Good Will Oh Come the Fuck On Already

Despite Ben Affleck being the worst actor in the history of Earth, particularly when he tries to recreate one of the greatest scenes in film history, I've always liked watching Good Will Hunting. But what drives me FUCKING BANANAS are the scenes in which Affleck & Co. pick Will up in the morning to go to work. They don't just drive up to Will's house and either wait a few seconds, or honk the horn. No. They stop the car, then Ben GETS OUT OF THE CAR, walks up on the porch, and knocks on the door for Will. Who appears in about 1 second, at which point they walk back to the car, in which the front seat has inexplicably been left open for Will even though he's the last stop.

I mean, for fuck's sake - you KNOW they're rolling up at the exact same time every morning! You can't have your ass out on the porch? Or if it's cold, you can't be peeping out the window? What the fuck are you doing in there? You make Ben Affleck go through this whole production and, from what I can ascertain, you're basically standing just next to the door the whole time. It's not like sometimes you're caught in the middle of your pilates - you're standing right there!

"Oh, Chucky, it's you...hey, you caught me off-guard, what with me standing 5 inches from the door in my work clothes with my brown bag lunch in hand, silently waiting and all. Hmm, I guess I'm ready to go." grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

State du Moi (Journey Edition)

I'm watching the Don't Stop Believin': Everyman's Journey doc on Independent Lens and it's fairly interesting as a "rags to riches, YouTube sensation takes the place of one of his heroes and the band overcomes losing their iconic lead singer!" story just as long as you refrain from asking yourself the simple question wait - why didn't they just get Steve Perry to come back?

More Ramones (I'm In a Mood, Sue Me!)

All's Quiet on the Eastern Front - the best parts of the Ramones: super smooth, more roll than rock, and fucking back and forth singing. Why the fuck they didn't play this every show for 15 years with Joey and Dee Dee trading lines, I'll never know. Added bonus for, as I said in MY MAGNET post, being put between We Want the Airwaves and The KKK Took My Baby Away, the 2 biggest songs from that era, yet being a better song. Shoulda been a hit. - XMASTIME
Earlier I mentioned how amazing Subterranean Jungle is and RIGHT ON CUE I stumble upon this new box set which includes every Ramones album...up to, of course, Subterranean Jungle. The debut, up to Pleasant Dreams. Sigh.

Which is not to disparage Pleasant Dreams - it was, after all, the first Ramones cassette I ever got my mitts on as a youth. It suffers because 1) snobs like to complain about the sound of it, so it appears they're blessed with Phil Spector ears unlike everyone else not in the know, and 2) like Psycho Therapy from Subterranean Jungle, lazy motherfuckers just pick out The KKK Took My Baby Away or We Want the Airwaves when, while they're both great songs, ironically the best track on the album is All's Quiet on the Eastern Front, which is sandwiched right between them in the track sequence and contained the best parts of rock 'n roll": super smooth, more roll than rock, and  call & response singing. Why the fuck they didn't play this every show for 15 years with Joey and Dee Dee trading lines, I'll never know.

There's TONS of great melody buried in the album (You Sound Lie You're Sick, Sitting in My Room, You Didn't Mean Anything to Me), one funny, namecheck-themselves-like-only-The Ramones-can song that sounds like a Thanksgiving Day Parade (It's Not My place in the 9 to 5 World) and hell, a slow song whose lyrics I used to fill out answers to a chemistry test all the way to a ballad which lists one of their own songs!  Camon.

Ramones du Jour

I don't know how many times over the years I've blathered away to you people re: how underrated (or completely ignored) Subterranean Jungle is. I rank it ahead of their debut (but have never had the guts to put ahead of Leave Home and Rocket to Russia.) Song after song after song of bubblegum pop with a crunch, the wall of sound meeting some weird echo chamber meeting Buddah Records. Part of why this record gets the shaft is cause for some reason Psycho Therapy was the "single," so on every comp/greatest hits etc they've just lazily stuck it on there, and it was also the only song they played live after that tour from the album. Meanwhile, I have it as the 2nd worst song on the album (above only What'd Ya Do, the only stinker on it.) Not cause it sucks, but because the album is STACKED with what shoulda been fucking hits. An unbelievable, underrated album. Fucking finishes with a run of In the Park, Time Bomb and, what should be a HUGE song but never will be, Every Time I Eat Vegetable It Makes Me Think of You. And I Need Your Love (a cover) should be blaring outta every fucking window on every fucking street. Camon.


Enjoy a superslice from a superslice.

Curriculum Vitae

With Joe Girardi's contract up and the manager of his beloved hometown Cubs getting fired, I'd like to remind the New York Yankees of my 10 years of experience as the coach of Reel to Reel of the Williamsburg Softball League. I humbly await by the fax for your opening offer, sirs.

Hot Commercials, Something About Masturbating to Cartoon Bears

Copyranter collects 13 great commercials from the days of yore:

Remember when ads were more sexist, more violent, more un-PC, and told a story?

Which reminds me of a...cough...sexy commercial I wrote about a few years ago.

WARNING: Even by Xmastime "standards" this link is incredibly, incredibly vile and disgusting and NSFW. Not safe for home, if I'm being honest. Click at your own  reward  risk.

Speaking of My BFF Gordon

How great was the first episode of his first show, Boiling Point?

His anger in the kitchen comes off way more natural and realistic than anywhere else on tv (particularly when we see a clip from the hidden camera, and its the exact same language/patter.)

And Marco Pierre White, his one-time mentor and the screamiest of all bad-ass screaming chefs (and my future buddy!) nails it in the first few seconds:

"Gordon has made his reputation out of being a good cook, not about being volatile. Not about kicking people out. That is the media, looking for another story."

AND how amazing in it that for the entire 22 minutes there wasn't any fucking loud music being played!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's yet another reason the UK version of Kitchen Nightmares was awesome; the powers that be seem to think that Americans are going to hit themselves with fear if more than 2 seconds goes by without some incredibly loud, distracting music grinding the life out of the show. Ugh.

WOW - here's part of the Marco show from 1988, with his eager-to-please apprentice you-know-who.

The Inevitable.

Last night HERE I worried that the stupid 300 sandwiches thing would become a tv show, and today Grantland ups the ante: a movie?

More importantly, if you're like me and think Triumph the Comedy Insult Dog is one of the greatest hings to happen in the past two decades, not just for comedy but for the world, here's an inside look at how it's done with Robert Smigel.

Shout It Out Loud: Metallica Are Even Dumber Than Their Last Movie Made You Think They Are

Like most boys my age I guess KISS was one of my first (if not THE first) musical loves. For no other reason, really, than the fact that they wore evil clown makeup. I guess that means that if Phyllis Diller put out an album I woulda been into her too. I’d see those album covers and man, I’d beg my parents to order the face makeup kit from Sears so I could be Gene or Paul or Ace. My parents, being as thrifty as they were, instead bought me the knock-off version, “LICK.” You’d spread the stuff on your face, look in the mirror and think “I don’t look like Paul at all…is it getting dark in here?” then you’d wake up 3 days later with a squirrel attached to your face. Not good. The country store down the road sold KISS bubblegum cards, which I’d snatch up anytime I got a quarter. I can still picture myself walking down the road after buying a pack and flipping one of the cards over to read that ABC was airing “KISS and the Phantom of the Park”…ON THAT VERY NIGHT!!! Of course, even at age 7 as I was watching I was like “boy…this is terrible…unwatchable even…what’s Neil Diamond doing here?” - XMASTIME

Apparently, it's taken Metallica putting out another shitty movie to finally make someone write about Kiss and the Phantom of the Park:

Oh, right: because KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park was a work of such cautionary folly that only Michael Jackson was crazy enough to attempt anything like it. This made-for-TV camp landmark, in which the aforementioned perforated laser beam was employed, was the simultaneous apex and nadir of glam rock outfit KISS’s career. It was the second-highest-rated televised event of 1978 (behind only Roots) while also inexorably contributing to the fracturing of the band/brand. After the purportedly tedious shoot at California’s Magic Mountain amusement park, each member hustled together poorly received solo albums, drummer Peter Criss spiraled deeper into substance abuse and would soon be replaced, guitarist Ace Frehley’s disaffection would lead to his own exile, and the band’s spiraling discomfort with their own identity would lead to such desperate measures as a synth-heavy prog rock concept album, and the shunning of their trademark makeup masks.

I had no idea the movie had such an effect on the band, or that other people actually watched it. The article's worth reading simply because it wishes Metallica had made their movie more like KISS' movie, which I'm pretty sure nobody who's ever made a movie has ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever heard. When someone says "You know what? This would be better if you made it more like KISS and the Phantom of the Park", then you need to launch your camera into outer space and never even think about setting foot near anything resembling the making of a movie again.

No Mo

Tonight is a night I'll miss Mew York, it being Mariano's final home game. Read a little oral history HERE. Don't read the final story unless you wanna cry like a little girl.

Least we got this to hope for.

Really? F@#king Really?

Dear iPhone Chess:

My slaughtering my opponent's every piece in 49 seconds does not approach anything remotely close to a "draw by stalemate." Are you fucking kidding me? I hope when you get home your mother jumps out from under the front stoop and bites you in the ankle, iPhone Chess.

I remain,
Xmastime

Gordon Ramsay's Awesome

If you can stomach Slate's new design, there's a rare if rambling defense of Gordon Ramsay, in which the writer hits on why the original UK Kitchen Nightmares was so good:

Premiering in 2004, the U.K. Kitchen Nightmares provided an intimate, borderline meditative look inside businesses with a fighting chance of survival helmed by not entirely delusional owners. (The central quandary in the episode set at an upscale restaurant in Inverness is that the food is just too fancy.) The editing and sound are far less concussive than in their American counterparts, while Ramsay’s seismic eruptions feel more like natural phenomena; he achieves a fond rapport with many of his charges, even easing into the role of ad-hoc therapist.

I can still watch the original coupla seasons on a loop (and the F Word rocked too.) I've said it before, there is an almost perfect symmetry to Gordan Ramsay's two Kitchen Nightmares series in that there's not a single moment in any of the original British ones that I couldn't watch over and over until the end of time, and yet there's hardly a second of the American version that's watchable. The British one is an earnest, quiet,  moving transformation of a restaurant and it's people; the American one is "cue the loud music - oh NO, Gordon's about to eat these people like a great white, cut to commercial!" before everything mysteriously gets solved in the last 20 seconds.  For fuck's sake.

"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “aren't you buddies with Chef Ramsay, or, as you call him, Gordon?"

Sigh. YES, faithful readers, I have met the man. But you know I don't like to talk about it, that I like to keep private things private, so please respect that. (Did you see the link? If you missed it, here it is again.)

And, since this seems to be some version of Throwback Thursday (ugh), I will remind you once again why the American version of the show suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks:

Every Single Episode of the American Version of KITCHEN NIGHTMARES:

- Opens with fat, loud Italian guy braying to the camera about how amazing his food is. "The best there is!!" he screams, beaming....

- ....seemingly oblivious to the fact that there is a camera crew filming him in preparation for a visit from Chef Ramsay, which you think would signal to him that his restaurant is in such shit that a television network deems that it's return to any level of success will be so incredible it's worth filming.

- Dude is thrilled Gordon's eating lunch, just KNOWS Gordon is gonna be floored by his food. Which, apparently, the entire town has been avoiding like the plague. Hmm.

- Some camera time with the staff, who all look scared to death/completely shaken. Usually dude's wife, who is waitress/bartender/hostess/line chef/sous chef/coat checker/valet/chicken plucker.

- Dude cannot BELIEVE Gordon thinks the food is shit. Spends a few minutes stomping around, yelling that Gordon doesn't know what he's talking about. Makes a brilliant case, fueled by about 7 or 8 "what the hell does he know?"s in a 30-second span.

- Gordon inspects kitchen, which is generally covered in a 3-inch layer of dog entrails and Bazooka Joe e-coli gum. Also at this time Gordon finds out there are no ovens - everything is either microwaved, or delivered from Papa John's down the street. And usually about 4 days in advance.

- Gordon observes a dinner service, where the kitchen instantly falls behind and the owner screams his head off. Just like in any restaurant where you're expected to pay $19 for a cheese stick, the customers can clearly hear the kitchen's obscenity-laced screaming while they patiently wait 3 1/2 hours for their entrees.

- Gordon strips the menu down from it's 2,593 items, explaining there's no such cuisine as Italian Lamb Greco-fusion.com - owner immediately balks at Gordon introducing a new menu. Again, he offers an air-tight case: "He thinks his food is better than mine? (dramatic pause.............) MINE?" It is comforting to know that if the restaurant DOES fail, law school will be a breeze.

- Service with Gordon's menu, which the owner inevitably fucks up by trying to cook it himself. The waitress/bartender/hostess/line chef/sous chef/coat checker/valet/chicken plucker/wife makes another appearance noting that their house is on the line. She has lost 11 pounds since the start of the show.

- More confrontation - Gordon says owner is a lazy bullshitter who won't accept responsibility for his failures, owner explodes "Me? ME? I don't accept responsibility? Yeah, well, I wish you had never shown up!! YOU don't accept responsibility!!" Storms out; probably to cool off outside, or invent debating.

- While owner's away, Gordon leads now-completely energized crew through a dinner service that nets about $66,000 and a standing ovation from the customers. By this time the owner has slunk back in, tries to blend back in, begrudgingly accepting the success of Gordon's menu. Peeps into dining room, asks "what are all these people doing here?"

- Cut to next morning, where overnight Gordon has dropped about $200,000 completely re-designing the whole restaurant; some cook gets emotional "we have a fryer that works!!!!" Picture of owner's ancestor who had "inspired me to learn how to let fish lay on a floor for three days before serving it in a clams casino-tini" appears on the wall. Waitress/bartender/hostess/line chef/sous chef/coat checker/valet/chicken plucker/wife has gotten her hair done.

- Owner accepts defeat, marvels that Gordon came in and "really turned things around" in the same tone American Idol staffers use to say Paula Abdul "seemed a bit distracted tonight."

RINSE LATHER REPEAT.

Goodbye Dumb Shit, Hello Other Dumb Shit

Apparently Michael Savage will take over Sean Hannity's time slot on some radio stations, which is basically polishing a turd. A coupla years ago I found myself listening to right-wing radio for the unintentional comedy and Savage was a favorite, thanks to his spending so much time remind the listener how smart he is by....repeatedly telling them so:

It looks like Michael Savage is banned in the UK for fermenting hatred. I wish he was banned here - not because of his fermenting hatred but because he spends about 80% of each show explaining to everybody that he is the most educated person in the radio, always with "look, I'm not boasting, it's just a fact, it's something you have to accept, that I'm incredibly smart, I'm not boasting" and on and on and on. It's kind of
douchbaggy charming, actually. Last night apparently he spent the first hour doing "something that's never been done before" ie he did the hour as satire. Okay. Then after informing us that that's what he he had been doing, he went on to say that in listening to a recording of it during the break he realized that he had kind of failed because his amazing education and raw intelligence did not allow him to speak without being 100% correct on all things. Brilliant. Reminds me of when I apologized to a chick for my dick being too big and my lovemaking TOO amazing to give her the Big O. 

I have no idea where Seanzarelli will be spewing his bon mots of buffoonery. But I still have plenty of ideas for him:

I’m worried he’s gonna run out of worthless shit to talk about, and since Hannity's my good buddy I thought I’d help him out and suggest some hot topics:

“Buttered Toast: The Devil’s Oven Mitts?”
“Hubba Bubba vs. Bubble Yum: The War You Don't Want Your Children to Sign Up For”
“Was David Silver THE Worst White Hip Hop Artist of All Time?”
“English Muffins: You Call That ‘Fork Split’?”
“The Sweet Potatoes Fad - Anyone Else Not Getting This?"
“The Little Fried Bits That Fall off the Fish at Long John Silvers”
“Hating the Troops: This Generation’s Moon Landing?”
“Is Ben Franklin Still Our Best President?”
“Daylight Savings Time...AGAIN, the Democrats Refuse to Spend”
“We Can Spray Whipped Cream from a Can, But Not Mayonnaise? Are We in Red China?”

This’ll get you started buddy, lemme know if you need more!

Well.

THIS seems like the worst thing in the world.

Of course, you can never bet what becomes a tv show,so.

Xmastime TV Review

The Goldbergs is utterly unwatchable, I made it through maybe the first 10 minutes. Was this script written via MAD LIBS? The only REMOTELY interesting thing was for a split second I thought the guy working the drive-thru window was old Xmastime pal Steve Weibe, god bless his sad bastard self.

Were those heads photoshopped in for this picture? What the fuck?

Denver

I have not for a moment wavered that The Replacements would launch a full-scale tour following these Riot Fest thinggees. However, their closing with Hootenanny, just as they did all those years ago in Chicago, makes me worried they won't. Hmm.

Car Doorz.

I’ll tell you what drives me bananas. These movies/tv shows where the terrified woman is running from the crazed lunatic, jumps into her car, slams the door and...looks through the window, screaming and terrified. Without locking the door.

“Lock the goddam door!” I always yell. But then the idiot lunatic throws himself upon the car door, pounding the window and screaming “I’m going to kill you bitch!” To which I’m now rolling my eyes “just open the fucking door, dumbass.” Usually followed by a quiet “...did I have my pants on when I sat down?”

I Mean Come the Fuck On Already

Because it's apparently 2002, the New York Times (or, as I call it, "The Times") is struck dumb by Williamsburg; this time with its "hyper-authentic Southside."

To their credit, it's been about 4 months since they last did their now-standard "WHAAAAAAT?!?! Williamsburg has CHAnged?!?!?!?!!!"

Super Hard Quiz: Which Kardashian Sister Played Ed the Lab Guy in 'The Naked Gun'?

Green Eggs and Stupid

Yglesias points out the absurdity of Ted "Idiot" Cruz reading Green Eggs and Ham during his dipshit grand-standing.

I, of course, would remind you that Dr. Seuss was a racist, and maybe worse than Hitler:

Du Jour du Jour

Roger Sterling h8n on science:

Maybe I'm focusing too much on the negatives. I hear your latest Mars rover is doing well. That's great to hear, congratulations. Honestly, very impressive stuff, Science. But if it were up to me, I'd be teleporting to Mars to get pizza on my lunch break.

My co-workers and I would be standing around the hovering watercooler, and I'd say, "Anybody in the mood for a moon slice?" And they'd say "Nah, I'm not feeling thin crust, let's make a quick run to Mars." This is literally all that I think about, Science. I get an incredibly small amount of work done.

Hits Just Keep Getting Harder to Find

About a year ago I wrote HERE about how I Melt with You, while never a real "hit" had somehow become known by everybody in the world. And it occurred to me that Ball and Chain is another example of such a song. Wasn't a "hit" like whatever the next steaming pile Metallica will put out, but you could ask a housecat that's been in prison for 30 years and he somehow knows the song. "Ball and Chain? Oh yeah, sliiiiice. Meow."

Note: Story of My Life is a better song

Miley: Enough With the Goddam Tongue Already

We get it - you're like Gene Simmons if he tongued balls and, incredibly, wrote even shittier songs. You are officially freaking everybody the fuck out. Knock it off.

Yes! Make This Happen, Joe

How fucking cool would this be:

Mariano Rivera’s number has been retired, his legacy is beyond secure, and the Yankees seem to have very little to play for the rest of the way. Is he actually going to get that inning in center field that he’s wanted for so long? And if so, would Joe Girardi do it at Yankee Stadium this week — letting Rivera play center in the Bronx, and still make his final career appearance as a pitcher in Houston — or would he wait until the Yankees are officially eliminated to send his closer into the outfield, which might mean having Rivera play center field in a visiting ball park?

I'm assuming the last time a Yankees pitcher played in center field was when Billy Martin sent Louisiana Lightning out there to protest The Pine Tar Game.

UPDATE: The Pine Tar Incident has its own Wikipedia page. Awesome.

Ah, the GOP

The funniest thing about the Republicans' slashing food to poor people is the idea that this will make those very people humbly accept their own God-given destiny to of course remember that they are money-making machines, and should continue to do so by not complaining. Of course.

Happy Birfday

To Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen!

If only anyone here knows anyone who has met Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen and has a story to tell then well, we'd love to hear it, wouldn't we? Well, and meeting his mom. And sister. And his Uncle Carl. But I guess we'll never know, huh? I mean, after all, some of us like to keep our private meetings with Bruce "The Boss" Springsteen and his mother and sister and Uncle Juan just that: private.

Maps, War and Me.

One of the many, many reasons I'd be totally useless in a war is that I couldn't read a map if you...well, I was going to say "if you held a gun to my head", but doesn't that go against my point - I mean, can ANYBODY read a map if someone was holding a gun to their heads? That's some fucking pressure, no?

But hell, I freak the fuck out when I'm riding with someone in a car (as opposed riding in Jules Verne's submarine, I guess) and they ask me to help navigate by using the maps app on my goddam iPhone, I start pretending "I'm not getting service", "goddam phone!" and on and on. That's how fucking bad my map-reading skills are: even when the map says "hey you, do this!" I can't follow. Ugh.

Just like how I could never be in the mob, I reckon. Or Thelma & Louise.

Sigh. Me: I'm really happening, aren't I?

Civil War On the TV in Some Decade Called "The 80s"

Moi, a coupla years ago:

In my mind you're either a The Blue and the Gray guy or a North & South guy - I'm a devout B&G guy; I've always refused to watch the John Jakes flick. I remember vividly loving this mini-series when it came on; I remember having to win a coin toss with Brothatime!! to see the final night instead of a UVa vs. the Russians exhibition game. And it's been 27 years and I never saw it again until I just discovered it on YouTube, so I'm fucking re-loving it. Check out the first 10 minutes here, hit HERE to keep going.

ps - how the fuck did they keep Martin Sheen outta this flick?

UPDATE: This weekend, I saw a coupla hours of North & South. I liked it. Might see the whole thing one day. But The Blue and the Gray is still my slice. Hell, the former isn't even my favorite thing titled "North & South"; that would be Elizabeth Gaskell's novel, of course.

You Can't Put Your Mitts Around a Memory

I miss New York a lot, but I also know that most of the New York that was my life either isn't really around any more, or shouldn't be. So I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. But watching the double shot today of Mariano and Andy both saying goodbye to the Stadium after all these years hurt like hell.

And knowing my old softball team was going for a championship, finally, today at the same time without me didn't help. Oh well.

So Long Again, Andy

Andy Pettitte's retiring again. And when asked about his chances for the Hall of Fame, he sais almost the exact same thing as last time:

I’ve never considered myself a Hall of Famer. I feel honored that people are talking about it. I never dreamed that I would be able to be talked about as far as the Hall of Fame...but this game has been so difficult for me, and such a grind. The several players that I’ve played with that I know are for sure Hall of Famers, to me they’ve made it look so easy. I know it’s not easy, but they make it look so easy, and they’ve made it look so easy for so many years. That’s who I look at as, those are Hall of Fame players. I can honestly say that this game hasn’t been that easy for me.”

As I wrote HERE, just like with Mike Mussina I don't really consider him to be a Hall of Famer, but I'd certainly be thrilled if he did get in.  Nobody stayed awake at night scared of facing Pettitte, and no fathers brought their kids to the Stadium to witness "The Great Pettitte," but he was a workhorse and one the greatest, clutch post-season pitchers of all time.

He's one of few remaining connections to the Yankees I first fell in love with, he has five World Series rings, and I'll miss watching him pitch on a lazy June afternoon.

Also, he's probably the only starting pitcher I'll ever be able to say I saw pitch at the Stadium in three different decades!

Decide for Yourself

The greatest compliment I can give Between Planets from Jesus and Mary Chain's Automatic is that right now I find it better than In My Hour Of Darkness.  So. (Well...MAYbe...)

The Replacements Reunion Rolls On in Chicago

I can still remember how I got the $crillah to buy Pleased to Meet Me.  The summer after 9th grade I got a job cutting the grass at the DMV, which was a TINY square of grass that took maybe 15 minutes to cut.  I got $10 to cut it every Saturday, and of course after about one Saturday the scorching heat completely killed the grass, so there was no reason to cut it.  But I'd still show up every week, go through the motions and then walk in to collect my ten fat ones (that's cash money, ladies; from Day 1 I demanded "folding money only, please.") The lady would always be a little confused, "gee, did it really need it this week?" to which I'd look like she was ridiculous "oh yeah, yeah it really did" and then take my ten bucks to invest in some little-known company at the time called "Google."

The funny thing is, riding home with Brothatime!! in his Shitvette, I was cold on the first side; for some reason, the only song I liked was The Ledge. Of course by the second listen I was in love with IOU. To this day, I'm not sure how I missed it the first time. Oh well. Life, huh? A box of fucking crackers, amirite?

Ugly is New (Old) Talented

From Incredibly, I Was Even Gayer at 21:

journal entry 

December 31, 1993
I just finished Ethan Frome and right now I've got so much energy I'm about to burst, I am breathless with excitement -  Zeena kept Mattie because why? I believe she knew about her and Ethan, so I think she simply felt that because of Ethan's face, she was no longer a threat. Maybe. Or maybe she just didn't know or care. But all of a sudden, she had strength. First she let her health confine him, then she let his own do it. What a great book.

Of course the point of that post back then was Jonathon Franzen pointing out, for some reason, that Edith Wharton was fugly:

Wharton did have one potentially redeeming disadvantage: she wasn’t pretty

And now we see that George Eliot was no stone-cold fox either:

And what of Eliot’s alleged ugliness? Ever since there have been George Eliot biographies, there have been George Eliot biographers remarking upon her uncomely appearance. “It must be a terrible sorrow to be young and unattractive: to look in the mirror and see a sallow unhealthy face, with a yellowish skin, straight nose, and mouse-colored hair,” the twenty-four-year-old critic Anne Fremantle wrote in 1933. 

Ouch!  Why don't you say what you REALLY mean???! (I just made that up!!  #imamazing)

I have no idea what any of this means, but Ethan Frome is one of my favorite books of all time and Silas Marner has the best opening chapter ever, so. Is the deal that whenever we see an ugly girl we should give her a pad and pencil? "Start writing, redhead from Sex in the City!"?

We Are in a Ramen Noodle Golden Era, Prolly Because Jesus and His Scrappy, Lovable Sidekick, Baby Jesus, Love Us

I'm adding Ramen Noodles to my scrambled eggs/buttered white toast restaurant, therein extending the menu to:

Buttered toast (white bread only)
Scrambled Eggs
Ramen Noodles (not your fancy Chinatown ones either, the 4-for-$1 ones.)

I'm also considering adding potted meat to the menu, but when you're rolling out a new menu for a pretend restaurant, it's best to not rush things.  - XMASTIME

First came the ramen cheeseburger a few weeks ago, and now we have ramen crust pizza. Of course. Hey, remember when people would boil ramen noodles and eat them? When was that, the goddam 1950's?

Getting 9/12 Right.

After all of last week's DISASTROUS ads trying to capitalize on 9/11, of course such a wise thing to do, cough, Copyranter finds one that gets it right, released as 9/12 began. Nice.

"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “isn't a certain little number called Kill Rock City the single greatest 9/12 moment??!?!?"

Sigh. Yes, faithful reader, you are correct. Sigh (twice.)

On the Wall: Either I'm Very Well-Liked in My Office, Or Greatly Disliked. Hmm.

Fuck the Banks

Earlier today I was at
a random check cashing placemy bank, and I saw this sign. It appears that their fees make it twice as easy to pay your Cingular Wireless bill as your NYS child support. Hmm. I wanna be bummed for these kids who might be affected, but I guess I should instead be happy Cingular is getting their benjamins as quick as possible. Good for them!  - XMASTIME

Lower-income people are telling banks to go fuck themselves:

The primary critique of check cashers is that they are expensive. Sitting in my New School office eight miles south of Mott Haven, I had believed that, too. When I interviewed my customers, however, I learned that for many lower income people, commercial banks are ultimately more expensive. The rapidly increasing cost of bounced checked fees and late payment penalties has driven many customers away from banks, particularly those who live close to the edge, like many of my RiteCheck customers. A single overdraft can result in cascading bad checks and hundreds of dollars in charges.

Ahhhhhhmmm...Be a Hot Chick?

Via.

Well, Of Course.

People are saying it's the end of Williamsburg because a Dunkin' Donuts is coming to Bedford & 7th; also, because they apparently think it's 2003.

At least the Halloween Bar is still there (for now.)

Amen.

Via.

Gun Control

If it didn't happen after 20 little kids were slaughtered at Sandy Hook, do we really think anything's going to change now? Really?

America. We DId It.

You've got a busy life going on. You need to catch up pretending to watch Breaking Bad, you're the last person who doesn't have the Daft Punk album. You're working on a amazing screenplay about a record store owner in Williamsburg who is a vampire  zombie  vampire  Miley Cyrus  PR exec based on Rasputin  vampire; meanwhile, continuously pointing out that people don't know how to drive in the rain isn't going to happen all by itself. So who's got time to actually pick up a cheeseburger and eat it, excruciating long bite after excruciatingly long bite? Certanly not you.

But fret not - your problems are over, thanks to cheeseburgers now being a soup. Thank god. Let some other sucker waste all that time chewing, while you're explaining to anyone lucky to listen that you of course don't own a tv.

Heroes.

This woman is one.

(previous Xmastime on the subject HERE.)

9 Replacements Songs They Haven't Played Yet at Their Reunion Shows

But maybe they will in Denver:

I'll Be You
Kids Don't Follow
Talent Show
Within Your Reach
Unsatisfied
Answering Machine
Never Mind
Valentine
If Only You Were Lonely
Here Comes a Regular

And isn't it time they made Portland an official classic as well by playing it?

This Is Totally Depressing.

Here's some facts about the current state of books, including this:

Fifty Shades of Grey is now the best-selling book of all time in Britain.

Sigh. And these are the people that will take care of us when we're old (but still sexy, of course.)

But seriously, on a side note you should buy Peter Leroy.

No Expectations

Looks like there's another Great Expectations coming our way. Hopefully it's better than the forgettable last one, but of course I'm always partial to the early 70s BBC slice, so.

Finally Watched This

“This is such a big thing, I frankly don’t see how you can do it. Even when participating in it I think it’s audacious. But you would try. I could never understand how to make it work, I could only learn to operate my share of it.” Jim 'I Really Should Lighten Up, Shouldn't I?' Lovell

Starbucks Hates Freedom, Probably Jesus and Jesus' Scrappy, Lovable Sidekick Baby Jesus Too.

If Only He Made It to 90 Years Old...

...Hank Williams would be alive today.

The first love letter I ever wrote to my high school girlfriend began with the first line from suicide note:

"We met, we lived and dear we loved..."

Unfortunately, the wholet hing ended worse for me than it did Hank. Sigh.

Washington, DC

Is just 12 people the number I'd need to kill to send the media off the rails? As an underachiever I've gotta say, I'm loving this.

Shootings.

As a resident of 100 Metropolitan Avenue of course I was a witness to 9/11, but I can't say the Navy Yard shootings in DC had any affect on me. Number one, I have no idea where this Navy Yard is. When you say Navy Yard, I think of the one in Brooklyn...is there a Warby Parker here in DC?

I went to work. Went out to lunch. Went back to work. Went home. There were no interruptions. 0.

BASS. How Low Can You Blah Blah Blah.

It’s the Same Old Song – The Four Tops
Of course you could pick a million Motown slices, but this has always been my super schliiiice. Can still remember as a young buck, maybe 7ish, going out to play catch with my brother. I had to quickly run back into the house to get something, and as I was reaching for whatever it was this came on and I was stunned. That fat rollicking riff, still got a hold on me. Can remember what I was wearing, my brother was wearing (a dress? Hiyooo!) and where I was (our bedroom, next to the dresser and looking out on the backyard.) Desert island slice. - XMASTIME

I've always thought Hot Lunch from the Fame soundtrack was the natural descendent of James Jamerson's bassline on It's the Same Old Song.

But hey, what do I know - all I did was come in second place in the 1979 Tappahannock Easter Egg Bunny Coloring Contest so sure, I'm old news. Whatevs. H8rz gon'h8.

Matt Yglesias For Some Reason Is Surprised the Always-Disappointing Roy Rogers Sucks

And we're not even talking about the actual food:

I was at a New Jersey Turnpike rest stop this afternoon driving back home from a Slate company retreat in the Catskills where I saw this bit of product advertising that I think is unlikely to turn the company's fortunes around.

What is wrong with this ad? So many things...

He goes on to list a few things that suggests that he has been on some other planet the last few years. Yes, so surprising a place that sets its turd-burgers under lamps for hours until travelers are desperate enough to pay $8 to cram one down their throat while on the shitter so as to cut out the middleman.

7/4/91

Of course the historical significance of The Replacements playing Chicago last night is that it's the city they played their final show 22 years ago...matter of fact, would it have actually been better of they'd skipped last month's Toronto show and went for symmetry by making Chicago the first one?

Anyhoo, apparently it rocked anyways:

With curfew approaching—even though he’d earlier destroyed the stage clock—Westerberg abruptly walked off after “Bastards Of Young,” followed by bemused, and perhaps confused, Stinson, who merely shrugged. Roadies came out and strapped on their instruments, and for a brief moment, it looked like Westerberg might be creating an homage to the band’s final show in Chicago’s Grant Park on July 4, 1991, which ended with the Mats basically breaking up as crew members played what was left of “Hootenanny.” It would’ve been a perfect capper, but the band instead returned for “Hold My Life” and a version that “I.O.U.” as fierce as “Takin’ A Ride” an hour and a half earlier. The rain that had deluged the city most of the day, and which let up a couple of hours earlier, began to fall again; trudging through the mud to the exits, more than satisfied with what they’d just witnessed, not a single fan gave a damn.
There’s an infamous line in a New Rolling Stone Record Guide review of Sorry, Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash, circa 1983—well, infamous to a small group of nerds who know about it—that dismissed the Mats with, “Who knows if we’ll ever hear from them again? Who really cares?” Decades later, the first question can’t be answered. The second one, however, is again a resounding, “We do.”
- See more at: http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2013/09/16/live-review-the-replacements-chicago-sept-15-2013/#sthash.r0In2QkL.dpuf

 With curfew approaching—even though he’d earlier destroyed the stage clock—Westerberg abruptly walked off after “Bastards Of Young,” followed by bemused, and perhaps confused, Stinson, who merely shrugged. Roadies came out and strapped on their instruments, and for a brief moment, it looked like Westerberg might be creating an homage to the band’s final show in Chicago’s Grant Park on July 4, 1991, which ended with the Mats basically breaking up as crew members played what was left of “Hootenanny.” It would’ve been a perfect capper, but the band instead returned for “Hold My Life” and a version that “I.O.U.” as fierce as “Takin’ A Ride” an hour and a half earlier. The rain that had deluged the city most of the day, and which let up a couple of hours earlier, began to fall again; trudging through the mud to the exits, more than satisfied with what they’d just witnessed, not a single fan gave a damn.

There’s an infamous line in a New Rolling Stone Record Guide review of Sorry, Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash, circa 1983—well, infamous to a small group of nerds who know about it—that dismissed the Mats with, “Who knows if we’ll ever hear from them again? Who really cares?” Decades later, the first question can’t be answered. The second one, however, is again a resounding, “We do.”

With curfew approaching—even though he’d earlier destroyed the stage clock—Westerberg abruptly walked off after “Bastards Of Young,” followed by bemused, and perhaps confused, Stinson, who merely shrugged. Roadies came out and strapped on their instruments, and for a brief moment, it looked like Westerberg might be creating an homage to the band’s final show in Chicago’s Grant Park on July 4, 1991, which ended with the Mats basically breaking up as crew members played what was left of “Hootenanny.” It would’ve been a perfect capper, but the band instead returned for “Hold My Life” and a version that “I.O.U.” as fierce as “Takin’ A Ride” an hour and a half earlier. The rain that had deluged the city most of the day, and which let up a couple of hours earlier, began to fall again; trudging through the mud to the exits, more than satisfied with what they’d just witnessed, not a single fan gave a damn.
There’s an infamous line in a New Rolling Stone Record Guide review of Sorry, Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash, circa 1983—well, infamous to a small group of nerds who know about it—that dismissed the Mats with, “Who knows if we’ll ever hear from them again? Who really cares?” Decades later, the first question can’t be answered. The second one, however, is again a resounding, “We do.”
- See more at: http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2013/09/16/live-review-the-replacements-chicago-sept-15-2013/#sthash.r0In2QkL.dpuf

With curfew approaching—even though he’d earlier destroyed the stage clock—Westerberg abruptly walked off after “Bastards Of Young,” followed by bemused, and perhaps confused, Stinson, who merely shrugged. Roadies came out and strapped on their instruments, and for a brief moment, it looked like Westerberg might be creating an homage to the band’s final show in Chicago’s Grant Park on July 4, 1991, which ended with the Mats basically breaking up as crew members played what was left of “Hootenanny.” It would’ve been a perfect capper, but the band instead returned for “Hold My Life” and a version that “I.O.U.” as fierce as “Takin’ A Ride” an hour and a half earlier. The rain that had deluged the city most of the day, and which let up a couple of hours earlier, began to fall again; trudging through the mud to the exits, more than satisfied with what they’d just witnessed, not a single fan gave a damn.
There’s an infamous line in a New Rolling Stone Record Guide review of Sorry, Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash, circa 1983—well, infamous to a small group of nerds who know about it—that dismissed the Mats with, “Who knows if we’ll ever hear from them again? Who really cares?” Decades later, the first question can’t be answered. The second one, however, is again a resounding, “We do.”
- See more at: http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2013/09/16/live-review-the-replacements-chicago-sept-15-2013/#sthash.r0In2QkL.dpuf

With curfew approaching—even though he’d earlier destroyed the stage clock—Westerberg abruptly walked off after “Bastards Of Young,” followed by bemused, and perhaps confused, Stinson, who merely shrugged. Roadies came out and strapped on their instruments, and for a brief moment, it looked like Westerberg might be creating an homage to the band’s final show in Chicago’s Grant Park on July 4, 1991, which ended with the Mats basically breaking up as crew members played what was left of “Hootenanny.” It would’ve been a perfect capper, but the band instead returned for “Hold My Life” and a version that “I.O.U.” as fierce as “Takin’ A Ride” an hour and a half earlier. The rain that had deluged the city most of the day, and which let up a couple of hours earlier, began to fall again; trudging through the mud to the exits, more than satisfied with what they’d just witnessed, not a single fan gave a damn.
There’s an infamous line in a New Rolling Stone Record Guide review of Sorry, Ma Forgot To Take Out The Trash, circa 1983—well, infamous to a small group of nerds who know about it—that dismissed the Mats with, “Who knows if we’ll ever hear from them again? Who really cares?” Decades later, the first question can’t be answered. The second one, however, is again a resounding, “We do.”
- See more at: http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2013/09/16/live-review-the-replacements-chicago-sept-15-2013/#sthash.r0In2QkL.dpuf

America. We Finally Did It.

Every McDonald's sandwich, breakfast AND lunch, stacked together.

The Xmastime "Yes, I Know I'm Going to Hell for This" TV Show Review du Jour

I just watched the first episode of Derek, a dim-witted man with a heart of gold as played by the anti-Ricky Gervais as we know him. Presumably, and based partly on some of his appearance on Charlie Rose I caught some of, we're supposed to have our hearts melted by Derek's unyielding goodness. Unfortunately, Gervais stooped-over shuffling simply makes us wish he was off the fucking screen. And how many of these "Derek moments" can be stuffed into each episode? We're supposed to be watch Derek as if he's a retarded kid being bullied on the school bus, but after a few minutes you find yourself rooting for the fucking bully. Christ.

I Still Plan On Doing This, BTW

After all, I am nothing if not persistent. Which, ironically, I am not.

I need to get a girlfriend so that when we get into fights I can use lines from a Springsteen song without her even knowing it, a lá my classic 7/11 chemistry test.

Her: Yeah? Well guess what, I don't need your help!  I don't need anybody!
Me: Oh, really? Don't need nobody, huh? I guess you walk down the street pushin’ people outta your way?
Her: I can be out of here in 30 seconds, you'll never see me again!
Me: Oh, I see - you packed your bags and all alone you wanna ride? Is that it? You don’t want nothin’, don’t need no one by your side?
Her: You're goddam right!
Me: Well let ME tell YOU something - you're walkin’ tough baby, but you’re walkin’ blind to the ties that bind!
Her: Screw you!
Me: Now you can’t break the ties that bind!
Her: I can't believe I opened myself up to you!  I'll never make that mistake again!
Me: OH, I get it - you're so afraid of being somebody’s fool, not walkin’ tough baby, not walkin’ cool.  Is that it?
Her: Never again!
Me: You walk cool, but darlin’, can you walk the line? And face the ties that bind?
Her: What? What's with...ties, what?
Me: Now you can’t break the ties that bind!
Her: No, but I can stop myself from ever falling for anyone again!
Me: Not me, goddamit - I would rather feel the hurt inside, yes I would darlin’, than know the emptiness your heart must hide!
Her: Oh, I'm a heartless bitch now? Fuck you!
Me: Yes I would darlin’
Her: Fuck you!
Me: Yes I would darlin’
Her: Go to hell!
Me: Yes I would baby!

On Gavroche

Why he's so awesome:

Mario Vargas Llosa calls Gavroche "one of the most appealing and tender characters in fiction", who, despite his relatively small role in the novel, "brings a breath of happiness and humanity a love of life, wit, goodness, and courage in the face of adversity. His purity of spirit is strengthened rather than diminished by poverty, homelessness, and injustice." Where other characters are hardened by experience, Gavroche lives by his wits and shows kindness to everyone he encounters. In his view, as Javert embodies rigor and order, Gavroche represents the unruly, eccentric, and imaginative.

Also, this is funny as hell.

A Note on Les Miserables

Slightly strange that in a film set in France that includes a later off-shoot of the French Revolution everyone has English accents, n'est-pas? Gavroche (my man!) in particular has a comically Liverpudlian one.

#wellwellwelllookwho'ssingle

Funny 'Cause It's True

Back to the Future, Indeed.

"I'll knock you into the middle of next week!"
"Oh could you please, I'm having a rough week." - Bill Cosby from Himself.

My British physics man-crush says this is possible:

Cox detailed how time travel to the future is possible under Albert Einstein's general theory of relativity. Traveling hundreds, or even thousands of years into the future, could be accomplished if someone was traveling at an incredibly fast pace, close to the speed of light.

TONY PAUL FOR PRESIDENT.

3) NO AUTOMATIC KETCHUP. How come unless I file an affidavit 2 weeks in advance signed by judges in 3 surrounding counties, every fucking thing I order from a fast-food restaurant comes drenched in ketchup? When did ketchup become our go-to condiment? "Oh, this guy ordered a burger, he’s from oh, let’s see…oh, Planet Earth, so I’d better squirt a pound of ketchup on this fucker." I can’t be the only dude in the world who doesn’t like ketchup, can I? Why wouldn’t you assume I like mayo on everything? Or mustard? Hey, since you’re able to read my mind, why wouldn’t you think to show me your titties while I’m waiting? And then they try to throw in 90 packets of ketchup while I’m leaving. I just said "no ketchup" on my order, and now you’re chasing me down the street to make sure I get a knapsack worth of this crap. We’re running out of oil and we can’t figure out how to run cars on ketchup? Please. - XMASTIME

I now consider Tony Paul, a hot dog vender for the Detroit Tigers who got fired for being anti-ketchup, a new hero:

There are rumblings the real reason was ketchup — or Marcuse’s disdain for it. Marcuse, at the ballpark and on Twitter, has been a strong crusader for only putting mustard on a frank. And some fans thought he got combative when they asked for ketchup. There were complaints filed.

State du Voyager I

Which entered interstellar space last summer:

Now some 36 years and a few days after it was launched into space, more than 1 billion miles from the sun, traveling at 38,000 mph, Voyager 1 will doubtless travel onward for tens of thousands of years to come.

Its power source won't last nearly that long. Voyager 1 has sufficient power for remaining instruments through at least 2020, and if some are turned off to conserve power, a single instrument could last another five years afterward. But then the "little spacecraft that could" will go silent.

Forty thousand years from now, after traversing 10 trillion miles or so of interstellar space, Voyager 1 will approach the then-closest star, AC +79 3888. At that point it will be a ghost ship, representing an old civilization, gone but enshrined forever in the golden record.

Just as Sagan's famous Blue Dot photo, this should remind us that no matter how much we think has gone on since...1977...the Universe merely goes on and on and on and on, without notice or care.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Things I Didn't Know 'Til Just Now, XVI

Anthony Munoz, Hall of Fame tackle for the Cincinnati Bengals, was in The Right Stuff.

As you already know I'm a nervous flier, so I don't know how I had the balls to be reading The Right Stuff on a flight to Oxford in 2002; of course my fears were compounded by our having to make an emergency landing in Atlanta. Ugh.

It Ain't No Sin to be Glad You're Alive

I remember the day after 9/11 when we were all at the Turkey's Nest, collecting ourselves and making sure everyone was okay, and listening to the tales of a guy who was there when it happened. We were dumbstruck as he told us stories of seeing falling bodies and body parts; we all, including him, marveled that he'd survived.

But the one thing I'll remember for all my years, long after I've forgotten about 9/11, is what he said at the door as he was leaving. Muttering under his breath, I don't think anyone else even heard him, he said "Now after all that, watch me walk out the door right now and get hit by a fucking bus."

Syria

BREAKING NEWS: Major College Football Team Somewhat Unscrupulous When It Comes to Attracting Recruits; Oh My God What About the Children?

Xmastime Worlds Colliding

I, for one, had no idea she was hot as balls. Gotdam - if you can pull off the hairbun and still be hot, that's fucking impressive. - XMASTIME

Apparently Virginia Woolf will be appearing in Downton Abbey.

Mind? Blown.

Happy Birfday Short Bus!!

"Really? 10:43pm? Eat a bag of dicks, fat boy!"

“I’m telling you lil’ buddy, she didn’t like me the second I walked into her stupid, round office,” I was telling Chuck forty-five minutes later at the playground as I pulled a juicebox out of the diaper bag.

“Ah well, forget her, right?  Hey, so I didn’t get the job.  I already have a job, right?”

“Rats!”

“You got that right, lil’ buddy,” I said.  “Hey, so Rats won’t be in charge of medical billing for the Saint Who Gives a Crap hospital, right?  Big freaking deal.”

We sat next to each other on a park bench, with Chuck distributing cheese Goldfish between the two of us.  I looked like I was three hours into a wedding reception: still in my interview pants and interview shoes, dress shirt un-tucked and unbuttoned, tie barely hanging on for dear life.

I wiped orange cheese powder on my crumpled dress pants and Chuck, seeing I needed my Goldfish refreshed, grabbed another handful with his tiny fist and shoved them in my face.

“Rats!  Mo gofish Rats!”

“I have to tell you something, lil buddy,” I said to Chuck on the bench.  “The day is coming when I ain’t gonna be able to be here with you.  You’re gonna be out here, with who the heck knows who.”

I was sweating more than I normally did on a regular basis, which of course would make this a frightening amount, and felt like I was losing my breath.  Looking at Chuck, I saw pretty much what I thought I’d see: Chuck, bored.  Not even remotely moved by my little speech.  Even cooler than usual, to be honest.

“Mooooooo!  Moooooooo!”

The retard chorus was warming up for their matinee, but I stayed focused.

“Listen,” I looked Chuck in the eye, as best one could look a two and a half year old Goldfish-riddled-to-the-gills kid in the eye, “you’re gonna be three years old in a few months, and you’re gonna start going to school.  This is it for us.”

“Rats!”

He was standing still, looking at me.

“Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

I took a slug of my Diet Coke, which he mirrored with his juicebox.  Finishing it, he slammed the empty box to the ground.

“More apple juice, Rats!”

Without even thinking I dug into the bag to hand him another one.

“You know,” I informed him, “it’s only cool to do that if it’s a beer can, and there’s pretty girls watching.”

He took the fresh box and clamped his mouth down on the straw, still standing in front of me without moving, as I rambled on and on.  I could hear myself speaking, without knowing what the hell I was saying.  I sounded like I was running a race, and felt like I was running out of time.

“Look, lil buddy, I –“

“Rats!”

Thunk!  Another emptied-out juicebox hit the ground, and Chuck started to slide down off the bench, eager to finally go play.  He’d heard enough.

“Rats!  Les play, Rats!”

“You got it, buddy.”

But just before we headed over to the jungle gym, I couldn’t help but grab him and turn him to face me.

“Hey, lil buddy, listen: whoever takes care of you after me, you gotta do one thing, okay?  You listening, lil buddy?”

“Rats!”

He was trying to pull away, but I held for one more moment.

“If they ain’t playing with you the whole day, they’re no good.  Remember that.  You let them know that, right?”

He was looking at me, but instead of listening to every word he was pissed, wondering why the fuck he wasn’t on the jungle gym.  I still had him by the little shoulders.

“And remember, lil buddy: Curious George is ALWAYS ON.  If not, there’s always ten or so episodes recorded just for you, so if they try to tell you that you can’t watch George so they can watch some stupid reality show crap or whatever, they’re lying.  Don’t fall for that, okay lil buddy?  Curious George is ALWAYS ON!”

He was moving to get away from me and go play.  Enough was enough.  It was time to let him go, and I eased my grip on his shoulders.

“Mooooooo!  Moooooooo!”

The retard chorus was in full, glorious swing.  We’d have to hope the cops took those kids away in a few minutes.

“And one more thing I’m gonna tell you. Chuck,” I said.  “I’m changing, starting right away.  Trish has been nagging me for months to go to the gym with her.  I’m gonna do it.  Starting tomorrow, I’m gonna do it.  Lose about a cow’s worth of this butterfat for once, right lil’ buddy?”

He was squirming to get away, so I completely let go.

“I love you, lil buddy!”  I held my arms out for a hug.

“Les pay, Rats!”

He ignored my hug and shot off towards the monkey bars.  Jungle gym.  Whatever the fuck it was.

“Aight, lil buddy,” I followed right behind him, my hands ready to catch him if he tripped.   “Let’s go play.”

Slice du Jour

I've posted the original serval times before, but I'm diggin The Kings of Leon's cover of Robyn's Dancing On My Own.