Pop Culture Blog: Music, Movie and Humor
Leveraging low-hanging synergies outside the vertical fruit box since 1999.
Kids – switch to Nextel immediately. Can’t stress that enough. More importantly, when did Boston turn into Hoth? The heat is off in my living room, and I’m about to slice open a tauntaun and crawl inside in order to keep watching the Patriots game in relative comfort. Will a TV fit inside one of those crazy ice-hopping creatures? I’ll let you know.
And more more importantly, thanks for all the laughs, Johnny.
Appetizer: What is one quality you really admire about yourself?
My mother is a pussycat, while my father is a bit of an arsehole. I was once an even mix of the two personalities – each type has its own pros and cons. I was a tender and sympathetic young lad, but 3 high schools in 4 years changed that dramatically. In University I hovered somewhere in-between, but the past 5 years of inner-city living have pushed me further and further towards the dark side. I guess I admire my ability to embrace and appreciate the need to have a balance of good and evil in your personality. It’s essential for self preservation – and reminding yourself that while showing young girls your boxer shorts on the street is pretty hot, it can still get you arrested in most states.
Soup: What kind of shampoo and conditioner do you use?
PineSol and Ajax. Alternately.
Salad: Describe your favorite movie scene. The one that gets to you every time.
There are several. The scene in Goodfellas where Liotta’s voiceover starts talking about how Jimmy has just decided to kill everyone involved with the heist. There’s a slow motion zoom on DeNiro, leaning against a bar engulfed in cigarette smoke while Sunshine of Your Love plays in the background. That always gives me a chill. Then there’s the scene in Blade Runner where Roy saves Deckard from falling off the building and then sits down in the rain to give him a strange Nexus 6 soliloquy: “I watched seabeams glitter in the dark off the Tanhauser Gate…” You don’t know what the hell the dying android is talking about – but you’re transfixed none the less. I could give you ten more. And then act them all out with legos.
Main Course: If you were a veggie, which one would you be, and why?
A brussel sprout. Because I’d have a much longer life expectancy.
Dessert: If you took a trip within 100 miles where would you go?
To my buddy Dave Vadenais’ restaurant in Sturbridge. A ‘friend’ and I went up there about a year ago for dinner, etc. and had a delicious time. Amazing food, super atmosphere and a great excuse to get out of the city. Also a convenient, out of the way town in which to bury said friend in a shallow grave when the date turns sour. Dave, what did you put in that salad, you silly goose?!
Some people who blog in Boston do little else but bitch about the T. I have refrained thus far, as I only ride the detestable subway when it gets cold outside. But baby – it’s cold outside. So as it happens, I have a gripping tale of lust, agony and deceit to share with you from this morning’s commute. Translation: strange smells, mental illness and filth. Or ‘business as usual’ as most regular riders would agree.
Look – and I shouldn’t have to come out and say this – please don’t break wind on the T. Unless you have a syndrome of some kind or a severe digestive dilemma – there’s just no excuse for it. No one has ever had to bust ass so badly that they can’t hold it for a few stops. When I walked onto the train at Haymarket this morning, the warm, slimy gust of methane that greeted my sinuses made me feel like I was stepping into a cattle car for a 3 day ride to a gulag somewhere. It smelt like a goddamn pig farm – who are you people? Here’s an idea, save a cork from your next vino purchase and plug yourself up anytime you need to leave the house. Oh, and my new Nextel makes a loud fart sound whenever someone texts me. In that context, it’s perfectly acceptable.
After I found a spot leaning against the wall, a small man with a beard and glasses loudly slapped the wall beside where he was sitting, got up and rushed of the train just as the doors closed. Maybe that’s some kind of OCD, maybe he was high-fiving the car due to an impressive travel time or maybe it was even a little fresh with him. I really can’t say. But I will say this – find him and lock him up immediately. To my left was a scrawny, herion addicted looking chap with a Great Gatsby hat, beard and so many earrings that I felt a sudden need to inventory my tackle box when I get home tonight. He was drawing a floorplan in a small notebook and when the train stopped at Park Street, he started cursing and waving his hand up and down. Then he turned to the horrified woman beside him, smiled and asked to get past her. Needless to say, she obliged. Then he stepped off the train and broke back into his cussin’ and blindin’ as he walked along the side of it. I have to assume that the floorplan was actually a few ideas on how to feng shui his padded cell when his day pass expires at 4 p.m. today.
Then, before we could pull out of Park Street, the T driver got up suddenly, came out from behind her curtain like the Wizard of Oz, looked at the car full of people, said something unintelligible and then walked off – only to be replaced by 2 MBTA cops. They surveyed the crowd, talked to a few people and stayed on board until the hysterical driver returned 3 or 4 minutes later. Did she think she’d spotted a suspected terrorist in her rear view? Can you guess why the cops didn’t stop to talk to me? I was a little insulted as I like to think I look rather ominous when wearing my Triple Fat Goose jacket and Trailer Park Boys toque. Please be gentle and don’t ruin that for me. It’s all I have.
Due to all-around abysmal reception, and a contact within the company (I believe Master P called that ‘The Hook Up’, I’ve switched over to a Nextel cellphone – and I’m really pleased so far. I don’t need to go up to the roofdeck with a coat-hanger and tin foil in order to make a call on a $300 phone anymore. And I can actually hear the phone when it rings as opposed to before when the tone could get drowned out by fruitfly flatulence.
One of the coolest features is the Direct Connect capability, which allows you to use your phone as if you’re speaking to someone on a walkie-talkie. I told my friend Megan (the only other person I know with a Nextel) my Direct Connect number and she crackled through a few minutes later – I may live to regret that. But very Convoy-ish and cool. Who else amongst you has this wondrous capability?
If you’re a friend of mine, and you have a Nextel, leave a comment or send me an email with your DC number. This will be fun, and no – my nerdiness knows no bounds. Nextel – Not just for construction workers anymore. But still fine for serial masturbators and dweebs.
Last week, I suggested that Michael Moore would be perfect to play Clyde the orangutan in a fantasy remake of the seminal Clint Eastwood classic, ‘Any Which Way You Can’. I have since rethought my childish barb and want to issue a full apology to Mr. Moore and any other moonbats who may have been offended by my ignorant suggestion.
My reason for the retraction has nothing to do with a new found respect for the man. On the contrary – I still think he’s an overrated, slovenly mound of stegasaurus dung. I’ve just found a more appropriate part for him, is all. They’ve cast almost every role for the upcoming remake of Charlotte’s Web – that heartwarming tale from our youth (if you’ve never read it then you obviously grew up on the moon). Have a read and see if you can remember what major character is conspicuously absent from the article.
OK – do you see where I’m going with this now? Need I say more? Someone get that fat windbag on the phone and let him know that his dream role is about to be lateraled to Louie Anderson.
I got an excited instant message from my sister last night, commanding me to Tivo American Idol. I immediately remembered why – her and her roomate, Aaron, went down to Washington over the summer so he could audition for the show. Those tapings were edited together into the beyond amusing 2 hour episode which was broadcast on Fox last night.
Aaron is a member of the Boston-based acapella group, Ball in the House, and I’ve seen them perform 4 or 5 times. They’re all really talented – especially Aaron. So when he was cut after surviving the first three eliminations we were all surprised. But after watching the show for the first time last night, it quickly became apparent why he wasn’t chosen. It’s less about talent, and more about your story, your appearence and how you’ll compliment the overall dynamic of the final group that is chosen.
In addition, based on photographs I got from Fox’s website last night, I’ve outlined a few more ways in which to increase your chances of getting chosen to go on to the final round:
First of all, don’t tempt fate. If you tell Simon and Randy that you borrowed bus fare to get to Washington, haven’t eaten in four days all the while smelling like fromunda cheese – they’re probably not going to want to spend much additional time near you, regardless of your talent. Also, don’t fashion kooky clothing in an attempt to better your odds: “Lady in the green t-shirt… I’m guessing… bust.” Some of the contestants get really mad after they’re dismissed and start hurling insults at Simon Cowell. There’s nothing wrong with that – it’s the reason most people watch the show. Listen up, guy on the upper right: if you want to get into a room with him in the first place, maybe don’t resemble Bernard Goetz so much next time.
Speaking of resemblences, a lot of the contestants dressed to resemble their favorite pop stars. There were Britneys, Alishas, Beyonces – I think I even spotted a Stefani or two. But making yourself up to look like your very bestest chanteuse, and then dressing like them to boot, is not a good way to express your individuality or uniqueness. No, that’s actually called ‘Halloween‘. Also, make sure that if you are going to attempt the impersonation strategy, your choice isn’t the principal from the Smokin’ In The Boys Room video.
Those were the major lessons I took away from last night’s installment. A few other quick notes: tell the screeners that you do have a day pass from your respective mental institution – even if you don’t. Be gay. If you have a lovely voice, put on a few pounds – say 400 – just to make it fair for everybody else. Wear your trailer park’s commemorative t-shirt – I heard Paula Abdul grew up in one. And above all else – never, ever, bathe prior to your big day. Good luck to us all.
I don’t know who these cats are, I don’t know where one would aquire that many death-defyingly awful sweaters, I don’t know which Lord of the Rings DVD release they’ve convened to celebrate. Now I know what you’re thinking (Wow, I sounded like Magnum there): “Dave, People who live in glass houses…” – I mean, I did spend the majority of the weekend building websites, afterall. But this photo is absolutely breathtaking.
I have to get to work. I’ll beef this up later with more hypocritical nerd-bashing.
(Time Passes)
It was a long walk to the office during which I came up with a few possible explanations for this photograph. I’ll write them down quickly while my 174 long-weekend emails download. Please feel free to contribute some of your own:
1.) “Yeah we were totally playing. But then Erwald rolled a +6 for invisibility and now we have to pretend we can’t see him.”
2.) A press junket photo from the sequel to Capturing The Friedmans. Capturing The Friedmans II: Let’s stop pretending we come over here for Commodore Pet lessons and start the circle-jerk.
3.) Early auditions for the role of Kip were postponed due to a lack of nacho cheese and steak.
4.) Louis Skolnick‘s bachelor party was a bit shit until repeated cart-slot-blowing got the Nintendo back online.
5.) The motion is on the table and let’s put it to a vote: Those in favor of changing our name to the “All New Wil Wheaton Fan Club” raise your hands.
In rare cases, insomnia can lead to surprising productivity. It’s nearly 6 in the morning and I’m still cranking. And cranky.
Let’s face it – one of blogging’s main charms is the ability people have to leave comments on your posts. A little community sprouts up and people can chat to one another or simply badmouth the original author (me). The problem I’ve been having is that until now it’s been quite a task to comment. You had to register with Blogger (Google), log in, provide a blood sample, etc.
As frustrated as ever with the limitations of the pedestrian ‘Blogger‘ software, I did yet another search for a suitable hack that would do the trick. And I finally found one! In a nutshell, you will no longer have to login to avoid leaving an anonymous comment. Just click through to the comments page for a particular article and fill in the form at the bottom. You can even preview your post or opt to have it remember your information. I am psyched – this is just what I’ve been searching for. Well done Ebenezer!
I need to make a few tweaks so it fits in better with my design, but it’s functional as of 10 minutes ago. So I hope that going forward even more of you will comment here on Pye In The Face. I’ve made it ridiculously easy, and you now have no excuse. Unless, of course, you have a life.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep right now if I paid someone to come by and hit me in the head with a snow shovel. Although I’m sure there’s a few people on this planet who would do it for free. So I’ve made yet another tweak to the blog. A “Classics” section, on the sidebar to the lower left, which I’ll update once a month or so. Think of it as a “best of” area where I’ll post stuff I think deserves a second look. Articles can get buried in the archives rather quickly. Some deserve it – some don’t.
In addition to my blogging nerdery I did do some socializing over the weekend. Friday I hung out with my friend Sarah for the first time in over a year. We had a great time leaning against the wall beside the SideBar’s jukebox and exchanging gossip about former co-workers. But I was dismayed to discover that the Tragically Hip song has disappeared. From the jukebox, that is. I don’t think Gord Downie has ever worked at TechTarget. But thank God the nine Jay-Z albums have remained intact.
Then Saturday night I ran into Christina whom I went to high school with. We talked for a couple hours and brutally judged the lives of our many mutual friends. She showed me a picture of her adorable baby son and I wondered for the eighteenth time this week if it’s not time to stop pretending I’m 22. Then I got back to my apartment to find it full of drunk, 22 year old girls – and decided I’ll put off the maturity thing just a bit longer.
Well blow me down and stroke my pixels. Since it’s a holiday today and most of us aren’t working, here’s a nice little time waster to giggle at and then possibly masturbate to. The Accidental Video Game Porn Archive is a delightful tribute to the famous (Ring King blowjob, Moonwalker pedophelia etc.) and not-so-famous gamery embarassments of the last 20 years.
So click on through and enjoy the collection. I’ll be sitting here trying to figure out who in their right minds has the time to put something like this together – and also why I’m so aroused.
Two Mondays ago Tiernans had it’s annual staff appreciation party and Monster and myself were asked to join in on the festivities. That is to say, I was asked and Monster was allowed to come so long as I was with him to babysit. Any of you who were at my last Cinco De Mayo party know exactly from whence this probationary period stems. You guessed it – extreme violence.
Pistol Pete Massa was there playing the guitar and singing, and towards the end of the night encouraged some of us to get up and try our hands. That was all the motivating Monster needed, and he quickly ran up on stage to treat us all to an unprecedented 3-song-set!
With a tear in my eye, and just a bit of preliminary vomit in my throat, I watched transfixed as Monster gave us one for the ages. The breathtaking trainwreck included the Gambler, Southern Cross and quite possibly the most dreadful rendition of Country Roads in human history. Bravo, buddy. That was truly some funny shit.
Appetizer: If you had a free password to an online service, which would it be?
One that combined stock-trading, music downloads, debt-consolidation and fantasy cartoon Star Wars porn. Leia wasn’t chained to Jabba to keep her from escaping. She was into that sort of shit.
Soup: Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).
Do smears count? It’s a tiny North End bathroom. Tub, sink, towel-rack. Purple crayon mark on one of the walls because Jim Fitzgerald thought that might be amusing one New Year’s Eve several years ago. And, get this, a toilet-brush! Feel free to come on by and check it out. Just follow your nose.
Salad: What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?
That other Mel Brooks Nazi pardody movie where all the gays had to wear pink triangles like the jews used to have to wear identifiers in WWII. Hitler: All I want is peace. Peace! Peace! [singing] A little piece of Poland, a little piece of France…
Main Course: Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.
Being born North American. Being born rich. Being born without any sort of physical deformity. One out of three ain’t bad.
Dessert: What was the last really great movie you watched?
I’ve been on a tear lately. All great films. Hotel Rwanda made me realize that machetes are an excellent way to hack someone to death. The Aviator teaches us that in addition to being hilarious, obsessive compulsive disorders can help you amass huge financial fortunes. The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou – Bill Murray in a Speedo. ‘Nuff said.
Guestbooks were one of the first interactive website features and date back to the very early nineties. Heck, I even have an old one myself. But who needs a guestbook when you can have a guestmap? That’s right, folks. I’ve added a guestmap link in the new list at the very top of each page. Please have a look and then join the global party yourself.
So plant your pin, write your silly little greeting and join the www.davepye.com international community. You can select your icon, flag and then leave a message that pops up on the map when someone moves their mouse over you. It’s so nutty, I’m nauseous.
I have officially attained bloggish success. I rank #6 in Google for the phrase “billy batts shinebox”. I know this because I can see where my visitors come from, what search engine they used and what keyword phrase brought them here. I also aspire to sleep with a woman again someday despite my abhorrent nerdery.
Where was I? Oh yeah. I can die now.
Eastwood’s best gunslinging days are far behind him. Responsible for more on-screen deaths than Charlie Bronson, nowadays he’s content to kick ass behind the camera. But Clint had that old glint this week at an awards dinner where he addressed Michael Moore during an acceptance speech.
“… Michael, if you ever show up at my front door with a camera – I’ll kill you. I mean it.”
I don’t think you want to mess with the dude who played both Dirty Harry and The Man With No Name. If Moore still really wants to work with Clint in some capacity, might I suggest a remake of Every Which Way But Loose? Not for the title role – that would obviously go to Johnny Knoxville. I’m thinking of Mike because they’ll need a replacement for Clyde the fat hairy orangutan. Alternately he should be talking to the Beethoven people.
