The perennial favorite holiday, Christmas, in my mind, is about to be unseated by a new contender. Even though the juggernaut is responsible for presents, great food, and a day off from work, Halloween could quite possibly be the most fun and obnoxious day of the year. (Note: I use the two adjectives synonomously). It’s the one day where you are completely free and actually encouraged to make a complete jackass of yourself without any repercussions. Remember, it’s not YOU being a jackass, it’s (insert whatever costume you could scrounge up at Ragstock) that drank too much, passed out in the bathroom, and allowed a phallic symbol to be drawn on his or her forehead with permanent marker. You YOURSELF are off the hook!
I take my Halloween festivities very seriously. But this year, for the first time in my life, I was at a complete loss to materialize an outfit for maximum embarrassment potential. Fortunately, in a divine moment of creativity, I came up with what I humbly consider one of the most original costumes of the year. By original and creative, I mean, incredibly dorky and only about 10 people are going to “get it” but the people that “get it” are REALLY going to “get it.” The costume I am referring to is my rendition of a human sudoku puzzle.
The following things were yelled at me on State St:
1. “What the hell are you!?”
2. “Bingo!”
3. “I hate you.”
4. “You’re that thing, what are you called, again?”
5. “You’re math!”
6. “Are you like a puzzle or something?”
7. “I don’t get it.”(By far, the most popular saying)
I left a lot of people very confused. Mission accomplished. My biggest regret was that I didn’t get to bust out my pick-up line, “Hey! If you take a picture of me now, you can do me later.” It’s probably okay though, there’s no way I’d be able to say that cheese with a straight face anyway.
And speaking of hot girls on State Street, yeah, there were plenty of them. I know I am 24 years old and I’m supposed to be a responsible adult and everything but how can anyone get sick of watching young co-eds in scandalously short skirts and how-much-more-cleavage-could-you-possibly-show outfits shivering in the cold October air? As long as I have a pulse, that will ALWAYS be cool. What’s not cool is me becoming a creepy old man, but I still have a few more years before I have to worry about that. Whew!
Everybody knows that a chick can dress up as slutty whatever and guys are going to love it. In this case, everybody is right. But I think it would be an absolute riot if a girl, with the proper assets, went as a slutty guy for Halloween. The confusion factor that I am so fond of, would be through the roof. “Oh my God, look how hot that guy is! Did I just say that? Shit.” Just imagine the look on a dude’s face when he has to explain to his buddies about the super hot man he just saw. Priceless.
What’s not priceless are all the Richie Tennenbaums, free mammogram guy, and guy dressed up a present that says To: Women From: God. Those costumes were sooooooo Halloween 2003, hello-oh! My vote for best costume is a 3 way tie between Tampa Bay Buccaneer head coach John Gruden, my brother the drunken leprechaun, and my buddy Robert Goulet, who actually went as that last year, but was so convincing, especially seeing all the wannabe Robert Goulets last night, makes the cut this year. Kudos to you, gentlemen. Thanks for making our night a little more surreal.
Tis the season for drunken revelry. I hope you all enjoyed Halloween 2005 as much as I did. I know Christmas was always the best time of year as a kid but I think Santa Claus will understand if you change your mind about your new favorite holiday. In fact, I know he will. I saw him do a keg stand at a house party on Saturday night and he seemed to be pretty cool with the whole idea.
Well it sure as hell beats milk and cookies…
Monday, October 31, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Greatest Villain Ever: Darth Vader Vs. The Dean of Discipline
Okay, clearly there is no competition between everyone’s favorite high school administrator and the Lord of the Sith (even with that no-talent vagina Hayden Christianson under the helm), in fact, putting the two in the same arena is kind of an insult to one of the greatest villains in cinematic history. I just didn’t want anyone questioning my sexuality with a title like “Top 5 Reasons why I just loooove the O.C. and why it’s the greatest show ever!”
That last statement is obviously an exaggeration as well but I would be lying if I didn’t think this prime time soap opera was a mighty fine distraction from reality. The lesbian subplot last season was mildly entertaining but I am glad to see the show is going back to its roots, mainly Ryan brooding and fighting a lot. And who can blame the guy, with that evil Dean of Discipline strutting around the school like he owns the place. He’s EXACTLY the type of asshole you see wearing a pink shirt and thinking he’s the shit. I hope Ryan knocks that shit-eating grin right off his stupid monkey face.
But without further ado, I present:
The O.C. Survival Guide
1.) If you have a secret or are doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, it is 100% guaranteed someone will inadvertently catch you in the act. You could be in a sealed bank vault and you can bet your ass that Marissa or Summer will accidentally wander in there because it’s Take a Tour of a Sealed Bank Vault day at Harbor High or some other cockamamie reason like that. The writers of the show certainly have their situational irony nailed down, but I’d like to see a plot advance through other means; natural disasters are always a crowd pleaser. I bet the drama of a surprise volcano eruption in Newport Beach would bring out Ryan’s true feelings for Marissa.
2.) You have to listen to Emo. There’s no getting around this one here, people. If you don’t listen to wiener rock 24/7, you’re destined to be an outcast. I just wish there was some way the producers could shamelessly promote a new crappy band every week so we could know what to listen to…
3.) Infinity pools are sweet. Get one as soon as possible.
4.) Unless you’re incredibly attractive or a lovable comic book geek, you have zero chance for survival in Orange County. Fortunately, I happen to rock both worlds so this won’t be a problem for me.
5.) You know what? Screw the O.C. What the hell do they have that good ole’ Wisconsin doesn’t have to offer? I don’t know about you but I like my winters cold, my women slightly rotund, and my binge drinking socially acceptable.
AND we have Brett Farve. Checkmate, California.
A Typical Day on the Set of the O.C.
“Okay, Ryan, for this next scene we need you to be real upset and troubled. You’re dark and mysterious.”
“Great! Now give me real angry. You’re pissed off at the world and you want everyone to know it.”
“Excellent! In this next shot, you are in love with Marissa and everything is going great. I need happy and joyous.”
“Perfect! I really felt the emotion there, Ryan. That’s a wrap, people, let’s call it a day.”
That last statement is obviously an exaggeration as well but I would be lying if I didn’t think this prime time soap opera was a mighty fine distraction from reality. The lesbian subplot last season was mildly entertaining but I am glad to see the show is going back to its roots, mainly Ryan brooding and fighting a lot. And who can blame the guy, with that evil Dean of Discipline strutting around the school like he owns the place. He’s EXACTLY the type of asshole you see wearing a pink shirt and thinking he’s the shit. I hope Ryan knocks that shit-eating grin right off his stupid monkey face.
But without further ado, I present:
The O.C. Survival Guide
1.) If you have a secret or are doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, it is 100% guaranteed someone will inadvertently catch you in the act. You could be in a sealed bank vault and you can bet your ass that Marissa or Summer will accidentally wander in there because it’s Take a Tour of a Sealed Bank Vault day at Harbor High or some other cockamamie reason like that. The writers of the show certainly have their situational irony nailed down, but I’d like to see a plot advance through other means; natural disasters are always a crowd pleaser. I bet the drama of a surprise volcano eruption in Newport Beach would bring out Ryan’s true feelings for Marissa.
2.) You have to listen to Emo. There’s no getting around this one here, people. If you don’t listen to wiener rock 24/7, you’re destined to be an outcast. I just wish there was some way the producers could shamelessly promote a new crappy band every week so we could know what to listen to…
3.) Infinity pools are sweet. Get one as soon as possible.
4.) Unless you’re incredibly attractive or a lovable comic book geek, you have zero chance for survival in Orange County. Fortunately, I happen to rock both worlds so this won’t be a problem for me.
5.) You know what? Screw the O.C. What the hell do they have that good ole’ Wisconsin doesn’t have to offer? I don’t know about you but I like my winters cold, my women slightly rotund, and my binge drinking socially acceptable.
AND we have Brett Farve. Checkmate, California.
A Typical Day on the Set of the O.C.
“Okay, Ryan, for this next scene we need you to be real upset and troubled. You’re dark and mysterious.”
“Great! Now give me real angry. You’re pissed off at the world and you want everyone to know it.”
“Excellent! In this next shot, you are in love with Marissa and everything is going great. I need happy and joyous.”
“Perfect! I really felt the emotion there, Ryan. That’s a wrap, people, let’s call it a day.”
Friday, October 14, 2005
What will YOU do when the Zombies come?
If Hollywood has taught me anything, and it has, it’s that our wonderful planet is due for some kind of inevitable zombie attack. Right now it is unclear if the assault will come from an army of the formerly deceased by an apocalyptic gesture of God or merely the spread of an airborne virus from an evil corporate conglomerate (Halliburton comes to mind). One thing is for certain, there is no stopping them.
I, for one, would like to welcome our new undead friends. I feel it will finally give me the chance to fulfill my destiny as the shotgun wielding, cigar smoking, hell-bent motorcycle warrior I was to born to be (I still haven’t decided if I’m going to wear shoulder pads with spikes protruding from them yet, but I definitely wouldn’t rule it out). Nothing gets me through a boring day at the office more than the possibility of slaying a pack of flesh-eating people freshly diagnosed with a scorching case of zombiism. I wouldn’t hesitate what to do in a second and neither should you.
That’s why it is important to formulate a game plan for dealing with the zombies in various scenarios you may find yourself in. For example, when you’re in lecture or something, you’re going to want to know where all the exits are and where to find the nearest fire hatchet or at least a blunt object to strike down the zombies when they try to eat your brains.
I’d like to take a moment here to dispel a rumor that eating asparagus will make your brains less tasty to the zombies. It won’t. Don’t waste your time listening to that bogus advice, it might just get you killed or eaten.
I STRONGLY recommend that at the very least, stock up on plenty of ammunition, and if you can, get your ass to the target range to work on your head shots. Don’t be fooled by the zombie’s soft flesh, a good blow to the dome is the only way to take down the walking dead, unless you have time to remove all their arms and legs but who has time for that? Don’t get fancy out there in zombie world. Vince Lombardi once said “Stick to the fundamentals” and that advice rings true for eradicating zombies as well as winning Super Bowls.
I have hordes of other useful knowledge for exterminating zombies but I’m keeping them to myself and for all the beautiful dames I decide to rescue along the way. In the meantime, practice those head shots and just pray we don’t have to deal with the zombies in 28 Days Later. Those fuckers were FAST.
I, for one, would like to welcome our new undead friends. I feel it will finally give me the chance to fulfill my destiny as the shotgun wielding, cigar smoking, hell-bent motorcycle warrior I was to born to be (I still haven’t decided if I’m going to wear shoulder pads with spikes protruding from them yet, but I definitely wouldn’t rule it out). Nothing gets me through a boring day at the office more than the possibility of slaying a pack of flesh-eating people freshly diagnosed with a scorching case of zombiism. I wouldn’t hesitate what to do in a second and neither should you.
That’s why it is important to formulate a game plan for dealing with the zombies in various scenarios you may find yourself in. For example, when you’re in lecture or something, you’re going to want to know where all the exits are and where to find the nearest fire hatchet or at least a blunt object to strike down the zombies when they try to eat your brains.
I’d like to take a moment here to dispel a rumor that eating asparagus will make your brains less tasty to the zombies. It won’t. Don’t waste your time listening to that bogus advice, it might just get you killed or eaten.
I STRONGLY recommend that at the very least, stock up on plenty of ammunition, and if you can, get your ass to the target range to work on your head shots. Don’t be fooled by the zombie’s soft flesh, a good blow to the dome is the only way to take down the walking dead, unless you have time to remove all their arms and legs but who has time for that? Don’t get fancy out there in zombie world. Vince Lombardi once said “Stick to the fundamentals” and that advice rings true for eradicating zombies as well as winning Super Bowls.
I have hordes of other useful knowledge for exterminating zombies but I’m keeping them to myself and for all the beautiful dames I decide to rescue along the way. In the meantime, practice those head shots and just pray we don’t have to deal with the zombies in 28 Days Later. Those fuckers were FAST.
Monday, October 10, 2005
I am an original disciple of the Bubble Gum Punk revolution
You are not a punk rocker.
I hate to burst your bubble but listening to Blink 182 and Good Charlotte does not mean you are into punk. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. I enjoy those soapy lyrics and juicy guitar hooks just as much as the next pre-pubescent teen. But let’s get the facts straight.
Before you take heed of my words you should probably know I’m not underground music listening hipster guy with a vendetta against corporate rock. Far from it. But I know a thing or two what constitutes punk.
Punk is something you would never hear on the radio. It’s something that would never be recorded in a fancy studio with fancy bells and whistles added in post production. Punk is having a shaved head and stomping the shit out of someone wearing steel toed boots at a Sex Pistols concert. That’s about as simple as I can explain it.
Enter 2005. I recently attended a Green Day concert here in town. I was a little confused at when I first got there. What the hell were all these rugrats doing here? Is fucking Raffi in town? Maybe there was a different Alliant Energy Colliseum in Madison that I supposed to be at? I was clearly the oldest person in the crowd with the exception of the chaperones in the top bleachers (those kids need a ride home somehow, I suppose). Although it was a huge boost to my ego beating the crap out of a bunch of toddlers in the “mosh pit” as it were, I realized this was the end of an era.
It’s not all sad though. I enjoy both worlds of rock. If Zeppelin were a four course meal for your lobes, then Simple Plan would be the equivalent of taking one of those awesome bags of flavored sugar you used to eat as a kid and pouring it directly down your ear canal. Thanks to MTV, we can complete the analogy by taking that weird sugar paddle spoon thingy and jamming into your eye. Both are great, whatever you are in the mood for.
I'm getting a little preachy here, so I'm just going to shut up and let you keep on a boppin’ along to your high octane bubble gum punk if that’s what does it for you. Just do us all a favor and take off that ridiculous Ramones T-shirt. Joey Ramone doesn’t want you wearing it and neither do I.
I hate to burst your bubble but listening to Blink 182 and Good Charlotte does not mean you are into punk. Don’t get me wrong. I love the genre. I enjoy those soapy lyrics and juicy guitar hooks just as much as the next pre-pubescent teen. But let’s get the facts straight.
Before you take heed of my words you should probably know I’m not underground music listening hipster guy with a vendetta against corporate rock. Far from it. But I know a thing or two what constitutes punk.
Punk is something you would never hear on the radio. It’s something that would never be recorded in a fancy studio with fancy bells and whistles added in post production. Punk is having a shaved head and stomping the shit out of someone wearing steel toed boots at a Sex Pistols concert. That’s about as simple as I can explain it.
Enter 2005. I recently attended a Green Day concert here in town. I was a little confused at when I first got there. What the hell were all these rugrats doing here? Is fucking Raffi in town? Maybe there was a different Alliant Energy Colliseum in Madison that I supposed to be at? I was clearly the oldest person in the crowd with the exception of the chaperones in the top bleachers (those kids need a ride home somehow, I suppose). Although it was a huge boost to my ego beating the crap out of a bunch of toddlers in the “mosh pit” as it were, I realized this was the end of an era.
It’s not all sad though. I enjoy both worlds of rock. If Zeppelin were a four course meal for your lobes, then Simple Plan would be the equivalent of taking one of those awesome bags of flavored sugar you used to eat as a kid and pouring it directly down your ear canal. Thanks to MTV, we can complete the analogy by taking that weird sugar paddle spoon thingy and jamming into your eye. Both are great, whatever you are in the mood for.
I'm getting a little preachy here, so I'm just going to shut up and let you keep on a boppin’ along to your high octane bubble gum punk if that’s what does it for you. Just do us all a favor and take off that ridiculous Ramones T-shirt. Joey Ramone doesn’t want you wearing it and neither do I.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
If Lizzie McQuire were on the cover of Maxim...
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