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Happy tenth day of 2005! Okay, so I'm a little late. But that's going to change. No, really. This year's resolution will be to update the site more often. Like once a week. Or bi-weekly. I'm pretty sure that means twice a week and not once every two weeks. What do you think? Should there be weekly features, like on Tuesdays I complain about stuff, or Wednesday I talk about stuff that happened when I was eight? I don't know. Maybe there should be a mascot, like Professor Phosphorescent or Gasbot.


Anyway, we were at Nick's house yesterday watching Denver forget they were in the playoffs. After that, we decided to watch a movie.

Deciding on a movie should be a relatively stress-free endevor, but with us, deciding on a DVD to watch is like trying to decide which wire to cut on a time bomb. No one ever wants to be the one to pick the movie. And there's always one person that doesn't want to watch whatever is picked. We need a Wheel-O-Movies or something that we can just spin and whatever the Wheel says, goes.

Last night's movie was picked because my friends were shocked-SHOCKED!-to discover that I'd never seen it. Apparently, I'm the only person on Earth who hasn't. So last night, we watched Footloose.

I'd spend the past twenty-plus years completely devoid of any desire to watch Kevin Bacon dance around. I only found out a few months ago on one of those VH-1 shows that it was about a town where dancing is against the law. And now that I've seen it, I guess I finally feel like I've really lived.

I also have a few questions. First off, did Kenny Loggins do anything but write movie themes? Footloose, Top Gun, Caddyshack...was that his whole career? What ever happened to that guy anyway? When I was in college, there was this kid Duane that didn't know what kind of music I listened to, so he tried to insult me by saying "You probably like Kenny Loggins." Except sometimes he said Kenny G, and sometimes it was Kenny Rogers. I don't think he realized they're three different people. That's pretty funny.

Second, what the hell happened to Chris Penn?!! He was skinny in this movie. Now he's a big fat guy. I think the earliest movie I saw him in was Reservoir Dogs. Seeing Nice Guy Eddie all skinny and prancing around is reason enough alone to watch this movie.

I never knew that "I Need a Hero" song came from this movie. It always reminded me Short Circuit 2 when Johnny Five fixes himself at Radio Shack and goes after Oscar for betraying him. I guess when the rest of the world hears that song, they think of two guys on tractors playing chicken. I think it fits better with the angry robot, though. Somewhere out there, I'm sure there's a song that really says two guys on tractors playing chicken. Rain on the Scarecrow, maybe. Or Sweet Home Alabama.

We went back and watched a few scenes with Kevin Bacon commentary. That was great. For the afore mentioned tractor chicken, he said "Oh no, I hope I don't get my foot stuck to the pedal." Later when he's dancing, he says "Now, this wasn't me" and it cuts to a closeup shot of his face, and he says "Well, that's me, but this next part isn't." Good stuff; I'll have to watch the whole thing with commentary at some point.

The best part of the movie was when the guy with antlers mounted on the roof of his truck throws a brick through the uncle's window. "Burn in Hell? This brick says 'Burn in Hell'!" That and Chris Penn('s stunt double) doing flips in a field. Maybe next week we'll watch another eighties movie I've never seen.

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Hope You're Havin' Fun With the Bean Bag

It's only been a week since I last saw Wah-Kee, but a lot changed in that week. He met a hairdresser and they went on a date. I don't know if he met her at a party and then got a haircut, or he asked her out while she was doing his hair. All I knew is what Jose told me: that his Chinese guy mullet is no more and he now looks like a boy band member, circa 1999. I got to see it myself at his birthday party Friday night.

I got him a card with some money and a printout of a website I found, www.wah-kee.com. It's a Chinese food place in Madison, WI.




Michele dropped Brianna off at my parent's house and we went over to Jose's place. Nick, Hedie, Wah-Kee and his hair showed up about half an hour later. Huh. He now has short hair with little brown streaks all over the place. He says it's "bleached." It looks like some kid took a burnt umber crayon and went to town on his head. Here's hoping it works out and she's not just using him as a guinea pig for her weird hair experiments.



A little later on Ali and Catlin showed up. For the longest time Jose was obsessed with Ali, even though she constantly shot him down and basically treated him like crap. Wah-Kee liked Catlin, then he may or may not have had something with Ali. That was during the summer, and I guess it put Nick, Jose and Wah-Kee's friendships in danger. I'm not sure when this turned into Melrose Place. I missed a lot, being a whole town away and all.

We spent the night watching a Ron White DVD, drinking some cheap yet magical Boone's Farm green liquor, and playing Taboo and Hoopla well into the night. I called the green stuff "inspiration juice," but it didn't really help my game at all. It didn't hinder it, either. Turns out I just choke whenever I'm playing a board game. We used to play Clue at Nick's house. I won the first two games, and I haven't won since. I once said "Hello, old man" after getting Col. Mustard. If you ever play Clue, don't do that. And then there was the whole Miss White ordeal. I hate her.

The party was great. Catlin got Wah-Kee a giant pair of granny panties that she told him were hers. We all had a good time, although every once in a while Jose had to remind us to keep it down so the neighbors wouldn't complain. By the time we left it was too late to wake up Brianna, so we went back to my parent's house for the night.

On Saturday Michele and I went into Boston to go Christmas shopping. We spent most of the day there, but nothing worth mentioning here. I guess if I was a chick I'd say something like "Omigod, I saw the cutest pair of shoes!" But really not much happened. It was just nice to be alone together for awhile.

During the train ride home, I kept hearing this weird noise. It was a little boy's voice. I couldn't make out what he was saying right away; only the "ding-DONG" rhythm he was saying it in. The doors on the train make the same noise before they open. At first, it sounded like "green beans."

green beans,
green beans...

He kept doing that. The whole time. Eventually, I could hear him better, and he was actually saying "bean bag". It was some kind of song. Or unholy chant, I'm not really sure.

bean bean,
bean bag
bean bean,
bean bag
hope you're havin' fun with the be-ean bag,
hope you're havin' fun with the be-ean bag
bean bean,
bean bag...

We got back to my parents house and picked up Brianna, who had been watching tapes of soap operas with my mom. Apparently she watched them Friday, too. She was all into it. She said "Chloe was in an accident, but she's still alive!" I told her it was time to go, but she said she wanted to find out "what happens to Chloe and the baby." My mom said the baby was actually on a different soap. My God. Two days and she's addict to daytime TV.

Despite everything that happened this weekend, all I can think about is that damn bean bag song. It just keeps playing over and over in my head.

bean bean,
bean bag
bean bean,
bean bag
hope you're havin' fun with the be-ean bag,
hope you're havin' fun with the be-ean bag

That kid's going to haunt my dreams.

kid: You must kill your neighbor's dog. So says the bean bag.
Me: Yes, master. All hail the mighty bean bag. Bean bean, bean bag...

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Hell's Radio

Where do bad folks go when they die? No one knows for sure, but I'll bet they play America's top 40 there. All day, every day. Somewhere in the depths of the sulfuric abyss, the wretched souls of the damned are forced to endure the pre-recorded bleeting Ashlee Simpson for all eternity.

And what cruel fate awaits the worst specimens humanity has to offer? An eternal loop of Move Ya Body by Nina Sky and a guy who calls himself Jabba.

I've heard this song more times in the past few months than any human being deserves to. Sure, they mix it in with a bunch of other terrible songs to ensure that no part of your spirit remains uncrushed, but this song takes that extra step that makes you want to actually go out and buy the CD so you can snap it in half and slit your wrists with the shattered pieces.

The part with the women singing isn't really too bad. It's not great, but it doesn't make me want to kill myself. But then near the end that Jabba guy starts shouting orders.



Dear God is that annoying. He's some kind of dance music drill sergeant. If you don't move your body, it's two hours in the Hole, maggot! I guess I can move my body well enough, but I don't know if I can handle all that alternating-speed winding.

I just hope there's a special place in Hell for everyone associated with this song. Jabba should be forced to slow wind while listening to himself shout "Slow wind" until the end of time. Maybe even longer than that.

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I Fall to Pieces

Quick story: When I was in second grade, I went to at a friend's house. He had this steep hill in his back yard. We started to walk down, but I slipped on a rock. I started to roll down the hill and didn't stop until I hit a tree. When I sat up, I noticed my pants were ripped and my leg was bleeding. I started to freak out.

My leg! My leg!

My mom came and got me and we went to the hospital. The whole time I kept screaming "My leg! My leg!"

The doctor looked me over. It seemed I had a small concussion and my left arm was broken in three places. There was nothing wrong with my leg.


Other than that I had a pretty good track record when it comes to injury. I'm very flexible. People used to call me Gumby. Those people were assholes. The point is, I bend but don't break. Or so I thought.

Thanksgiving a few years ago I was playing football in Nick's backyard. In retrospect, I had no business playing football to begin with. When I was a kid I used to strike out in tee-ball. Tee-ball! Who knew that was even possible? But it wasn't a big deal since none of us were teeming with athletic ability.

We pretty much made up our own rules. There was only five or six people on each team, and we didn't really have anything to mark downs, so every carry was all or nothing.

About an hour into the game, we did a running play, because I can't catch. The ball was snapped and I ran. I ran like hell. Faking left. Dodging right. I was unstoppable. As I drew closer to our makeshift end zone (a shrub) I could smell victory. Except it wasn't victory, it was booze, and it was coming from Nick's dad, TJ. He was on the other team, and even though I could zip by everyone else I was never able to get past him. I was supposed to be covered by this big lumberjack of a guy named Billy, but I sort of ran past him. He would have come in handy, but instead I went over TJ's shoulders and landed on my neck. I heard a loud crack noise, like when you bite into hard candy, and immediately thought I broke my glasses. But they were fine. Everyone ran over to ask if I was alright and I got up and said I was fine, I just felt a little weird. Then someone noticed my shoulder. It didn't look right. I thought maybe it just popped out and asked if someone would put it back in place. It didn't hurt, it just felt...different.

My friends took me to the emergency room. But not before calling my parents. I really didn't want my mom to know about this because just a few weeks before my health insurance was cancelled and I hadn't renewed it. She kept nagging me to get it renewed, but I figured "What could possibly happen?" So she was more pissed than concerned.

After sitting in the emergency room for a few hours, a doctor looked at me. But first I had to fill out a ton of paperwork because I had no insurance. They took x-rays, gave me a sling and said my collarbone was broken and will heal itself in about eight weeks. They didn't even do anything, but I had to pay more money than I care to mention for it. I was still able to have Thanksgiving dinner, except now my shoulder, which hadn't hurt all day because it was numb, started to hurt like crazy.

Maybe I'll play again this year. My collarbone never really healed quite right, so it sticks out a little. So I should break the other one so they look the same. I have insurance now...

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Another Malfunction

This morning on ESPN.com I saw yet another article about the Desperate Housewives promo on Monday Night Football. The FCC is going to decide whether or not to fine ABC for airing it.

If you're like me and you live with your girlfriend and only have one TV, you probably weren't watching football Monday night. But according to the article, the skit went like this:

Nicollette Sheridan is standing in the locker room with Terrell Owens, who I will never refer to as "TO" I just can't. Shorthand bugs me. It sounds like you're trying too hard to be cool. Like "lol." In all my time online, I have never written "lol." Damn, I just did. Twice. Well, except for just now, I never did. Anyway, she's standing there wearing only a towel and asking Owens to skip the game. She drops the towel and jumps into his arms. The article then points out that Owens is black and Sheridan is white.

And that's the thing that I don't get. I mean, some people are complaining that it was too racy. I can understand that. Even though both shows start at 9 PM, odds are there's more younger kids watching football than a nighttime soap, even if it is the must-see runaway hit of the season. It was inappropriate. So that at least makes sense.

But that's not the reason for all the uproar. It's not because people think it's racy, it's because they think it's racist. That's what Indianapolis coach Tony Dungy said after seeing it.

"To me that's the first thing I thought of as an African-American," he said.

"I think it's stereotypical in looking at the players, and on the heels of the Kobe Bryant incident I think it's very insensitive. I don't think that they would have had Bill Parcells or Andy Reid or one of the owners involved in that."

So, he wasn't upset about the naked white woman, but the fact that there was a black guy with the naked white woman.

Let's think about this for a second. ABC wants to promote their show, so they decide to do a segment with an actress from the show and a player from the game they were about to broadcast, the Eagles vs. the Cowboys. I've never seen Desperate Housewives, but I would think that most of the plot revolves around promiscuous women. Who are housewives. And desperate. So you know anything advertising the show would play that up. Now all they need is a player to make the NFL connection. Sure, they could have gone with Vinny Testaverde...

Who is that guy? Is he on the show?

I think it's Vinny Testaverde.

My God, I thought he was dead!

No, as much as it pains José, the Eagles owned a 7-1 record going into the game and were clearly the hotter team. So ABC went with Philly. Philadelphia's quarterback, Donovan McNabb, is black. Terrell Owens, their "look at me!" star player, is black. So they went with Owens. Big deal. Now, if it had shown him celebrating afterwards by taking a Sharpie out of his sock and signing her naughty bits, then I could see where that would be in poor taste. But making a stink because the guy is black is just stupid.

The Patriots are playing this Monday. If they had waited a week and did the promo with Nicollette and whitebread Tom Brady, I guarantee no one would have complained. Except maybe Bridget Moynahan.

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