i’ve got a bad feeling about this

Cooler than you.

Thoughts on my second favorite (Chewie is first obviously) Star Wars character, Boba Fett, in honor of today – Star Wars Day:

• Everyone knows Episodes I through III are absolutely terrible, but here are the reasons: 1) Boba Fett is like ten in Episode II and all he does is watch his dad get killed. Lame. More Boba Fett equals more Good Stuff. 2) Jar Jar Binks. Enough said.
• One of the things that made Boba Fett so cool was all the gadgets he had. Also, the cup on the outside of the pants, which is how all people wore them in the past. Yes, Boba Fett was a fashion icon.
• I just feel like the cape is unnecessary. Way to go overboard there Boba.
• That’s definitely an antenna on his helmet. While Boba Fett was hunting down people for money, dude was listening to talk radio. That’s how gangsta he was.

minus one

I should explain first that I hate the show Jon & Kate Plus 8. When Ari watches it I want to punch myself in the face until I pass out, because if I wanted to listen to eight kids screaming and yelling I’d, I don’t know, have some fucking kids.

With that, because I’ve seen the show, I can’t help but notice how shitty Kate is to Jon. If you’ve seen it, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Jon is like a shell of a man, which I guess is what happens when you have eight kids, but Kate definitely makes it worse.

But now there are rumors of a security guard catching Jon in the act of cheating on his wife, and I feel like screaming “Yes! Jon has his life back!”

I’m not saying cheating is a positive, but really, this is a Good Thing. And don’t tell me about how it’s bad because “What about the kids???” Do you think it’s better for kids to grow up in a house where the parents hate each other or one with just one parent?

Exactly.

So this is just to say, “Hello Jon. It’s nice to have you back among the living.”

Also, tell Kate her hair is weird.

now you’re playing with power

In keeping with the theme of the previous post – an ad for Gameboy when it first came out. A couple of things:

1. If I got to fight a robot head-to-head on a spooky planet and then shoot him with a laser that came out of my finger, you bet your fucking life I’d be playing more video games.
2. I love how the voice-over explains that Gameboy comes with “the outrageous game of Tetris!” Tetris is many things, such as mind-numbingly boring and just a bunch of damn blocks falling, but it is not, in the least bit, outrageous.
3. I want that jean jacket.
4. That robot must be absolutely terrible at games, he lost in about 20 seconds. I bet whenever him and all his robot friends get together, he’s always picked last.

make that change

When did this become okay?

Brought to you by Hair Cuttery.

I’m not talking about having your own name spelled out in large glowing gold letters across a picture of yourself, because I am totally doing that for my next business card. I’m talking about the hair.

I feel like I missed something.

When did we, as a culture, as human fucking beings, decide that it was okay for Keith Urban (and sadly, others like him) to have Hot Woman Hair?

When did we stop caring?

Because let’s face it, when a man can walk around looking like that and no one passionately objects or even wildly attacks him with a pair of clippers, we have stopped caring.

Are things this bad?

I know the economy is down.  I know.  And I know that somehow people keep seeing the Saw movies even though – hello??? – it’s the same fucking movie every time. But allowing this to happen is just taking things too far.

I want everyone to think about how they contributed to this mess, and figure out how they can remedy it. For me, I hate to admit it, but I think it was when I told my friend that I have Duncan Sheik’s Barely Breathing on my iPod.

But I can get better, and so can you, and hopefully, so can Keith Urban’s hair.

Let’s stop and think about our lives, and try to make the world a better place – one Hot Woman Haired Man at a time.

no time to waste

To all of my Malawi, Africa readers: RUN.

Word is out that Madonna is coming back to take more brown babies, whether you like it or not.  There is nothing you can do – in fact – it might be too late already.

So RUN DAMMIT!  Oh, and in case you can’t read English, here are some pictures to illustrate the horror that is coming for you.

Good luck, and may god save us all.

on your way then

Exactly.

How does that picture make you feel?

Concerned?

Ashamed?

Frightened?

I feel all of those things when I see pictures and hear stories about Amy Winehouse.  The latest story on this troubled singer is that she has been charged with assault.  Apparently she beat up some woman who asked for her autograph.

We’ve heard it all about Winehouse, haven’t we?  She’s depressed, she’s angry, she’s got issues, her hair is home to a tiny village of people who weave the finest silk boxers.

And the talk probably won’t stop, unless we just let her be.  That’s right – just let Amy Winehouse do whatever she wants to do, because it is obvious we cannot stop her from anything.

If she wants to snort coke off a cop’s bald head?  Let her.

If she wants to shoot heroin and question why all the Phoenix siblings have weird first names, when having Phoenix as a last name is weird enough?  Let her.

Because she’s going to do it anyway.

Have we learned nothing as a society?  When Famous People want to do things, whether it’s a terrible idea or not, they do it.  Just look at the Barenaked Ladies’ entire career.

Let’s just forget her.  Let’s just let her do her thing, no matter how illegal, or how closely it puts her toward feeling Death’s cold, gentle touch.

You can’t stop Amy Winhouse, and I wouldn’t suggest you try.

(If you’re looking for a good story today, go to my friend J.P.’s blog, and check out his post about an encounter with old lady porn.)

close but not really

Last night I watched the Oscars, and in case you missed it, Hugh Jackman hosted the show.

And instead of actually being witty and funny like past hosts such as Jon Stewart, he sang.  And sang and sang.  It was horrible.  It’s not like I don’t enjoy dancing and show tunes and – wait – no, I do hate dancing and show tunes.  A lot.  I fucking hate it.

If I wanted to watch a big spectacle of dancing and singing I’d just hang outside when the methadone clinic in downtown Brooklyn dispenses the lunch time doses.  At least those people have something to truly be happy about.

Of course lots of people enjoyed seeing Jackman up there parading around like a complete moron.  I mean he did win 2008′s Sexiest Man Alive (I took myself out of the running – the politics got to be too much), so the women loved it.

As the show went on, though, and he kept coming back on stage, I actually started to feel bad for the guy.

I realized that he was in an impossible position, one that was a no win for him no matter how well he did as the show’s host.

Even if Hugh Jackman somehow wins 47 Oscars between now and when he finishes his career, he’ll never be happy.

Because of this man:

Best Vest Ever.

Yes, that’s Paul Hogan/Crocodile Dundee/The Best Australian Ever.  Just look at this picture.  When was the last time you held a crocodile by the teeth and smiled while wearing a crocodile skin vest with nothing underneath?

Exactly.

Hugh Jackman doesn’t stand a chance.  He will never be better than Paul Hogan, and that, in many ways, makes me feel bad for him.  But not too bad.

this is the best news since your friend told you he thought no one would notice your left eye is bigger than your right

Tonight is the Oscars, so I’m going to be live-tweeting it (until I get bored at least), and I’m hoping all you other Twitter people will be too.  Just tune your TV to the right channel at 8 PM (though I’ll probably start with a little red carpet stuff before), drink a ton and let the fun begin.  Okay, you don’t have to drink as much wine as I will, but I promise Mickey Rourke would want you to.

I’ll see you or tweet you or whatever tonight.

I hate saying “tweet.”

homicide

This morning on the way to the gym, I got a text from a friend that informed me that Eddie Murphy had signed on to star in the next Batman movie as the Joker.

Naturally, this threw my world into complete chaos.

Throughout my workout, all I could think about was how Murphy was going to ruin everything and how I’m not racist dammit but how the hell can the Joker go from being a white dude to a black dude and that make any sense at all???

As I finished pumping iron (which is a technical term for lifting weights) I came to the only possible conclusion that I could come to – I had to kill Eddie Murphy.

The plan I came up with went like this: Show up at his house – which is easy because he lives in Jersey – ring the doorbell, and when he answered yell, “Dude Beverly Hills Cop was awesome but you can’t do this to my Batman!” Then stab him with my pen.  Which I’ll use because, well, I don’t own a knife.  Also knives can be scary.

I had the plan all ready to go when I arrived at the office.

There I saw my friend who had informed of this travesty to begin with, so of course I started ranting and raving (and maybe waving my arms around like a mad man) about how I thought Murphy playing the Joker was basically the Worst Thing Ever.

At that moment he looked at me and said, “Oh, no wait.  He’s playing the Riddler. I must have sent it wrong in the text.”

I was relived, and I’m sure Eddie is glad too, even though he had no idea he was about to die by Bic to the head.

But then I remembered that Shia Labeouf is reportedly going to play Robin, and Robin is just the stupidest character ever, so now I have to kill him instead.

the past and present

I’m a big pop culture fan even though it’s taken me awhile to realize that.  I think it has something to do with Teenage Chris thinking all things popular were stupid, which incidentally might have been the reason I had trouble getting laid.

In fact, if I could write a note to Teenage Chris now, I’d probably say something like “Dear Dumbass, knowing things about celebrities is infinitely more attractive to girls than angry poems and the fact that you think Jim Morrison was a genius.”

But Teenage Chris wouldn’t listen because in high school, actors were the losers. Actors were the dorks who didn’t smoke cigarettes and didn’t want to get drunk, listen to Wu-Tang and try desperately to get into some hot brunette’s pants.

And I think that is why it took me so long to embrace my love of all things “pop.”  If actors were such losers when I was young – why am I supposed to think they’re so cool now?

Obviously, pop culture extends far beyond actors and actresses, but this has always been the part that makes me resistant to embracing the entire scene.

Take George Clooney.

Clooney is the essence of cool, barely beating out Brad Pitt (though I have been one to vehemently argue that Pitt would actually be cooler if Angelina Jolie hadn’t eaten his soul).

I would love to be Clooney.  It’s the old cliche – women love him and men want to be him.

But in high school, Clooney was no doubt a huge loser.  He went to an extremely prissy school in the United Kingdom where he fell in love with acting, then moved back to Kentucky, where he went to high school.

I don’t know about you, but any kid who went to school in Europe and came back wanting to star in hopelessly terrible plays was considered a dork at my school.

I guarantee you Clooney was getting beat up daily and probably had more wedgies than he would care to admit.

But now, suddenly, he is cool.

I suppose the fact that earning an extraordinary amount of money and sleeping with beautiful women is the reason that he is perceived as cool, but it still bothers me.

So much so that maybe I’d even add, “P.S. – Go beat up that whiny actor kid in seventh period” to that note to Teenage Chris.

At least then I’d feel a little better about things.