True irony.

From the man who brought the cultural revolution comes PAINT BRUSHES!

Jimmy Wales: womenizing midget?

 

Jimmy Wales: Wikipedia’s favorite banner ad orrrrrrrr Kramer’s midget cohort?

YOU DECIDE!

 

What?  You know that the other guy is Danny Woodburn.  Well fuck you for taking away my fun.

It’s a bag. It’s a life jacket.

It’s a bag life jacket!

GAME SHOW TIME: Who’s more Madame?

Is it Swiss tennis great Roger Ferdererer orrrrrrrrrrrr director Quentin Tarantino? Let’s play…..

It’s a tie ORANGE SLICES FOR EVERYONE!!!

Hate Filled Rant: L Train Edition

This article appears in the new humorous lil ‘zine MIBK.  For subscriptions, info, or what the letters actually mean email MIBK.ZINE@gmail.com

Like its fellow creatures of the night, vampires, wolfmen, Jay Leno, the L-Train becomes a monster at the witching hour.  Working in the service industry, I frequently stare down this red eyed cyclops but barely have the legs under me to sneer.  Its when the L Train is running on one track and the hours begin to disappear on the platform that I become the monster.  Every thought and action, no matter how subtle is left dripping in vitriol and spite.  My fists pull at the pockets of my peacoat as if ready for a donnybrook, my eyes scan the physical shortcomings in my fellow travelers, and the young Asian Shannon Hoon beside me ceases to be ironic and amusing and becomes the murderer of every 90’s mix tape I bought in my melancholy youth and I hope for the fate of his namesake upon him.

So you can only imagine what becomes of all this when the train comes and its packed like ass half of Louis Anderson’s gym shorts.  Tears of anger well and I envy any and all who seem even the slightest bit intoxicated.

Now normally I’m a travel pragmatist.  I have no problem say resting my already porous knee cartilage in a subway seat even if there’s a less then able octogenarian swaying above me.  But I do have one code I follow without exception.  When I am standing on a subway car, holding onto the ceiling, and involuntarily touching multiple fellow straphangers, I make sure to take off my saddlebag, backpack or crate of illegals and set it below me.

The young shit before me was not a man of such a code.  Instead, he was a man to who wore a trench coat like some high school cliche and strapped on a black LL Bean backpack that was filled to capacity with what I could only imagine was the bodies of homeless puppies that took up more cubic space then the combined area of the four 80 pound rave girl in front of him.  With his earbuds ablaze, the L slowing to the pace of the wounded animal it was, I knew I would have to put off pouring into the pages of Mole People and present a physical confrontation to set this man back into civility.  Fortunately as I was sharpening my iPod into a shiv against the exposed gruff of the subway floor, I heard the mumbled call of a creature I was not ready for.

Scuse me.
Cuse me.
AaaaCuse me.

From the door on the other side of the train car I could see the densely packed throngs of weary travelers waving like high grass in a field when a boar is pushing through.

Cuse me.
Scuse me.

Yet another without the decency of a proper urban upbringing, the boar/man continued to push forward and the wave soon began to part before me. The anger turned, split and amplified.  And then the smell hit.

It was overwhelming and as he began to breach my vision I can tell that this man ranks among those without a home.  In order to avoid empathetic connection and any possible drunken attempts at conversation, I turn my copy of Mole People so the cover is facing the floor.

Scuse me.

He appeared Mexican, at least I generalized him to be. The same way I think of all Eastern Europeans as Commies.  You may be from Ecuador or your intellectual grandparents may have been died in the Siberian gulags, but its certainly not as funny to me to know that.

And I can no longer ignore him.

The cloud of cow killing stench hit me again like a spiny mallet and I stared into the squints of a man no taller then 5’3 with flowing gray hair and the girth of a security planter.  And he was smiling back a shiny drunken grin that defined shit-eating. My teeth were about to gnash into a wet enamel dust when the rave girl in the Rainbow Bright eyeliner whispered in horror.

O God. He peed.

Sure enough, as the people began to Biblically part for him, I could see he was leaving behind puddles of his waste in his wake.  It squeezed out of his Reeboks in little athletic shaped ponds.  Staring right at him I made the evasive action and sunk into the understanding crowd behind me.  Trenchcoat did not.  And as the Mexican vagrant passed him, he pushed deep into his backpack and slung him around like some Ferris Bueller bully.  The man disappeared between cars and Trenchcoat got his first whiff of what had become of his backpack.

I enjoy the small things in life just as much as I hate them.  The negativity I had stacked like newspapers in a old woman’s rent controlled apartment had no business being rewarded.  But I knew from the hopeless look in Trenchcoat’s eyes that he would carry a part of my jolly homeless Mexican with him and I could hardly hide my pleasure as the train pulled out from under the East River.

Failed new webseries proposals…

Just thought someone should see it.  2 doomed minutes.

Minnesota TV Vacation Highlights!

(Twice a year I head up into the Minnesota wilderness to get drunk, eat pig, and most importantly absorb all the basic cable I’ve been missing over the last 6 months. And then tell you what I think. Lucky.)

6/30
AMC Murrayfest. Just watched Stripes, Caddyshack, Ghostbusters I and II and started watching Stripes again. (Everyone knows the first hour is where the genius lies.)

Harold Ramis, comedy God, terrible actor.  TERRIBLE.

I forget how many lines I still use from Ghostbusters II despite it’s inferiority.  They must be paying Murray like a Shah to do 3.

Bill Murray would be the only person that I would be nervous to meet in person. (Well Tiny Fey was no picnic, but I pulled it off. Maybe Gervais.)

It really is amazing how Bill was the Will Ferrel of his day. Just showing up to every movie playing Bill Murray and not getting unfunny. Completely different humor.

7/1

ESPN notes. Steve Levy is gettin’ heavy.

How does Ricky Rubio get a Gillette commercial before he can shave?

Oh how the death of Billy Mays will haunt me now.

Taking in the “Pitchmen” marathon on Discovery has just made me lament the loss of the bearded one all that much more knowing that such a great show is now deceased.  How great was the chemistry between An(tin)y Sullivan and Big Bill.  Pitchmen may soon be my show of the trip. (It’s definitely made Parking Wars heights.) I was glued to the behind the scenes making of the direct marketing product world.  Discovery has redeemed itself for what has been a lack luster performance from the infotainment triad (Disc, Hist, NatGeo).

Oooooh Billy.

I’m now growing a memorial beard for the big fella.

7/2

Daisy is the new Love of Money/Everything I hate about television is suddenly on VH1

Back in my pilot writing days, I came up with an idea that I was going to pitch as “Grosse Pointe Blanke” the TV series.  Something with assassins being quirky and funny and shooting people for good reasons now. Well the only thing worse then finding out that someone has beat me to it, is to find out that its fucking good.  I’ve just watched 5 maybe 6 (time disappears up here) of Burn Notice. And it’s fucking good.

None of these burn notice pics have the Bruce in them. Which is a mistake.

It sort of like the A-Team without the mohawks and welding. (I know, what’s left?) With Michael Weston, dashing and smart, as Hannibal, the hot chick not wearing much (I keep refering to her as Princess Margaret from Tudors)  doing the Face parts and Bruce Campbell, sweet, sweet Bruce Campbell being both Murdock and Mr. T at the same time.   I literally could have watched about 12 more episodes but I had “Go out to eeeeeeat.” and “Get drunnnnnnnk.”  So at least I have some left to watch on Hulu when I get home.

So he gets his own.

7/3

Whale Wars makes me root for the whalers.  Whiny fucking crustached hippies in boats.  Seriously is that kid out of high school?

Best thing on TV today: Sarah Palin’s speech.

There are alot of people up here who look like the owner of the Double Deuce from Roadhouse. Fat, white hair, a lil alcholicy, bad teeth. (His name is Kevin Tighe. (His best friend’s name is Randolph Mantooth. How did that guy not get famous!)  Love ya guy, but you do look a lil alcholicy.)

You can just see him standing behind Dalton handing out the pink slips.

The Stevie Zahn/ Marty Lawrence opus National Security is on TBS ALOT.  So it amazes me that everytime I zoom past it, that its always on a part that I’ve never seen.  I’ve done the math and it appears that I average 2.3 seconds per viewing of National Security.  Slowly encroaching the record currently held by City Of Angels.

I just said, “I’m not going anywhere until I see Mayim Bialik’s haircut!” (Which was kinda dissapointing. C’mon Nick Arroyo)

It’s nice of What Not To Wear to bring back whats good about the Celebreality that VH1 has so ceremoniously destroyed.  We want to see Hulk Hogan’s life, not his brat man-daughter.  It doesn’t count when you make the celebrity. (New York, Daisy, half of the people on the Surreal Life now.)

Was there any more perfect person to put in the hands of Stacey and Clinton then our own beloved Blossom.  Who has since become a Jewish Hippie Mom Doctor that looks like she should be teaching philosophy out on a knoll at UMass Amhearst. (It was also nice to see Six all grown up and put together.)  You should take people who fit the show (Ted Nugent people hunting) not just anyone who will except food stamps for work. (Scott Baio)

7/4

Thank you Style Network for bringing back My Super Sweet 16. Muah.

7/5

I understand you can’t play the best of David Lean all the time, but Jumanji followed by Wolf.  AMC shame.

Watched Dave Atell followed by Jim Norton as the apex of Comedy Centrals stand up weekend and lets just say those guys can craft a dick joke.

7/6

MonsterQuest – Giant Squid = garbage

7/7

Important Things with Demitri Martin is exactly like Mind of Mencia without the condescending stereotypes.  Everytime I try not to like ol Demitri he just reels me back in. They canceled Mind of Mencia right?

I should have mentioned earlier, of all the “The Soup” rip off shows, Tosh.0 is defintely the best.  It amazingly has it’s own feel despite being the exact same show but with internet clips.

Finally, i can’t believe i didn’t watch more of Operacion Repo.  It’s Parking Wars but with fist fights.  And how is it that the biggest baddest looking Mo Fo, Matt is always the one getting his ass kicked.  I saw him kicked in the nuts, stomped, hit with beer bottles, and just straight punched and for all his talk never saw him land a punch.  You realize you look like a giant vagina right? Just wondering.

Epilogue

what did we learn: Burn Notice is my new favorite show, Pitchmen makes me miss Billy Mays and Matt from Operation Repo is a pussy.

Thank you cable and thank you Minnesota.

Late Night makes it 1993 all over again.

I was thinking of writing a review about Conan’s first show, which was pretty good. (His taking the Universal Tour out on the road and getting the crowd to chant “circle, circle, circle.” Genius.) But what really got me tonight was that musical guests tonight were straight out of high school for me.  1993 was the last time the Tonight Show changed hands and it was also probably the last time Pearl Jam appeared in public.  Well Conan welcomed them back with open arms.  Jeff and Stone looked fantastic and Eddie was wearing a nice, baggy, hidin’ my ponch t-shirt.  No Doubt with a “I’m still 23” Gwen Stefani was on Jimmy.  But my favorite was Tori Amos on Craig Ferguson.  Remember when Tori Amos cock-eyed, piano stradlin’, stringy red haired look had that really cute crazy little sister thing going for it.  Well now it screams crazy hippy cat lady aunt.  You know the kind who might smoke you up in high school but the next morning she performing a wiccan ritual over the body of your naked best friend and while you were appauled she would say your disgust is so bourgeouis and tell you she didn’t march all those years ago just so her sister could raise such closed minded children. And I couldn’t be any happier.

Playing to 37 cats nightly.

Btw Tony Toni Tone was on Comics Unleashed: Hot Chocolate.

Why does Showtime not spend some of their budgets on cool opening credits?

Just started watching the Tudors. Fun show. Best history porn since Rome. But shitty opening credits.

It’s like watching a terrible ad for Elizabethan perfume.
Not as bad as Californication (which is literary porn). That looked like it took about 20 seconds to film and looks like a bad Gin Blossoms video.  Or something that Ben Stiller would have loved in Reality Bites.

I’m not sure if I hate it more because I like the shows or like it because I can fast forward the first 2 minutes without regret. Then again when they do give some thought to the opening credits, like Dexter, its a little much and I still can’t watch it.

When Affirmative Action is handled poorly.

So I was in the Kips Bay Movie Theater recently and admiring the mural painted on the ceiling while purchasing my popcorn. And it occured to me…

Who decided on Rosie Perez?  And Diana Ross.  You could at least make some sort of a case for Diana, musically, but is Rosie the best they could do for the Latin community.  Even if this mural was 12 years old, J.Lo would have made more sense.  (Which would have made a fly girl bonanza.) Is it all the Image awards she racked up over the years?

Then it got worse.

One the rows and rows of posters on the way to the theater.  There were some questionable placements: Dances With Wolves, American Tale but then the only black movie was….

But I guess that’s because Tupac was in it.

So in an open letter to Kips Bay AMC, 1992 was 17 YEARS AGO. It’s OK to put up Do the Right Thing.  No one will riot.  Denzel is not the only black person to have won an Oscar now. (see Berry, Whitaker, fuck John Witherspoon).  Just saying.