You Asked For It – Sort of

A couple of you reminded me of my novel recently, so I thought I might as well write a random chapter of it.

*******

Wednesday – 9:20 am

Carol died.

Not in front of me. It didn’t just happen at work. We all received an email about it this morning. Apparently, Carol died last night. Heart attack. It was one of those “massive” heart attacks you hear about. The one’s that sound like there was premeditation involved. The email that awaited us containing this morbid news was light on details. The gossips in HR were not. They somehow knew everything as if they planned it.

In all honesty, Carol dying of a heart attack was not a shock. It was a shock it happened yesterday and I’m hearing about it this morning, but it was not a shock that her heart seizing and calling it quits was the way she went. Carol looked like she got addicted to cookie dough early in life and never missed an opportunity for a fix for the next 30 – 40 years. I guess it is mean to judge a person strictly on their weight, but this is Carol I’m talking about. I knew Carol best as a bi-pedal grazing cow. Plus she’s dead, so I’m not hurting her feelings any.

Before the terrorist attack, Carol worked as a secretary for someone who did something in the patent department. I think I only saw her once at her desk. Her desk was covered in over grown potted plants that looked on the verge of mutiny. She was sitting at her desk, sweating. Sweating from answering the phones. I just was never in that building much. That building that is now a hole in the Earth smelling of burnt offerings. Why blow up office drones in the patent department? Why kill them? Probably because the “terrorists” didn’t know, which building was which and just chose one. That’s my guess. Why construct a bomb to kill Carol?

I never saw Carol at her desk; I saw Carol by my desk. Before the attack, when everyone was cheery and skipped down the halls as some would lead you to believe, if someone from legal brought in donuts or brownies or baked goods of any kind then they would stick them by me. At the end of the row, my desk has a series of about belly button high shelves and that became the official food for the plebeians area. If you decided for no apparent reason to buy a box of danishes on your way to work then you left that box open to the salivating masses 6 feet from my desk. It got to the point between birthdays, unofficial holidays like secretary’s day, boss’ day, even it just being Friday that there was always food open to the public sitting by my desk.

On several occasions this generosity in baked goods lined up and a few people brought in cakes and cookies. This perfect storm of free food turned into a shark feeding frenzy once everyone within walking distance heard about it. This is when I saw Carol and this is how I know Carol. She was one of my all-stars. It’s hard not to take note of faces you see more than once, especially if that face is jamming a whole slice of cheesecake down its throat at 9am. Why did someone buy cheesecake at 8am to then give away at 9am on a Tuesday? That did not matter to Carol nor a few others who wolfed it down moments after its arrival.

It became a ritual. People were buying food every morning to leave by my desk. Some purchases were elaborate like two dozen black & white cookies or cupcakes decorated in the company’s trademark colors. I stopped buying breakfast for a month because the shelves next to my desk would transform into my own Dunkin’ Donuts franchise by 10am. That mixture of a near endless supply of bakery icing and a lack of will power in Carol was just too much for her. Everyday she would be at those shelves eating.

What was shocking about Carol’s death was she died in the gym. At her local Bally’s or New York Sports Club or Health & Fitness. Of all places. I could not picture Carol at gym in spandex or sweats. But there she spent her final moments. It must have been like dying in a foreign land. Imagine dying surrounded by strangers at a cock fight in Mexico. I don’t speak Spanish nor do I know anything about cock fighting, so it would be like dying on the footsteps of an alien culture. That was what I’m guessing the free weights section of Carol’s local gym was to her.

One of the bitchy HR boys, said that Carol collapsed while doing squats during her first personal training session. After seeing the flames engulf her desk and building and some of her co-workers, Carol thought about that idea of getting a new lease on life. She joined a gym. And the gym killed her. It’s not real irony. It’s more like Alanis Morisette’s “Irony”. Only finding spoons when you need a knife or rain on your wedding day. It’s not really ironic, but I get it. It’s “ironic” that her newly employed personal trainer who was put to the task of helping Carol shed multiple dozens of pounds to help her live a longer and better life instead pushed her too hard in the name of exercise and killed her.

I should have been her personal trainer. I saw Carol at her worst. I saw her daily practices that needed to be curbed. I saw what Carol was capable of. That personal trainer knew nothing of Carol’s “plate”. Carol carried a plate. It didn’t start off that way, but that eventually became a fixture of hers. Tucked under her right arm, Carol would bring her own plate with her to the food buffet. She made sure to have a date planner or some office props in her hands to make it look like she was working or coming from some meeting. But who goes to a meeting with a daily planner, a stack of pens and a dinner plate?

Carol would waddle to the shelves and peruse the chocolatey items like this was an Italian market and not the legal department of a major pharmaceutical company. Once she found what she liked, which was most things, she would begin to pile them onto the plate forming a leaning tower of Pisa of brownies and cookies. The word “foraging” always came to mind when I saw her. It was like watching a chipmunk gathering nuts for the winter and storing them away. Carol in her suit size infinity putting together a back catalog of snicker doodle cookies to feed a wealth of people throughout the cold winter.

And some days, very few days, there wasn’t any food. There were days that no one thought to go to a bakery or donut shop or a Starbucks and pick up $30 worth of food no one should be eating. Those days Carol would still stop by. Whether or not someone had told Carol there was no food on the shelves, she would still stop by just to make sure they weren’t lying to her. People lie. There could have been food. Carol needed to see with her own two eyes. On those occasions, her walk back to her desk was a sad one. Her plate still tucked under her arm.

And now, I sit at my desk and there is no food. No one feels merry enough to buy a dozen donuts after surviving an epic bomb explosion. I had not seen Carol since the day of the attack. She was on her way to see what food was sitting next to my desk when the C4 and gasoline barrels blew up the building she worked in. If she was not addicted to chocolate chunk cookies at the start of her workday then she probably would have been sitting at her desk when it was destroyed by a fireball.

It’s lonely here without the food and without Carol. I can’t believe I’m tearing up thinking about Carol. They say yawning is infectious. You see some yawn and you yawn like an idiot whether you are tired or not. Same goes for smiles. Carol’s fat face would be lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning when she would approach my desk. She knew just around the corner was some sugary goodness that would brighten up her dull morning. And whether I was happy or not, I had to smile back.

The email this morning was simple and had a purpose – Carol’s dead, there will be a card passed around for people to sign if they want and there’s a charity we can donate to. Nothing against Carol, but, realistically, I can’t see many cutting checks for her dying when we all broke our piggy banks giving money for the “fund”. The “fund” was set up for the 119 families that lost someone in the terrorist attack on Carol’s old patent department. It has only been 2 weeks since the attack; it’s just bad timing and all for Carol.

Fucking Carol. I need a cookie to cheer me up.

Catfish is definitely my nightmare

Good morning or afternoon or night. To me it is good morning although by the time I finish writing this and post it it will be afternoon, nevertheless, it will still feel like morning because my eyes will still be blurry and I will not have had breakfast yet. I will not have broken the fast. Not the Yom Kippur fast, but the fast of that I haven’t trained myself to eat while I sleep, which is an interesting idea, but so many problems. I’m not sure what area of the world most of you are in that read this website, so who knows what time it is for you when I post it and even better when you finally succumb to boredom enough to venture over here to gaze reluctantly on my musings. If it is good night to you who read this then I wonder selfishly if I carry over into your dreams. Myself as in the person who writes this blog or the myself that is represented on this blog in posts like Max Weber was sexless and the movie The Octagon had more hair in it than any other movie ever or DHOOM!

I am blurry eyed right now as mentioned. It is a fear of mine that staying up late reading on the computer and then going to sleep and then waking up to only go back to staring at a computer is robbing me of my eye sight and one day I will be checking “status updates” on people I have not held conversation with in years nor care to and I will go blind. Or the last bit of light I see is the Yahoo trending 10 topics, my last glimpse of light and color is that Amber Tamblyn is grounded and doesn’t want an ego or Selena Gomez is seeking advice from her best friend Taylor Swift. My life will have been for nothing at that point.

Also, if in the end that does happen at that is all I get, just the headline, I will never get the answer to why those were headlines. I’ll never be able, as a blind person, ask some friend or confidant to find out why Selena Gomez is seeking Taylor Swift’s advice. Advice about what? Why would she ask Taylor Swift? Is this just general life advice? If so, she should probably ask the government controlled handlers that puppet Taylor Swift around like their Middle America money making doll. Those people would know better than Taylor. And Amber Tamblyn? I’m pretty sure what is a sure fire way to keep Amber Tamblyn humble is have her continue fucking David Cross on a regular basis. I love David Cross and he is one of the funniest human beings to walk the planet ever, but you stick one young beautiful person with another young beautiful person and they are bound to get a little ridiculous and detached from the rest of us. You stick one young beautiful person with an older, bald, cynical, angry, insane, stand-up comic who used to do an impression of a crack baby as a part of his routine then you’ll stay “grounded”.

This is how we have sex

It is Monday and Monday means there was a weekend we all wish was still going on. What did you all do this weekend? Anything interesting? If not, make something up. Or actually tell the truth because it could seem uninteresting, but really be wild and terrifying. Which leads me to what I did this weekend…

I saw Catfish.

I just wrote Catfight instead of Catfish. Not to say Catfish wasn’t great, but Catfight may have been even better. An hour and a half feature length film documenting girls fighting each other … in 3D! But I digress, I did see Catfish and my short non-spoiler review is that I liked it a lot and thought it was a good movie.

The rest of what I’m going to say is not full of spoilers, but the short answer is I liked it. If you watch the trailer of the movie or read any reviews on it then you’ll inevitably be able to guess at what the result of the movie is, but the reveal is still done well. When I found out I was going to see it, I battled with looking up what the movie’s mystery was and see if my initial guess was right. I did look it up a few hours later, but I still enjoyed the movie. The way the movie’s mystery and conclusion is handled is just different than you will see in most movies. It is calm and level headed and with that brings a different experience for the viewers. Most movies, good and bad, solve everything with screaming and big movements, but this is really subtle and dealt with very gently, which is nice to see.

There is a debate whether the movie is real or not. Is this movie Catfish really a documentary from two filmmakers recording the budding relationship through Facebook between the one’s brother and a family that lives in Michigan. The idea is that he is a photographer, Nev, and takes pictures for newspapers and so forth. He gets a painting in the mail one day from a fan and the painting is of one of his photographs and the painter is an 8 or 9 year old girl named Abby. Nev contacts Abby and subsequently her family and becomes pen pals with them through Facebook exchanging pictures for paintings and they get to know each other. At some point, they go to visit the family, unbeknownst to the family, and what they find is not what they expected.

Some people believe this documentary is really fake and was acted and set-up and is a movie like the Blair Witch Project or like Joaquin Phoenix’s movie I’m Still Here where it is literally happening, but they are all acting and playing roles. That line of thinking is very seductive and when you finish watching the movie you will try to decide whether you believe the movie is real or not and so forth.

I will say – the movie is plausible.

Oh yeah, this is real. Seriously! It's real. Why won't anyone believe me? It's real. I swear.

I saw the movie at the Union Square theater and it just so happens the directors of the movie were also there and were going to be doing an impromptu question and answer session after the movie, which they did. They answered all questions as if this movie is real. They even talked about how the movie is real and people are saying it is fake and they went into mention movies like I mentioned above, which makes people question every movie that comes out even this one. I am taking these people’s word for it that the movie is real. Why? Well, I feel like they would be going through an awful lot to pretend like it is real. Answering questions about how Nev is doing or what happened right after the movie with Nev, or how the other people in the movie are, or how they feel about the movie. They also represent the movie as a documentary saying that they needed to get clearance from these people to make the movie and show their face in the movie and what trouble they went through to get that.

Although, there are certainly points of the movie that I don’t think line-up and points of the movie that seem too naive or too trusting to be true or some scenes too cinematic, but I buy it. People wrongly thought that Blair Witch Project was a documentary because people are idiots. I don’t think anyone in the world thought that Joaquin Phoenix quitting acting to become a rapper with a beard was at all a true story and was clearly just some joke that would be a wild mockumentary. But this movie Catfish I think is perfectly plausible. As ridiculous as it seems to get, I don’t think couldn’t happen and that’s why I treat it as the documentary they presented. If it turns out not to be real – then who the fuck cares? I wasn’t meeting any of these people anyway. And I would still think it is very plausible for this movie to happen.

In all seriousness, Catfish is my nightmare and has been since people started reading this website.

I fear that this on the internet in my email box…

Is really this is in real life…

Not necessarily the reading, but more the proposals of marriage part. I have emailed back and forth with several of the readers and enjoy doing it. But definitely lurking in the back of my mind is the same fear that we were all told to have when first encountering the internet and that is all strangers on the internet are psycho path serial killers who just so happen to be snarky and informed and write great emails or are quick witted on Gchat. It has definitely been a fear in my mind that I’m talking to one person or a myriad of people who have made-up this online persona full of fake pictures and stories and that if I met these people I would wind up chloroformed and wake-up in a basement tied up with a half dozen other mid to late 20′s guys who can make some funny observational jokes if given the right pop-culture news story.

So, I most certainly believe the movie is “plausible” as I will say that for the 4th time. And I think in its plausibility, they do a good job telling the story and letting it unfold and it is pretty emotionally gripping for a movie with no special effects or machine guns or anything. I liked it.

Also, when I was leaving the theater – Phillip Seymour Hoffman was standing there. He must’ve been doing an impromptu Q&A for his movie Jack Goes Boating. Which, of course, made me pissed I didn’t see that movie.

This Week In Kristen Stewart Wants IT #39

Happy Friday!

If you survived the T-4 (we don’t joke about T-5′s around here!) that hit the Tri-state area then Happy Friday. I heard some trees fell down, which tends to happen, but not often enough to stop an hour and half news coverage of it yesterday. I get it. A tree I have never seen before fell on a car that is owned by someone I don’t know who lives on a street in Park Slope, Brooklyn that I’ve never been to. It is a great tragedy for all of us. Hopefully, none of you were that lone soul in Park Slope with the new convertible roof from the suddenly animated inanimate tree.

The questions… oh the questions.

Movies and Jersey Shore.

I did see that article about how much money the Jersey Shore kids were getting. That’s been a big talk of discussion in and around this world for the past several months. That wedding I went to in July featured many conversations about what DJ Pauly D was making for a week of dj-ing gigs. I guess that’s more interesting than other stuff to talk about.

This is a picture of a possum I took last night. I hate the term “opossum” and I do not use. It’s a “possum”. It’s not an “olion” or an “obear”. It’s a possum. You don’t play “opossum”. You play possum because the fucking animal is a possum. At about 2am, I remembered I needed to make sure my car was parked on the correct side of the street, so my car wouldn’t get a ticket for blocking the street sweeper. I grabbed my keys and shoes and opened my front door. Staring back at me three feet in front of my face at eye level was that possum. My response was “holy shit!” The possum did not enjoy that and sort of growled at me. I closed the door. And then I reopened it to see if it was still there and it was. I ran inside and got my camera. Then the possum and I had a nice little photo shoot. It didn’t move and just sat there perched and gave me the “blue steel” equivalent a possum can give.

Anyway, let’s pretend this picture of this possum is a picture of Snooki. Both have the same sexual excitability factor for myself. I can see my Governor’s point that the Jersey Shore is not an excellent representative of New Jersey or at least is not the best representative of New Jersey the state could have — but honestly, WHO FUCKING CARES!?! People do not care about reason or sanity. The people who make fun of New Jersey (generally people who would fit in real nice in New Jersey) have little to no basis for it. There has been an overwhelming positive group of people that have come out of New Jersey that should have given people enough of a reason to flat out love New Jersey, but they don’t.

How long has Bruce Springsteen been making music? Does that stop people who say shit about New Jersey from saying shit about New Jersey? Nope. They still say it. What about Buzz Aldrin? He’s from New Jersey. The man walked on the fucking MOON! Frank Sinatra is beloved by most. Savion Glover, arguably the only living famous tap dancer I have ever known, is from New Jersey. Remember The Fugees? Remember Lauryn Hill? She’s from New Jersey. Joe Pesci is from New Jersey and how can one say they hate Joe Pesci? Why would you shit on the place that Joe Pesci is from? Jack Nicholson, Jon Stewart, Susan Sarandon and Bruce Willis all were raised in the Garden State of motherfucking Garden states! Lastly, every girl in this room has had a crush on Scott Wolf from Party of Five whether they want to admit it or not and he may have been born in Boston, but the dude was raised in New Jersey. This means that you all have had at least one (hundred, amirite?) sexual fantasies about a Jersey boy and that has to count for something.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_from_New_Jersey

The list is nearly endless.

So, I don’t really care about whether the Jersey Shore is the best representative of New Jersey or not. I think it shows you can have a good time getting drunk at the New Jersey shore, which I think most already know. Plus, as many people are well aware of, Sammi is the only person on the cast from New Jersey and the rest are from more Northern territories. And I would bet many more people would rather come to New Jersey to see the Jersey Shore cast than our budget slashing Governor’s fat white ass. They’re not playing him $20,000+ to show up to a bar.

MOVIES

I will end up seeing The Town. I most likely will not see The Town this weekend, but sooner than later and most likely by the end of next week I’ll have consumed it audibly, visually and mentally and spent a matinee price of a billion dollars on it. I really liked Gone Baby Gone which was Ben Affleck’s last foray into directing. I don’t think The Town will be as good as Gone Baby Gone. I wish Affleck had sat out of this movie and spent a nice a couple years just directing instead of acting. I think The Town will be a decent enough movie and probably be best as a rental, but I would be surprised if I disliked it entirely.

As far as the other movies in the world, I’m going to see the indy-reality-thriller or whatever Catfish this weekend. It seems interesting enough and very apropos in this world of internet relationships. It will seem even more apropos for me I feel with running this blog and conversing with people I’ve never met online. There is always that fear instilled from the early days in an AOL chat room that you think you are talking to some cute girl and in reality it is a beefy creeper dude.

I also want to see I’m Still Here the Joaquin Phoenix documentary. Since the first story broke of Joaquin growing out his hair and beard and starting a rap career and filming it – I don’t think there is a single human being who didn’t think this was all a joke. He was quitting acting to become a rapper and blah blah blah. It was all obviously a joke and no one bought it. And now, Casey Affleck is admitting that it wasn’t serious. Thanks Casey – NO SHIT! I feel like it’s that seen from Zoolander where Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson are explaining to Christine Taylor that “Earth to” line is a joke and that they weren’t actually talking to aliens or a space station. Yeah, we fucking know. We never thought Joaquin Phoenix went off the deep end and was going to start a rap career. Nevertheless, I want to see the documentary. It has gotten good reviews and Joaquin Phoenix is a good actor, so why not.

Outside of those movies, I think we’re just sitting on our hands waiting for The Social Network to come out. Unless you like shitty horror movies because there are a million of them out there and continuously coming out.

I hope you all have a great weekend.

See you next week… hopefully there will be more participation.

Proust via Lipton via KSWI Jordan onto You…

… All over your damn face. That’s right. A creamy literary cocktail featuring yours truly answering the troubling timeless and, of course, let’s just say sexy questions from Marcel Proust that were then dolled up like the whores they are by James Lipton. What I’m referring to in plain terms are the Inside the Actors Studio final 10 questions that James Lipton asks the featured guest.

The origin story of these questions starts where all great stories start: playing with radioactive material. Actually, it starts in France with French (shocking) writer Marcel Proust. Here is the definitive excerpt from the Lord Almighty Wikipedia:

At the end of the nineteenth century, when Proust was still in his teens, he answered a questionnaire in an English-language confession album belonging to his friend Antoinette, daughter of future French President Félix Faure, entitled “An Album to Record Thoughts, Feelings, etc.” At that time, it was a fad among English families to answer such a list of questions that revealed the tastes and aspirations of the taker.

How fucking lame were the English? White people! Only white people would sit around gayly (whichever definition you wish) scribbling in confession books. You know the word “tittering” was made for this bullshit period of existence. Those lame thin-blooded British royals tittering with their diaries meanwhile here in AMERICA we are creating industry and conquering the West. We were making heroes on the wild plains of history and they were flicking their creative brain nipples doodling in notepads.

So today, I will do the same. I will answer the questions! I have the power! I will flick my brain nipples! I will continue writing with exclamation point marks and read them in my head in the grand voice of Dolph Lundgren as He-Man in Masters of the Universe! Which by the way is a great movie – don’t let the haters tell you otherwise. Masters of the Universe is easily better than Highlander. Easily!

1. What is your favorite word?

Free.

One can take that philosophically and the word “free” as in “freedom”. Free to choose. Free to exist. Free of pain. Free of suffering. Free to live the way one wants to. Free of responsibility. Free of restraints. Free like breathing in a cool wind.

Also, free as in “this ice cream is free”. That might be even better. Free TV. Free clothes. Free shoes. Free car. Free sandwich. Free beer. Free.

2. What is your least favorite word?

This is tough because I love the word itself, but I hate saying it – cookies. I am so conflicted with the word “cookies”. I feel so childish and immature every time I say “cookies”, but at the same time whenever I do say it it is usually met with me actually receiving “cookies” and that is the greatest thing ever. It’s like being tazored and then getting a lap dance from Salma Hayek. I mean the tazoring would suck, but the lap dance would be amazing. It is fucking with my brain!

3. What turns you on?

Too much. Boobs and butts, sure. Sexy ladies, sure. Side tie bikini bottoms, sure. Chicks in athletic shorts and a tank-top, sure. A new Radiohead album this year, sure. The Coen Brothers True Grit remake, sure. Going to Best Buy and purchasing an X-Box 360 and a copy of Left 4 Dead 2, sure.

4. What turns you off?

The impoverished people of Africa. Truthfully, they do. There is always that idea that guys masturbate in the shower. There is that memorable scene in American Beauty where Kevin Spacey is doing such. But I’m just not into it because the entire time I’m in there I’m just thinking about the poor people of Africa and I’m just killing time in this shower wasting all this clean water. You know that weird dimensional space tunnel that if you don’t eat everything on your plate then that somehow robs food from the poor in Africa? Well, that also happens with wasting clean water. It makes it very difficult to keep thinking sexy thoughts when you are destroying an entire year’s worth of usable water for those sad faces.

Also, my computer doesn’t have a water shield on it to protect it from getting wet in the shower, so what’s the point?

5. What sound or noise do you love?

The first 10 seconds of this…

6. What sound or noise do you hate?

Whispering. I hate people whispering. They think you can’t hear them, but you can hear them. Usually, you can hear them so well you can hear every damn thing they are saying. Most of the time, you get a few words, but you get all of the psch wsch ysch scsch psch noise that people some how create and communicate with. Just talk normally! I swear even if you are whispering something bad about me, it is more annoying to me that you are whispering than whatever you are saying about me. I’d rather for the person just say, “We’re going to openly discuss you being an asshole” instead of sitting there whispering to each other about it and thinking I don’t know what is going on. Psch wsch ysch it’s what I imagine a goldfish language would sound like.

7. What is your favorite curse word?

Fuck. It’s fucking versatility is key. Fuck, fucks, fucked, fucking, fucker, fuckily, fuckinition, and so on. Motherfucker is a beautiful word. Beautiful like a waterfall. It flows out of your mouth hole with such purpose and wonder. Motherfucker. It’s like vomiting gold.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?

Ines Sainz pants fitter. I’m pretty sure that job exists because what is going on with those pants must need a professional to accomplish. I’m sure you all have read about Ines Sainz the TV Azteca sports reporter and her claims of sexual harassment from New York Jets coaches/players. I haven’t read anything that says the actual comments from players and the only thing with detail I’ve read about it says they threw footballs near her at practice and she thought it was obvious they were all talking about her in the locker room. Whatever. I don’t feel like getting into a debate about it because I think the whole thing is stupid. But my quick thoughts: I think Ines dresses very unprofessionally and I love it; I don’t think any reporters male or female should be in the locker room (there is a fucking press conference after every game, so get out of the locker room).

9. What profession would you not like to do?

At this point, a Kentucky Fried Chicken “chef”. I could never be put in charge of making the KFC “double down”. Have you seen these? They’ve been around for a year I guess and they just look evil. EVIL. E-V-I-L. They are two fried chicken patties being used as buns with two strips of bacon and two slices of cheese in the middle. A sandwich is usually meat and cheese in between bread. Bread is chosen to be sandwich holders because it is sturdy in your hand and it’s supposed to be dry to the touch. Also, the exoticness of the sandwich is not the bread. The bread is a large part of the dish, but it is there for practicality. This “double down” is impractical and I’m sure it has to take a solid year off of your life eating it. And I’m not talking about the end of your life. I’m talking about a good year of the prime of your life it robs you of. I’m not sure how I could not hate myself making a “double down” and then serving it to a human being knowing the destructive powers that it has.

So s-o g-double-o-d good. So s-o motherfucking good.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

“And after all of your dutiful service of making the world laugh, telling of the majestic Want of Kristen Stewart and that time you saved North America from a ninja attack – you will be rewarded with Hooters Girls and beer.” That’s all. I mean is that too much to ask. I don’t need dinner with Jesus, MLK, Gandhi and Stanley Kubrick. That would just be weird.

Or Padma and Gail as my concubine chefs. I’m glad Kevin won Top Chef because he’s from JERSEY!

Questions for Friday.

It’s the thoughts that count…

In honor of the UFC having a free event of fights tonight on SpikeTV, I would like to present what the glorious sport of MMA would look like if it was overrun by gay hipsters.

Also…

If you like baked potatoes:

1. Pre-heat oven to 350 degree
2. wash the potato
3. poke holes in the potato with a fork
4. Dip potato in olive oil
5. lightly salt the potato
6. put in oven for an hour
7. wait that hour
8. eat the delicious potato and think of me

Tonight on TV:

UFC Fight Night – 8-10pm

The Ultimate Fighter – season premiere – 10pm
Top Chef – season finale – 10pm
Inside the NFL – 10pm
Terriers – 10pm

I will have to use all of my DVR artistry tonight. Terriers’ first episode last week wasn’t anything special, but I’m willing to give it at least a couple more weeks.

Politics… sort of

There were some primary elections yesterday that you all may or may not voted in. Depending on if you live in Delaware and are a Republican and are wildly conservative, you may have voted for the winner Christine O’Donnell. She has quite a varied career of anything, but politics. I’m somewhat excited she won her primary considering I don’t think she has a shot at winning the general election. Political analysts have had a fun time talking about how wound up the Republican party seems to be and they’re voting in droves. They seem to be wound up because they are starting to tear apart at their own seams and voting every which way, but together. I’m all for this.

A huge part of Christine O’Donnell’s experience in the limelight has been pushing abstinence (fine) and no masturbation (WHAT!?!).

If I were to promote abstinence (which I most certainly am not… don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, amirite!?!), then I would have the greatest masturbatory pro-masturbation campaign on masturbating anyone could imagine. Everything would be whacking off this and jerking off that. I would be getting these unwed horny teenagers all spent gratifying themselves into pools of uninspired lives barely able to get out of their beds if I wanted to stop them from having promiscuous sex. Just saying. Spankwire will help abstinence with its endlessness of graphicness instead of singalongs with boring people.

Life

I’m not afraid of heights, but this video makes me nauseous and gives me a strange cool rush of excitement. People are wild.

Music

Originally, I was going to do a dissection of lyrics and music video on this:

Trey Songz – Say Ahhhh

I don’t know if that would have improved interest, but it couldn’t have made it any worse. I keep seeing Trey Songz everywhere on TV and I didn’t know who the hell he was, so I looked him up and found this video. It is brilliant to say the least. Why even go through the motions or the choreography of talking to a girl and the sweet subtlety of implying she should have another drink to loosen her up? You can just tell the chick to “say ahhhh” and pour half a bottle of vodka or Patrone down her throat. Much more effective, Trey. Also, everything that happens in the video pails in comparison to the enormous Rocky Mountains of cleavage from the girl in the background who seems to be perpetually leaning over. They need to give that girl a record deal or a TV show or my phone number and address and tell her that it is someone’s address and number that she would actually care about.

Sports

Here are my picks for who I am rooting for in tonight’s UFC event:

Ross Pearson vs. Cole Miller
I like both of these fighters, but I have to give the nod to Ross Pearson. The Brit spent some of his training camp in the US learning good ole’ American ‘rasslin from UFC Lightweight Champion Frankie Edgar and the Rutgers University wrestling team. Shall I say, J-E-R-S-E-Y! JERSEY! Jersey by way of the UK, but Jersey nonetheless.

Jim Miller vs. Gleison Tibau
Let’s cut the shit here – JERSEY! Jim Miller is born and raised in the great garden state. Plus I’m a fan of his anyway.

Efrain Escudero vs. Charles Oliveira
JERS… actually Efrain doesn’t have anything to do with New Jersey outside of my Jersey ass interviewing him for UFC.com, which can be found here – http://www.ufc.com/news/The-Class-and-Commitment-of-Efrain-Escudero – so I’m rooting for him for that and because I’m a fan. Dude rocks a mohawk as well.

Rousimar Palhares vs. Nate Marquardt
I have to go with Rousimar aka “Toquinho” on this one. “Toquinho” supposedly means “tree stump”. I think Rousimar is a very interesting fighter at being squat and built like a brick shit house. Whoever wins this fight will most likely have a shot at the Middleweight belt. The two guys who are currently in line to battle for the Middleweight belt are Chael Sonnen (challenger) and Anderson Silva (champion) in a rematch of their wild 5 round fight from early August. Nate lost to Anderson and Nate lost to Chael. I don’t really care to see him fight either Anderson or Chael again. I’m a lot more interested in seeing how Rousimar can deal with these elite fighters.

Also, when Rousimar walked out to fight Jeremy Horn last year, he was so emotional he was actually crying on his way to the cage. How can you not love that? He’s got a soft side. A soft side beyond his beast outside that man handled Jeremy Horn for 15 minutes.

I think I’m done for today. Can’t wait for the fights.

Analytical Dissection of Jason Derulo’s “Ridin’ Solo”

Jason Derulo and I have a lot in common. We are so alike in so many ways, so much so that I have been described as the “White Jason Derulo” or the “Jewish Jason Derulo” or if they are in a rush and not necessarily PC “Jason Jew-rulo”. I have also been mistaken for Jason Derulo on occasion, but to be honest it was pretty dark in that hotel room and it was Jason Derulo’s hotel room and I did sneak into that hotel room through the window and I was responding in a falsetto pitch “Yes, I’m Jason Derulo.”

Nevertheless, Jason Derulo and I share a bond.

I am 100% certain everyone has heard his first single “In My Head”. I can’t even imagine living in a cave would save you from hearing that song. I feel there is a high percentage chance people tracked you down in that cave, roofied your canteen water, held you down and forced you to listen to “In My Head”. The song is everywhere! It will find you! “In My Head” is where I learned about this unspoken kinship between myself and Jason. The long and short of the song, when a pretty girl walks past Jason Derulo at a club – he immediately starts imagining himself fucking said girl in his head. I DO THAT TOO! Isn’t that crazy!?!

Hearing “In My Head” for the first time was like reading Kierkegaard for the first time: other people think this way too! Thank the GD-ing Lord! I instantly felt a connection between Jason and I that we both see a random hot girl in a bar and we start undressing her in our heads and imagine that she is just attacking our wangs like it is the last boss of Contra – fast, hard and constant efficient movement. With that being said, I decided to seek out Jason Derulo’s second single “Ridin’ Solo”.

Much like “In My Head”, this new opus is oddly similar to how I live my life or want to. The lyrics are a poetic masterpiece and the video is a Thanksgiving feast of visual delights. Let’s take this journey together as I examine the lyrical wonder and the fascinating video for Jason Derulo’s “Ridin’ Solo”. The lyrics will be in bold and my keen observations will be in the normal font that looks like everything else so far minus the word bold.

But – before we start – there is a preface to the video that is not in the song. We see Jason sitting at his piano and he is repeating over and over “Love made me blind”. No! Noooo! Derulo is blind! NO!!!! Actually, I believe it is a metaphor. Metaphorically, love has made Jason blind. What love? Or for who?

Yowzahs! Jason Derulo is not blind because that chick is hot. But I guess the point is that she is a bitch. This hot bitch’s hotness blinded Jason from seeing what a bitch she is for him to have put up with this bitchiness for so long before they finally separated. For her sake, I hope he broke up with her because if she broke up with Jason Derulo then she has got to be kicking herself for that. She threw away a fucking lottery ticket! Unless she moved on and wooed the illegal Justin Bieber, not many artists are more popular right now than Mr. D-E-R-U-L-O. Either way, this hot chick in the picture is out of the picture in terms of Jason Derulo’s personal life. AM I RIGHT!?!

Onto the actual jam…

Yeeeeeyeeeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
I’m feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine,
I’m loving cloud nine, my head’s in the sky,
I’m solo, I’m riding solo,
I’m riding solo, I’m ridin solo, sooloooo.

Isn’t his voice just magical!?!

Jason is in an upbeat mood to say the least. He is finally free of that bitch who was just draining his life force like a Midgar mako reactor in Final Fantasy VII and now he is excited to be on his own. This is Jason Derulo’s time, you scum sucking bitch! You soft skinned, but cancerous evil hearted vile succubus wench! You pretty faced jizzrag whore of… whew, I need to calm down. I just can’t stand to think she hurt Jason Derulo in anyway. He is a wonderful unique flame in this dark world. I mean seriously- how many young, black, soft singing, auto-tune using, dances like Michael Jackson, and writes pop-dance songs guys can you think of? Like 100 probably, but 100 out of 6 billion people on the planet is a pretty rare commodity statistically speaking.

Yeah, I’m feeling good tonight, finally doing me and it feels so right, oh,
Time to do the things I like,
going to the club everything’s alright, oh,

At first, I won’t lie, I thought he was talking about jerking off. He’s “riding solo”, he’s feeling good, he’s “finally doing me and it feels so right”… “oh”… It is an honest mistake. Maybe she was around his place all the time never giving him a moment’s peace to do some TCOB-ing of himself. I’m just saying it has to be done every so often… every day… every 4-6 hours … but I get he means he is talking about how she made him do all the stupid girly stuff she wanted to do and now he can do all the manly stuff he wants to do: going to a fancy club to get drunk and dance his ass off. And, “ridin’ solo” just sounds like a good euphemism for masturbating.

No one to answer to,
no one that’s gonna argue, no,
And since I got the hold off me,
I’m living life now that I’m free, yeah,

Until I read the lyrics, I though Derulo said “And since I got the ho off me”. Maybe I was hoping that is what he said. I think if Derulo had the chance to re-record this song he would see that “ho” fits ever better than “hold”. Also, it is just fun to refer to someone as a “ho”. It always puts a smile on your face. Try and call someone a “ho” without smiling. Actually, I dare you to do so. Go out, leave work, go find someone, whatever you have to do and call them a “ho”. Your face will light up with an ear to ear smile. Depending on who you singled out as a “ho”, you might want to start running or get ready for a fist fight because as pleasurable as it is to call someone a “ho”, people don’t take too kindly to being called a “ho”.

Telling me to get my shit together
now I got my shit together, yeah,
Now I made it through the weather
better days are gonna get better

Jason is a little pissed. The “ho” comment seems to fit even better now. Get your shit together, Jason Derulo! Oh I got my shit together! I’m writing pop songs that please the ear holes of billions, you cantankerous ho! I am a little worried about what is Jason’s underlying reason to go out to this club tonight. He is “riding solo”, which means he is going to a bar by himself to do what he wants to do: get drunk and dance. That doesn’t sound too positive. I mean Aretha Franklin sang about getting “respect” where as Derulo may be developing an angry post break-up drinking problem. Hey Jason, how are things? Great, man. I’ve been going out drinking by myself pretty consistently since the relationship ended. Uhhhhh, that’s not what I was hoping to hear. Maybe you should pick up a hobby or learn a new language or better yourself somehow instead of drinking in public. Nope, I got this. I’m drinking and dancing by myself is the only way I’m going to get through this.

I’m so sorry that it didn’t work out I’m moving on,
I’m so sorry but it’s over now,
the pain is goooone,

That pain is only temporarily “goooone” because Jason is self-medicating with the relief of alcoholic intoxication and dancing intoxication. We may need to help Jason set some long term goals. Either way, we can’t stop him now because Jason is going out to the club whether we want him too or not.

Here is Jason checking himself out in his three mirror set-up. He is not taking a quick peek at how he looks in his “threads” (that’s what the cool kids call “clothes”… in 2003), but he is performing some of his/Usher’s/Michael Jackson’s/You Got Served/Step Up 1,2,3-D dance moves in front of the mirror. This is eerily similar to how I get ready for a night out. If I’m getting the newspaper or going to an underground dance competition, I always practice some of my moves in front of a three section mirror. Let’s get a closer look of what Jason is wearing because it is…

AMAZING! Holy shit, I want that jacket! It has a ridge of spikes running along his arms like he is a modest member of the Legion of Doom. That is what I call “post-apocalyptic-chic”. I fucking love it. My life would be complete if I had that jacket and the confidence or delusion to wear it. What was thinking behind this jacket? I’m thinking I want a nice light fitting jacket that I can wear to the club and dance in and at the same time be perfectly ready if a street fight turf war breaks out at anytime.

Yeah, I’m looking good. Good and deadly. A forearm from me and I’ll turn your face into Swiss cheese, motherfucker. I feel like this only adds to my worry about Jason going drinking in the club by himself, now that he is clearly armed with a set of spikes running the length of both arms. Also, he better not trip or he’ll turn his flashy new jacket into an iron maiden.

I’m putting on my shades
to cover up my eyes,
I’m jumpin’ in my ride,
I’m heading out tonight,
I’m solo, I’m riding solo,
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.
I’m feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine,
I’m loving cloud nine, my head’s in the sky.
I’m solo, I’m riding solo,
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.

I’m not exactly sure why he needs to “cover up my eyes”. Are his eyes red? Are they red from getting high, crying or filled with murderous rage wearing his street warfare jacket? As far as Jason’s ride goes…

He likes to keep it affordable with a Honda. It’s nice to see that Jason’s success hasn’t kept him from spending a reasonable amount of money on a sporty, but economic car. Honda’s have a great track record. Probably gets great gas mileage. Although, it is starting to sink in that when he said he is “riding solo” he literally meant it. Jason is driving himself to the club to go get angry drunk and dance. I would rather he have called a car service of some sort because it’s not like bars try and stop you from drunk driving home. Hopefully, Jason is planning on driving over to the club, leaving his car there, and taking a cab home. *fingers crossed*.

Now I’m feeling how I should,
never knew single could feel this good, oh,
Stop playing miss understood,
back in the game, who knew I would, oh,
So flex how I spread my wings, loving myself makes me wanna sing, oh,
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,

And loving himself he surely does. Just look at his dance move…

I’m the best. I’m the best.

I’m starting to get a little worried about our boy Jason Derulo. He is clearly drunk in the club on vodka and cranberry juice or champagne and cognac or whatever Derulo uses as his dancing fuel. He’s drunk, he’s dancing with his thumbs pointed to himself, he is wearing a spiked jacket out of The Warriors.

Telling me to get my shit together
now I got my shit together, yeah,
Now I made it through the weather
better days are gonna get better

Also, he is ruminating over this “getting his shit together”. Jason Derulo may have an OCD because of this break-up. Doesn’t he have any friends he can talk to? Did she take all their friends in the break-up? Because, whatever friends you do make at a dance club, drunk, dancing and wearing a dinner coat more applicable for the Thunderdome are not friends you want to keep.

I’m so sorry that it didn’t work out I’m moving on,
I’m so sorry but it’s over now,
the pain is goooone,

Just keep telling yourself that Jason.

At some point in the video, Jason finds himself at his destination: the club. There are a lot of beautiful young people at the club and everyone looks happy and no one looks disturbed about Jason’s not-so-concealed weapon jacket. But one thing is going on in the club, which is truly frightening…

THIS IS MY NIGHTMARE! Going to a club and seeing cute chicks with an iPad filling out their PlentyofFish.com profile. Open your damn eyes! There are men in front of you! These online dating websites seem harmless enough, but at the same time will cause the destruction of our society. I will fully admit that I have a dating profile set-up on PlentyofFish’s competitor’s site, OkCupid. In a world where I believe I am liberal and open minded and I voted twice for a black president and I eat falafel and I watch foreign films and I think gay marriage should be legal (if not mandatory in some cases, who do some of these gays think they are having all this fun without worrying about marriage or accidentally knocking some one night stand up), but I have judged people. JUDGED PEOPLE! Thousands upon thousands, I have judged. And they have judged me.

It doesn’t take much. Not only can you easily disregard someone for a shitty profile picture or just a “not perfect” profile picture, but you can completely dismiss them if they haven’t answered what their favorite music is perfectly to your liking. They like Broken Social Scene – good. They like Spoon – good. They like Marcy’s Playground – WHAT THE FUCK!?! Seriously!!!?!??!?!?!!? I mean sure, who doesn’t like “Sex and Candy”, but the rest of the Marcy’s Playground catalog!?! THAT’S INSANITY! No one should like them that much that they would put them on this definitive list of music they like forever and ever!

Even more, OkCupid, as well as these other sites, don’t even allow this said imaginary Marcy’s Playground loving person to have their own page without reminding this visiting judge there are other people on this site “similar” to this person, but maybe better for you because they are “less kinky” or “more spiritual”. First, how the fuck does OkCupid no who is more or less “kinky”? Is there some formula out there that can take me liking “Talladega Nights”, “The Wire” and “The Pixies” and figure out what level kinkiness I am? If so, I WANT TO SEE IT!

Even more even more, is that OkCupid is constantly reminding you about how many people are out there on this website. 30,000 singles are online right now! Why settle for a person who you have never met or talked to with even one minor discrepancy on their profile. She likes Atonement? That’s it, we would never get along and we could never agree or laugh or talk about anything because that will be the subtext to all of our interactions. I like Italian food too. Yeah, bitch, but you also liked Atonement and that movie sucked! I don’t care that James McAvoy died and you do and we just cannot coexist.

Hmmmm… back to the song.

I’m putting on my shades
to cover up my eyes,
I’m jumpin’ in my ride,
I’m heading out tonight,
I’m solo, I’m riding solo,
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.
I’m feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine,
I’m loving cloud nine, my head’s in the sky.
I’m solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo

Restating what we already know – Jason Derulo is high as a kite from smoking marijuana and hash, he’s been crying like a little girl whose Tamagotchi pet died, he’s wearing a weaponized coat, he is planning on drunk driving home from the club, and he is delusional in thinking this break-up is over.

yeah it’s like S… O… L… O…
S… O… L… O… S… O… L… O…
Living my life and got stress no more,

I’m putting on my shades
to cover up my eyes,
I’m jumpin’ in my ride,
I’m heading out tonight,
I’m solo, I’m riding solo,
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.
I’m feeling like a star, you can’t stop my shine,
I’m loving cloud nine, my head’s in the sky.
I’m solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo.
I’m riding solo, I’m riding solo, sooloooo

My huge beef with this song is there is not one Han Solo reference. I can’t think of any song that is more perfect for at least a single one-off reference to the space cowboy extraordinaire, Han Solo. Who hasn’t gotten high while blubbering over your broken heart and taking a sharp weapon with them to a public place to get drunk by yourself? That was a typical Wednesday night in college for me. But not one Han Solo reference!?! It’s deplorable.

I really hope someone makes a spoof video/song of this. “Ridin’ with Han Solo” easily could be the chorus. All the lyrics could be altered to come from Han Solo’s hetero-lifemate/co-pilot Chewbacca’s perspective of ridin’ with Han Solo in the Millennium Falcon. Or it could be from one’s own perspective if one were another lucky member of the ship with Chewbacca, Luke, Leia, R2-D2, C3PO, Lando and, of course, Han Solo.

I’m riding solo, sooloooo,
I’m riding solo, sooloooo.

Get that man a set of spikes for his jacket and then we’re all “Ridin’ Solo”.

Oh man, I want this spoof video to happen so bad! And I still want a Road Warrior tuxedo jacket.