including a March interview with Time where Tommy said they plan to record again this summer and a new podcast with Tommy that made it all but certain they would work together again. They’ve always scoffed at the paychecks offered to them by bigger, trendier festivals to play their first reunion gig. Riot Fest has more of a punky, underground aesthetic that would suit them, but it is still big enough to at least offer something close to what Coachella might have paid them. Riot Fest’s previous reunion bragging-rights have included the Jesus & Mary Chain, Screeching Weasel and hometown heroes Naked Raygun.

UPDATE: Confirmed. Still not buying it.

Cheetos Part II

The great John Romeo, director of the Cheetos film in the previous post and of course of The Romeo Theater, sent this photo to mark yesterday's significance. Thanks John...this is most definitely NOT some bullshit.

It Ain't Easy Being Cheesy

Yesterday mearked the one-year anniversary of my first day at Capital One. While I've since moved on, I miss some of the great friends I made there, and am glad we caught some of us in the Cheetos video before I left.

Whatever the Record for Awesome Is, It's Now Been Broken.

I mean, camon:

Prince worked as a therapy dog at Portage High School in Indiana for four years before retiring this spring. To honor the pup's service, the school opted to include him in the yearbook among all the graduating seniors and let him lead the pack of students during the graduation ceremony last Sunday.

Mukluks: Sully.

What If the Sun Disappeared?

Apparently, there are good outcomes...if it wasn't for that pesky freezing to death thing.

While it's a reminder of how little we understand the size of the universe, as in the Sun is so enormous it's 93,000,000 miles away and we can not only see it but can also FEEL it, this heat is so fucking depressing I wanna kill myself.  If anything can finally make me wanna get rich, it's the prospect of fucking air conditioning.  Ugh. - XMASTIME

Obama: Soft on Toddlers?

Minneapolis

It was great to hear Tommy Stinson reference Big Hits of Mid-America, Volume III, since back when I was a kid this was the Holy Grail x The Holy Grail x The Holy Grail when it came to Midwestern power pop. A unicorn, wrapped in the Bermuda Triangle.

It's not the same, but here's Soul Asylum doing the Wads' classic Chains, which was featured on that record.

Not My Proudest Thought of the Day

"I really, really hate my fucking loofah."

Mad Men Note du Jour

Pete is now as old as Don was in the first season. So.

Nerds. Ugh.

Growing up when I did, it was unfathomable to see someone tripping over themselves to tell you how uncool they are, and yet now it's a "thing." Godfathered possibly by the curious need for hot chicks to convince everybody how "goofy" they are - XMASTIME

"What happened to being cool?" - David Bielanko

I'm fine with nerds taking over the world, but the last 15 years have been insufferable in that the thing to do seems to be going out of your way to make sure everyone understands that you are in fact a nerd. In a band making millions and playing Coachella? Oh but gee, just nerds. Movie star surrounded by chick begging you to do blow off their tits? Oh no no, you're just a nerd! Being a nerd has gone from being a victim of circumstances to being socially savvy. THIS GUY HERE finally joins me in the fight:

I just don’t know what the hell that means anymore. I’m confused by the aspiring to a label. When you talk about traveling thousands of miles to be around other people who love the things you love… couldn’t you just as easily be talking about college football fans? Or soccer hooligans? Does that make the guys who crowd the Penn State bar down the street from my apartment every Saturday nerds? Or the Europeans who fly in packs into foreign countries to raise hell on match days nerds? And if those guys are nerds, aren’t pretty mucheveryone nerds? And if everyone is a nerd, doesn’t that basically make the term meaningless and thus no one is a nerd?

"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “haven't you already talked about this for years?"


Sigh. fine, you fucking win. HERE:

But most of all, I think the need to feel like an oppressed underdog who has succeeded against all odds is as American as apple pie... Nobody can admit they had a somewhat pleasant experience in high school, everybody has to now claim to have been the nerds picked on by the bullying football team.  Being a loser in high school is now a cool thing to have been

The Monster

As you already know, when it comes to movies I trust Filmvetter more than anyone else in the world. However, his scathing criticism of Will Larroca's debut film The Monster makes me question this loyalty. In other words, it makes me think Filmvetter doesn't know what the hell he's talking about.

Look, FV is no spring chicken, so maybe he's not "getting" the next generation's sensibilities when it comes to cinema. FV wants everything big and splashy and produced like The Godfather. Larroca looks at a movie like The Godfather and seemingly says "hey, anyone can make a movie with an amazing script, character development and an unparalleled cast - Imma do MY thing!" Larroca's chops are a direct descendant of the great Bob Uecker quote: "Anybody with ability can play in the big leagues. To last as long as I did with the skills I had, with the numbers I produced, was a triumph of the human spirit." Larroca's not worried about the past. Or the future. He's only concerned with being in the now, and there's nothing in the movie that indicates he's particularly worried about that either.  FV wants slickly-made movies he can put labels on. Larroca wants to make art. Call me Team Larroca. The Monster is a fantastic debut.

Filmvetter takes some time to point out what he doesn't like about the film. Important things, such as the particular college hoodie a character chooses to wear. Yes, of course, if only Howard the Duck had worn a Cornell sweatshirt. Very important. Thank you, Filmvetter.

But of course he doesn't point out what's GREAT about Larroca's film. For instance, right out the gate we have the credits, which Larroca has been savvy enough to drag out for about 30 seconds of the 5 minute movie. This is the equivalent of the classic double-spaced, extended block quotes from college term papers. I guess FV doesn't remember college - or, as he calls it, "romping with my school chums in the fens and spinneys." Hey FV, have some buttered noodles & Sanka and hit the hay already, the sun's almost going down. I once wrote the word "very" 11 times in a row in a sentence on a term paper to get to another line. FV wants a big, splashy intro to get right to the movie, with no built-in suspension or anticipation. And yet Larroca makes us white-knuckle it throughout the long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long opening credits. Hey, you know what this is called? FILM-MAKING. Heard of it? FV apparently hasn't.

Larroca is fearless throughout the film, be it from being shown using a Batman pillow case at his age, or casting an actor named "Zeb" with a straight face. This guy just isn't going to play by your rules. The glasses, for example: the shades say "I'm cooler than you"; them being blue says "I'm not even aware I'm being filmed, that's how cool I am." You want Inside the Actor's Studio then go to NYC, bore you very much.You want a movie with guts? It's called The Monster. You're welcome.

FV also misses what's almost the entire point of the film, the obvious product placement via Coca-Cola. I guess FV wishes we were back in the olden times when studio actors got extra pay by appearing on Burma Shave billboards and Uncle Yuck's Comedy Yuck-Yuck Hour of Yucks. Meanwhile, Larocca has obviously studied the history of film as far back as the Wilson/Vaughn vehicle The Internship, and knows that product placement is as important a part of the movie as anything else. Hey, is Charles Ramsay paying for another Big Mac the rest of his life? Hell no. Now, am I saying that taking the lead when it comes to product placement in film makes Will Larroca a hero along the lines of someone who saves girls who have spent years chained up in the basement? Yes.

The ONE thing FV got right is how scary the villain is. I mean, I'm sleeping with the lights on tonight, people. Looking through the door at him appearing/disappearing, an obvious homage to Halloween, made the eyes roll into the back of my head and I fainted. This guy has a chilling laugh about him that says "Yes I'm going to hack you to pieces, but why the long face?" This kid is the find of the decade, and guess who found him? Will Larroca. FV probably would've pushed for Ben Affleck.

The Monster is a movie you'll be thinking of minutes after watching for the first time. For example, where did Larroca find so much ceiling tile and wood paneling? Did he actually go back in time - is he THAT talented, THAT devoted to attention to detail?

I'm sorry FV didn't get any of the sensibilities of this debut film from a young auteur. I'm sure he'll be kerfuffled by Larroca's next masterpiece ("how are people talking on the phone without dialing??!?! Whaaaaaaat?!!!"), which I understand is in the works, and which I can't wait to get my eyeballs on. Meanwhile, sadly, maybe it's time for Filmvetter to hang up his Brother 3200C Word Processor once and for all. If you don't "get" The Monster, then be prepared to be left behind in Larroca's wake.

And you better hope he doesn't leave that freaking Zeb guy in the woods with you when it happens. BOO!

The Juice is Loose.

I have no idea what this article about Sunday's Mad Men says, but the title being "I Want My Juice" of course gives us an excuse to revisit the best moment from the old Greg & Anna Show:

Questions. I Have Them.

Why isn't this picture of Neil deGrasse Tyson as big a meme as the hilariously successful Willy Wonka one?

You Down with NdT? (Yeah You Know Me)

6) “He/she’s going to a better place”
This one always cracks me up. The one thing we will never, ever know as humans is what it’s like after we die, but people sprain an ankle racing to be the first dipshit to say “Well, he’s in a better place.” I don’t know about that. First of all, right here we got blowjobs, cheeseburgers and baseball. We can go to the beach, tell Yo Mama jokes, we can pay an “escort” to put on blackface and pretend she’s Nell Carter from “Gimme a Break.” Seems to me like that’s tough to beat. I don’t know what’s on the other side and I never will, but I’ll take my chances with a world that has potato chips and “Alf” dvds. Secondly, if death means going to a place that’s better than here, and you’re sure enough of it to say it out loud, why wouldn’t you kill yourself? - XMASTIME

Another reason to be glad you're alive is Neil deGrasse Tyson, and here's some of his most bad-ass quotes.

9. On who named the stars: "After the 9/11 attacks, when President George W. Bush, in a speech aimed at distinguishing the U.S. from the Muslim fundamentalists, said, 'Our God is the God who named the stars.' The problem is two-thirds of all the stars that have names, have Arabic names. I don't think he knew this. This would confound the point that he was making."

Xmastime Announcement

Great WTF interview with Tommy Stinson. Note: the name "Guns n Roses" doesn't come up until 53 minutes in. And Tommy seems appropriately baffled he's been in the band since 1998.

Slice of the Last Decade

RIP Arturo Vega

And this was back when wearing a Ramones t-shirt meant you actually loved the band; not like today where you get one in every box of cereal or some such. - XMASTIME

The creator of one of the most iconic logos of the last 50 years has died.

How sad will it be when Tommy finally dies?

WELL, Well, Well...

Moi, a few months ago on the day the Jets cut Tim Tebow:

I hope someone up in New England is waking up Bill Bellicek right now with this news, and next season the Patriots use Tebow as some sort of H-back and totally destroy the fucking Jets. Twice. The second time Tebow is eating some Twinkies in front of Rex Ryan whilst cutting his shitty defense to shreds. 

Hmm. Guess who just signed Tim Tebow?

Do recall that the last time Tebow saw meaningful action, he made it to the second round of the playoffs. Now he'll only be asked to chip in on a team that's proven it can incorporate just about any type of player, and squeeze maximum value out of them.

It's the perfect scenario, and that's even before Tebow inevitably torches the Jets in New Jersey.

Mad Men, Favors

Am I dreaming, or did something Don do actually turn out to have consequences? Gee. NOW can we have a great run of the damn show?

Mad Men, Favors

"You're living with Mark Lindsay." Is this the first prime-time utterance of Paul Revere and the Raiders???!?!

Man Men, Favors

Roger just said to Don "not all surprises are bad." Didn't Don say that once, to one of his kids?

This Is What I Look Like at a Kiddie Amusement Park.

 

Previous Dutch Wonderland panic HERE.

Happy National Donut Day

Via.

How Could They Not Do It

Gervais/Merchant comedic take on Brideshead Revisited. Would KILL!!

Xmastime Classixxx

Via Xmastime years ago.

I started wondering how many songs out there that are different songs but have the same titles, and which on is better?

"Something to Believe In" - The Ramones/Poison
I will admit - if the Poison cut comes on the radio when I'm cruising down the road, it's prolly staying on. Also, I have no idea at this moment if it's Poison, or another of those bands...whatever. Meanwhile the Ramones cut is a perfect pop slice that makes you bawl like a baby every time you play it. Like the tapes I have where I read the eulogy at my own funeral. "..he was a good man, he was...please, girls...keep the crying down, please...Mr. Staubach! Save some ham biscuits!!!...he was warm, funny...can somebody get Uma off the casket? AGAIN?...he was..."

And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart

"Our answer is the world's hope; it is to rely on youth. The cruelties and the obstacles of this swiftly changing planet will not yield to obsolete dogmas and outworn slogans. It cannot be moved by those who cling to a present which is already dying, who prefer the illusion of security to the excitement and danger which comes with even the most peaceful progress. This world demands the qualities of youth: not a time of life but a state of mind, a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease."

Archie Bunker du Jour

"Foostering"!

Hey.

Salon has a post on the best imaginary boyfriends of all time, in tv, movies books etc.

They did, however, leave off one guy.

What's Worse

Being known as the guy that killed  a woman, or as the guy that a hooker refused to fuck even after payment? Wow.

I actually had written abut that very thing in my next   Microsoft Word doc that will never be published  book, Soup:

“So she comes in,” Fenton said as dramatically as he could, which is to say exactly how Fenton always talked,  “sits down, and then tells me you know what, she doesn’t wanna have sex, but I can look at her tits and jerk off.”

Soup and Nick sadly shook their heads.

“This is a call girl?” Soup asked.

“Well,” Fenton answered, “she took my money for sex, so yeah.”

“So you call this girl,” Soup said.

Fenton nodded.

“The girl shows up.”

Fenton nodded.

“Because she’s a call girl, and you’ve called her.”

Fenton nodded.

“She gets a look at the hand she’s been dealt,” Soup motioned towards Fenton, who suddenly stopped nodding, “and, for some mysterious reason, decides she’s just not in the mood at this particular moment.”

Fenton mumbled unintelligibly, which is to say exactly how Fenton always answered thinly veiled insults directed at his slovenly appearance.

“Even though,” Soup continued, “you’d already paid up front for her to be, you know, in the mood.”

“Whether she wants to be or not, by definition of her job,” Nick finally broke in.

“With cold, hard cash,” Soup agreed.  “Didn’t you tell her you could jerk yourself off looking at some pair of tits online, like a normal person?”

“Probably a picture of her tits online,” Nick added, slapping five with Soup as Fenton helplessly watched them pile on.

“So,” Soup looked at Fenton. “What’d you do?”

“What the fuck do you think I did?” Fenton answered.

Nick beat Soup to the punch:

“Started beating off to her tits.”