Thursday, February 25, 2010
I hate to do this to you. I really do.
But if having a blog has taught me one thing it’s this: never suffer in silence. When something so atrocious happens, something that could literally end the world, it’s my duty to share my explicative-filled rant with the tens of you.
Are you ready? Are you sitting down? They’re remaking Karate Kid.
(Letting you take this in)
OK, that’s actually not the worst news. Jackie Chan is playing the Miyagi part.
It gets worse. They’re remaking it as a kid’s movie, making Daniel-san 11 years old.
It gets worse. Jaden Smith, Will Smith’s son is playing the Daniel-san part.
I’m sorry, but you need to watch this. It hurts. It’s not fun. It might melt your eyeballs, but I need everyone to watch so you can share my pain and join my cause.
Terrible, huh? I sat in stunned silence for about 15 minutes after the clip ended. Since there are no possible words to describe it, here are a few fun facts about the production. Odds that the following happened:
- Chances that he gets to fuck the little Asian chick at the end: 89%.
I mean, if he didn’t get to touch little tiny Asian boobies why else would Jackie be involved?
- Chances that Ralph Macchio makes a cameo at some point in the movie: 95%
I’m thinking he’s the pilot and has a really bad line of recycled dialogue like “whoa, whoa, slow down, Son. First learn to stand, then you can learn to fly.”
- Chances that the first time they filmed that scene they had to cut when Daniel-san inexplicably turned to Jaden and said, “Your Dad is paying me in cash right? My concern is, uh, and I have to check with my accountant, that this might bump me into a higher tax bracket.” 7000%.
- Odds that “take the jacket off, put the jacket on” becomes part of the daily vernacular of every 10 yr old the same way that “wax on” or “sand the floor” did twenty years ago: -43%
Take your jacket off!? This guy’s not a sensei, he’s a fucking maître d'!!!
- Odds that this movie will kill anyone who watches it in full: 0. Yes, zero, Vegas wouldn't let us bet on this one. It's like taking odds that Lindsay Lohan will still be a virgin at 30.
What can we do about this? Should we get an online petition going or something? Thoughts?
Monday, February 22, 2010
Today I traveled from San Francisco to Greensboro, North Carolina. I decided to keep a running diary of the day. All times listed are whatever the local time was when I made the note.
My bag is packed and I lean down to give Patch a kiss on his head. He seems disgruntled that he’s being disturbed at such an ungodly hour. I do some quick math and figure I’m about 12 hours away from being in my hotel room in Greensboro, NC. Which is when I’ll publish this post. It's gonna be a long day.
Cab shows up. His name is Mahmood. I know this because it says so on the dashboard. He comments on the sunshine. I ask how his day’s going. He says fine. The conversation ends there.
I’m getting better at business travel in the sense that I know how to pack. I’m strictly carry-on these days which is a huge feat for me. I like to have outfit options, which makes carry-on difficult, but this being a 48-hour trip it’s completely possible.
Security is standard. It takes 4 buckets to get my stuff through. I’m quickly thinking this post might be the most boring ever. No seriously, ever.
I call my mother. I call my mother every time I fly. She’s already got the flight tracker up on her monitor at work waiting for takeoff. She’s a Jewish mother, what are you going to do?
I stop by the newsstand to stock up on magazines. Luckily, all the new monthlies are in so I have a slew of stuff to read. I grab the latest GQ, Esquire, Details and Rolling Stone. I’ll read the GQ first. It’s far and away the best magazine out there.
Flight is airborne. They have wireless on the flight. I quickly sign on to IM so I can talk to Jericho. He asks how my weekend was. I say fine. The conversation ends there.
I’d love to describe the other two people sitting in my row with me but they’re being nosy and computer screens are hard to hide when sitting side by side. I describe this situation to Jericho. He says, and I quote, “fuck em.”
The captain comes on to explain “we’ve reached our cruising altitude of 36,000 feet.” He then goes on to describe a few of the natural wonders we can see from the plane, our flight route and the temperature in Dallas/Ft. Worth. I love this. I stop my iPod to listen. I wish the captain would talk throughout the entire flight. I’m completely serious. I want him to explain every single bump we encounter. I want him to do a complete dissertation of turbulence. I want to know if he packed a lunch or opted for the $10 Boston Market Chicken Carver Sandwich. He concludes his announcement with “we’ll check back in with you in a bit” and I am literally counting down the moments until this happens.
It should be worth mentioning I have a routine down when it comes to music on flights. It started a couple months back when I flew SF to LA. That flight is insanely short. Actual time in the air is about 55 minutes. So I’d put on Bright Eyes ‘I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning.” And I knew around song 8 they’d tell us it was time to shut down personal electronics. (please note, when flying, I fast forward the first 1 minute and 23 seconds of the first song on this album. Check it out and you’ll know why.) So I continue this approach whenever I fly. Regardless of the flight length I always start with this album.
We’ve reached song 8, “Land Locked Blues”. Fuck. This would be a lot cooler if we were landing in LA.
Having wi-fi on board, I send my mom an email from the air. She thinks this is the coolest thing ever. She writes back about 5 emails in the span of 45 seconds. Half of them center around the other ladies in the office amazed at technology these days. Within 90 seconds I get an email from my dad asking how the flights going. I half expect them both to show up out my window in a 2-seater so they can accompany me the rest of the way.
The fasten seat belt sign has been turned on. The bumps are getting worse. I can’t help but think this is it for me. I’ll have to stop typing for now. And reflect on my life.
Seat belt sign is off. I take my first breath in 7 minutes.
Seat belt sign is back on. I'm convinced my world is about to end. (I do appreciate a pilot who is accurate in his communication though)
Seat belt sign is back off. I’ve put Fleet Foxes on my iPod. I update my Facebook status with a line from one of their songs. The line I post is “Tell me anything you want. Any old lie will do.” I’m anticipating 1 fan of Fleet Foxes will give it the thumbs up. One fan will actually mention Fleet Foxes in the comments. One chick who ‘likes’ any status update I do will also ‘like’ this one. And my friend Drew will tell me an actual lie that equates to how miserable his life is. He has never heard of Fleet Foxes. I'm feeling good about this prediction.
The pilot makes a quick announcement to tell us something about somewhere in Arizona which we’re currently flying over. I don’t hear a word he says. Instead I focus intently on his voice. Is it calm? Is he hiding something? Does he think we’re about to go down but is tricking us? He sure sounds confident.
The chick next to me gets up to pee. I too get up to pee. Let me tell you something about me on a flight. I will get up at any opportunity. I prefer the window, so I can stare outside, but do better with an aisle seat since I like to get up so often. Even if I don’t have to pee, I’ll squeeze out a few drops. Whenever I look in the mirror I immediately think of that one scene in Cast Away…a scene which I’ve never actually seen only heard while my eyes were closed tightly in the theater. Neurotic? Paranoid?Um, yes.
Jericho informs me that he’s going to a meeting and is signing off for the day. Just like that. Can you believe him? What a dick.
Hunger sets in. I’m determined to not buy anything on this flight. Over salted processed turkey slices wedged between two thick soggy pieces of white bread and plastic lettuce sounds awful. Looking forward to seeing what the Dallas/Ft Worth airport has to offer. Hell, I have an hour or so to kill when I’m there.
Powered threw Bright Eyes, Fleet Foxes, Yeasayer, Them Crooked Vultures and now onto Hot Chip. I listen to albums start to finish. Except for that one song on Hot Chip. It’s super gay.
On our decent into Dallas I stare intently out the window. I’m always fine on the decent. As soon as we get low enough to actually see the cars, I’m confident if necessary, I could tuck and roll and land safely. Only if necessary.
There’s basically 2 types of people in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport today. First, native Texans. Big. Lots of facial hair. Lots of mid section. Lots of big logos in various places including their mid section. The second is the business traveler. Loafers, sport coat, lots of blackberry checking and sighing. Lots of Bluetooth talking and selling. I am not this guy. I fear if I continue to travel like this I will turn into this guy. I will never be this guy.
I check the results of my Facebook posting. So far only 1 comment. It’s from a chick I used to go to High School with. She responded with ‘One time at band camp…’ Not sure how to take that one. She obviously isn’t a Fleet Foxes fan. Maybe she’s trying to tell me she likes putting foreign objects in her cha-cha. Interesting.
Explain something to me. How can Dallas be so awful at Mexican food? Aren’t they 10 feet from Mexico? Fuck I just had the worst Chicken Quesadilla in my life. Ez cheese, microwaved chicken bits, generic salsa that tasted like a crayon. I did however tip the waitress 5 bucks on my 14 dollar order. I felt bad for her. She was a lady boy, half-Asian, wannabe hipster working at the Tequillaria in the airport. Nowhere to go but up.
About to board. Two hours and twenty minutes until we land in Charlotte. Wish me luck. (Fuck that was gay. Stop being so gay Magglio. I’m going to get a coffee.)
Just before take off I check my Facebook status again. Lo and behold, my friend Drew responded. I’m literally panting with excitement to see what he’s said. “I have a full head of hair” it reads. Fuck I totally called that one. Sadly this makes my day.
We’re about 45 minutes into the flight. The wi-fi isn’t working. I’ve sorta peed twice. The stewardess reeks of self tanner. The dude next to me is reading a book called ‘Helping you understand your emotional abuse.’ I’m exhausted. Did I mention I got in to SF last night from Boise at 9pm. What the fuck am I doing to myself? I decide I’m going to buy a pack of cigarettes when I get to Charlotte for the long drive ahead. I don’t even smoke anymore. But fuck it, I do tonight.
I’m secretly excited for the 2 hour drive from Charlotte to Greensboro. Yes, 2 hours. I’m excited because I’m banking on my rental car having satellite radio which I never get to listen to. I’m going straight to Shade 45 and whatever the other Hip Hop Nation station is. This truly will be the highlight of my day. You want to hear good rap music? Put on satellite radio.
Unfortunately this marathon day will not end. The asshat at the Avis car rental place must get paid hourly. There are 8 people in line and he’s taking his sweet fucking time. Fuck my car had better have satellite radio.
Ball sack! We all saw this one coming. No satellite radio. But I did grab some smokes. Fuck North Carolina.
Four other people responded to my Facebook status. Nobody caught the Fleet Foxes reference. Who cares? Facebook is stupid. Can you tell this day (and this post) has gone on a bit too long?
I finally pull into my hotel. Here’s the final stats for the day:
Total travel time: 12 hours and 28 minutes.
Number of flights: 2
Number of miles traveled: 2,717
Number of cigarettes smoked: 3
Number of times Lady GaGa played on the radio: 14
Number of times I want to do this trip again: 0
Number of days until I do this exact trip again except in reverse order: 2
Friday, February 12, 2010
As I’m sure you can tell by now, Magglio and I have a much different approach to this blog. I like to research a topic, think about it all from all angles, write slowly and edit carefully. Magglio likes to just post, post, post, keep our traffic numbers up and get more and more people reading the blog so everyone will rub his ass and tell him it’s special. What does this have to do with anything? Actually nothing, but he can be a little bitch, huh?
Anyway, one of the predominant questions I’ve been getting over email and in the comments is: “hey, Jericho, why haven’t you reacted to the Oscar nominations yet?” So I’m going to do that today. Why? So you’ll rub my ass and tell me it’s special. I mean, come on, I’m obviously a bitch too, but not like Magglio, that guy’s a fucking bitch. He’s like the Brad Pitt of bitches and I’m more like Channing Tatum. I digress.
One of the craziest things about having a blog is that sometimes I can’t remember if I posted about a certain topic or just ranted about it in private to friends. For example, I fucking hate that the Oscars expanded to 10 best picture nominees (reasons why to come in a second) and have been vehemently protesting against the move since it was announced. When I got the idea for this post, I went to A&M and searched around for the entry where I railed against the new format. To my surprise, it didn’t exist. So maybe this is the first time I’m putting these thoughts to paper, but trust me when I say that nothing is new here, the Academy shit the bed and I've been angrily sleeping in it for months.
Before we get into this, a quick preface: I realize how ridiculous this looks on paper, after all is said and done the Oscars is just a fucking TV show, but it aspires and portends to be so much more and saps like me buy in. If anything, the Oscars succeed because it manages to transcend the “it’s just an award show” mentality, we care about them; we regard Oscar winners with a sense of nobility and accomplishment; in short: the Oscars matter. When they diverge from that course and do something so obviously whore-ish, it affects the validity of the whole thing. They turn it back into a TV show. Maybe that’s at the root of my frustration; we all ignored the elephant in the room and refused to pull back the curtain to see the strings; now the Academy has done that for us. Okay, I’m down from my horse, let’s break this down, here are the 3 big reasons why I hate this decision:
1. It's All About The Benjamins
They are diluting a proven process purely to boost ratings. History has proven that the numbers of viewers increase proportionate to the popularity of that year’s films. When a lot of people see and love a movie they watch the show and pull for their favorites to win. It’s no coincidence that the highest watched telecast was in 1997 (Titanic, Good Will Hunting, As Good As It Gets, cumulative box office of nominees = $1 billion). More films means = higher cumulative box office + more starts attending show = higher ratings. It’s that simple. I don’t like it, but it’s easy to dissect their logic.
2. Yeah, But What About Those Pesky Screener Things
Expanding the number of nominees doesn’t address the fundamental problem with the nomination and voting process: there is no way to verify that every member has seen every film in question. Every year, the Academy will send 25 or so movies out to its body, they watch the films and then fill out a nomination form, the votes are tallied and the nominations announced. How do we know that each member has watched every film? I honestly don’t know how they address this but it’s a major problem and adding more films to the mix seems to make this even more complicated.
3. The Fucking Blind Side? An Education? Precious? Fuck You?
Finally, and this is the biggest problem in my opinion: what if there aren’t 10 movies worth nominating? In the irony of ironies, they are introducing the new rules this year to make amends for last year when two enormously popular and successful movies were passed over (The Dark Knight and Wall-E); except for the fact that this has been a fairly underwhelming year for movies. Look at the list:
- The Blind Side
- District 9
- An Education
- The Hurt Locker
- Inglourious Basterds
- Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire
- A Serious Man
- Up in the Air
Other than Avatar, District 9 and Inglourious Basterds, is there anything we’ll be discussing 5 years from now? Isn’t that what a best pic is supposed to do? To illustrate this point, I did a little research and in my opinion, only 4 times in the last 20 years did we have a year good enough to validate having 10 pictures nominated.
Here they are, the films are listed in no particular order:
Good Night and Good Luck
Walk The Line
A History of Violence
The Squid and the Whale
The Upside of Anger
Million Dollar Baby
Man on Fire
Good Will Hunting
As Good As It Gets
Wag The Dog
Legends of the Fall
The Lion King
Bullets Over Broadway
A few thoughts before I wind this down:
- 4 out of 20? Looking forward to batting .200 for the next few years, Academy?
- How good were 1994 and 1997? Holy shit those were good years for film.
- Yes, I don’t have the 2005 winner, Crash, on that list. That movie sucks.
- Will I watch the Oscars this year even though I just spent 1,000 words killing their new gimmick? If you don’t know answer then clearly you aren’t rubbing my ass enough. Now come on, tell me it’s special. Please.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Some fuck at the Air Force ripped off the White Stripe’s ‘Fell in Love With A Girl’ for their latest commercial. What is that dude thinking? I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Jack is going to rip his dick off, make a guitar out of it, give it to Loretta Lyn as a gift and she’s going to record a song entitled ‘Jack gave me this dick guitar and I gave the world this song.’
A few years back a bunch of dudes we went to school with came down to San Francisco for the Cal/UW football game. We all met at a bar the night before the game and for one reason or another Jericho couldn’t make it out. So, what did I do? Being the good friend I am of course I told them all that Jericho had officially come out of the closet while living in SF. And his girlfriend is cool with it they just use a strap-on now for his satisfaction. Fuck that story still makes me laugh. You realize there’s a large portion of our classmates in Seattle who heard about this and still believe Jericho is gay. That’s what friends are for.
Human sexuality is such a uniquely individual thing that it’s hard to really pinpoint the sluts from the saints at a glance. However, I feel pretty confident about the following statement: Pink has had poop in her mouth. Not sure where, why, whose or how, but if my life depended on it, I’d say there’s been some poo in there at some point.
People’s insecurities and inflated sense of self has never been more on display. This whole thing about doppelgangers on Facebook is seriously out of control. People sure do think they’re a whole lot better looking than they really are huh? In other news, do you know that I look just like Tom Brady minus the hair, chin, face and super bowl rings? Other than that…a dead ringer.
Who would you rather have sex with? Brooklyn Decker, Abe Vigoda, Kim Kardashian or the robot who keeps spamming our site? Kinda a toss up in my book.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Fuck it. I’m 36,008 feet in the air. I’ve had a couple xanax, a sparkling water and just finished watching Michael Jackson’s This is It. The captain has turned on the fasten seat belts sign, which means any minute now, I’ll be clutching my arm rests convinced that these will be the last moments I’ll ever spend alive. Call me inspired. It’s time to write a post.
What I’ve been up to since we last spoke:
*I finished ‘Eating Animals’ by Jonathan Safran Foer and haven’t picked up another book since.
* I gained about 10 pounds.
* I shared an hour long cab ride with Rachel Hunter. The best part was when she talked so I could stare at her without it being weird.
* I traveled for business for 5 weeks straight. I swear it took 20 years off my life.
* I told Ricky Watters about the poster I had of him hanging over my bed when I was a kid that said “Running Watters.” Then we talked about Niners football.
* I had moments where I did nothing but thank God for how fortunate I am in life. These moments usually directly followed time spent with my wife.
* I misinterpreted a joke about me on a company email and replied to all after a heavy night of drinking which did nothing but further expose my greatest flaw in business. I’m too sensitive.
* I flaked on a good friend of mine for the 2nd time in a row. I still feel awful about it. The stars just didn’t align. Next time dude.
* I still haven’t seen Jericho, which is officially the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other in 7 years, or the last time we lived in separate cities. Inexcusable. On so many levels.
* I went Vegan for 4 days.
* I promised a friend I’d send him ‘The Adderall Diaries’ by Stephen Elliot. It’s been sitting on my desk for about 6 weeks now. I'll get around to that shortly.
* I listened to Bright Eyes more than any other artist on my iPod. Well, Bright Eyes, Fleet Foxes and Them Crooked Vultures, to be honest.
* I haven’t seen Avatar and probably never will.
* I had a conversation with January Jones, and then paused mid-conversation to turn to my wife and tell her, while pointing at Miss Jones, “I’m going to impregnate this woman.” Classy guy.
* My elementary school crush finally admitted that she should’ve dated me in the 6th grade. No shit Lisa.
* I got drunk and danced with my French friend Jon. A friend I hadn’t seen in about 5 years. That’s what life’s all about.
* I delivered hundreds of gently used designer suits to a charity for at-risk men trying to get back on their feet. Maybe that's what life's all about.
* I spent 45 minutes reading an US Weekly, a new personal best for me.
* I spent 4 hours at John Varvatos in New York and can now say, with confidence, I have all the clothes I need.
* I never called Brett back. I can be so selfish sometimes.
* I put an offer on a house and was outbid.
* I told Russell Brand that he was, well, Russell Brand. He said, and I quote, “Yes I am. What’s up loc?”
* I claimed that Robin Wright Penn would be nominated for Best Actress in The Private Life of Pippa Lee. I was wrong.
* I saw original Banksy street art appear overnight.
* I told a model she should try on the Gucci dress instead of the Armani one because it would probably make her legs look better. I was right.
* I bought myself a new pair of socks. Red and grey striped. Paul Smith. Gangster.
* I drank the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Bloody Mary’s of my life. Then proceeded to drink the rest of New Year’s Day away. Fuck that one was a doozy.
* I struggled when asked on more than one occasion to name my top 5 celebrity crushes. I’ve since committed myself to figuring it out so I don’t run into that situation again. Stay tuned.
* I didn’t get a single hair cut.
* I asked Chris Cooley if he’d ever read Apples & Moustaches. He hadn’t. Damn.
* I skipped most of the AFC Championship game to watch a documentary about a Danish-Korean comedy troupe sent to North Korea on a cultural exchange program with the ultimate goal of exposing the atrocities that occur in the Kim Jong-Ill regime. And I learned a little more about myself in the process. Just kidding. I wanted to see what it would feel like to be Rick Reily. It sucked.
* I went from $278.29 cents in my online gambling account to $0.29 in a matter of 2 weeks.
* I defended Snooki when someone said she shouldn’t have her own TV show. She should. End of argument.
* I heard from a lot of fucking cool people that they missed our blog these past few weeks. Which absolutely made my day every time I heard it. Fuck it. We're back. Let's keep this party going.