Filed under: so i guess this is growing up | Tags: college, dormlife, hugh, trailer, youtube
my friend, whom i will call “hugh heffner,” has been singing the praises of dormlife- a series of videos on youtube. so i watched what i think was half of season 1. i dig it. if you ever went to college, dormed, bought beer with a fake i.d., lived in a cell that was your living room, bedroom, study, kitchen, and closet, illegally downloaded music, ate a full meal between the hours of 3 and 5AM and then went to sleep, or wore someone elses sweatshirt home whilst sporting the shoes you wore the previous night, then you’ll probably like dormlife. here’s the season 1 trailer:
Filed under: and... judged., domestical, what's going on here | Tags: bpd, buffalo, byron brown, chippewa, christian, dancing, delaware avenue, green, irish, new york fashion week, orange men, parade, st. patrick's day, step, strollers, syracuse, tow trucks, yellow brick road
so, yesterday i dabbled with st. patricks’s day. now, hear you me– buffalo does not “get” this holiday, but apparently embarassing our families is enough of a consolation. for example: my agenda for the day involved commenting 17 times on the beautiful weather (check), glaring at people blowing smoke in the faces of piggy-backing children (check), and booing “mayor” byron brown (sidenote: we did not throw things at him, simply because it would be shamelessly determined a hate crime. our cries for a more compatent mayor were not fueled by color of his skin, but by the content of his mayoral portfolio). checky mc checkerton.
we migrate along delaware avenue weaving in and out of college grads, the clinically obese, and the infamous obstacles simply known as “strollers”. there are bagpipes and little girls bucking and jumping up and down whilst sporting the most heinous of weaves. there are the most effervescent shades of green dotted with guinness splattered whites and jungle juice tainted oranges. it’s not exactly new york fashion week.
but at the end of the afternoon, when the last of the bellowing christian elitists throw out the remainder of pamphlets that will allegedly save our damned souls and the curb cannot possibly cradle another rattling empty, the red sea of debauchery is split. we spill into the street (thanks to the lingering effects of the detours) in a mangled, yet unified wave. throwing our bodies forward, and hoping that our legs will follow, we charge to the bars. in the middle of the road lie parade float debris– candies and beads that were refused, thrown with the elbow forward, or damaged in transit– all of which map our route like some tragic yellow brick road.
tow trucks outnumber police cruisers– not to say that there are a lot of tow trucks. at this point, every cop is backed into some alley way with his car turned off, trying to enjoy his blood alcohol level.
for the most part, yesterday was a success, unless you made the critical error of going to the parade with your girlfriend/boyfriend (i’m sure i heard at least 4 couples call it quits while the female half was wearing what was left of a headband with clover-tipped antennae). the sun was out, only prompting a few bottom heavy lasses to dress like jameson shot girls. the weather was marvelous, the crowd was cheerful, and i only used the phrase “hulk angry” to describe a tipsy female once.
this rambling is all my long winded way of saying happy st. patrick’s day. go orange.
Filed under: ...and he's rich | Tags: anthony bourdain, chef, expose, host, memoir, no reservations, roni lynn deutch, supervillian, television, time warner, travel channel, writer
you need to start watching ‘anthony bourdain: no reservations’ on the travel channel, stat. to be perfectly honest, i don’t honestly believe that there is a single cable-having, digital switch-anticipating (time warner-cursing) soul out there that intentionally misses this show. or maybe my standards for people are set too high. whatever.
i just dig this guy in an esoteric, middle school-crush sort of way. sigh.
having wanted to be a writer ever since i received my first print-related compliment, i am a sucker for anyone who can write like they speak and speak like they think. anthony bourdain’s narrative is so fluid, it doesn’t require transition words. my (respect? appreciation? obsession?) respect for his existence is too much for words. it’s not just his writing, it’s not just his global free fall, it’s not just his smugness. it’s him.
anthony bourdain has the polite apathy of the cool uncle, the life experience of a homeless vet, and the charm and arrogance of a supervillian. and oh-my-gawd does it work [for me]. he is regal, yet unrefined; profound, yet relatable (“what can I say, I happen to be an aficionado of the dive bar”). by george, anthony bourdain could narrate the ‘roni lynn deutch, the tax lady’ commercial and i’d stiff the IRS just so i could qualify.
even if you don’t like ”food shows”–this is not a friggen “food show”–his on-going metaphor for all that is ingested is borderline tantric; he likens food, in all of its masochistic decadence, to deliriously mind-blowing sex. hand check.
and what better way to familiarize oneself with a complete stranger than to read their witty catchphrases- one-liners that have better timing than other sentences and are too bold to be considered a punchline:
“when tony gets hungry, things die.”
“my house is run, essentially, by an adopted, fully clawed cat with a mean nature.”
“i’ll make fun of the french, thank you very much.”
“it’s not as much an expose as it is a memoir, with some things that seem to have shocked and horrified some of the civilian population.”
“it’s beer o’clock.”
“while strangely uncomfortable with the term ‘man’s man,’ I am honored to be included.”
“i was a rotten kid with a big vocabulary.”
ugh. insert “three” “greater than symbol” here.
Filed under: and... judged., celebrity look-alike, what's going on here | Tags: 14 kids, angelina jolie, california, collagen injections, davinci, eonline, invitro fertilization, IVF, mona lisa, nadya suleman, octo-mom, octuplets
um, false, eonline.
you know who octo-bag looks like? mona lisa. boom.
Filed under: it's not a lohan., what's going on here | Tags: 21, asian, avenue q, february 2, gino, hannah montana, mai lee, miley cyrus, pacific, perez hilton, photo, picture, racist, she's just being miley, tmz
miley cyrus pissed of the asian community, having posed for a picture while pulling her eyes into slants. big deal, asian community. everyone’s a little bit racist.
in unrelated news, my brother turned 21 this week. cheers!
Filed under: domestical, sporty spice | Tags: 24-20, 43, arizona cardinals, baby, bud light, budweiser, channing tatum, chris farley, commercial, doritos, e-trade, ftizgerald, g.i joe, gatorade G, get out of jail free, hinds ward, jack black, jason mcelwain, john belushi, kurt warner, land of the lost, matt leinart, meeting, michael cera, mike tomlin, monopoly, pittsburg steelers, polamalu, rochester, roethlisberger, santonio holmes, super bowl, superbowl, type-cast, what G means to me, will ferrell, XLIII, year one, youtube
being from the capital of north america, buffalo ny, my love of all things underdog meant i had an obligation to cheer for the cardinals. in other words, i watched the super bowl to vicariously live my football dreams through kurt warner. (side note: maybe next century, matt leinart. you should probably go home and play with your kid.)
as a female, i watched the super bowl for
1. kurt warner, the rags-to-riches story that is so decadent, oprah keeps it in her nightstand next to the lube and…
2. the commercials. you can talk during the game all you want, but prepare yourself for core meltdown if you so much as chew with your mouth open during a media time out.
now everytime i see a snow globe barrel through a vending machine, i’ll crave doritos. nice.
will ferrell’s movie doesn’t impress me.
but the g.i. joe movie? omigaw yes. (tan, stoic, backwards hat-wearing channing tatum will be my get-out-of-jail-free card when i’m married–purely because he is not my type. duh).
and how about michael cera, starring as the small spoon in ‘year one.’ he’s is so adorable with his awkward, “it’s not illegal to picture me naked– you’ll just feel guilty” naivite. other than being the clinically obese, perpetually drunk best friend (chris farley, john belushi), cera has the ultimate type-cast.
budweiser, the silly ho of super bowl commercial history, had me unimpressed with the absurdity of booze-fueled corporate meetings. then, it redeemed itself. (but it almost didn’t.)
gatorade G made my mom’s eyes water:
e-trade made my mom angry that there are no e-trade grandchildren in the near future (if everything goes as planned):
and here is golf baby. i mean, shameless. who doesn’t love babies sporting bite-sized hats.
Filed under: and... judged., so i guess this is growing up, what's going on here | Tags: ann coulter, barbara walters, chabad-lubivitch, chassidishe, clint eastwood, fupa, gran torino, hasidic, hot-flash, jew, jewish, joy behar, jumpin' jack flash, lenny kravitz, loving leah, lubavitch, lubavitcher, menopause, playoffs, susie essman, the view, whoopi goldberg
well, ‘the view’ made middle-aged women look stupid again.
first, they got into a girl-fight with ann coulter (she’s not racist– she’s whatever the facts say) last week. and whoopi goldberg– you’re a statistic. don’t let your career make you think otherwise. however, i love ‘jumpin’ jack flash.’
this week, they had what should have been a witch-burning turn into a gossip-filled, shart-talking slumber party with susie essman.
essman (a juive) made a comment that mislead the hosts into offering their thoughts; apparently, the hosts think that the world wants to hear their mindless grasp on culture and religion. i mean, why hadn’t we consulted them before?– one is married to a jewish gentleman and another has the last name “goldberg” (but not in a lenny kravitz sort of way).
naturally, lines were crossed.
exhibit A: “have you seen what these women look like?”
exhibit B: “the way they dress, that’s related to islam, right?”
oh my. how’s that for gran torino-itis.
i don’t believe the discussion was anti-semitic, but it was wildly inappropriate and ignorant. also, it’s a little excessive to compare these bored women to hitler (but i hear barbara walters grows a mean ’stache during the playoffs).
to sum things up, the hosts of ‘the view’ are squawking women who have not had natural estrogen in their collective system for at least 15 years. they are at the mercy of hot-flashes and FUPAs and they say things that have no meaning or relevance. what escapes from the holes in their faces should be ridiculed by comediens and then ultimately brushed off. done.
Filed under: domestical | Tags: andy samberg, bromance, bromosexual, comedy, i love you man, jaime pressley, jason segal, john favreau, john hamburg, new movie, paul rudd, rashida jones, the office
the 90’s were the metrosexual revolution.
the 00’s (i made that decade abbreviation up. but it means 2000-2009) are the bromosexual invasion– and finally some good can come of it.
rarely do i go to the movies to see comedies (i only watch indie, european, and pokemon films in public. you should too). however, i am making an exception for ’i love you, man’. here’s the trailer.
note the scene when he doesn’t clean up after his dog. spec. tac. u. lar.
Filed under: what's going on here | Tags: discovery channel, escape, escapologist, jonathan goodwin, new show, one way out
one way out. starts tomorrow. it looks like uncle fester lost 100 pounds and found cooler ways to half-kill himself. bottom line: i’m excited.
Filed under: celebrity look-alike, what's going on here | Tags: alfred, bat-man, batman, batman begins, bruce wayne, christian bale, christopher nolan, DC comics, gotham city, harvey dent, heath ledger, ron popeil, ronco roaster, the dark knight, the joker, trilogy, wayne manor, why so serious
christopher nolan has created the most brilliant batman films in the history of the world simply by adhering to the blueprint in the DC comic.
being so, (it was inevitable that) his first two films were part of an epic trilogy. i mean, if you’re going to do it right…
the third is supposed to focus on the joker (like the comics. you dig?) and there has been a good deal of concern in regards to who can pick up where heath ledger left off.
my first thoughts?– panic. he’s irreplaceable. ledger created a character that actually has a life of its own. the vile lip-licking, endearing detachment from humanity, and clumsy mortality were more than any actor could ever learn. in other words– this is not similar to a quarterback watching hours of footage before a huge game.
since any actor thrown into that lion’s den is going to fail text book-style, my nominee is… ron popeil (inventor of the ronco roaster, duh).
