Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Protest
I fucking hate Valentine's Day. Even when I was in love and in a relationship I hated Valentine's Day. There's so much pressure to get crappy cards and presents and candy and all sorts of bullshit if you're in a relationship, and so much pressure to feel bad about yourself if you happen to be single. Valentine's Day should be renamed "Single People Pity Party Day", because I was at a bar tonight and the waitress could not stop trying to shove Guiness, Heineken, and mixed drinks involving lots of rum and splashes of fruit juice down our throats with this extraordinarily, obviously accomodating air. I was at this bar because it was my friend RefractometerThief's birthday, her husband is India on business, and she wanted to down some Heinies, not because I wanted to drown my sorrows. Besides, it snowed today, and that seemed like a good enough excuse to leave work early and consume beer. However, between the waitress, the sappy-ass bar soundtrack comprised solely of Celine Dion and Barry Manilow (what, no Lionel Richie? COME ON!), and people saying shit like "Do you have a Valentine...besides J-Sexy?", it's impossible not to notice that motherfuckers are expecting me and every other single person in sight to lament their non-coupled status.
I'm not going to feel sorry for myself in spite of the Coogan's waitress and society at large's best efforts, and I'm doing the most loser thing possible on V-Day: sitting around by the phone, semi-drunk alone, waiting for my mom to call with my uncle's latest colon report. My uncle, a self-proclaimed "mean S.O.B." and retired Boeing machinist by trade (his CB handle is "Toolmaker") finally caved to medical pressure and let them stick a scope up his ass a few months ago. He's survived a host of serious fucking problems: prostate cancer (twice), having a valve put at the base of his weiner to regulate his urine flow, a stroke, subsequent brain surgery, bacterial meningitis, and hearing loss in one ear. He still has the nuts to spend much of the Christmas holiday bitching about the pussy liberals who say negative shit about George W. Bush and who don't drink MacNaughton's. Well, when he finally conceded to his many doctors' requests to get an eyeful of his colon, they realized that he had over FIFTY polyps in it. They biopsied a few representative polyps, and the pathologist was promptly like, "Why doesn't he have colon cancer yet?" My uncle thus decided to have his ENTIRE COLON removed, and the entryway to his large intestine attached directly to his asshole. This is a major fucking surgery, and it will mean that he has to make major lifestyle changes to accommodate his new need to shit fifteen times a day. He's having all sorts of post-surgical complications, including renal failure, severe dehydration from the issues with his plumbing, and "reactions" to his medication, so I'm waiting for my mom to call and give me the update. There could not be a lamer way to spend Valentine's Day, but I've gone all-out to ensure that my Valentine's Day is as pathetic as possible.
In addition to waiting for my mom's call with the colon report, I am watching a show on the History Channel called "Siberian Apocalypse" about the mysterious explosion in the Tunguska Forest during the early part of the 20th century. According to the channel guide, it was supposed to be a show about the St. Valentine's Day massacre and Al Capone's involvement in the same, but I guess the History Channel figured that anyone home watching the History Channel on V-Day would rather hear about the Tunguska Blast of 1909. Apart from several other vague and relatively uninformative History and Discovery Channel shows about this incident, the main information I have about it was when Dan Aykroyd cited it as a historical paranormal incident in the sublime film Ghostbusters. Thus I can add "excited about History Channel show regarding an incident nobody really cares about" along with "sitting by myself", "waiting by the phone for my mom to call about bowels", and "drinking beer alone" to my list of Valentine's Day loserishness. But rather than indulge in self-pity, I'm going to revel in my bachelor status.
If I had a boyfriend, I'd probably have to spend all day shopping for some piece of shit watch or tie or whatever to give him and then fight for a table in some restaurant, neglecting my dogs and the Heineken in my fridge in the process. And why? Because some dumbass in the third century couldn't keep his Jesus love to himself and wound up on the business end of a Roman archer firing squad, and the church decided to strike back by making up his holiday on the same day that the pagans celebrated Zeus/Jupiter doing it with Hera/Juno. What a pointless fucking obligation. I'm not going to let the early Christians or Hallmark convince me to celebrate this bullshit by feeling sorry for myself. If I was going to sit around feeling lonely and desperate because Russell Stover, the DeBeers family, and the greeting card industry think I should, I wouldn't be able to chat it up with la madre and watch the (awesome) History Channel. I could not be more excited about spending my V-day in this way, because doing your basal alone behavior and enjoying it is the best protest against this stupid fucking holiday. I hope that every single person is doing their equivalent and loving it right now too. Fuck Valentine's Day!
I'm not going to feel sorry for myself in spite of the Coogan's waitress and society at large's best efforts, and I'm doing the most loser thing possible on V-Day: sitting around by the phone, semi-drunk alone, waiting for my mom to call with my uncle's latest colon report. My uncle, a self-proclaimed "mean S.O.B." and retired Boeing machinist by trade (his CB handle is "Toolmaker") finally caved to medical pressure and let them stick a scope up his ass a few months ago. He's survived a host of serious fucking problems: prostate cancer (twice), having a valve put at the base of his weiner to regulate his urine flow, a stroke, subsequent brain surgery, bacterial meningitis, and hearing loss in one ear. He still has the nuts to spend much of the Christmas holiday bitching about the pussy liberals who say negative shit about George W. Bush and who don't drink MacNaughton's. Well, when he finally conceded to his many doctors' requests to get an eyeful of his colon, they realized that he had over FIFTY polyps in it. They biopsied a few representative polyps, and the pathologist was promptly like, "Why doesn't he have colon cancer yet?" My uncle thus decided to have his ENTIRE COLON removed, and the entryway to his large intestine attached directly to his asshole. This is a major fucking surgery, and it will mean that he has to make major lifestyle changes to accommodate his new need to shit fifteen times a day. He's having all sorts of post-surgical complications, including renal failure, severe dehydration from the issues with his plumbing, and "reactions" to his medication, so I'm waiting for my mom to call and give me the update. There could not be a lamer way to spend Valentine's Day, but I've gone all-out to ensure that my Valentine's Day is as pathetic as possible.
In addition to waiting for my mom's call with the colon report, I am watching a show on the History Channel called "Siberian Apocalypse" about the mysterious explosion in the Tunguska Forest during the early part of the 20th century. According to the channel guide, it was supposed to be a show about the St. Valentine's Day massacre and Al Capone's involvement in the same, but I guess the History Channel figured that anyone home watching the History Channel on V-Day would rather hear about the Tunguska Blast of 1909. Apart from several other vague and relatively uninformative History and Discovery Channel shows about this incident, the main information I have about it was when Dan Aykroyd cited it as a historical paranormal incident in the sublime film Ghostbusters. Thus I can add "excited about History Channel show regarding an incident nobody really cares about" along with "sitting by myself", "waiting by the phone for my mom to call about bowels", and "drinking beer alone" to my list of Valentine's Day loserishness. But rather than indulge in self-pity, I'm going to revel in my bachelor status.
If I had a boyfriend, I'd probably have to spend all day shopping for some piece of shit watch or tie or whatever to give him and then fight for a table in some restaurant, neglecting my dogs and the Heineken in my fridge in the process. And why? Because some dumbass in the third century couldn't keep his Jesus love to himself and wound up on the business end of a Roman archer firing squad, and the church decided to strike back by making up his holiday on the same day that the pagans celebrated Zeus/Jupiter doing it with Hera/Juno. What a pointless fucking obligation. I'm not going to let the early Christians or Hallmark convince me to celebrate this bullshit by feeling sorry for myself. If I was going to sit around feeling lonely and desperate because Russell Stover, the DeBeers family, and the greeting card industry think I should, I wouldn't be able to chat it up with la madre and watch the (awesome) History Channel. I could not be more excited about spending my V-day in this way, because doing your basal alone behavior and enjoying it is the best protest against this stupid fucking holiday. I hope that every single person is doing their equivalent and loving it right now too. Fuck Valentine's Day!
Labels: History Channel, ranting, Razzification, scathing indictments
Friday, November 17, 2006
I hate musicals, but I LOVE the History Channel
In an attempt to mitigate the psychological scarring that witnessing tonight performance of Guys and Dolls, I'm drinking a Heineken and watching "Engineering an Empire: Carthage", which is all about how clever Hannibal was in terms of designing projectile weapons, strategically arranging mobile infantry battalions, and using vinegar to bore war elephant-sized tunnels through the Alps. I thought I recognied the host from somewhere, and it suddenly hit me.
Holy shit! "Engineering an Empire" is hosted by none other than the guy who played the title role in RoboCop! I guess that portraying a resurrected biomechanical police officer from the future and doing faux battle with the bipedal and dangerously malfunctioning ED-209 law enforcement droid qualifies you to discuss the great achievements in military engineering from the ancient world. Fucking awesome.
Holy shit! "Engineering an Empire" is hosted by none other than the guy who played the title role in RoboCop! I guess that portraying a resurrected biomechanical police officer from the future and doing faux battle with the bipedal and dangerously malfunctioning ED-209 law enforcement droid qualifies you to discuss the great achievements in military engineering from the ancient world. Fucking awesome.
Labels: epic geekery, History Channel, RoboCop, TV
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Stalking the Q-List
There is this blog called Gawker that has a section called "Gawker Stalker," where people lurking around Manhattan can report celebrity sightings along the lines of "Last night Chloe Sevigny was wearing some hideous outfit, sneering boredly, and blowing lines in the bathroom at Nobu, then she didn't tip the coat check girl" or "George Clooney took some whorish old bimbo to a benefit at Lincoln Center and shot his mouth off about politics" and other cut-rate gossip that isn't entertaining and frankly doesn't hold a candle to Perez Hilton.
I could never report anything to the Gawker Stalker, because I only ever see celebrities that nobody cares about in New York. Once I saw Stockard Channing having brunch at the table over at the Good World Bar and Grill. Another time LL Cool Jew and I saw Chris Matthews gasping into his cell phone after what must have been a vigorous jog, judging by his sweatiness and shortness of breath, at the 72nd street entrance to Central Park. Once I saw Gloria Steinem downtown, but that was no biggie since she was the number one alumnae whose pussy Smith College liked to regularly lick with various awards and trusteeships, and I'd always see her and her corduroy-collared jean jackets skulking around campus back in my college days. That same day, I caught a glimpse of Susan Sarandon and Billy Bob Thornton, but they were in a tent doing nothing remarkable. Probably the most exciting celebrity sighting was when LL Cool Jew, Rack, FalloniusMonk, Wmania, and myself bumped into Chris Noth, Mr. Big from "Sex and the City" and Detective Mike Logan from "Law and Order", randomly trying to get buzzed into some Upper East Side apartment. My New York celebrity sightings are nothing to blog about, because they are typically tame and uneventful.
Today's celebrity sighting was equally mundane, but I got all excited about it anyway. I had just finished the miserable experience of scouring various Ricky's stores for a costume that could be manipulated into a Lil' Kim outfit. Since everyone else in New York was also getting last-minute costumes, the process of locating a slutty purple leotard capable of being recut with minimal effort and an affordable purple wig in a large crowd of children and excitable teenagers to the aggravating tune of multiple Avril Lavigne and JoJo songs was about as close to hell as I can envision. When I finally left the store and got some Tasti-D-Lite to calm down, I was frazzled and trying to get back to the subway as quickly as possible.
Thus I didn't notice the man in the History Channel baseball cap standing on the corner of 72nd and Columbus Avenue, and bumped into him. As I looked up to say, "Excuse me," I stopped in shock. I was looking at none other than former NBC nightly news correspondent, sexpot journalist of the '91 Gulf War nicknamed the "Scud Stud", and current host of "History's Mysteries," ARTHUR KENT!
I managed to beg his forgiveness for running into him, but he kept giving me shifty looks. I think he thought I was weird, with my bag overflowing with fake purple hair and my dumbfounded stare as I shoveled butter pecan fudge Tasti-D-Lite with Oreos into my mouth. I felt awkward and I didn't want to seem like a stalker, so I hastened my clip and hustled into the subway station.
The whole way home, I kept thinking of shit I should have said to him when I had the chance. I should have said that I love "History's Mysteries" or that I thought he was hot when I was 11 and writing supportive letters to Operation Desert Storm servicemen in Mrs. Fjetland's 7th grade class. I should have at least asked him why in the name of God and Christ he was wearing a History Channel baseball cap, which in my view was a pretty effing nerdy fashion statement. As usual, I see a not-very-famous celebrity, and yet am still so awestruck by their presence that I fail to capitalize on the opportunity. Way to go, Razzy. At least I got my Lil' Kim costume.
I could never report anything to the Gawker Stalker, because I only ever see celebrities that nobody cares about in New York. Once I saw Stockard Channing having brunch at the table over at the Good World Bar and Grill. Another time LL Cool Jew and I saw Chris Matthews gasping into his cell phone after what must have been a vigorous jog, judging by his sweatiness and shortness of breath, at the 72nd street entrance to Central Park. Once I saw Gloria Steinem downtown, but that was no biggie since she was the number one alumnae whose pussy Smith College liked to regularly lick with various awards and trusteeships, and I'd always see her and her corduroy-collared jean jackets skulking around campus back in my college days. That same day, I caught a glimpse of Susan Sarandon and Billy Bob Thornton, but they were in a tent doing nothing remarkable. Probably the most exciting celebrity sighting was when LL Cool Jew, Rack, FalloniusMonk, Wmania, and myself bumped into Chris Noth, Mr. Big from "Sex and the City" and Detective Mike Logan from "Law and Order", randomly trying to get buzzed into some Upper East Side apartment. My New York celebrity sightings are nothing to blog about, because they are typically tame and uneventful.
Today's celebrity sighting was equally mundane, but I got all excited about it anyway. I had just finished the miserable experience of scouring various Ricky's stores for a costume that could be manipulated into a Lil' Kim outfit. Since everyone else in New York was also getting last-minute costumes, the process of locating a slutty purple leotard capable of being recut with minimal effort and an affordable purple wig in a large crowd of children and excitable teenagers to the aggravating tune of multiple Avril Lavigne and JoJo songs was about as close to hell as I can envision. When I finally left the store and got some Tasti-D-Lite to calm down, I was frazzled and trying to get back to the subway as quickly as possible.
Thus I didn't notice the man in the History Channel baseball cap standing on the corner of 72nd and Columbus Avenue, and bumped into him. As I looked up to say, "Excuse me," I stopped in shock. I was looking at none other than former NBC nightly news correspondent, sexpot journalist of the '91 Gulf War nicknamed the "Scud Stud", and current host of "History's Mysteries," ARTHUR KENT!
I managed to beg his forgiveness for running into him, but he kept giving me shifty looks. I think he thought I was weird, with my bag overflowing with fake purple hair and my dumbfounded stare as I shoveled butter pecan fudge Tasti-D-Lite with Oreos into my mouth. I felt awkward and I didn't want to seem like a stalker, so I hastened my clip and hustled into the subway station.
The whole way home, I kept thinking of shit I should have said to him when I had the chance. I should have said that I love "History's Mysteries" or that I thought he was hot when I was 11 and writing supportive letters to Operation Desert Storm servicemen in Mrs. Fjetland's 7th grade class. I should have at least asked him why in the name of God and Christ he was wearing a History Channel baseball cap, which in my view was a pretty effing nerdy fashion statement. As usual, I see a not-very-famous celebrity, and yet am still so awestruck by their presence that I fail to capitalize on the opportunity. Way to go, Razzy. At least I got my Lil' Kim costume.
Labels: celebrities, epic geekery, Halloween, History Channel
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