In These Economic Times #4

It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint can do.

With some Sea Breeze and a pair of sneakers, you're ready to hit the town.

Goldfinger

I'm taking a cue from a guy at what scenery! and getting all spilly:

I'm newly wed, which makes me a newlywed. I'm also recently showered, but that's not its own thing I suppose.

People ask me how things are different than pre-wedding. I answer their question with a question, because I can't control the intonation of my voice.


"It's exactly like it was before I was married?"

I jest, but that's really how I say it, because life is the same. My girlfriend metamorphized to my fiance and then to my wife with beautiful wings, but that's all in name only. My feelings for her didn't change.

And yet.

She still makes pie (suck on that sweet potato, fellas), and I still clean the sink drain, but now our fingers are draped with precious metals. She has to take her ring off if she doesn't want it covered in dough, and I have to take my ring off if I don't want it covered in...just, you wouldn't believe that mess unless you saw it. Seriously, is that the elephant in the room? Sink drain blockage? Our nation needs to address this if we're going to move past it. Our drains don't run. Yikes. Just, wow. Is it plant, animal, mineral? The answer is no. no.

I didn't write my own vows.

In These Economic Times: Tip #3

Canning is a great way to preserve fruits and vegetables for when you really need them. Same goes for your kidneys.

In These Economic Times: Tip #2

Give a job, yuppy.

In These Economic Times: Tip #1

Instead of going to an aquarium, visit a Chinese restaurant. There is no entrance fee, and the restaurant won't get uppity when you pick out your meal from the tank.


On a related note: If they can serve seafood at aquariums, why don't they serve monkey tacos at the zoo?

Here's a thing

Welcome to Simon’s Jewelers, how can I help you? … Oh that’s very exciting, congratulations to both of you. The first thing you want to do is pick out a diamond.

Oh, well here’s the thing about these so called blood diamonds. I mean, I’ve seen the 60 Minutes special. I’ve seen the movie. Doesn’t Leo DeCaprio do just a wonderful job with that accent? Have you ever heard anything like that? Wild. But really, here’s the thing. For me, I want to see the proof. Anyone can tell a story. But for me, I need to see the story in the pudding. It would be horrible, just horrible, if those stories were true about the children. With their hands chopped off? I’ve got children, and you know, that’s – I think you see where I’m going – not something I would ever want kids ever getting in to. Knock on cubic zirconium. Just a little joke we’ve got around here.

But no, I need the proof. A severed hand? Doesn’t that sound extreme? Wouldn’t you like to see the evidence so you know it’s happening, instead of being told that it’s happening? I want to see the hand. I want to see the diamond, and I want to see it with the hand. I would know then, that yes, maybe those diamonds are connected to severed hands. So yes, show me the hand with the diamond. Better yet, show me a man holding the diamond in one hand, and a severed hand in his other hand. He has two hands, but there are three hands in the picture. You have to visualize. The severed hand belongs to someone else.

Maybe he should have a machete at his feet too. That way I could infer the implication that he cut off someone’s hand with the machete, the one at his feet. The machete is at his feet, not another hand. There’s only three hands in the picture, remember? Two of them are his. Because otherwise, maybe the hand came off some other way? Who are we to know? We should know. Which is why the machete should definitely be in the picture.

And then, if we have that picture, for me I can say, “Ok, Simon,” for that’s my name along with the store’s name, coincidence, no? No, it’s not a coincidence, it’s my store. Then I can say, “Ok, Simon, maybe we should get these stones from a reputable source.” Which we try to do anyway, and I haven’t even seen this kid’s hand yet. No, I know what you’re saying in your mind, but with thinking: “In the movie, Leo smuggled diamonds across borders in a goat. Not on a goat, but under the goat’s skin.” I know what you were getting at, because I also saw the movie. Wasn’t it wild?

So yes, maybe a real life Leo, Leo is real life, but his character wasn’t, maybe a real life Leo’s character is smuggling diamonds inside goats, in which case we would think we were getting diamonds not connected to severed hands, but in fact they were hand diamonds. Again, I want the hands and goats in writing, but with pictures.

But I get it, you want peace of mind. And that’s why you come to Simon’s. Simon says, put your mind at peace. That’s another little joke we have around here, we like to have a good time. But seriously, be peaceful, because I can get you an estate diamond. It came from someone else’s hand. But not a child’s severed hand, more like the hand of an old woman who has died, but not over her diamond. Died just because. And her hand wasn’t even severed.

Well to be honest, maybe it was severed, you know? I don’t know how she died. But most likely her hand wasn’t severed, because how often does that happen? Probably more often than you think, because how often do you think of people losing their hands? For me, not often. So probably more people die by losing a hand than you or I would think. Heaven forbid, knock on cubic zirconium, and all of that for sure. For sure.

Well, I’ve given you plenty to think about. I don’t want to put diamonds in your mouth, but you have got a big decision ahead of you. And that is, who are you going to make sit at the table with Uncle Jerry? But seriously, I require a deposit.

Rejected: An Ongoing Series

In what will be a depressingly recurring feature, I'm going to post here bits-o-funny that were rejected by other outlets. Luckily, my outlet takes all bits. Wait a second.

Up first, a McSweeney's-style list compiled by the Brothers Poppy that was rejected in the McSweeney's style by a McSweeney's publication. They are so polite and earnest and encouraging in their rejection that you just want to strangle a balloon. Maybe that's just me.

Anyway, one Poppy was responsible for the funniest entries, and one Poppy was responsible for the worst, and I'll just leave it at that. But you know who you are, Poppy.

Breakfasts (by Nick Poppy, Seth Poppy and Dan Poppy)

Breakfast of Champions: Wheaties
Breakfast of Former Champions: Cream of Wheaties
Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions' Breakfast of Champions: Martini
Breakfast of Michael Phelps: One bong hit, twenty Egg McMuffins
Breakfast of Godzilla: Tokyo
Breakfast of Tough Guys: People like you
Breakfast of Nerds: Nerds
Breakfast of French people: Croissants
Breakfast of Lumberjacks: Two pancakes, two eggs, two sausage links, two bacon strips, a grilled ham slice, home fries, and toast
Breakfast of monkeys: Bananas

This writing thing

I don't do enough of it as I should. Rather, I don't write as much as I would like. In the grand scheme of things - where grand=inevitable, scheme=death, things=everyone (TGIF!) - there's nothing I should or shouldn't be doing. There's a life lesson: There is no should, only would.

Ahem, sorry.

Writing, as I see it, requires a few steps: Pay attention to the steady stream of nonsense racing through one's head, have the sense to pluck out the few bits that won't terrify the general public, then stop dicking around and write them down.

This blog exists, as much as a poorly maintained, unread, free Web site can, to make with the funny about sports 'n such. But sometimes I want to crack wise about corn subsidies and the latest antics of that rascal Hugo Chavez, god dammnit. Oh, and the way armrests are clearly not to be used by anyone except for the person at the end of the aisle. Get out of my personal space, you lousy mouth-breather.

So let it be so.

God, don't we all feel better now? It's like the air is lighter, and the Phillies didn't actually acquire Pedro Martinez (See? Still with the sports!).

So. OK. Here we go.

Bikes and stuff

Remember M. Night Shyamalan's Unbreakable, where Samuel L. Jackson has brittle bones and is convinced that there must be a polar-opposite nemesis with strong bones because he reads comic books (duh), and the whole time you're thinking there's going to be a twist because it's M. Night Shyamalan and that's the only thing he's got going for his films, and then the twist is too obvious, like offensively obvious, so obvious you're like, "no, he has more respect for the audience than that," but he doesn't. He really doesn't. Remember that?

Well, I'm awful on a bike (this is known as ridiculous), so I was convinced that my polar opposite was out there somewhere:



Now we must duel, but not that jousting business. I must rely on my superior, yet evil, intellect. I challenge you, Danny MacAskill, to bike Scrabble.

Harry and the Ephemera-sons

This is late to the game, and Phillies crowds are probably done throwing grief batteries and back to just throwing victory batteries or Tuesday batteries, but Phillies announcer Harry Kalas died, and that is sad. There's no joke there.

However...




There is a fine line between celebrating a beloved announcer with his most memorable catchphrase and exclaiming with glee that, in fact, Harry K is "outta here", right?

Thanks, Nock

What's in a name? Lies and Gimmicks

I was looking up Catfish Hunter's birthday (what?) and learned that owner Charlie Finley created the nickname "Catfish" and made up stories about the pitcher's youth to give Hunter some backwoods cred (Wikipedia is etched in community-manipulated stone).

Uh, yes.

This needs to happen all the time for baseball to overcome its steroids black eye (by which I refer to the various black eyes given to players' spouses.)

Alex Rodriguez could become Amarrador Rodriguez, which I'm going to guess means "Cockfighter Rodriguez". You see, A-Rod, or should I say Cock-Rod, grew up in the rough streets of (who cares?), where he had to eke out a living raising los gallos. He grew to love the birds like family, only to see them slaughtered in vicious battle week after week. The cruel life lessons he learned carried him forward to a great career in the majors, but his happiness is always tinged with sad memories of poor Martillo. Is any of that true? Who's to say? But now everyone has forgotten that he's been pumping himself full of steroids for years. Except for the children; their hearts are forever broken.

Let's take it upon ourselves to rename (with back story) every All Star. Ready, go...

P.S. Catfish Hunter's birthday is on Wednesday. Mark your calendars. Gone but never forgotten.

Tommy Smyth Is Just The Worst

Here's a promise. If I ever write about soccer, I'm going to mention that Tommy Smyth is just the worst. It's the curse of the American to be stuck with Tommy Smyth for commentary if you want to watch soccer, which is why you should be watching it on Univision anyway. (Here's an episode of Charlie Rose with torture-porn perv John Yoo and Smyth on the same show. I can't bring myself to watch the whole thing, but I imagine it ends with Charlie roasting both guests over an open spit. If not, I'm revoking my public television membership.)

It's hard enough to be a soccer fan in the U.S., but when Smyth gives the equivalent of Man vs. Beast commentary, it hurts a little bit more.

Anyway, back to the reason for this post. Watch this kid, he's going to be famous (link from No More Onion Bags - see, everyone hates him):


I had a Scottish defense coach in high school who would scream "You let the man go by, or you let the ball go by, not fucking booth!" Seriously, that accent makes me giggle.

The point is, with all the fancy footwork, sooner or later, someone is going to sweep this kid's leg, Johnny. Pop culture!

Fantasy Rock Band

Stephen Malkmus hearts fantasy sports. The former Pavement frontman would probably be on my Fantasy Rock Band team. Or you know, maybe he could just come over to my house, we'd sit around, drink some beer, and he'd be like, "hey, what do you want to do today," and I'd be all like, "shit man, I don't know," and then he'd be like, "want to play some pinball or something, because I don't have shit to do today except perform a concert in your living room for your friends, but in the meantime, we should probably just drink and hang out cause you're such an awesome guy." And I'd be like, "sure, Stephen Malkmus, I can hang out for a bit, but then I have to go bowling with David Bowie." That's how Fantasy Rock Band works if you've never played before.


thanks, Guha

I've never seen any of Danny McBride's movies, but funny people think he's funny, so that's good, right?

http://www.hbo.com/events/eastbounddown/

McBride plays a down-on-his-luck baseball player, looking to make it back to the top. Hopefully it's as funny as The Wrestler. I tell ya, when Marissa Tomei is stripdancing, and the camera pans across the soul-crushing club full of dead-eyed slobs, I actually slapped my knee. Then I curled up into a ball - fully clothed - in the shower.

Rickey Proud of Rickey Plaque For All That Rickey Has Done. Rickey.

Rickey Henderson was rewarded for all of Rickey’s achievements today by having Rickey’s face frozen in carbonite. As the greatest base stealer in history, let’s look back at some of Rickey’s greatest steals:

1. Downloaded Chinese Democracy two months before its official release
2. That time Rickey's ghost runner stole third when Nolan Ryan wasn’t looking. Yes huh it counts.
3. The discount Rickey got by buying the whole duvet set instead of just the duvet cover.
4. Didn’t Rickey used to do cocaine? Rickey probably stole some cocaine.
5. The souls of some Native Americans with Rickey’s trusty Nikon.
6. Kisses from Rickey’s high school sweetheart, who later became Rickey’s wife and the mother of Rickey’s three beautiful children (It’s about love, people).

My god, is this the rush David Letterman feels every night? Generating lists makes me feel like a god on stolen cocaine.


photo by Piero Sierra

Two Teams Enter, Hopefully Neither Leaves

Dear UNC and Duke fans,
Listen, we get it. We know you folks hate each other. It makes the basketball season more fun for you. But someone needs to say something. The rest of the country doesn't care.

It's like one of you is Master Blaster and the other is Mad Max in Beyond Thunderdome. Sure, you want to kill the other, but the rest of us are Tina Turner, and we secretly hope you kill each other in the Dome (the ACC championship) so we can enjoy Bartertown (NCAA Tournament) in peace (Pulitzer committee, I'm up to my ears in analogies if you're interested.)

Now I know many of you will say that rivalries are a great part of sports and the UNC-Duke rivalry might be the greatest of them all. Well let's look at the facts:

Exhibit #1 - Shut up, nerds. (This is how the judicial system works)

Also, "you suck at rape?" Uh, sadly, both schools are probably fairly awesome at rape, like every other school in the country. Yikes, this imaginary letter took a sharp turn.

We hope this finds you both well, and we hope to never hear from either of you again.

Sincerely,
Everyone else

P.S. The video nails it about you Duke girls though. Yeesh.