Friday, July 28, 2006

The Passion of the Drunk

Awesome! Okay, I know I shouldn't laugh at anyone's misfortune of driving while intoxicated. But Mel Gibson? Mel Gibson?

Awesome! I've read he used to be a big drinker, but you know, he found Jesus and grew a religious beard and all that crap. And he would always say how he was so above needing a drink now and again, how its against his faith, yada yada yada (even though boozing is cool in Catholicism).

Ooops. Busted along the PCH for a DUI. I love it when smug, "pious" celebrities and / or public figures get busted for doing something they claim to be beyond or above at this point in their life. Sometimes, there is a little justice in this world!

I can't wait for Tom Cruise to be busted snorting Ritalin and going all gladiator on Lance Bass.

It's Not TV. It's HBO

Behold the power of HBO original programming. The Defamer and the L.A. Times picked up this story which may or may not confirm that negotiations are being made to make a feature-length film version of Aquaman.

Any fan of Entourage is familiar with the fictional, record-breaking, James Cameron-directed film starring the also-fictional Vincent Chase. Ironically, one of the agents named in the discussions is Ari Emanuel, the inspiration for Jeremy Piven's brilliant Ari Gold.

Would I go see Aquaman? Yes. If it starred Adrian Grenier. And it would be wise to throw in Mandy Moore as Aquagirl. It would be even more incredible to get Cameron to direct an actual film based on a second-fiddle comic hero. I don't really think this film could be done any other way.

I would love to see this made just because it would make Hollywood interesting. A television show satirizing the industry creates a fake movie, initiates buzz and popularity about the "project", and then leads to an actual feature-length film? It's art imitating life imitating art.

And that's just why the only Aquaman can be Vincent Chase, er, Adrian Grenier.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Hoff his fracking rocker

David Hasselhoff continues to astound me. For instance, how does he continue to keep making music? The whole "big in Europe" thing is largely a farce, as I have met several Germans who say a Hasselhoff concert is something you would only take a small child to.

His new song, Jump In My Car, is supposedly poised to break the Top 10 charts in Britain. People are talking about a Hoff resurgence. When was this man ever taken seriously? I've always equated him to being the second-coming of Michael Landon.

Out of a sick curiousity, I felt it necessary to seek out this song. Obviously, people like me are everywhere because it's become quite popular on Google Video and You Tube. I think it may be an ode to streetwalkers while simutaneously capitalizing on his Knight Rider and Baywatch glory.

Watch it. It does not disappoint. Your make choke on a tiny bit of your own vomit, but it is impossible for one to turn away.

It's not over. You can even watch the short documentary on the making of this video. The fact that the crew and female co-stars are allowing themselves to be filmed without a hint of shame or irony is almost compelling. These poor young wannabe actresses. This has to be a fate worse than falling into amateur adult videos.

Because it just demands to be posted one more time...

This is a copy of the "Meat Papers", which was written nearly a year ago. You can also find it at Where's Axl if you are so inclined.

This was initially exchanged on July 29, 2005.

I will begin with Katelyn's letter to ground beef. What follows was (my) ground beef's heartfelt response.

Dear Hamburger Meat,

I am sorry to have to do this, but I think we need some time apart. I know you've been there for me for so many years, but I really think it's time to move on. After seeing you last night in my toilet bowl, after a half an hour of nausea from your undercooked-ness and whatever parasites you may have been carrying, it occurred to me: we're moving in opposite directions. Last night, you were clearly moving up, while I wanted so badly for you to stay down. It finally took me popping a blood vessel in my eye from all the retching to realize that this is just not meant to be.

It's not you, it's me. We've had a lot of good times - you let me eat you in secret while maintaining a facade of vegetarianism so that I could keep my vegan friends happy. You were there on roadtrips, at concerts, at late night burger-fests. You even managed to stay in my life during that 2-day stint in Toronto with Jeff. We've been through everything together - patty melts, North End burgers, South End burgers, mushroom melts, and even steak tartar at that Ethiopian place (yes, you were hot naked). But let's not let the goud times we shared cloud the reality that is the essence of us: we're moving farther and farther apart.

Don't cry, Hamburger - I'll always have a special place in my heart for you. Every time my dad throws a veggie burger on the grill, I'll always wonder, "What could have been?" But for now, Darling, I need some time to regroup, some time to reintroduce myself to my old friends - Mushroom, Soy, and Tofu. I'll still see you in passing and have fond thoughts, but I think this time apart will do us good. Maybe there will be a chance for us, someday, but I don't want us to dwell on that. Find a nice girl - a Viking, perhaps, or a Southerner - someone who really appreciates you for who you are and doesn't want to change you. I wish I could say I'm the one for you, but I think it's obvious I'm not. We're too different: I like Radiohead and you like Kenny Chesney. I like Jon Stewart, you like John Wayne. I like ketchup, you love mustard. Let's let bygones be bygones. The world is our oyster, Hamburger; let's shuck the heck out of it.

With tenderness, Katelyn

Dear Katelyn,

I think I take offense to that. Kenny Chesney prefers fried chicken. John Wayne ate buffalo. A hamburger is more the tastes of your cute little indie rock boys that arent as pretentious as the vegan ones. The cute little ones you really desire, the ones who (like you) have a disdain for daddys money and long to subsist on the greasy goodness found on the grills of such dive establishments as Bukowskis and Charlies? Come on, you really think I dig listening to Moby and Coldplay? I wouldnt want those overexposed pipsqueaks to enjoy the succulent tastes that I have to offer.

What else was I going to do with my life besides offer the world a tasty snack in medium well form (mainly because anyone that doesnt eat their burgers medium well should have their heads examined. Cook me!). If I could find a cure for cancer, get Bush impeached, or prevent Britney Spears from having babies, of course I would. Unfortunately, for now I am but a mere cow and the only thing I look forward to is finding out how I am prepared in the after life. And what sort of friend were you? Ive provided sustenance for centuries and you know you enjoyed sinking your teeth into my carnivorous goodness.

Ah, but your pretentious veggie friends could never see. You couldnt pretend to do this radical bit if you enjoyed a bacon & swiss burger now, could you? Its a lot like when Ryan first arrived in Newport and Marissa wouldnt give up her relationship with Luke because he was a more dignified suitor. Of course, he had to slum it with her in the end when all of his friends dissed him because his father was gay. See? Vegans are much like those popular people in school that you just want to be like, but know youre not. Theyre also willing to diss you if something bad came out, because owning DVDs of The O.C. and the soundtrack to On the Line is pretty much the equivalent of having a gay parent in Newport. And if youre really as liberal as you claim you are, would you really want friends like that?

Oh, Katelyn. Perhaps they made me too rare last night. Or maybe you drank too much (its not as if you NEVER do that). Like everything in life, we cannot all be perfect. Getting cooked or marinated improperly is much like being a Scientologist. You cant tenderize meats with vitamins, can you? NO! I always laugh at how you flip back and forth about what is right and wrong (or cool and uncool) oh so easily. Because I know that you always come crawling back to me, however, enough is enough.

I dont want your friendship if its only on your terms. I hate the South and Ive never been to Norway and I find your liberal, open-minded viewpoint appaling. Why would I want you to enjoy my meaty goodness when you spend your time denying my existence in your life or speaking about how you shouldnt enjoy me. Its a lot like Whitney Houston telling Barbara Walters that crack is whack, isnt it? She wanted the viewers to think that she was over that part of her life, when she really was speaking of her addiction as something she loved more than putting corn rows in Bobbi Kristinas hair. Well this bag of ground beef wants to dance with someone that loves me. Someone like Benjamin McKenzie: that Texas-bred boy just loves piling me up with ketchup and onions and biting down. Something of which I can assure you, will never happen to the likes of your wannabe vegan butt. Jon Stewart adores me without cheese, but your brand of wannabe original politics aint kosher. And we all know Richard Chamberlain prefers the meat. You think Kevin Costner is going to serve you up some curried tofu if you snuck into his Montana ranch. I dont think so, sweetheart. I can understand if you had religious issues that barred you from enjoying my awesome angus-ness, but babe, youre Catholic and your parents wrapped you in proscuitto as a child. And that was no exotic doll they gave you to sleep with. That was 1.5 pounds of pure Italian Sausage with a curly blonde wig on top. So you may think youre being different. You may think youre being cool. I know youll want to meet up again in the near future, but Im not coming back. Getting stuck in your poser belly is the last thing this USDA prime cut wants to do.

Because youre technically still employed at Starbucks, capitalist America at its worst. Thats nice you offer the choice of free trade coffee now, but really too little and too late. Its a wonderful thing to see all of your people at work in the same conglomerate (oooops, I meant neighborhood coffee emporium), you know fighting the system and believing in PETA. Ha! I almost spit out my cud and grass smoothie thinking of you hawking mocha lattes and Norah Jones CDs. Yeah. And the other day I was in Jersey, sitting on the table in front of Bruce Springsteen and he wanted me to tell you that only meateaters (aka tramps like him) are born to run. So you can take your gardenburger and hang out with Lauren Bush. Im hanging with The Boss now.

Think of me the next time you complain how broke you are and then shop at Whole Foods. You know, in the frozen food aisle when you pick up some meatless sausage links. Because if being a carnivore was so nasty, vegans wouldnt be making things out of soy to simulate what I am naturally. Which makes dining on soy burgers a rather phony act. Its not like I would expect anyone who worked at Starbucks to be phony now, would I?

Good riddance, The Hamburgler

John Tesh: Ultimate Renaissance Man

I somehow stumbled upon this and initially believed it to be a joke.

Yes...THAT John Tesh. Although, I suppose I should give a man with such a diverse resume a bit of credit. How many other people have anchored an oft-watched celebrity "news" magazine (while sitting next to a woman who supposedly induced epileptic seizures in a viewer), commentated AND composed music for women's gymnastics (at a World and Olympic level), and creates music that "sounds like" Yanni and is "influenced" by Christ's love? Not many. And he's even married to
Connie Selleca, which probably guarantees him a meeting with top executives at the Lifetime network at any time and place he so desires.

He's sort of like Hasselhoff without the stench of booze. Or a multi-faceted Jack Wagner. I'm not really sure what to think of this John Tesh honkey.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Dark & Twisted Puppies

From E!Online...

The 30-year-old actor reportedly led Bradford straight to NBC's awaiting security guards, but not before, according to Access Hollywood, she left a copy of Colin Farrell: A Dark Twisted Puppy, a self-published book detailing her alleged encounters with the Irish actor, on Leno's desk.

(Check out this chick's MySpace page. It's seriously whacked. Seriously. She supposedly penned another tome devoted to her S&M adventures with Alec Baldwin.)

That is fabulous. I hope I can have someone else publish a book I write one day with "Dark Twisted Puppy" in the title.

She also offers a recipe for the "Colin Farrell is My Bitch" cocktail. It sounds potentially lethal.

1/2 oz Bacardi 151 rum
1/2 oz Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps
1/2 oz Jagermeister herbal liqueur
1/2 oz Patron,1,19556,00.html?fdnews

I Want SexyBack

I figured out that Justin Timberlake was actually sort of cool a few years ago. It began when I realized I really dug Rock Your Body. Then, a friend of mine was convinced he could get tickets to the VMAs for cheap at the last minute. Ha. We did, however, attend Justin Timberlake's post-VMA show at the Hammerstein Ballroom. The guy could actually play instruments. My view of the stage was obstructed by an overweight, teenaged goth girl.

This disturbed me not because she was obstructing my view and yelling obnoxiously, but because I found it so amusing someone dressed so "goth" was so into a Justin Timberlake performance. In my pubescent halcyon years, someone who was a goth was a goth. I decided that today's "goth-looking" kids are just that -- goth looking. Goth has been reduced to
Hot Topic in this day and age. It sort of made me sad. I wanted to go home and curl up on my bed in a deep melancholy while listening to The Cure.

The night also included my friend most likely being roofied at the previous bar, as she is a champion drinker and was unable to barely move from the circular booth surrounding the Hammerstein after consuming only 3 miniscule vodka beverages. While tending to her, I also encountered a pile of vomit on the floor. It was covered in sawdust, a la elementary school.

I digress. And I'm going to digress further. Justin Timberlake has a new song out called SexyBack. It's from his forthcoming FutureSex / LoveSounds album. The title of the album sort of annoys me because its reminiscent of that whole LoveAngelMusicBaby thing Gwen Stefani did (essentially to promote her clothing and handbag lines). I suppose JT's album, and
recent comments that he enjoys using drugs recreationally, is the final stage in breaking free from those boy band shackles. I think it is a more dignified and gradual release, much unlike his Mickey Mouse Club peers Britney and Christina.

And since I'm bringing up Britney, I have to admit something. Although celebrity love lives factor very little, if at all (except Ice-T & CoCo!) into my existence, I have a little fantasy. I don't think it's at all uncommon, and everytime I see a tabloid or see a photo of stringy-haired, barefoot & pregnant Britney wearing 2003's smocked terry cloth dress, I think about what might have been.

I just want Britney & Justin back together. Not because they were each other's first loves or because they were the bubble gum pop duo of yore. I have no problem with Brad Pitt running off with Angelina Joile, but Britney & Justin, they belong together.

Seriously. Look at what happened to her after they broke up. He was her rock. She was his Eliza Doolittle. If Justin stepped in, you think she would be pumping out potential short-bus children with a ne'er do well former back-up dancer who raps about Brazillian ass slang? Hell no. He would have gotten her a one-way ticket to Timbaland's studio and she would have a hit record. Would she be snapping gum at Matt Laurer or driving through the Sonic five times a week? Hell no. She would be sitting, perfectly coiffed, front row at the
Cavalli show.

They would be like Seal & Heidi Klum, the Southern Fried American Version. I picture it going down much like A Mighty Wind, except it's at the Grammys, and they're opening the show. Some acoustic duet talking about getting the lover you always wanted back and by your side, finishing with an embrace. It would be huge. A kiss with Britney and Justin? Bigger than Britney kissing Madonna.

Alas. A girl can dream. Here's the song, since it's not yet available on iTunes and I haven't found a pirated version that works. My friend says it reminds her of Slave 4 U, maybe a bit, but not really. If there is any similarities, well, that's just further proof that things would just be better if Britney & Justin were back together. Hell, I bet even Hezbollah may stop for a moment to ponder the power of love.

Here's the link. This song does really make me want to go a bumping and a grinding. This new JT album may just be the perfect companion to the
Gorillaz' Demon Days or Gnarls Barkley's St. Elsewhere.

(You can also listen to the song on the official JT site)

Scenes from the UPS Customer Service Center

One of the biggest pains in the asses has to be retrieving one's package from the UPS office. Whenever I miss the three attempted deliveries (Hello? People work. So don't deliver between 2 and 5.), I'm forced to go out to some side street in Watertown.

It's not busy, but of course it will be a excrutiatingly slow process. I expect this. What I do not expect is animal noises. Yes. That's correct. When the man went to retrieve my package, he began to meow (sort of a meow-grunt type sound, not sure what it was meant to be).

Don't really understand why this happened. All this for a damned bikini bottom that was on back order from J. Crew.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Craigslist Follies: Vol. 1

I've been talking about doing this (er, blogging about) for sometime, although the idea is neither new nor earth shattering.

I rarely scan through the "Casual Encounters" section of Craigslist, but when I do, I am always amused.

Here are several that made me giggle (and I'll keep it quasi-clean):

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 5:01PM EDT
does not like to go down, give head, suck cock, and she doesn't like it when someone goes down on her...she won't talk about it...just won't do it.... i'm so in need of going down, i crave the taste of a woman, it's been over a year....i want it so bad, is there anyone out there who would like a guy just to go down on them, nothing else other than u being pleased orally.....please let me go down on u, and taste u....

Um...okay. So why are you still with this woman? You don't sound very happy in the relationship.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:59PM EDT

Okay. I understand that maybe the whole spark has been extinguished from your married sex life. Fairly common, right? In any case, when requesting these sorts of acts from anonymous strangers, I feel it is necessary you check your grammar. You don't need an AP Stylebook to know that "bye" is the incorrect form of "by". In the context you are using, "come" is erroneous, too. But most importantly, if you really are 6'11", you shouldn't follow that fact by stating you suffer from the Irish Curse.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:54PM EDT
i want my fantasy to be reality — m4ww — 26
im looking to have a threesome with a couple of girls never had one always wanted to

That's nice, sweetheart. So you watched Entourage last night and were reminded that you've never had your very own threesome. I can handle your lack of proper capitalization and punctuation in casual online communication, but you really should be letting any of your potential reality-makers know what is in it for them. What can you offer them? Oh. And what do you look like? You really need to work on the specifics if you want to make your dream come true.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:14PM EDT
Daytime pussy licking delight!! — m4w
I come you your door with a clipboard pretending to canvas for the Sierra Club. You are wearing a revealing top and short skirt and invite me in. We go to the living room and you sit on the couch, cross your legs, and I sit opposite in a chair. I start to give my pitch and, as I am doing so, you uncross your legs and slowly spread them and I get flustered as I see that you are not wearing any panties. I stare at your beautiful pussy winking at me as you lean back. I look into your eyes and you smile and beckon me with your finger. You tell me to eat you and I lick your sweet pussy through as many orgasms as you want. Nothing else expected. Make you hot to think of a safe, fun, sane stranger licking your pussy until you scream? Just as hot as it makes me to think about it. It could come true, during the day when I am free.

Does it have to be the Sierra Club? For instance, what if I wanted you to pretend you were a Lyndon LaRouche follower? Or how about a Jehovah's Witness?

But I will give you props on creativity.

Choose my exotic dancer name

No. I am NOT jumping on the pole dancing bandwagon. This is something I've wanted to do for while, but now I have a some free time.

I start on Wednesday. Any suggestions as to what my "stage name" should be would be truly appreciated. Something sexy, something ironic...Any ideas?

Friday, July 14, 2006

Chillin with Il

There are so many things I adore about this inspirational painting taken from a Korean children's book. Particularly the ethereal halo casting its soft glow above Kimmy Il's head.

(I just thought it would be sort of fun to call him Kimmy Il. Not really sure why.)

And I think Sammy Davis Jr. is standing behind the man shaking Kimmy Il's hand.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I probably think this song is about me...

I received this link from a friend yesterday and 2 hours of uploading personal photos / insanity quickly ensued.

Perhaps I’m one of the last people to find this site, but it’s some of the most web-based fun I’ve had in quite some time. Upload a photo. Make sure all the faces are looking straight at the camera (otherwise, it just won’t work). Then click to compare your facial structure with 3200 celebrities / notable figures in their database.

The site utilizes facial recognition software that’s been used by law enforcement agencies. They will be using this software to help people find relatives and ancestry information (if you have an 80% or above similarity, there is a chance you may be related).

A few years ago, some scientists discovered that human beauty is formulaic. Examining photos of the “beautiful people”, it was determined that these individuals have similar facial proportions and measurements.

Using that information, and judging from the results obtained after uploading around 10-15 photos (It’s best to upload several photos to see how frequently you’re matched to people), this website solidifies the fact that I am completely hot.

The first picture I uploaded put me at a 75% match to Aishwarya Rai. Rai, Bollywood’s biggest actress, makes every Most Beautiful Woman / Person in the World list. This picture also matched with Grace Kelly, Cindy Crawford, Ashley Olsen, Queen Raina…and Eddie Murphy (among others).

After uploading several pictures, I began seeing a definite. Rai, Ashley Olsen (Obviously, some Mary Kate popped up, too. Am I a lost sister or something?), Angelina Joile, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Gwen Stefani popped up most frequently. Of course, I also yielded comparisons to Jason Biggs on several occasions.

I now worry I am going to upload photos on a regular basis to satisfy this (relatively) newfound vanity I discovered lurked deep inside.

See for yourself and be vain like me! Or at least curious…maybe it’s more curiosity than vanity?

(And let me know your results)

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Cheva Longoria

I can't really explain what irks me so much about Eva Longoria. I think it stems from the fact she portrays a "former NYC model" on
Desperate Housewives. I distinctly remember an episode in which she flashes back to her days on the runway.

I know TV is fake but she's 5'2". The only runway models that short do Petite Sophisticate shows at suburban shopping malls. Maybe she could have done a calendar showcasing drill bits, but runway model in NYC?

And I read something about her expanding her career to include writing erotic fiction. Um...yeah.

I got a kick out of these pictures because she obviously thinks she's some sort of revolutionary. Oh. And because they were supposedly taken while she was hanging out with Mario Lopez. I really hope the two of them were selling t-shirts to help out Screech.

I Love Creed Bratton

I don't have much time this morning but I felt the need to share the website of one of my newest favorite people. I've been catching up on all The Office reruns I missed and I've decided Creed Bratton is one of the coolest honkies around.

Just read this interview. He's beautifully whacked. This man rules.

Creed usually only as a few lines per episode, but they're priceless. His character's bio isn't included on the show's website, therefore adding to his enigmatic aura and allure.

Check out his priceless (deleted) scene from the Booze Cruise episode:

Saturday, July 08, 2006

What Not To Wear — Political Pundit Edition

You're hiding the flog behind your back, aren't you?

Ann Coulter is one of those conservative zealots who never seem to disappear for long enough off the public radar. You know it's gotten bad when even the purveyors of celebrity trash like US Weekly start mentioning this quasi-Nazi stick figure.

Sure, Coulter's long-winded and pointless tirades against liberals irk me because she never presents actual evidence to back up her opinion. But my main problem lies with her wardrobe choices.

If you're the ultra-conservative mouthpiece of American women, you ought to start dressing the part. Women who openly remark that the U.S. should bomb the Middle East and convert the remaining inhabitants to Christianity should dress a little more matronly.

Open up a charge at
Talbot's and stop buying evening wear at Trash & Vaudeville. Parading around like a dominatrix and barely-there skirts doesn't really promote that anti-abortion / Jesus Rules stance in my eyes.

I'm all about believing whatever you wish to believe and dressing however you choose, but if you're going to be as publicly virulent as Ms. Coulter, you don't dress in such a manner that may represent what you consider to be a bit inherent to this country's "moral decline".

Just browse through the
"photo tour" on Ms. Coulter's website. It's fabulous (The gun photo is a personal favorite). It's much like looking at someone's random vacation photos rather than a photo album of one of this country's most-hated pundits. Much of it makes no sense if you've ever heard or read any of this woman's endless argument.

There's conservative...and then there's ULTRA-CONSERVATIVE. I expect those in the latter group to abstain from alcohol use and drug-culture musical preferences. If you're going to be oh-so vocal, well, it's best you back up that argument. That blouse better be entirely buttoned and the only music on your iPod better be in the running for that Myrrh Record.

And honestly, Coulter, is that a smile I see on your face as you pose with Reverend Al?

Ditch the latex and start browsing the Harve Benard section, Coulter. Didn't you learn a thing from J. Edgar Hoover?

Bring Out the Carnies

Carnivals are always a good time. Last night, a couple of friends and I went to the Brockton Fair. It was one-stop shopping for airbrushed "redneck" t-shirts, bling, pissing Calvin stickers, and your choice of string bracelet representing any Latin & South American nation. One could watch boxing, eat fried dough, and see two sideshow "freaks" ( Arturo the Aqua Boy). Okay. So I paid $1 to see a little person. And no, you could not fit her in the palm of your hand as the sign suggested. I thought it was a joke, but I walk by this poor little woman sitting in a little chair. I wanted to bring her a magazine or something.

But I came for the rides. And then I found myself dropping another $5 to ride a mechanical bull. When I was a child, my brother was a big Travolta fan. He embodied his every dance move and boy-in-the-bubble stare. I guess there was a resemblance — if Travolta was a red-haired Irish lad completely covered in freckles. I remember having to watch
Urban Cowboy on several occasions because of his obsession. I don't know...I never cared for the movie but I always thought it would be interesting to ride a mechanical bull.

I went into some German brewhaus-inspired "fun house" which was completely lame. A true waste of three tickets, but Maria is one of those people who considers the Tea Cups at Disney World to be an adrenaline rush. I wanted to get pictures on that random cylinder than rotates — the grand finale of one's carnival "fun house" experience. Somehow, I almost ended up doing a handstand. That sort of feat, however, requires coordination — something of which I have very little.

(Pardon my friends' poor usage of my digital camera. They kept hitting random buttons.)

Friday, July 07, 2006

My Favorite Beverage Duo

Okay. I am so not into posting celebrity couplings or any of that bullshit. But I saw this photo today and was reminded of my favorite couple.

Ice-T & CoCo

I love the fact CoCo is the name this aryan-looking floatation device goes by. Ice-T is almost 50, so I assume he isn't shooting blanks yet. I so want them to have twins so they can name them Chai and Latte.

Don't they just make you sooooo thirsty?

Cocktails and Very Bad Dreams

When you do not feel like going out, you sometimes find yourself watching terrible movies for no explicable reason. For instance, the other night I found myself viewing Cocktail. I do not understand why such a script was even given the greenlight in 1988, nor do I grasp the subsequent popularity of such a film. It’s about a bartender who tosses bottles and longs to open a chain of watering holes. It could be a docudrama on the person who started Rock Bottom or Elephant & Castle for all I know. I’ll credit the film with expanding Jamaica’s tourist industry and being one of the few films I’ve ever seen in which the female lead paraded around in a simple one-piece swimsuit and concealed her thicker-than-average-starlet thighs with a random sarong or pleated Bermuda shorts. But that's it.

(What’s funny is that one of my nieces was named after Elizabeth Shue’s character. When my sister saw Cocktail, she decided she liked the name Jordan so much that it would be what she would name her daughter. And thus my fifteen-year-old niece was given her name because my sister really liked Cocktail. Of course, Jordan is a good name. It’s not like she wanted to call her Kokomo.)

This movie is ridiculous on so many levels. If I’m at a bar, do I want to see the bartender flipping bottles? No. I want them to get me my drink. The whole “barman poet” thing is laughable, too. Mainly because the only line I have always fully remembered is “to schnapps made with beach…to sex on the beach.” I get it. It rhymes. But the last time I ordered a Sex on the Beach was April 1995 at a bar on South Padre Island. I was 17. When I was a bartender, I was never asked to make a Sex on the Beach. Nor did I feel my customers wanted me to stand atop the bar and recite bad poetry. They just wanted to drink. A good bartender is judged not by theatrics. They are judged by how fast they can get you a drink AND if they hook you up with some free beverages every so often.

However, my biggest problems with this movie are neither the bar antics nor the terrible acting displayed by Tom Cruise and Elizabeth Shue (the deer-in-headlights look does not display range, sweetheart), its how it solidified the idea of killing off the buddy / foil opposite Cruise in order to proclaim Cruise as the height-challenged grinning god of the Western world. Bryan Brown made the movie, yet he offs himself in the end. Sorry, but even with the whole money-isn’t-everything message, Brown’s Doug Coughlin was a true survivor. He would just go bang a bevy of harlots after he realized his trophy wife was unfaithful. Or he would give the trophy wife crabs, just as he did all those waitresses. Coughlin would persevere, but in a Tom Cruise movie, only Cruise can be proclaimed as the strong-willed hero(ine).

I have always thought killing off the opposite male character is part of Cruise’s contract, much like how he takes a portion of the film’s gross. I think this is partly why he became so popular, because it’s just keeps driving the message home that Cruise will always prevail, even if you destroy his e-Meter or call him gay (which, I may add, is completely obvious in the limited dance moves performed in Cocktail. I felt like I was watching the some halfway-in-the-closet dude try to pick up on some twink during a Friday night circuit party).

I have no idea why I decided to watch Cocktail. I’m sure there was other, more appropriate programming airing in that timeslot. Maybe I had a subconscious urge to relive the era of over-styled men’s hair? I’m not quite sure. I’ve decided Cocktail is just one of those movies you watch for no reason whatsoever. When it was over, I felt sort of dirty and bloated. It simulated the feeling of eating an entire bag of Cheetos, combined with the time in college when I ran from the random sauna at this fraternity house where some idiot took me because he thought he had a chance at groping me.

I'm back...

I'm back. The Daily Slag is the new is now the upcoming home to my online portfolio.

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